Full text of "The Catholic world"

\~- U; 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 




OF 



GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. 



VOL. LI. 
APRIL, .890, TO SEPTEMBER, 1890. 



NEW YORK: 
THE OFFICE OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD, 

427 WEST FIFTY-NINTH STREET. 

1890. 




Copyright, 1890, by 
REV. A. F. HEWIT. 



CONTENTS. 



484. 



185 



249 
35 



American Catholic Fraternity. 7. F. Sulll- 
van 

Another Word on Children's Reading. Marie 

Louise Sandrock, 675 

Ant, Thc. WillMm Seton, . . .641 

Anti-Catholic Laws in New Hampshire. Mary 
P. Thompson, . ... 22, 

Beginnings of the Normal School. Brother 
Azarias, . . ... 

Cardinal Gibbons' "Our Christian Hcri- 
i tage." Rev. John A. Conviay, S.J., 
Cardinal Manning's Silver Jubilee. Rt. Rev. 

Otto Zardetti, D.D 

Cardinal Newman Rev. A. F. Hewit, . 
Catholic and Democratic Ideals. Rev. William 

Barry, D.D., . . '43 

Catholic and American Ethics. II. Rev. A. 

F. Hewit, 348 

Catholic Centennial in the United States. A. 

Vicomte C. De Meaux, .... 

Catholicism in Modern Denmark. A. T., 

Church and the Jew, The. Frank McGloin, 

Church and Temperance, The. Rev. Walter 

ElliM, 

Death in Life. Harold Dijon, 
"Decorated."/!. F. Marshall, 

England's Foremost Christian. William D. 

Kelly, 

English Language in Catholic Public Worship, 

The. G. H. Howard, .... 
F.xperience of a Working-Woman, The. 

A. T. O'B 

Evolutionary Theory as Applied to Conscience, 

The. Rev. John S. Vaughn, 
Fate of Unbaptized Infants. Rev. James F. 

Loughlin, D.D., 

Father C. P. Meehan, The \MK.-P. A.S., . 
Future Destiny of Infants. Rev. A.F. Hewit, 

(llimpse of the Republic of Hayti, A. Jane 
Marsh Parker, 

Hidden Saints. Rev. Edward McSvrceny, 
D.D 

Higher Education for Catholic Girls, The. 
Katharine Tynan, 

Inez. Harold Dijon, 

Intemperance in Ireland. R. O'K., 
Introduction to the Life of Father Hecker. 
Most Rfi'. John Ireland, D.D., 



374 

7*5 
232 



622 
525 



55 
747 



208 



395 

3' 
432 

64 

456 
79 
576 

244 

513 
616 

439 
49 

285 



Is the Catholic School System Perfect! Rev. 

Joseph V. Tracy, < 2 7 

Josephites and Their Work for the Negroes, 
The. -Rev. J. R. Slaltery, 

Kinship of Species in the Animal Kingdom. 

William Seton 217 

Life of Father Hecker, The. toz>. Walter 

Elliott, .'. i, '89, 316, 466, 651, 778 
LudwigVonWindthorst.->F#//< D. Kelly, 153 

Mexican Hierarchy, The, 

Mrs. Simpkins' Ball. Harold Dijon, 

Normal Schools for Catholics. Rt. Rev. J. I-.. 
Spalding, D.D , 

Our Diplomacy. Wary M. Meline, 

Peasant Home, A. Rev. R. O"K., 
Presbyteria^ Revision, The. tow. A. F. 

Hevjit, 
Professor Briggs' Doctrine of the Middle 

State. Rev. H. H. Wyman, . " 
Prohibition and Catholics. Rev. Joseph V. 

Tracy 6 

Protestant Schools in Catholic Quebec. J. A 

J. McKenna, 

Recreations with Conservativesand Radicals. 

Margaret F. Sullivan, . . 5 

Salvation Army, The. A. F. Marshall, 

San Luis Potosi. Charles E. Hodson, . . 294 

Shakespeare's First Publishers. Apple/on 

Morgan, 

Some Haunts of the Padres. M. A. C., 
Spirit and the Voice. The. Alice Ward Bai- 
ley 

Student Life at the Catholic University. Rev. 

Thomas C. McGoldrick, . 358 
Student Life of Dante.-iaa D. Pychowska, 76? 

Talk about New Books, 119, 261, 400, 540, 687, 855 

Theanoguen. M. B. M. 332 

Tin Camel, The.->* 7- Beeket, 42 

Training of Teachers in Ontario./. A.M., . 97 

Van Home's Way.Harrv O'Brien, . 5*4 

What's in a Name. D G., 

With the Publisher. . 14, 280, 423, 565, 706, 845 
With Readers and Correspondents, 129,271,410, 

550, 696, 837 



59 



606 

76 

682 



IV 



COXTKA'TS. 



POETRY. 



. man. Mereaitn ffickflti>n, . 711 

Te C.iiarde." Jennie Drake, . . 43 s 
i^er' Plaint before Death. /-./>.. . 87 

Raster Kve. .V. J. M " 

I ve. Thomas Auguttine Half, . 100 

Fame, the Knchantress. Henry Edvxtrd 

746 
4< 
777 

455 
835 



Fear N'ot. Marie Lout's, , 

KII-I Kvening at >e*. .Wary Eli*aetlt Blake, 

In the Divert. I.uey Agnet Hayes. 

Kindly Light, Tr-e.-*rt'. Alfld Yfnnf. 

I^Kend of Cuba. A. . A. Fanning, . 



Minor Tones. Margaret ft. l.atvtett, . 
My Teacher. Margaret Holmet, . 

Nil Nii Te. Domine. Condi B. fallen. 

On the Scourging of the Trafficker*, in 
Temple. Rev. At/red Young, 

Poesy. W. McDnitt, .... 

Song of Wine. Kt. Rev. J. I.. 
D.D 



'74 
164 



the 



Whip|K>rwill, The. Eugene Barry, 

Three Hussars, The. .If. B. .V.. . 
Through Faith Marg.irtt fMmet, 



5oo 

794 

58 
801 

'74 



NKW PUBLICATIONS. 



Abridged Sermons or all Sundays of the Year, 841 
Aid* to Correct and Effective Ktocution, with 
selected Readings and Recitations for 
Practice. . . . . . -559 

;. 378 



American Religious Leaden: Dr. Muhlenberg 
Aminta : A Modem Life Drama, 

Ancient History, 

Around the World Stories 

Astronomy, New and Old, .... 

Canoe) in America 

Carols for the Month of May, . 

Catholic Jewels from Shakespeare, . * . 

Catholicity versus Protestantism, 

Church of My rl.iptism, and Why I Relumed 

to It, The, 

Code of Monk, A 

Commentary on the Holy GrjspeK A, 
Conferences of Agosttno da Montefcltro, . 

1'iary of the Parnell Commission, 



559 
559 
35 
'35 

840 
35 
844 
559 

559 
702 

Jit 

559 



Elementary Chemical Technics, . . . 703 
F,4*ay Contributing to a Philosophy of Litera- 
ture, An, 702 

Harp of Jesus, The, . ... 135 

Heroic Ballad*, with Poems of War and Patriot- 
ism, 559 

History of the Suffering* of Eighteen Carthu- 
sians in England. The, .... 359 

History of Sligo, Town and County, The, . 135 

Imajo Chruti: The Example of Jesus Christ, . 431 
ItiMil.t Sanctorum et Doctorum ; or, Ireland's 

Ancient Schools and Scholars, . . , 702 

La Rt-f'-rmc et la Politiqiie Frantjaiseen Europe 
juMjtt'J. la Paix de Wc-iphalie, . . . 135 



Leading Facts of American History, The, 

I^es Am6ricains (7hez Eux, 

I<es Luttes Rcligicuscs en France au SeiriV-mc 



Ljfe of Father Charles Sire. 

Life of St. Justin Martyr, 

Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland, The 

Literature and Poetry, .... 

Little Followers of Jesus, The, 

Manual of Catholic Theology, . 
Manuals of Catholic Philosophy. 

May Blossoms, 

Month of the Sacred Heart. 



843 
701 

278 

2J 

M5 
559 

Natural Religion 842 

New Primer ; New First Reader ; New Se.:<nd 

Reader, 702 

Official Report of the Proceedings of thr 

tilic Congress 113 

One Mediator; or. Sacrifice and Sacraments, . 559 

Rational Religion, 421 

Revelations of the Sacred Heart to Blessed 
Margaret Mary, and the History of Her 
l-ife 559 

Select Manual for the Members of the Sodality 

of the Blessed Virgin Mary, . . . 702 

Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Festivals of 

the Ecclesiastical Year 841 

I heologia Moralis Fundamentals Auctorc 

Thoma Jo--epho Rouquillon, S.T.I")., . 559 

True Story of the Catholic Hierarchy deposed 

by Queen Elizabeth, sf<; 



What Khali Our Children Read ? . 
Wreaths of Song from Fields of Philosophy, 



839 

I 





/Et. 59. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. APRIL, 1890. No. 301. 



THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER.* 
CHAPTER I. 

CHILDHOOD. 

TOWARDS the close of the eighteenth century, a German 
clockmaker named Engel Freund, accompanied by his wife and 
children, left his native town of Elberfeld, in Rhenish Prussia, t 
seek a new home in America. There is a family tradition to 
the effect that his forefathers were French, and that they came 
into Germany on account of some internal commotion in their 
own country. The name makes it more probable that they were 
Alsatians who quietly moved across the Rhine, either when their 
province was first ceded to France, or perhaps later, at the time 
of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, in 1685. When Engel 
Freund quitted Germany the disturbing influences of the French 
Revolution may have had a considerable share in determining 
his departure. He landed at New York in 1797 and established 
himself in Hester Street, between Christie and Forsyth. 

His wife, born Ann Elizabeth Schneider, in 1764, was a na- ' 
live of Frankenburg, Hesse Cassel. She became the mother of 
a son and several daughters, who attained maturity and settled 
in New York. As his girls grew into womanhood and married, 
Engel Freund, who was a thrifty and successful tradesman in his 
prime, dowered each of them with a house in his own neighbor- 
hood,' seeking thus to perpetuate in the new the kindly patri- 
archal customs of the old land. 

* Circumstances quite unforeseen prevented the writer of the Introduction to this Life, 
xvhich was announced in the last number, from placing his MS. in our hands in t 
the present issue. 

The copyright to this Life will be strictly enforced. 

Copyright. REV. A. F. HEWIT. 1800. 



J Till: 1. 1 1- 1: (>/' /-'.-I '////: A' Ifl-.CKI-.K. [April. 

I" tlu- New-Yorker of to-day, or, indeed, to any reputable 
and industrious immigrant, the notion of settling a family in 
Hester Street could not seem other than grotesque. It is nou 
the filthy ind swarming centre of a very low-class Jewry. The 
" 'F.brcw Jew" />>rr cniiiicncf lives there and thereabouts. Si^ns 
painted in the characters of his race, not of his accidental na- 
tionality, abound on every side. Here a synagogue occupies the 
story above a shop; there Masonic symbols are exhibited be- 
t \\ven the windows in a similar location. Jewish faces of the 
least prepossessing type look askance into eyes which they 
recognize as both unfamiliar and observant. Women, unkempt 
and slouchy, or else arrayed in dubious finery, brush against one. 
At intervals fast growing greater the remains of an extinct domes- 
ticity and privacy still show themselves in the shape of old-fash- 
ioned brick or wooden houses with Dutch gables or Queen 
Anne fronts, but for the most part tall tenement-houses, their 
lower stories uniformly given up to some small traffic, claim ex- 
clusive right of possession. The sidewalks are crowded with the 
stalls of a yet more petty trade ; the neighborhood is full of un- 
pleasant sights, unwholesome odors, and revolting sounds. 

But the Hester Street of seventy years ago and more was 
another matter. When a canal flowed through Canal Street, and 
tall trees growing on either side of it sheltered the solid and 
roomy houses of retired merchants and professional men, Hester 
Street was a long way up town. Seven years before the sub- 
ject of the present biography was born, that elegantly propor- 
tioned structure, the City Hall, which had then been nine years 
a-building, was finished in material much less expensive than had 
been intended when it was begun. Marble was very dear, rea- 
soned the thrifty and far-sighted City Fathers of the day, and 
as the population of. New York were never likely to settle to 
.any extent above Chambers Street, the rear of the hall would be 
seen so seldom that this economy would not be noticeable. 
What is now Fourteenth Street was then, a place given over to 
market-gardens. Rutgers Street, Rutgers Place, Henry Street, 
were fashionable localities, and the adjacent quarter, now so mal- 
odorous and disreputable, was eminently respectable Freund's 
daughters, as they left the parental roof for modest houses of his 
gift close by, no doubt had reason to consider themselves abun- 
dantly fortunate in their surroundings. 

One of these daughters, Caroline Sophia Susanna Henrietta 
Wilhelmina, born in Klberfeld on the 3d of March, 1796, was 
still a babe in arms at the time of the family emigration. She 



1 890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER BECKER. 3 

was a tall, fair, handsome girl, not long past her fifteenth birth- 
day when she became a wife. Her husband, John Becker, was 
nearly twice her age, having been born in Wetzlar, Prussia, May 
7 1782. He was the son of another John Hecker, a brewer 
trade who married the daughter of a Colonel Schmidt. Both 
parents were natives of Wetzlar. Their son learned the business 
of a machinist and brass-founder, and emigrated to America m. 
1800 He was married to Caroline Freund in the Old Dutch 
Church in the Swamp, July 21, 1811. He died in New York, 
in the house of his eldest son, July 10, 1860. 

Events proved John Hecker to have been equally fortunate 
and- sagacious in his choice of a wife. At the time of their mar- 
riage he was thrifty and well-to-do. At one period he owned a 
nourishing brass-foundry in Hester Street, and during his early 
married life his prosperity was uninterrupted. But before many 
years had passed his business declined, and from one cause and 
another he never succeeded in re-establishing it This misfor- 
tune, occurring while even the eldest of the sons was still a lad, 
might easily have proved irreparable in more senses than one. 
But the very fact that the ordinary gates to learning were so soon 
closed against these children caused the natural tendency they had 
toward knowledge to impel them all the more strongly in that 
shorter road to practical wisdom which leads through labor and 
experience. The Hecker brothers were all hard at work while 
still mere children, and before John, the eldest, had attained to 
legal manhood, they had fixed the solid foundations of an en- 
during prosperity, and all need of further exertion on the part 
of their parents was over for ever. 

Isaac Thomas Hecker, the third son and youngest child of 
this couple, was born in New York at a house in Christie Street, 
between Grand and Hester, December 18, 1819, when his mother 
was not yet twenty-four. He survived her by twelve years 
only, she dying at the residence of her eldest son's widow in 
1876, in the full possession of faculties which must have been 
of no common order. From her, and through her from Engel 
Freund, who was what is called " a character," Father Hecker 
seems to have derived many of his life-long peculiarities. "I 
never knew a son so like his mother," writes to us one who 
had an intimate acquaintance with both of them for more than 
forty years. She adds : 

"Mrs. Hecker was a woman of great energy of character and strong re- 
ligious nature. Her son, Father Hecker, inherited both of these traits, and 
there was the warmest sympathy between them. He was her youngest son, her 

VOL. LI. I 



4 THE LIFE OF FATHER HI-.CKF.K. [April, 

baby, she called him, but with all her tender love she had a holy veneration for 
his character as priest. 

She deeply sympathized with him through the trials and anxieties that 
were his in his search after truth, and when his heart found iv,t. and the aspira- 
tions of his soul were answered in the Holy Catholic Church, her noble heart 
accepted for him what she could not see for herself. She said to a lady who 
spoke to her on the subject and who could not be reconciled to the conversion of 
a daughter : ' No, I would not change the faith of my sons. They have found 
peace and joy in the Catholic Church, and 1 would not by a word change their 

faith, if I could.' 

' She had a very earnest temperament, and what she did slu- did with all 
her heart. The last years of her life she was a great invalid, but from her sick 
room she did wonders. Family ties.were kept warm, and no one whom she had 
loved and known was forgotten. The poor were ever welcome, and came to her 
in crowds, never leaving without help and consolation. She had a very cheerful 
spirit, and a bright, pleasant, and even witty word for every one. 

" But the strongest trait in her character was her deeply religious nature. 
With the Catholic faith it would have found expression in the religious life, as 
she sometimes said herself. The faith she had made her most earnest and de- 
vout, according to her light." 



Mrs. Georgiana Bruce Kirby,* who spent a month at the 
house in Rutgers Street just after Isaac finally returned from 
Brook Farm, when Mrs. Hecker was in the prime of middle life, 
speaks of her as 

"a lovely and dignified character, full of 'humanities.' She was fair, 
tall, erect, a very superior example of the German house-mother. Hers was 
the controlling spirit in the house, and her wise and generous influence was 
felt far beyond it. She was a life-long Methodist, and took me with her to a 
'Love Feast,' which 1 had never witnessed before." 

To the good sense, good temper, and strong religious nature 
of Caroline Hecker her children owed, and always cordially ac- 
knowledged, a heavy, and in one respect an almost undivided, 
debt of gratitude. Neither Engel Freund nor John Hecker 
professed any religious faith. The latter was never in the habit 
of attending any place of worship. Both were Lutheran so far 
as their antecedents could make them so, but neither seems to 
have practically known much beyond the flat negation, or at best 
the simple disregard, of Christianity to which Protestantism leads 
more or less quickly according as the logical faculty is more or 
less developed in those whose minds have been fed upon it 
However, there was nothing aggressive in the attitude of either 
toward religious observance. The grandfather especially seems 
to have been a "gentle sceptic," an agnostic in the germ, affirm- 
ing nothing beyond the natural, probably because all substantial 

Vtars ofExpnitMce. G. P. Putnam's Sons. 1887. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 5 

ground for supernatural affirmations seemed to him to be cut 
away by the fundamental training imparted to him. He was a 
kindly, virtuous, warm-hearted man, with a life of his own which 
made him incurious and thoughtful, and singularly devoid of pre- 
judices. When his daughter Caroline elected to desert the 
Reformed Dutch Church in which the family had a pew, and to 
attach herself to another sect, he had only a jocular word of 
surprise to say concerning her odd fancy for " those noisy Meth- 
odists." He had a true German fondness for old ways and set- 
tled customs, and to the end of his days spoke only his own 
vernacular. 

" Why don't you talk English ? " somebody once asked him 
toward the close of his life. 

"I don't know how," he answered. "I never had time to 
learn." 

" Why, how long have you been here ? " 

"About forty years." 

" Forty years ! And isn't that time enough to learn English 
in?" 

" What can one learn in forty years ? " said the old man, with 
an Unanswerable twinkle. 

Between him and the youngest of his Hecker grandchildren 
there existed a singular sympathy and affection. The two were 
very much together, and the little fellow was allowed to potter 
about the workshop and encouraged to study the ins and outs 
of all that went on there, as well as entertained with kindly talk 
that may at first have been a trifle above his years. But he was 
a precocious child, shrewd, observant, and thoughtful. It was in 
the old watchmaker's shop that the boy, not yet a dozen years 
old, and already hard at work helping to earn his own living, 
conceived the plan of making a clock with his own hands and 
presenting it to the church attended by the family, which was 
situated in Forsyth Street between Walker and Hester. The 
clock was finished in due time and set up in the church, where 
it ticked faithfully until the edifice was torn down, some forty 
years later. Then it was returned to its maker in accordance 
with a promise made by the pastor when the gift was accepted. 
In 1872 the opening number of the third volume of The 
Young Catholic contained a good engraving of it, accompanied 
by a sketch descriptive of its career. Although Father Hecker 
did not write the little story, it is so true both to fact and to 
sentiment that we make an extract from it. The clock hung in 
the Paulist sacristy for about ten years. Then, for some reason, 



THE LIFE OF FATHER HKCKKK. [April, 

it was taken to the country house of Mr. George Heckcr. where 
it was accidentally destroyed by fire : 

' There were points of resemblance in my own and my boy maker's nature. 
In him regularity, order, and obedience were fixed principles ; and with ui 
Time represented Eternity. As the days of his young manhood came his pur- 
suits and tastes in life changed. Deep thought took possession of h,s mind, a 

h it a tender love for souls and a heart-hungrincss for a further knowledge of 
what man was given a soul for, and the way in which he was to save >t. As the* 
thoughts were maturing in his mind I often noticed hu troubled look. One . 
dav in particular, he lingered behind the congregation and stood before me, 
with a new expression in his keen gray eye ; and amid the silence of the deserted 
aisles he thus apostrophized me : Farewell, old friend ! fashioned by these hands, 
thou representest Truth, the eternal. What man is ever seeking, through me 
thou hast found. Here 1 stand, not man's but God's noblest work, as yet nc 
having repaid my Maker with one ast of duty or of service. Thou hast faithfully 
performed thy mission ; henceforth I labor to perform mine.' With a grave , 
sad look my boy maker, now a young man, left me. 1 felt then that we had 
looked our last upon each other in this place ; but little did either of us dream 
of where, when, and how we would meet again. For thirty-five years I 
on unchanged, though I must own to having had some ailments now and t 
About this period of my existence I overheard straggling remarks, as the wor- 
shippers passed out of the church, which led me to conclude that some change 
was contemplated, and my suspicions were confirmed by the rector proposing 
from the pulpit the erection of a new church edifice in another part of the city, 

to be fashioned after a more modern style of architecture In accordance 

with the promise made my boy maker, I was to go back to him. My heart 
bounded at the prospect. Never in all those years had I seen him. . . . 

" In a short time I learned that the author of my existence, after many hard 
struggles and trials, had at last found truth and light, peace and rest, in the 
bosom of the Holy Catholic Church. He had returned, when he found me, from 
the Plenary Council of 1867. He is now a priest, and the head of a religious 
community. Need I assure those who have been interested in my history that I 
also have found a home in the same community, where I am consecrated to its 
use. I am no longer alone now ; I am busy from morning until night, helping 
to regulate the movements of the community. There is not an hour in the day 
when I do not see my boy maker. We have established sympathies in common ; 
I call him to prayers, to his meals, to his matins, and to his rest. Many a time, 
when he finds me alone, he gives me some spiritual reading, or says aloud some 
prayers. Every time I strike, he breathes an aspiration of love and thanksgiving. 
In short, we have found our glorious mission in our new birth. We are both 
postles : I represent Time ; he preaches of Eternity." 

There can be little doubt, however, that the chief formative 
influence in the Hecker household was that which came directly 
through the mother. Young as she was when an unduly heavy 
share of the domestic burdens fell to her portion, she took it up 
with courage and bore it with dignity and fidelity. What aid her 
father could give her was doubtless not lacking, but we may well 
suppose that, as age crept on Engel Frcund, his business began 
to slip away from him into younger hands. He was probably no 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 7 

longer in a position to endow daughters or to undertake the edu- 
cation of grandchildren. What is certain is that Caroline Hecker's 
boys, after very brief school-days, were put at once to hard work. 
What decided their choice of an occupation is not so sure, but 
in all probability they consulted with their mother and then took 
the common-sense view that as there is a never-failing market 
for food staples, even poverty, if mated with diligence and sagac- 
ity, may find there a fair field for successful enterprise. John, 
the eldest, upon whom the mother soon began to rely as her 
right hand, went to learn his trade as a baker with a Mr. Schwab, 
whose shop was on the corner of Hester and Eldridge Streets. 
George, who was some three or four years younger, as the only 
girl, Elizabeth, came between them, presently followed his brother 
to the same business. 

As for Isaac, whom hard necessity, or, more probably, a mis- 
taken thrift, likewise forced away from school when not much 
more than ten years old, his earliest ventures bear a curious sym- 
bolic likeness to his latest. He earned his first wages in the ser- 
vice of a religious periodical, the Methodist publication still known 
as Zion's Herald, whose office was situated in Crosby Street near 
Broadway. From there he went to learn a trade in the type 
foundry in Great Thames Street. But as it was already apparent 
that the family road to prosperity was identical with that chosen 
by his elder brothers, we find him working away beside them in 
the bake-house by the time he was eleven. They had already 
established the bakery in Rutgers Street, between Monroe and 
Cherry, where the family lived for so many years. They had 
another shop in Pearl Street, to which Isaac used to carry bread 
every morning. 

This was a part of his life to which he was fond of recurring 
in his last years. " Thanks be to God !" he said on the first day 
of 1 886, " how hard we used to work preparing for New Year's 
Day ! Three weeks in advance we began to bake New Year's 
cakes flour, water, sugar, butter, and caraway seeds. We never 
could make enough. How I used to work carrying the bread 
around in my baker's cart ! How often I got stuck in the gutters 
and in the snow ! Sometimes some good soul, seeing me unable 
to get along, would give me a lift. I began to work when I 
was ten and a half years old, and I have been at it ever since." 
And again, a few days later, as a poor woman carrying a heavy 
basket passed him in the street, he said to the companion of his 
walk : "I have had the blood spurt out of my arm carrying 
bread when I was a baker. A lady asked me once for a hundred 



TV/A LIFE OF FATHI-.K HI-CKI-.K. [April, 

dollars to help her send her only son to college. I answered her 
th.u my mother had four children and got along without beg- 
ging, and that I would not exchange one year of those I spent 
working for several at college." 

I than a month before his death he fell into conversation 
with a newsboy on the corner near the Paulist church in Fifty- 
ninth Street. " It interested mo very much," he said afterwards. 
" I found out that he is one of five little brothers, and their 
mother is a widow. She is trying to bring them up, poor thing ! 
It reminds me of my own mother." 

It is plain that there could not have been much room for for- 
mal study in a life of hard physical labor, so soon begun and so 
unremittingly continued during the years usually given up to 
school work. An ordinary boy, placed in such circumstances, 
would doubtless have grown up ignorant and unformed. But while 
none of the Hecker boys was quite of the ordinary stamp, Isaac 
was distinctly sui generis and individual. He has said of himself 
that he could remember no period of his life when he had not 
the consciousness of having been sent into the world for some 
especial purpose. What it was he knew not, but expectation and 
desire for the withheld knowledge kept him pondering and self- 
withdrawn. Once in his childhood he was given over for death 
with a bad attack of confluent small-pox, and his mother came 
to his bedside to tell him so. "No, mother," he answered her, 
" I shall not die now. God has a work for me to do in the 
world, and I shall live to do it." 

Such instruction as Isaac obtained before beginning to earn 
his own bread was given him in Ward School No. 7. A Dr. 
Kirby was then its principal, and the time was just previous to 
the introduction of the present system. The schools were not 
entirely free, a small payment being required from the parents for 
each pupil, to supplement the grant of public funds. No doubt 
the boy, who had an ardent thirst for knowledge, regretted his 
removal from his desk more deeply than he was at the time will- 
ing to express. Still, it may be questioned whether he ever had 
any natural aptitude for close, continuous book-work, at least on or- 
dinary and prescribed lines. He was " always studying," indeed, 
as he sometimes said in speaking of his early life, but the thoughts 
of other men, whether written or spoken, do not seem to have been 
greatly valued by him, except as keys which might help him to 
unlock those mysteries of God and man, and their mutual rela- 
tions, which tormented him from the first. He was to the last an 
indefatigable reader, but yet it would be true to say that he was 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 9 

never either a student or a scholar in the ordinary sense. It is 
a curious question as to how a thorough education might have 
modified Father Hecker. It is possible nay, as the reader may 
be inclined to believe with us as the story of his inner life goes 
on, it is even probable that the more he was taught by God the 
less he was able to receive from men. 

It is certain, however, that he seriously regretted and soon set 
himself to rectify the deficiencies of his early training. This was 
one of the reasons which took him to Brook Farm. In the first 
entry of the earliest of his diaries which has been preserved he 
thus speaks of his hidden longing after knowledge. He was 
twenty-three when these sentences were written, and he had been 
at Brook Farm for several months : 

" If I cast a glance upon a few years of my past life, it appears to me mysteri- 
ously incomprehensible that I should be where I am now. I confess sincerely that, 
although I have never labored for it, still, something in me always dreamed of it. 
Once, when I was lying on the floor, my mother said to my brother John, with- 
out anything previously being spoken on the subject, and suddenly, in a kind 
of unconscious speech, "John, let Isaac go to college and study." These 
words went through me like liquid fire. He made some evasive answer and 
there it ended. Although to study has always been the secret desire of my heart 
from my youth, I never felt inclined to open my mind to any one on the subject. 
And now I find, after a long time, that I have been led here as strangely as pos- 
sible." 

His childhood seems to have been a serious one. In recurring 
to it in later life, as he often did, he never spoke of any games 
or sports in which he had shared, nor, in fact, of any amusements 
before the time when he began to attend lectures and the theatre. 
It was the childhood of what we call in America a self-made 
man one in which the plastic human material is rudely dealt 
with by circumstances. His mother taught him his prayers, the 
schoolmistress his letters, necessity his daily round of duties, and 
for the rest he was left very much to himself and to that interior 
Master of whose stress and constraint upon him he grew more 
intimately conscious as he grew in years. The force of this in- 
ward pressure showed itself in many ways.' Outwardly it made 
his manner undemonstrative, and fixed an intangible yet very 
real barrier between him and his kindred, even when the affection 
that existed was extremely close and tender. From infancy he 
exhibited that repugnance to touching or being touched by any 
one which marked him to the end. Even his mother refrained 
from embracing him, knowing this singular aversion. She would 
stroke his face, instead, when she was pleased with him, and say, 
" That is my kiss for you, my son." 



io THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKEK. [April, 

The mutual respect for each other's personalities shown in 
this closest of human relations was characteristic of the entire 
family, as will be seen later, when the nature of the business 
connections between Isaac and his brothers has to be considered, 
from weakening the natural ties, or impairing their proper 
influence, it seems to have strengthened and perfected them. 
Asked once towards the close of his life how it was that he had 
never used tobacco in any form, he answered : " Mother forbade 
it, and that was enough for George and me. I was never ruled 
in any way but by her affection. That was sufficient." The 
parallel fact that he never in his life drank a drop of liquor at a 
bar or at any public place was probably due to a similar injunc- 
tion. The children were brought up, too, with exceedingly strict 
ideas about lying and stealing, and all petty vices. Throughout 
the family there prevailed an extreme severity on such faults. 
" I have never forgotten," said Father Hecker, " the furious anger 
of an aunt of mine and the violent beating she gave one of my 
cousins for stealing a cent from her drawer. That training has 
had a great and lasting effect upon my character." 

In such antecedents and surroundings it is easy to see the source 
of that abiding confidence in human nature, and that love for the 
natural virtues which marked Father Hecker's whole career. 
They had kept his own youth pure. He had been baptized in in- 
fancy, however, as the children of orthodox Protestants more com- 
monly were at that period than at present, and in all probability 
validly, so that one could never positively say that nature in him 
had ever been unaided by grace in any particular instance. It is 
the conviction of those who knew him best that he had never 
been guilty of deliberate mortal sin. One of these writes : 

" During all the intimate hours I spent with him, speaking of his past life 
he never once said thai he had been a sinnerin a sense to convey the idea of mortal 
sin. And on the other hand he said much to the contrary ; so much as to leave 
no manner of doubt on my mind that he had kept Jlis baptismal innocence. 
He was deeply attached to an edifying and religious mother ; he was at hard 
work before the dawn of sensual passion, and his recreation, even as a boy, was 
in talking and reading about deep social and philosophical questions, and lis- 
tening to others on the same themes. He expressly told me that he had never 
used drink in excess, and that he had never sinned against purity, never was 
profane, never told a lie ; and he certainly never was dishonest. 

" The influence of his mother was of the most powerful kind. He told me 
that the severest punishment she ever inflicted on him was once or twice (once 
only, 1 am- pretty sure) to tell him that she was angry with him; and this so 
distressed him that he was utterly miserable, sat down on the floor completely 
overcome, and so remained till she after a time relented and restored him to 
favor. Such a relationship is quite instructive in reference to the original inno- 
cence of his life." 






1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. \\ 



CHAPTER II. 
YOUTH. 

IT has been said already, in speaking of Father Hecker's child- 
hood, that he had been consciously under the influence of super- 
natural impressions from a very early period. It seems probable, 
therefore, that at least during the few years which preceded his 
juvenile plunge into politics he must have been devout and 
prayerful, though doubtless in his own spontaneous way. Such 
were his mother's characteristics, and we find her son writing to 
her, when his aspirations after the perfect life had led him to the 
threshold of the church, that she, of all persons, ought most to 
sympathize with him, for he is about doing that which will aid 
him to be what 'she has always desired to see him. But his de- 
votions probably bore small resemblance to those of the ordinary 
religiously minded boy, either Catholic or Protestant. He has 
said that often at night, when lying on the shavings before the 
oven in the bake-house, he would start up, roused in spite of 
himself by some great thought, and run out upon the wharves to 
look at the East River in the moonlight, or wander about under 
the spell of some resistless aspiration. What does God desire from 
me? How shall I attain unto Him? What is it He has sent 
me into the world to do ? These were the ceaseless questions of 
a heart that rested, meanwhile, in an unshaken confidence that 
time would bring the answer. 

But these were early days, days when the influence of his 
mother, never wholly shaken off, was still dominant and pervasive 
in all that concerned him. There came a period, however, begin- 
ning in all likelihood about his fourteenth, and lasting until his 
twentieth year or thereabouts, in which he certainly lost hold on 
all distinctively Christian doctrines. With such a mind as his, 
and such a training, this was almost inevitable. His intellect, 
while it hungered incessantly after supernatural truth, kept never- 
theless a persistent hold upon the verities of the natural order, 
and could not rest until it had synthetized them into a coherent 
whole. That was his life- long characteristic. During the years 
of painful ill health which preceded his death, he 'often said that 
he was unlike the Celt, who takes to the supernatural as if by 
instinct. " But I am a Saxon and cling to the earth," he would 
say ; " I want an explicit and satisfactory reason why any inno- 
cent pleasure should not be enjoyed." He attributed this to his 



,_, THE I.IFK OF FATHKK HKCKER. [April, 

racial peculiarities. Others may differ with him and credit it to 
hi. nature, taken in its human and rational integrity. 
m,,ro lu was always singularly independent and self- poised, 
could n..t endure being hindered of anything that was his, excej 
by an authority which had legitimated to his intelligence its ngh 
t.'. command. He could obey that readily and entirely, as his 
life from infancy clearly witnesses ; but he never knew a merely 
arbitrary master. 

Such a nature, fed on the mingled truth and error characte 
istic of orthodox Protestantism, was certain to reject it sooner 
or later, impelled by hunger for the whole Divine gift of which 
that teaching contains fragments only. The soul of Isaac Hecker 
was one athirst for God from the first dawn of its conscious 
being. Upon Him, its Creator and Source, it never lost hold, 
and never ceased to cry out for Him with longing and aspira- 
tion, even during that bitter and protracted period of his youth 
when his mind, entangled in the maze of philosophic subjectiv- 
ism, seemed in danger of rejecting theism altogether. But the 
underpinning of his faith, so far as that professed to be Chris 
tian and to come by hearing to have an intellectual basis, that 
i s _began to slip away almost as soon as he left his mother's 
knee. H is possible that very little stress was ever laid upon 
. distinctively Christian doctrines in her teaching. To adore God 
the Creator, to listen to His voice in conscience, to live hon- 
estly and purely as in His sight the heritage she transmitted 
to him probably contained little more than this. Like most 
others reared in heresy who afterwards attain to the true knowl- 
edge of the Incarnation, he had to seek for it with almost as 
great travail of mind as if he had been born a pagan. It can- 
not be too strongly insisted on, however, that his struggles were 
merely intellectual, and, when they began to take a definite turn, 
shaped themselves into the natural result of a metaphysic as re- 
pugnant to common sense as it is to Christian philosophy. To 
this fact, so important in certain of its bearings, we have ample 
testimony in the private diaries kept before his conversion, from 
which we shall make extracts later on. They find a later con- 
firmation in some most interesting memoranda, jotted down, after 
conversation with him at intervals during the last years of his 
life, by one whom he admitted to an unusually close intimacy. 
He was always singularly reserved concerning matters purely 
personal ; his confidences, when they touched his own soul, sel- 
dom seemed entirely voluntary, and were quickly checked. 
Occasionally they were taken by surprise, as when the course of 



1 890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 13 

talk insensibly turned toward internal ways ; and again they were 
deliberately angled for with a hook so well concealed that it 
secured a prize before he was aware. From these notes we 
.shall here make a few quotations bearing on the point made 
above i.e., that his difficulties prior to his entrance into the 
church were neither moral nor spiritual, but intellectual. Of 
him, if of any man, it was always true that his heart was natu- 
rally Christian. The first of these extracts, bearing as it does 
on a topic constantly in his thoughts, affords a good enough 
example of what was meant in saying that his confidences were 
sometimes taken by surprise : 

" There are some for whom the predominant influence is the external one, 
authority, example, precept, and the like. Others in whose lives the interior 
action of the Holy Spirit predominates. In my case, from my childhood God 
influenced me by an interior light and by the interior touch of His Holy 
Spirit." 

At another time he said : 

" While I was a youth, and in early manhood, I was preserved from certain 
sins and certain occasions of sin, in a way that was peculiar and remarkable. I 
was also at the same time, and, indeed, all the time, conscious that God was 
preserving me innocent with a view to some future providence. Mind, all this 
was long before I came into the church." 

And again : 

" Many a time before my conversion God gave me grace to weep over 
those words : ' And all those who love His coming.' I did not believe in His 
coming, but I loved it honestly and longed to believe it. I had learned much 
of the Bible from my mother and had read it often and much myself." 

This consciously supernatural character of his inner life from 
the first, should be kept closely united in the reader's mind 
with that other idea of his adhesion to " guileless nature " which 
was such a favorite theme with Father Hecker. No one could be 
more emphatic than he in asserting the necessity of the super- 
natural for the attainment of man's destiny. How could it be 
otherwise, when he considered that destiny to be the elevation 
of man above all good merely human, and by means far beyond 
the compass of his natural powers ? Still, this was undoubtedly 
a conclusion of his riper years, a result arrived at after a certain 
intense if not very prolonged experience in contemporary Uto- 
pias, in futile endeavors to raise man above his own level while 
remaining on it, whether by socialistic schemes or social politics. 

In an article called "Dr. Brownson and the Workingman's 
Party Fifty Years Ago," published in THE CATHOLIC WORLD 
of May, 1887, Father Hecker has himself made some interesting 



1 4 ////-. Li IE of I- ATII EH HECKEK. [April, 

references to his experiences in the latter field, and upon these 
hall draw heavily for our own account of this period of his 
life, supplementing them with whatever bears upon the subject 
in the memoranda already referred to. 

Concerning the inception of this party, to which all three of 
the young Heckers belonged in 1834, we have a better state- 
ment in Dr. Hrownson's Convert than we know of elsewhere. 
Hrownson was for a time actively interested in it, and in 1829 
established a journal in support of its principles somewhere in 
Western New York. From him we learn that it was started in 
1828 by Robert Dale Owen, Robert L. Jennings, George H. 
Evans, Fanny Wright, and a few other doctrinaires, foreign-born 
without exception, in the hope of getting control of political 
power so as to use it for establishing purely secular schools. 
Their advocacy of anti-Christian and free-love doctrines had so 
signally failed among adult Americans that the slower but surer 
method of educating the children of the country without religion 
had dawned upon them as more certain to succeed. 

" We hoped," writes Dr. Brownson, "by linking our cause with the ultra- 
democratic sentiment of the country, which had had from the time of Jefferson 
and Tom Paine something of an anti-Christian character ; by professing our- 
selves the bold and uncompromising champions of equality ; by expressing a 
great love for the people and a deep sympathy with the laborer, whom we repre- 
sented as defrauded and oppressed by his employer ; by denouncing all pro- 
prietors as aristocrats, and by keeping the more unpopular features of our plan 
as far in the background as possible, to enlist the majority of the American 
people under the banner of the Workingman's party ; nothing doubting that, 
if we could once raise that party to power, we could use it to secure the adoption 
of our educational system." 

This party, however, both as an engine in politics and as a 
fitting embodiment of his private views, Dr. Brownson soon aban- 
doned. He was not truly radical, in the evil sense of that word, 
at any period of his career, and the theories of the leaders soon 
became insupportable to his moral sense. But he remained true 
to the cause of the workingmen while abandoning the organiza- 
tion which assumed to voice their needs and their wishes. Probably 
these more ulterior aims of their leaders were never fully appre- 
ciated by the rank and file of those who followed them. Yet 
the genesis of the present purely secular school system, against 
whose workings and results nearly all Christian denominations 
are too .late beginning to protest, is clearly traceable to the pro- 
paganda carried on half a century ago by men and women 
whose only half-veiled warfare against Christianity, property, and 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKEK. 15 

marriage was then an offence in the nostrils of our people 
at large. It is fair to predict that this generation, or another 
which shall succeed it, will yet have the good sense to regret, and 
the courage to atone for, the fact that hatred to the Catholic Church, 
and a desire to cripple her hands where her own children were 
concerned, should have been a more powerful agent in dragging 
them and theirs into the abyss of secularism than was their love 
of Christianity in deterring them from it. 

Father Hecker's account of his own youthful connection with 
the " Workingman's Democracy," although written with the 
direct intention of placing his estimate of Dr. Brownson on 
record, has too many strictly autobiographic touches in it to be 
here omitted. Such passages, bearing on long past personal 
history, are fewer than we could wish them among his papers, 
published or unpublished. The five articles on Dr. Brownson, 
beginning in THE CATHOLIC WORLD of April, 1887, and con- 
cluding in November of the same year, contain almost the only 
matters relative to his personal history which he ever put into 
print. Concerning the party, of wm'ch Dr. Brownson says that 
he had ceased to be a recognized leader at this time, al- 
though he still threw his influence as a speaker into all its 
projects for social reform, Father Hecker writes : 

"We called ourselves the genuine Democracy, and in New York City were for 
some years a separate political body, independent of the ' regular ' Democracy, 
and voting our own ticket. I have before me the files of our newspaper organ, 
the Democrat, the first number of which appeared March 9, 1836, published by 
Windt & Conrad, 1 1 Frankfort Street. In its prospectus the Democrat promises 
to contend for ' Equality of Rights, often trampled in the dust by Monopoly 
Democrats,' to battle ' with an aristocratic opposition powerful in talent and 
official entrenchment, and mighty in money and facilities for corruption." 
' In the course of this duty it will not fail fearlessly and fully to assert the in- 
alienable rights of the people against 'vested rights' and 'vested wrongs.' It 
claims to be the ' instructive companion ' of the mechanics' and workingmen's 
leisure, ' the promotion of whose interests will ever form a leading feature of 
the Democrat. ' And in the editorial salutatory it speaks thus : 

" ' We are in* favor of government by the people. Our objects are the 
restoration of equal rights and the prostration of those aristocratical usurpations 
existing in the state of monopolies and exclusive privileges of every kind, the 
products of corrupt and corrupting legislation. ... At this moment we are 
the only large nation on the face of the earth where the mass of the people 
govern in theory where they may govern in reality, if they will where the 
real taxes of government, although too heavy, are but trifling, and where a 
majority of the population depend on their own labor for support ; yet such is 
the condition of that large class that the fruits of their toil are inadequate to sus- 
tain themselves in comfort and rear their families as the young citizens of a re- 
public ought to be reared. 

" '. . . He is very shortsighted, however, who thinks that a majority of the 



16 THE LIFE OF FATIIEK UE<.KEK. |_ A P ril - 

people, where universal suffrage exists, will submit long to a state of toil and 
mcndiruy. The majority would soon learn to exercise its political rights, am! 
command its representatives to carry the laws abolishing primogeniture and en- 
tails one step further, and stop all devises of land and prohibit it from bein;; an 
article of sale. (In a foot-note of the editorial : ) We actually heard these and 
several such propositions discussed by a number of apparently very intelligent 
mechanics, after the adjournment of a meeting called to consider the subject of 
wages, rents, etc.' 

" At that time the main question was the condition of the public finances, 
and our agitation was directed chiefly against granting charters to private banks 
of circulation. We condemned these as monopolies, for we were hostile to all 
monopolies that is to say, to the use of public funds or the enjoyment of public 
exclusive privileges by any man or association or class of men for their private 
profit." 

We interrupt our direct quotation from this article in order 
to relate one of the humors of the period, so far as these bro- 
thers were concerned, in the words of the late Mr. George 
Hecker: 

" When we were bakers the money in common use was the 
old-fashioned paper issued by private banks under State charters. 
We were regularly against it. So we bought a hand printing- 
press and set it up in the garret of our establishment. All the 
bills we received from our customers, some thousands sometimes 
every week, we smoothed out and put in a pile, and then printed 
on their backs a saying we took from Daniel Webster (though I 
believe it was not quite authentic) : ' Of all the contrivances to 
impoverish the laboring classes of mankind, paper money is the 
most effective. It fertilizes the rich man's field with the poor 
man's sweat.' They tried to punish us for defacing money, 
but we beat them. We didn't deface it ; we only printed some- 
thing on the back of it. Isaac and I often worked all night put- 
ting up handbills for our meetings, for in those days there were 
no professional bill-posters." 

Father Hecker's acquaintance with Dr. Brownson, which had 
so powerful an effect upon his future career, began in 1834, 
when Brownson was invited to lecture in New York in favor of 
the principles and aims of this party. Isaac was then in his fif- 
teenth year. Among the conversations recorded in the memo- 
randa we find this reference to their earliest interview : 

" 1 first met Dr. Rrownson in New York, in our house. I was then read- 
ing the Washington Globe, Benton's speeches, Calhoun's, etc. The elder Blair 
was its editor ; its motto was, ' The world is governed too much 'a motto in 
whose spirit there could be no great movement except in the way of revolution. 
After the establishment of the American Government the principle expressed 
in that motto could only be abandoned or pushed into revolution and anarchy. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HELKEK. 17 

" I put this question to Brownson : ' How can I become certain of the 
objective reality of the operations of my soul? ' He answered : ' If you have 
not yet reached that period of mental life, you will do so before many years." 

" It is a great humiliation for me to admit that I was ever in a state in which 
I doubted the actual validity of the testimony of my own faculties, and the real- 
ity of the phenomena of my mental existence. I had begun my mental life in 
politics, and in a certain sense in religion ; but to my philosophical life I was 
yet unborn." 

In the article on the " Workingman's Party," already quoted 
from, Father Hecker, after mentioning that Dr. Brownson con- 
tinued to lecture before the New York members of the party 
for several years, goes on as follows : 

" If it be asked why a man like Dr. Brownson, a born philosopher, should 
have thus busied himself with the solution of the most practical of problems by 
undertaking to abolish inequality among men, the answer is plain. The true 
philosopher will not confine himself to abstract theories. But, furthermore, 
Brownson at this epoch of his life had lost his grip on the philosophy that leads 
men to trust in a supernatural happiness to be enjoyed in a future state ; and 
the man who does not look to the hope of a future state of beatitude for the 
chief solace of human misery must look to this life as its end. If a man does 
not seek beatitude in God he seeks it in himself and his fellow-men in the 
highest earthly development of our better nature if he becomes a socialist of 
one school, and in the lusts of the animal man if he becomes a socialist of the 
brutal school. The man who has any sympathy in his heart and is not guided 
by Catholic ethics, if he reasons at all on public affairs, will become a socialist 
of some school or other. Says Dr. Brownson in The Convert, p. loj : 

" ' The end of man, as disclosed by my creed of 1829, is obviously an earthly end, to be 
attained in this life. Man was not made for God, and destined to find his beatitude in the 
possession of God his Supreme Good, the Supreme Good itself. His end was happiness not 
happiness in God, but in the possession of the good things of this world. Our Lord had said, 
' Be not anxious as to what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be 
clothed ; for after all these things do the heathen seek.' I gave Him a flat denial, and said, Be 
anxious ; labor especially for these things, first for yourselves, then for others. Enlarging, 
however, my views a little, I said, Man's end for which he is to labor is the well-being and 
happiness of man in this world is to develop man's whole nature, and so to organize society 
and government as to secure all men a paradise on the earth. This view of the end to labor 
for I held steadily and without wavering from 1828 till 1842, when I began to find myself tending 
unconsciously towards the Catholic Church.' 

" The reader will have seen by the extracts given that we were a party full 
of enthusiasm. I was but fifteen when our party called Dr. Brownson to deliver 
the lectures above mentioned. But my brothers and I had long been playing 
men's parts in politics. I remember when eleven years of age, or a year Cjr two 
older, being tall for my years, proposing and carrying through a series of reso- 
lutions on the currency question at our ward meetings. As our name indicates 
' Workingman's Democracy ' we were a kind of Democrats. As to the Whig 
party, it received no great attention from us. At that time its chances of getting 
control of this State or of the United States were remote. Our biggest fight was 
against the 'usages of the party' as in vogue in the so-called regular Democracy 
embodied in the Tammany Hall party. This organization undertook to absorb 
us when we had grown too powerful to be ignored. They nominated a legislative 



1 8 Tax LJF& of FATBER HECXRX. [April, 

ticket made up half of their men and half of ours. This move was to a great ex- 
tent successful ; but many of us who were purists refused to compromise, and ran 
a stump ticket, or, as it was then called, a rump ticket. I was too young to vote, 
but I remember my brother George and 1 posting political handbills at three 
o'clock in the morning ; this hour was not so inconvenient for us, for we were 
bakers. We also worked hard on election day, keeping up and supplying the 
ticket booths, especially in our own ward, the old Seventh. I remember that 
. one of our leaders was a shoemaker named John Ryker, and that we used to 
meet in Science Hall, Broome Street. 

" If this was the high state of my enthusiasm, so was it that of us all. Our 
political faith was ardent and active. But if we had been tested on our religious 
faith we should not have come off creditably ; many of us had not any religion 
at all. I remember saying once to my brother John that the only difference 
between a believer and an infidel is a few ounces of brains. . . . We were 
a queer set of cranks when Dr. Brownson brought to us his powerful and elo- 
quent advocacy, his contribution of mingled truth and error. He delivered his 
first course of lectures in the old Stuyvesant Institute in Broadway, facing Bond 
Street -the same hall used a little afterwards by the Unitarian Society while 
they were building a church for Mr. Dewey in Broadway opposite Eighth Street, 
the very same society now established in Lexington Avenue, with Mr. Collyer as 
minister. The subsequent courses were delivered in Clinton Hall, corner of 
Nassau and Beekman, the site now occupied by one of our modern mammoth 
buildings. I forget how much we were charged admission, except that a ticket 
for the whole course cost three dollars. There was no great rush, but the lec- 
tures drew well and abundantly paid all expenses, including the lecturer's fee. 
The press did not take much notice of the lectures, for the Workingman's party 
had no newspapers expressly in its favor, except the one I have already quoted 
from. But he was one of the few men whose power is great enough to adver- 
tise itself. Wherever he was he was felt. His tread was heavy and he could 
make way for himself. 

" Dr. Brownson was then in the very prime of manhood. He was a hand- 
some man, tall, stately, and of grave manners. His face was clean-shaved. 
The first likeness of him that I remember appeared in the Democratic Review. 
It made him look like Proudhon, the French Socialist. This was all the more 
singular because at that time he was really the American Proudhon, though he 
never went so far as 'La propriete, c'est It vol.' As he appeared on the platform 
and received our greeting he was indeed a majestic man, displaying in his de- 
meanor the power of a mind altogether above the ordinary. But he was essen- 
tially a philosopher, and that means that he could never be what is called 
popular. He was an interesting speaker, but he never sought popularity. He 
never seemed to care much about the reception his words received, but he ex- 
hibited anxiety to get his thoughts rightly expressed and to leave no doubt 
abou^t what his convictions were. Yet among a limited class of minds he always 
awakened real enthusiasm among minds, that is, of a philosophical tendency. 
He never used manuscript or notes ; he was familiar with his topic, and his 
thoughts flowed out spontaneously in good, pure, strong, forcible English. He 
could control any reasonable mind, for he was a man of great thoughts and 
never without some grand truth to impart. But to stir the emotions was not in 
his power, though he sometimes attempted it ; he never succeeded in being 
really pathetic. 

"It must be remembered that although Dr. Brownson was technically 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKEK. 19 

classed among the reverends, he was not commonly so called. It may be said 
that he was still reckoned among the Unitarian ministry, owing mostly to his 
connection with Dr. Channing, of Boston, who took a great interest in the 
Workingman's party. But I do not think he was advertised by us as reverend 
or publicly spoken of as a clergyman. He may have been yet hanging on the 
skirts of the Unitarian movement. But his career had become political, and his 
errand to New York was political. He had given up preaching for some years, 
and embarked on the stormy waves of social politics, and had by his writings 
become an expositor of various theories of social reform, chiefly those of French 
origin. So that the dominant note of his lectures was not by any means re- 
ligious, but political. He was at that time considered as identified with the 
Workingman's party, and came to New York to speak as one of our leaders. 
The general trend of his lectures was the philosophy of history as it bears on 
questions of social reform. At bottom his theories were^Saint-Simonism, the 
object being the amelioration of the condition of the most numerous classes of 
society in the speediest manner. This was the essence of our kind of Democracy . 
And Dr. Brownson undertook in these lectures to bring to bear in favor of our 
purpose the life-lessons of the providential men of human history. Of course, 
the life and teachings of our Saviour Jesus Christ were brought into use, and 
the upshot of the lecturer's thesis was that Christ was the big Democrat and the 
Gospel was the true Democratic platform ! 

"We interpreted Christianity as altogether a social institution, its social 
side entirely overlapping and hiding the religious. Dr. Brownson set out to 
make, and did make, a powerful presentation of our Lord as the representative 
of the Democratic side of civilization. For His person and office he and all of 
us had a profound appreciation and sympathy, but it was not reverential or re- 
ligious ; the religious side of Christ's mission was ignored. Christ was a social 
Democrat, Dr. Brownson maintained, and he and many of us had no other re- 
ligion but the social theories we drew from Christ's life and teaching ; that was 
the meaning of Christianity to us, and of Protestantism especially." 

In penning the reminiscences just given Father Hecker prob- 
ably had in mind the whole period lying between his fourteenth 
year and his twenty-first. In the autumn of 1834, when he first 
made acquaintance with Orestes Brownson, Isaac Hecker was not 
yet fifteen, while the reform lecturer was in his early thirties. 
But the boy who began at once, as he has told us, to put philo- 
sophical questions, and to seek a test whereby to determine the 
validity of his mental processes, was already well known to the 
voters of his ward, not merely as an overgrown and very active 
lad, always on hand at the polling booths, and ready for any 
work which might be entrusted to a boy, but also as a clear 
and persuasive speaker on various topics of social and political 
reform. 

Politics of the kind into which the young Heckers threw 
themselves so ardently were not very different in their methods 
fifty years ago from what they are to-day. Reform politics are 
always the reverse of what are called machine politics. The 

VOL. LI. 2 



20 Till-. A//-'/ IIEK //ACAV-.A'. [April, 

meeting of which Father Heck-.-r sprakr. \\riv spontaneous gath- 
erings of determined and earnest men, young and old, lickl 
times in public hall , sometimes, when elections were close 
at hand, in the open street. ( >ften they were dominated by 
leaders better able to formulate theories than to bring about 
practical rune-dial measures. The inception of all great parties 
has something of this character. It generally happens that 
principles are dwelt upon with an exclusive devotion more or 
less prejudicial to immediate practical ends. This is why young 
men, and even striplings, provided they are energetic and per- 
suasive, will be listened to with attention at such eras. Men arc- 
seeking for enlightenment, and hence views are taken for what 
they seem to be worth rather than out of respect for the source 
they spring from. Imagine, then, this tall, fair, strong-faced boy 
of fourteen, mounted, perhaps, on one of his own flour -barrels, 
dogmatizing the principles of social democracy, posing as a 
spontaneous political reformer before a crowded street full of 
men twice and thrice hi; years, but bound together with him by 
the sympathies common to the wage-earning classes. It is true- 
that Isaac Hecker and his brothers, of whom the eldest had but 
recently attained to the dignity of a voter, although still poor 
and hard-working, had already, by virtue of sheer industry and 
pluck, passed over to the class of wage-payers. But they were 
not less ardent reformers after than before that transition. Isaac, 
at all events, was consistent and unchanged throughout his life 
in the political principles he adopted among the apprentices and 
journeymen of New York over half a century ago. There was 
little room for vulgar self-conceit in a nature so frank and sin- 
cere as his. What he had to learn, as well as what he had to 
teach, always dwarfed merely personal considerations to their 
narrowest dimensions in his mind. Hence his impulsive candor, 
the clearness of his views, and the straightforward simplicity of 
liis speech at once attracted notice, and although so young, he 
went speedily to the front in the local management of his party. 
In the article already quoted from, he tells us that after 1834 
the managers left all future engagements of lecturers to his 
brother John and himself. It was doubtless this fact which led 
I'.irectly to that lasting and fruitful intimacy with Dr. Brownson 
which then began. His was the strongest purely human influ- 
ence, if we except his mother's, which Isaac Ileckrr ever knew. 
And these two were on planes so different that it is hardly fair 
to compare them with each other. 

(TO I 




i890.] EASTER EVE. .^^m. * W A 

cr 
f- 

>*ntr(Q. 

EASTER EVE. 

How beautiful the feet of Him 
Who on the everlasting hills, 
Quick with the glory of new birth, 
The Resurrection brings to Earth! 

Arise, O sun of Easter morn ! 
Break glorious on the world beneath 
Old sins undone, old griefs outworn, 
LIFE victor over Life and Death! 

Arise, O sun of Easter morn ! 
Touch with thy light the eastern slopes 
Where, waiting till the final dawn, 
Lie buried loves and buried hopes. 

Arise, O sun of Easter morn ! 
They too shall rise that sleep beneath : 
All hearts, all hopes, that died forlorn 
Shall rise and live and know not Death. 

O happy Night, so soon to die 
In light, in strength, in victory ! 

Have in thy keeping, holy Night, 
All souls that watch, all souls that stray, 
All souls that sin, all souls that pray; 
Lay thou thy balm to every smart, 
Lay thy dear peace to every heart, 

Till glorious in the wakening skies 
The Easter sun arise ! 

M. J. M. 

Baltimore, Md. 



Tin ;:r.v /.v .Y/ .T //.;.w.sy//A7-:. [April, 



THI. ANTI-CATHOLIC LAWS IN NK\Y HAM ISI 1! KH. 

KICTI.Y speaking, the history of the Catholic Church in 
New Hampshire begins at a very recent period. For more than 
a hundred years after the first settlement on the Piscataqua 
(1623) there could not have been a single Catholic resident 
within its boundaries, unless, perchance, some wild Indian of the 
forest, happily converted by the missionaries of .Maine or Can- 
ada. And there were very few for two hundred years. Catholics 
were shut out, not only by the exclusive spirit of the first set: 
but by the early charters and the tenor of the laws remnant of 
the 'old penal laws of England. In the charter of the council of 
Plymouth, England, November 3, 1620, it is expressly dec 
that " none (are) to go to New England but such as have taken 
the oath of supremacy." The greater part of the seventeenth 
century New Hampshire was under the government of Massa- 
chusetts Bay, which was virtually in the hands of a spiritual 
oligarchy, no one being admitted to full citizenship and the 
right of franchise except members of the Puritan Church, admis- 
sion into which required the consent of the ministers and elders. 
The holy emblem of our Redemption was torn from the flag, 
and Quakers, as is well known, were sentenced to the severest 
penalties under the law against Jesuits. It is true that when 
the union between the Piscataqua settlements and Massachusetts 
Bay was effected, in 1643, the latter was forced to consent that 
the New Hampshire colonists need not be church members in 
order to have the privilege of voting in civil affairs; but public 
opinion was so much in favor of it, and the moral pressure so 
great, that for many years most of the leading settlers, particu- 
larly of Dover,* went to Boston to be admitted freemen. 

As the magistrates were then appointed by the Massachu- 
setts authorities, it may be supposed that New Hampshire was 
not far behind its sister colony in severity towards those who did 
not conform to the religious requirements. Parish churches (Puri- 
tan or Congregational, of course) were here established by law, 
and, till the early part of the present century, supported by uu- 

At that period there were only lour townships in New Hampshire, viz. : Portsmouth. 
Dover, Exeter, and Hamptr.n. Of these, Dover comprised the largest territory, including the 
present towns of Somerswirth. Rollinsford, Madbury, Lee, Durham, and a mgion 

and Newmarket, if not of Greenland. 



1 890.] THE A NTI-CA TtfOLic LA it's /,v NEW HAMPSHIRE. 23 

thorized taxes on the people, giving them very much the posi- 
tion of the established church in England. And not only were 
the inhabitants required to pay their quota for the support of 
the minister, but attendance at meeting on the Lord's day was 
then compulsory.* The public records of Dover in the seventeenth 
century prove this. The fine for non-attendance at public 
worship on Sunday was five shillings for each offence, as in 
Massachusetts a sum which Mr. Brooks Adams estimates as 
equal to five dollars in our day f no trifling amount for poor, 
struggling emigrants with but little ready money in their purses. 
Thomas Roberts, of Dover, for instance, having absented himseli 
thirteen times, and having no money to pay the fine, his cow 
was taken in lieu thereof. One woman, whose name is on 
record, was for a like number of offences fined .3 5s., and her 
husband refusing or unable to pay that amount, she was put in 
the stocks, which stood in a convenient place near the meeting- 
house. And numerous other instances might be given. 

To attend any other religious service was a still greater enor- 
mity. The fine for attending a Quaker meeting, for instance, 
was ten shillings ; and for merely harboring a Quaker it was 
forty shillings an hour, rendering the Scriptural injunction of hos- 
pitality altogether too expensive for frequent practice. James 
Nevvte, of Dover, for instance, was fined eight pounds for enter- 
taining some Quakers one day for the space of four hours. As 
to the obnoxious sectaries themselves so happy, had they but 
realized it, as to be ranked with the Jesuits they incurred a far 
greater penalty. Whittier, in his poem of " How the Women 
went from Dover," tells a sad story of that 

" Evil time, 
When souls were fettered and thought was crime." 

"The laws for keeping the Lord's day were very rigid in New Hampshire, even after its 
separation from Massachusetts. An act of the General Assembly, passed July 19, 1700, for- 
bade, among other things, " the tradesman, artificer, or any other person whatsoever, upon 
the land or water, to do or exercise any labour, sport, play, or recreation, on the Lord's day, or 
any part thereof (works of necessity and mercy only exceptedl, upon pain that every person 
so offending should forfeit five shillings." Under the same penalty, all travel was forbidden, 
unless through some adversity a person got belated and would have been forced to remain in the 
wilderness. Then he could proceed to the next inn. All public houses were forbidden to en- 
tertain any but strangers and lodgers on that day. The constable was ordered to " restrain all 
persons from swimming in the water unnecessarily, and from unseasonable walking in the 
streets or fields, or any part of the province." All heads of families were to see that these 
laws were observed by their children and servants. And this from the going down of the sun 
on Saturday evening till the evening of the Lord's day, inclusive. And all persons were, when 
required, obliged to come to the aid of the authorities in enforcing these laws. Any offender 
who refused or was unable to pay the fine was to be put in the cage or stocks (N. H. Prov. 
Papers, vol. iii. 222, 223). 

t Emancipation of Massachusetts, page 37. 



- 4 Till-. A \ ri-CA /-//(we LA ;r\ /\ .\7: ;/' HA.MPSHIKI-.. [April, 

It is a true account of three poor Quaker women, who, in 
: iiber. \<>C)2, were, for the 'crime of religious exhortation in 
. tied I'.i-t to the cart's tail in the >y onl T of the in. 

. Major Richard \Valdnm, and there, on a cold winter day, re- 
cc j- v acli on their bare backs, and were then sent out 

into the wilderness on horseback to undergo a similar infliction in 
other towns on their way to Ma^ai-husetts, after the fashion 
Simpcox and his wife who were sentenced by Shakspere's Du 
of Gloster to be " whipped through every market-town till th 
came to Berwick." 

Thomas Roberts and his brother* sons of the Roberts wh 
cow was confiscated were the constables to scourge these women 
in Dover; Parson Reyner meanwhile looking on and laughir 

two men afterwards asserted, and were put in the stocks 
so doing. The presiding magistrate at Dover the following year 
(1663) was William Hawthorne, of Salem (or Hathorne, as the 
name was then written), who was as remarkable for his severity 
to the Quakers as to those accused of witchcraft. His defen- 
dant, Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his introduction to the Scarlet Let; 
draws an accurate portrait of this judge, and expresses wonder 
whether such rigid magistrates as he and his son ever repented ot 
their cruelties and asked pardon of God, or whether they are still 
groaning under the heavy consequences of them in another state of 
being. And, as their representative, the novelist takes the shame of 
their deeds upon himself, and prays that any curse incurred by them 
might now and henceforth be removed. All this shows clearly the 
exclusive religious spirit of the colonists. It will at once be s< 
that New Hampshire was at that time no place for Catholics, ot 
whom a tenfold horror existed among the people. Though there 
was far less intolerance after the separation from Massachusetts, it is 
evident from the public records that it was intended the colony should 
remain exclusively Protestant. 

It has often been asserted that the early settlers of New 
Hampshire did not come to this country from religious motives, 
and therefore should not be classed with the Puritans of K 
chusetts Bay. Elliot, in his History of Ncis Lnglaiui, says when 
one of the New Hampshire ministers reproached his people for 
losing sight of the religious principles which induced their fall; 
to come here, one of his congregation interrupted him, saying : 
" Sir, you entirely mistake the matter. Our fathers did not come 
here on account of religion, but to fish and tr.i This may he 

Their children, by a kind of moral reaction, became Quakers, and their posterity ! 
most part have remained so to this day. 



1890.] THE Aivn-C.-i THOLIC LA ws IN NEW HAMPSIIIRI.. 25 

true to a certain extent, especially at Portsmouth ; but all of the 
first settlers, with few exceptions, were dissenters, and so thor- 
oughly imbued with the Puritan spirit as to abhor even the Church 
of England. Lieutenant-Governor Cranfield thus wrote to the 
commissioners in England in 1682 : "Touching ecclesiastical 
matters, the attempting to settle ye way of ye Church of England 
I perceive will be very grievous to the people. I have observed 
them to be very diligent and devout in attending on that mode 
of worship which they have been brought up in, and seem very 
tenacious of it." And he declares still more emphatically, in a 
letter to the secretary of- state, December i, 1682, that " introduc- 
ing ye way of ye Church of England will not be practicable here."* 

But whatever might be the degree of piety among the colo- 
nists, it may safely be asserted that the most irreligious among 
them all clung to one fundamental principle that of Scott's Nanty 
Evvart, whose "hatred of Popery was the only remnant left" of 
his Presbyterian education. On this point the colonists were 
undoubtedly all agreed. But this was only to be expected from 
their antecedents. Sir Ferdinando Gorges himself, one of the 
original grantees of New Hampshire, was noted for his sympathy 
with the Huguenots. And a nephew of his wife, Captain 
Francis Champernowne, one of the early settlers, and certainly 
the most distinguished being a descendant, through the How- 
ards and Mowbrays, of Edward III. of England was the great- 
grandson of the ferocious Huguenot general, Count Montgomery,! 
who, having mortally wounded Henry II. of France in a tour- 
nament, fled to England to escape the wrath of Catherine de' 
Medici, renounced the Catholic religion, became a protege of 
Queen- Elizabeth,, and for ten years was one of the chief Huguenot 
leaders in France, making himself everywhere a terror to Cath- 
olics, especially in the southwestern part, which he ravaged with 
fire and sword, everywhere destroying churches and convents, and 
massacring priests and monks with such unparalleled brutality 
that one cannot regret his finally falling into the hands of Cath- 
erine de' Medici, who hurried him to the block. 

It may be supposed that Captain Francis Champernowne, the 
grandson of Gabrielle Montgomery, and a near relative of Sir 
Humphrey Gilbert, Sir Walter Raleigh, f and Sir Peter Carew, 

".iV. //. Prov. Papers, xvii. 573, 575. 

t Sir Gawain Champernowne, of Devonshire, the grandfather of Captain Francis Cham- 
pernowne, served among the Huguenots ot France, and married Gabrielle Montgomery, 
daughter of the Huguenot leader under whom he had (ought. 

jSir Gawain Champernowne's aunt was, by different marriages, the mother of Sir Hum- 
phrey Gilbert and Sir Walter Raleigh. 



26 THE A\T/-CAJ. * i.\ XEW HAMI'XHIKI-:. [April, 



not be \ery favorable to the- Catholic Church. Hut this 
is only an \\\ 

; plain Champernowne married the widow of Robert Cult--, 
brother of John Cults the fir>t president of Now Hampshire. 
In the royal warrant of September IS, \C>7<j, appointing J'.hn 
C'utts president. is the following clause, showing that New Hamp- 
shire was to remain exclusively a 1'rotcstant colony: 

And for the greater ease and satisfaction of our said loving subjects in 

s of religion, we do hereby will, require, and command, that liberty of 

conscience shall be allowed ;////<> all /'/<</, -A/,;//A / and such especially as shall be 

conformable to the rights of the Church of England shall be particularly coun- 

tenanced and encouraged."! 

This commission, moreover, required that President Cutts and 
the members of his Council should take the oaths of allegiance 
and supremacy, and they were ordered to administer the same 
oaths to all persons admitted to office, or as freemen in the col- 
ony. And they were also to subscribe to " the act for prevent- 
ing dangers which may happen from Popish recusants."} 

And by an act of 1672 all office-holders had to subscribe- 
to the following declaration, which was called " the Test " : 

I. A. B., do declare that I do believe that there is not any Transubstan- 
tiation in the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, or in the elements of bread and 
wine, at or after the consecration thereof by any person whatsoever." 

Although New Hampshire was now separated from Massa- 
chusetts, none but English Protestants could be admitted free- 
men and to the right of suffrage, much less to hold office. It 
was decreed by the General Assembly in Portsmouth, March 
1 6, 1680, "that all Englishmen, being Protestants, that are settled 
inhabitants, and freeholders in any town of this province, of the 
age of 24 years, not vicious in life, but of honest and good 
conversation, and such as have 20 rateable estate without 
heads of persons, having also taken the oath of allegiance to his 
Majesty, and no others, shall be admitted to the liberty of free- 
men of this Province, and to give their votes," etc. (N. H. 

Captain Champernowne died on 'Champernowne Island (now called Gerrish's). a few- 
miles from Portsmouth, but in the township of Kittvry, Maine, whither he removed after the divi- 
sion between Gorges and Mason. His grave is there still to be seen, marked only by a cairn- 
like pile of stones a rocky grave upon a rocky isle." 

t Charles II. also required liberty for the Church of Knsrlaml in Massachusetts 
STiall number of its members in New Hampshire in early times seem MI confined 

to Portsmouth. We have seen above what Governor Cranfield thought of the expi-ili 
this attempt to introduce the Church of England into the colony. 

Acts and Laws of Ha w/iA/rc. Portsmouth, 1771. Also 

;V. // 



1 890.] THE ANTI-CA THOLIC LA ti's /x XE ir HAMI-SIURE. 27 

Pro'' Papers, \. 396). The spirit of that time is also shown by 
the following act. Shortly before the death of President Cutts 
a public fast was ordered by the Council and General Assembly 
of New Hampshire, March 17, 1681, to deprecate the Divine 
displeasure in view of his illness and the appearance of an 
" awful portentous blazing star, unusually foreboding sore calam- 
ity to the beholder thereof," and also " to implore the Divine 
protection against the Popish party throughout the world." * 

When Edward Cranfield entered upon his office as lieuten- 
ant-governor of New Hampshire, October 4, 1682, he and his 
council took all the above-mentioned oaths, and on the loth 
subscribed " y e Test, or abjuracion of Transubstantiacion in y e 
Holy Sacrament of y e Lord's Supper, "f 

The " Act for the better discovering and repressing of Popish 
recusants" still remained in force in the reign of James II., and 
ran as follows : 

" I, A. B., do truly and sincerely acknowledge, profess, testify, and declare 
in my conscience before God and the world that oursovereign Lord, King James, 
is laivful and rightful king of this realm and of all other his Majesty's dominions 
and countries, and that the Pope, neither of himself, nor by any other author- 
ity of the church or see of Rome, or by any other means, hath any power or 
authority to depose the king or to dispose of any of his Majesty's kingdoms or 
dominions, or to. authorize any other foreign prince to invade or annoy him or 
his countries, or to discharge any of his subjects of their allegiance and obedi- 
ence to his Majesty, or to give license or leave to any of them to bear arms, 
raise tumults, or to offer any violence or hurt to his Majesty's royal person, 
state, or government, or to any of his Majesty's subjects within his Majesty's 
dominions. 

" And I do swear from my heart that notwithstanding any declaration or 
sentence of excommunication or deprivation made or granted, to be made or 
granted, by the Pope or his successors, or by any authority derived or pre- 
tended to be derived from him or his see against the said king, his heirs or suc- 
cessors, or any absolution of the said subjects from their obedience, I will bear 
faith and true allegiance to his Majesty, his heirs and successors, and him and 
them will defend to the uttermost of my power against all conspiracies and 
attempts whatsoever which shall be made against his or their persons, their 
crown and dignity, by reason or color of any such sentence or declaration or 
otherwise, and will do my best endeavour to disclose and make known unto his 
Majesty, his heirs and successors, all treasons and traitorous conspiracies which 
I shall know, or hear of, to be against him or any of them. 

" And I do further swear that I do from my heart abhor, detest, and ab- 
jure, as impious and heretical, this damnable doctrine and position that princes 
which be excommunicated or deprived by the Pope may be deposed or mur- 
dered by their subjects or any other whatsoever. 

"And I do believe, and in my conscience am resolved, that neither the 
Pope, nor any other person whatsoever, hath power to absolve me of this oath or 

*.V. //. Provincial Papers, i. 429. t Ibid., xvii. 563-4-8. 



.nr.s-/.v 'A.Ml'SlllKK. [April, 

t. which I acknnwli-. ml and full authority to ! 

ministered unto mo, anil do renounce all pardons and dispensations to th 

\ ! y; ih i d i pl.iinly andsin indswea:. 

cording to the expr<.- :iu- spoken. and according to th, 

understanding of thi . without any equivocation <>i HUT- 

.tion whai ml I do make tliis recognition and ark 

1 ly, willingly, and truly, upon the true faith of a Chri 
help me God. 

I'nto which oath, so taken, the said person shall his nani 

mn: 

In face of such oaths, the very words and construction 
which seem intended to be as insulting as possible to Cath 
it is pleasant to find that they were not wholly regarded with 
approval by the Puritan ministers. Governor Cranfield, in a 1 
to the " Lords of Trade," January 16, 1683, says : 

The ministers giving it as doctrine that the oath of supremacy, and all 
other oaths that are not approved of by the ministers and elders of their 
churches, are unlawful in themselves, therefore 'tis my humble opinion ti 
will be absolutely necessary to admit no person into any place of trust but such 
as take the sacrament and are conformable to the Church of En-lai; 

Some of the oaths promulgated in New Hampshire in 1695 
\\ere still more offensive to Catholics, especially the "Test." 
After the oath of allegiance to King William and Queen Mary 
came the following : 

I. A. B., do swear that I do from my heart abhor, detest, and abjure, as 
impious and heretical, that damnable doctrine and position that princes excom- 
municated or deprived by the Pope, or any authority of the see of Rome, may 
be deposed or murdered by their subjects or any other whatsoever. 

" And I do declare that no foreign prince, person, prelate, state, or poten- 
tate hath, or ought to have, any jurisdiction, power, superiority, pre-eminence, 
or authority ecclesiastical or spiritual within this realm. So help me God." 

The " Test," promulgated at the same time, was as follou < : 

"I, A. B., do solemnly and sincerely, in the presence of God, proi 
testify, and declare that I do believe that in the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper 
there is not any transubstantiation of the elements of bread and wine ii;- 
Body and Blood of Christ, at or after the consecration thereof by any person 
whatsoever, and that the invocation or adoration of the Virgin Mar;, or any 
other saint, and ye Sacrifice of the hey are no i the Church of 

Rome, are superstitious and idolatrous. And 1 do solemnly in tin- pus. nee of 
God profess, testify, and declare that I do make this declaration, and every part 
thereof, in the plain and ordinary sense of ye words read unto me, as th, 
commonly understood by English Protestants, with. .asion, equivocation, 

or mmtal reservation whatsoever, and without any dispensation already granted 

.'/. /'(-;. t'.tfert, xvii. 593. 



1890.] THE A.vn-CA THOLIC LA ivs IN NEW HAMPSIHKI . 29 

me for this purpose, by the Pope, or any authority or person whatsoever, or with- 
out any hope of any such dispensation from any person or authority whatsoever, 
or without thinking that I am or can be acquitted before God or man, or ab- 
solved of this declaration or any part thereof, although the Pope, or any other 
person or persons or power whatsoever, should dispense with or annul the same, 
or declare that it was null and void from the beginning." * 

In July, 1696, an act was passed by the New Hampshire 
Assembly requiring " all persons from sixteen years old and 
upward" to take the above oaths. Two justices of the peace 
were appointed in each town to administer them, and return a 
list of those sworn. Any one who refused was to be sent to the 
common jail for three months without bail, unless he paid forty 
shillings and gave proper security for good behavior and for 
making his appearance at the next court. 

Those who were scrupulous about swearing were allowed to 
substitute for' the word "swear" the words " sincerely promise 
and solemnly declare " evidently a concession to the Quakers. 

This act was passed after news had been received of the plot 
to assassinate King William ; and an Association was formed in 
New Hampshire, as in England, to stand by the Protestant suc- 
cession, and subscribe the act passed by Parliament " for the 
better security of his Majesty's royal person and government.'' 
This act_ declared that whereas there had been "a horrible and 
detestable conspiracy formed and carried on by the Papists and 
other wicked and traitorous persons, for assassinating his Ma- 
jesty's royal person, in order to encourage an invasion from 
France on England to subvert our religion, laws, and liberty," 
the subscribers therefore solemnly bound themselves to do their 
utmost in the support and defence of his Majesty's most sacred 
person and government against the late King James and all his 
adherents, and in case his Majesty come to any violent or un- 
timely death, to avenge the same upon his enemies and their 
adherents, f 

The Earl of Bellomont, at his inauguration as governor ot 
New Hampshire, July 31, 1699, took the foregoing oaths, and 
likewise subscribed the Declaration and Association and without 
any reluctance, it may be supposed, for he was the grandson of 
Sir Charles Coote, notorious for his ferocity in Ireland in the 
time of Charles I., and he himself was one of the first to espouse 
the cause of the Prince of Orange (N. H. Prov. Papers, ii. 314). 

Lieutenant-Governor Partridge took the same oaths on the 

* N. H. Prov. Papers, xvii. 653. 

{ Hill and Moore's Historical Collections of New Hampshire, \. 126-7. 



30 THE Axri-CA 7 not : " //.-?. WAV///,/ . [April, 

^anie <i.iy, and they were afterwards administered to the mei> 
of the Council, and to all offi:e-holdcrs in the pro\ r 

en Anne, in her commission to Governor Dudley, April 
6, i~O2, ordered him to take the sr.me oaths, anil also to sub- 
scribe ti. and the Association (.V. //. /V,>r. lepers, ii. 
;6Q). In the eighth year of her reign she ordered an 
additional oath to be taken, in case of her demise without ; 
t. maintain the succession of the crown in the Protestant line, in 
opposition to "the pretended Prince of Wales, an.! all other pre- 
tenders, and their open and secret abettors." 

All through Queen Anne's reign mention is repeatedly made 
in the New Hampshire records of subscribing the' Test and A 
ciation, as well as in succeeding reigns. John \Vent\vorth, for 
instance, when sworn in as one of the Council, February 14, 
1712, took the oaths appointed by law, and "subscribed the Test 
and Declaration." Among the oaths taken by Governor Burnet, 
at his accession in 1729, special mention is made of the act of 
Charles the Second's neign for preventing danger from Popish 
recusants (N. H. Frov. Papers, iv. 18). 

In the reign of George I. a change was made in the oath of 
allegiance, requiring the subject to renounce all allegiance to 
James III., and promise to support the succession of the crown 
against him ; which succession is declared to" be limited to " the 
Princess Sophia and the heirs of her body, being Protestants.' 

The oaths of allegiance and abjuration were again amended in 
the sixth year of George II. (1733), but no changes were made 
that bear particularly on our subject. There were no further 
changes in the oaths till the Revolution, as may be seen from 
the commission of Governor Benning \Yentworth from George II., 
in 1741, and another from George III., in 1760, and the com- 
mission of John Wentworth, the last royal governor of New 
Hampshire, from George III., in 1766. 

MARY P. Tn<>Mrs"\. 

Durham, N. H 

(CONCLUDED IN NKXT NUMBER.) 



1 890.] ENGLISH LANG UA GE IN CA THOLIC PUBLIC WORSHIP. 3 1 



THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IN CATHOLIC PUBLIC 

WORSHIP. 

TWENTY-TWO millions of Protestants in the British Empire 
and the United States every Sunday in the year, in the public 
worship of God, use what in substance are translations of prom- 
inent features of the Roman Breviary and the Roman Catholic 
Mass. In other words, they are used Sunday after Sunday in 
every Anglican or Protestant Episcopal church throughout the 
world, and in many daily. The resemblance to the Roman 
Catholic services is more marked in the English than in the 
American Book of Common Prayer, but is sufficiently evident 
in the latter. 

At " Morning Prayer," " The Declaration of Absolution or 
Remission of Sins " is given immediately after general confes- 
sion, as in the Mass, and the " Pater, Noster " is read ; while the 
"Gloria in Excelsis," the "Agnus Dei," and " Kyrie Elcison" 
(all to be omitted at discretion), one of the seven " Doinimts 
Vobiscnms'" with its response, " Et cum spiritu tuo" the " Gloria 
Patri" and other parts of the Mass are rendered, but not in 
the ancient order. But it is from the Psalter of the Breviary,* and 
principally from "Prime or the first Hour" for Sunday, that the 
ordinary "Morning Prayer" of the English Church, and in 
great measure of the Episcopal Church in the United States, is 
taken. It is not necessary here to make an exact comparison 
between the Catholic and Protestant services. The order is 
somewhat changed. Thus the verse found in the English ser- 
vice but omitted in the American, " O God make speed to 
save us," and the answer, " O Lord make haste to help us," are 
found in the Breviary immediately after the Apostles' Creed, 
and in the Catholic worship are introduced by the making of 
the sign of the cross. The answer is also immediately fol- 
lowed, as in the Prayer- Book, with the " Glory be to the 
Father," and its response. Then follows, in both the English and 
American prayer-books, as in the Breviary at Matins for Sun- 
days, the Venite Exultemns Domino, or Psalm, " O come, let us 
sing unto the Lord"; -and after another "Glory be to the 
Father" follows (as in Lauds for Sundays) the Canticle (Bene- 

* See The Roman Breviary, translated out of Latin into English by John, Marquess of 
Bute, K.T. William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London; 1870. 



Tin-. /:'.V(,Y /.s// I.A\(.;rAC,K /.\- [April, 

i he Three Holy Children. "O all ye works 
,,f t : ye the I.. .rd," etc., useil in the I'l 

t.int service, at this point, interchangeably \vitli the Catholic 
/; Dili in. The " I'-aller," or " Portion of Psalms as they are 

inlet!," used in the Protest. mt service, follow in the ord- 

;alm- appointed to be read in the several hours of the 
Hreviary. Of course, the Latin initial words retained in the 
Protestant prayer-books as headings to the psalms, as " HCHC- 
,/ictns," " Cantate Domino" " Boninn cst confitcri," "Dais iniscrca- 
///;-," " Hcncdif, ultima mca," etc., arc all found in their proper 
places in the Hrcviary. The scriptural and other verses and 
their answers, scattered throughout the English and American 
services " O Lord, show thy mercy upon us," " And grant us 
thy salvation"; "O God, make clean our hearts within us," 
"And take not thy Holy Spirit from us"; "O Lord, arise and 
help us and deliver us, for thy name's sake " ; " O Lord, let 
thy mercy be showed (or lighten) upon us," " As we do put our 
trust in Thee," etc., etc. are all copied from and used in the 
order of the Breviary. It is unnecessary to draw attention to 
the extent to which the Catholic Collects are appropriated in 
the Protestant prayer-books. It is enough to say here that the 
Collect, " O God, from whom all hdy desires, all good counsels, 
and all just works do proceed," etc., is used on Sunday at Lauds, 
and that " O Lord, our heavenly Father, Almighty and Ever- 
lasting God, who hast safely brought us to the beginning of 
this day," etc., on Sunday at Prime ; while very many others 
equally familiar to the Episcopalian occur in other parts of the 
Breviary. The Creed of St. Athanasius, appointed to be read in 
the English Church upon certain feasts, but now vigorously ob- 
jected to and never incorporated in the American Book of Com- 
mon Prayer, is found in the Breviary, and is only said on Sun- 
days when the Office is not of a feast, and on Trinity Sunday. 
The exceptions are Easter and Pentecost Sundays, when it is 
not said, because they are treated as festivals. The same anal- 

to the hours of the Breviary is found all through the " Order 
for Daily Evening Prayer." It is, of course, known that the 
" Magnificat " is used in the Catholic Vespers. 

The Litany read or sung " after Morning Service on Sun- 

\Vednesdays, and Fridays " is, in the main, but a blending 

.f the shorter petitions of the Catholic Litany of the Saints; 

while the Te Deuni said or sung as a part of each morning 

ce is an exact translation of that used at Matins every 
Sunday and foast day in the year, with several exceptions. The 









1890.] CATHOLIC PUBLIC WORSHIP. 33 

Creed, said or sung morning and evening, whether the Apostles' 
or the Nicene, is also a true translation of that used by Cath- 
olics. Many parts of the Mass are used bodily in the Protes- 
tant Communion Service, as the " Snrsutn Corda," etc., of the 
Preface, and the responses ; the various Prefaces and the " Satic- 
tits"; while the prayer "for the. Whole State of Christ's Church 
Militant," used after the minister has placed " upon the table 
so much Bread and Wine as he shall think sufficient," is an imi- 
tation of the Catholic prayer, " Suscipc Sancte Pater" at the 
Oblation of the Host, as the prayer, "We do not presume," 
etc., is of that " /;/ spiritu hnmilitatis." The Protestant " Prayer 
of Consecration," the " Oblation," and the " Invocation," while out 
of the order of the Mass, closely resemble the prayers, " Hanc 
igititr oblationeni" " Undc et memorcs Dojiiinc," and " Sitppliccs 
tc rogamus omnipotens Deus,'' all forming parts of the Canon. 
The words uttered by the priest in administering Holy Com- 
munion are also used by the minister " when he delivereth the 
Bread." There are other points of resemblance between the 
Catholic Mass and the Protestant Communion Service. 

These Protestant services have been rendered Sunday after 
Sunday in the English language in this country since 1784,* and 
in England for more than three hundred years. They are now 
the familiar formulae of worship of two millions of people in the 
United States.f The services are attended without offence, and 
admittedly with spiritual edification, by representatives of all the 
evangelical denominations ; while writers of every school of 
thought have justly extolled their beauty | 

Three out of five of the attendants upon services of the Epis- 
copal Church among us to-day were not born within it. This 
fact, taken with the further one that the same may be said of 
its bishops and clergy, is enough to draw the attention of the 

* The date of the consecration of Dr. Seabury, the first Protestant Episcopal bishop in 
the United States. 

t \Vlutakers Almanack (London) for 1889 gives statistics of the Church of England and 
Protestant Episcopal as follows : In England, 2 archbishops, 31 bishops, 23,000 clergy ; popu- 
lation, 13,500,000. In colonies, 65 bishops, 3,400 clergy. In the United States, 3,760 clergy 
and 2,000,000 members. By "members" are probably meant the baptized; for Spofford 's 
American Almanac for 1888 puts the members - i.e., communicants at 431,323. With us the 
distinction between mere adherents and members is unknown. Ail who are old enough to 
" adhere " of their own option or choice, and to make their first Communion, and do not for- 
mally reject the church, are members. Hoffman's Catholic Directory for 1890, from figures 
furnished by the diocesan chancellors, gives the Catholic population of the United States as 
8,301,367. By population is meant the baptized. The number of priests is given as 8,463. 

\ As an illustration GJ this it may be stated that, as given in Spofford 's American Almanac 
for 1888, the Methodist Episcopal Church in the United States has 1,990,377 members, while the 
M. E. Church South has 1,056,058. Now, in the Methodist " Discipline," in which are included 
the liturgies or various offices used in the Methodist Church, is found the Communion Service 
of the Anglican Church, almo-t entire, together with several other of its offices. 



34 TV/ '.sv/ A.-*.', /.v [April, 

-jrving f> that body, .n: 

that it p.iss.- i Tilinarily a^rr^ive, i . e, or 

inviting qualities. I :re not mysterious ones; the 

,r->\vth of Protestant Kpiscopalianisni in this 
try a growth proportion i;<-ly far in excess of the in< 
the general population, and dependent almost exclusively upon 
births and accessions from other Protestant bodies; a ^nnvth which 

:nplifics the secret of the accumulation of material wealth 
making anil saving, taking from others and holding what is taken 
the reasons, we say, fir this growth are not hard to discover.* 
They are found in the fact that the Anglican Church, t and her 
daughter in this country, has had the prodigious advantage of 
influencing the people by the public use of many of the choicest 
parts of Catholic liturgy, having them constantly and impressively 
read in the churches. It is a question well worth asking, whether 
the Catholic Church is not thus placed at a disadvantage by 
a sect employing her divine offices to better advantage (as a 
propaganda, we mean) than she does herself. 

It is most earnestly to be desired lhat the church should 
properly identify herself and form a closer contact and union with 
the intellectual forces of the nation. It will require extraordinary 
efforts to bring about a proper understanding between these 
forces, overwhelmingly Protestant, and the church. The execu- 
tive and legislative branches of the government, the judiciary, the 
universities and colleges, the public-school system, the press, and 
persons of distinction and influence in all walks and professions, are, 
in the main, actively or negatively arrayed against the church. 

\Ve maintain that in English-speaking countries, and brought 
face to face with intelligent English-speaking Protestants, the 
Catholic Church cannot successfully hold her own, still less draw, 

It is undeniable, and clearly proven by statistics, that the Protestant Episcopal Church is 
drawing from all the other Protestant denominations. What it gets it keeps, there being but 
few instances of defection from it to other Protestant bodies. 

t WkUakafs Almanack for 1889 gives the population of English-speaking comma- 
throughout the world as 98.500,000, of which 15,000 ooo are Catholics. In addition, ni. 
10,000,000 Hindus, Mohammedans, Buddhists, and others in the East also speak and read 
English. In Continental European and South American countries it is believed fully one- 
fourth of what may be termed the educated classes have some knowledge of English. In < 
many, nearly every university "has one or more professuis of English, and every gymnasium 
and Realukule gives instruction in it" ("The - Mglish in Germany," Lifpincolt's 

1679. \,.|. xxiv. p. 493). ' The steps by which English, from being the language 
thousand invaders along the casern ami southern seaboard of Ilritain, has been diffused by 
conquest and colonization over its present area, form a subject too large for the limits of this 
article. . . . As the study of English has ni. ince within the last t\. 

year*, it is only in works recently published that the student will find thi 
handled" (Eiuyc. Brit., 1878. vol. viii. p. 4011. 

In view of the above statistics and facts, we claim that at least 150.000,000 people through- 
out the world speak, understand, or read English with a greater or less degree of accu: 






1890.] CATHOLIC PUBLIC WORSHIP. 35 

as she should, from the Protestant bodies, confronted as she is 
with the disadvantages of having another body or bodies using 
in their public worship the Roman Ritual translated into English. 
Especially is this true when the body mainly instrumental in 
doing this arrogates to itself the name of Catholic, adopts the 
externals of Catholicity, and by the sophistries of grave and 
learned champions presents to the unlearned or the credulous de- 
ceptive arguments in favor of the truth of its claims. It would be 
irrelevant to the main purpose of this article to discuss the inherent 
weaknesses of that church, weaknesses springing from broad- 
churchmanship or <7#.r/-infidelity on the one hand, and ritualistic 
doctrine and practice on the other. It is- enough to know that 
no point of doctrinal difference with Catholics urged at the 
Reformation is now considered by the advanced English clergy, 
perhaps a majority of the whole, to present a bar to reunion, 
or, at least, an intercommunion, with Rome ; and this assists them 
in annually enrolling multitudes of honest souls who fancy they 
are becoming members of the Catholic Church. 

It is true that Catholics in the United States have cause to 
be profoundly thankful that they have at last in the Manual of 
Prayers for the Catholic Laity, prepared and published by order 
of the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore, a sterling English 
translation of many of the most beautiful prayers of the church. 
That council, in ordering the new prayer-book, evinced their 
appreciation of the highest phase of uniformity in the public wor- 
ship of God : a common and an intelligent knowledge on the part 
of the congregation of the literal meaning of the prayers used by 
the church. It was the hope of the council that the new prayer- 
book would find its way into the hands of all American Catholics, 
and lead to that uniformity in worship of the congregation with- 
out which the true idea and reality of common worship is lost. 
The fact has been officially recognized that congregational wor- 
ship should be directed to the exact sense of the act conducted 
by the celebrant at the altar ; and the issue of the new prayer- 
book (which is the substantial result of that recognition) marks 
an epoch in the history of American Catholicity the importance 
of which cannot be calculated. Not only has it tended to pro- 
mote that higher mental worship so essential to satisfy the spiri- 
tual wants of intelligent Catholics, but it has drawn, and will 
continue to invite, the attention of Catholics and Protestants 
alike to formulae of worship which appeal in the highest degree 
to the soul's intelligence, without an exercise of which there can 
be no worship at all. 

VOL, LI. 3 



3<5 7V/ \-c.l-AGt: l.\ [April, 

Knowing a- rt a,, from the act* of the Third Plenary Coun- 
cil of Baltimore, and their hearty approval by Rome, that au- 
thority cannot be against the introduction of whatever (within 
the law of the church) will lead to a perfect understanding by 
faithful of the ritual of the church, we venture to a*k 
whether the time has not come fr a step in advance of tin- 
line already so wisely erased; and to recommend what we 
maintain would be a remedy for existing evils and a tow 
.strength to the church in our midst a Bi-lingual Str\ 

To give the Catholic Church a proper standing in our a 
a standing of acceptance to nineteenth-century intellect whether 
Protestant or Catholic contemplative processes of individual 
,ip in the public services of the house of God must yield 
to prayers read in the vernacular in the full hearing of the 
congregation, to confessions of sin recited in common by the 
people, to ejaculations and songs of praise given and sun- in 
the full voice of the assemblage. 

We do not presume to hold out even the suggestion that 
the Latin, the universal and unchangeable language of Un- 
church, should be displaced by a living language. It would be- 
an uncalled-for labor at this stage to undertake to show the in- 
dispensability of a universal and immutable language for tin- 
preservation intact of the doctrine and liturgies of the . church, 
as a vehicle for the transmission to all parts of the earth of 
papal bulls and rescripts and the interchange of ecclesiastical 
letters; and as a means for obtaining uniformity in the educating 
of men for the priesthood, and permitting free discourse and corre- 
spondence between churchmen and schoolmen of every nationality. 
But a bi -lingual service would be one in which the Latin 
would be retained, and the English (or other vernacular) used 
with it. Thus, there would seem to be no reason why a lector 
or reader could not assist or accompany the priest at a lo\\ 
Mass by reading aloud in English the Confitcor, to be followed 
or accompanied by the entire congregation; and the Kyrit 
lUcison and Gloria in J:.irf/sis in the same manner. He could 
then, simultaneously with the priest at the altar, read aloud the 
lie. Gradual, Tract, and Gospel. The people could then re- 
spond with the k< Praise be to Thee, O Christ!" After which 
the reader could slowly and in a loud and distinct tone recite 
the Creed, it also to be joined in by the people. Then might 
be read by him certain prayers from the Offertory and Obla- 
tion. The people would join in giving the response* in the 
Preface. After the Klevation the /,v/cr mi^ht read the Lord's 
Prayer, to be reverently followed by the congregation. The 






1890.] CATHOLIC Pnu.ic WORSHIP. 37 

prayer " Deliver us, O Lord, we beseech Thee," might be pro- 
nounced by the lector ; after which lie and the people alter- 
nately would render the "Agnus Dei," the service to be con- 
cluded simultaneously with the priest's Mass, by the offering 
by the lector of certain prayers and collects from the Post- 
communion, and perhaps the reading of the last Gospel. The 
most fitting conclusion, however, would be that of the priest's 
blessing, given from the altar to lector and people alike. 

We would not suggest the reading of prayers during the 
more solemn moments of the Mass, but the singing by the con- 
gregation of some suitable Communion hymn ; and there would 
seem to be no impropriety (although it would be for the priest) 
if, previous to the Confession by the priest, the forty-second 
psalm, "Judge me, O God," should be chanted by the people. 
The same may be said of psalm xxv. : "I will wash my hands 
among the innocent," which might be sung- by the people at 
the " Lavabo." 

While we have had chiefly in view this .adjunct to the 
celebration of the holy Mass as applicable to English-speaking 
countries, we should rejoice to see it employed in all countries 
as an aid to intellectual appreciation of the beauties of the Mass, 
and wherever introduced, whether in Italy, France, England, 
America, Germany, China, or among the Indian tribes, there can 
be no doubt it would infinitely elevate the religious intelligence 
and heighten the devotion of the faithful. 

But two objections could be urged against the bi-lingual ser- 
vice here proposed. First, the use of other than the prescribed 
Latin tongue; and secondly, the possible distraction to the priest 
at the altar. The first is answered by the consideration that 
the whole of the solemn service would be performed in Latin, 
as usual, by the celebrating priest. No law of the church 
would be violated, but, on the contrary, the intention of .the 
church that the people shall understand, reverently follow, and 
participate in its prayers and thanksgivings, would be carried 
out in all its fulness. 

Instances of services conducted simultaneously in two lan- 
guages are, we believe, wanting in past ages. But services in 
which readings or prayers have first been rendered in a tongue 
unknown to the laity and afterwards translated and given in 
the vernacular have been and are still practised. .We have an 
example in the ancient Jewish worship, as is found from the 
following extract from a standard work: * 

* The Old Testament in the Jewish Church, W. Robertson Smith, M.A. New York: D 
Appleton & Co. iS8i. Lecture II. pp. 48-49 



TV/. /-.".\-(;/ ./.<// l..-!\t;r.4C,K i.\' [April, 

cfore the time ! C lir^t. people- who wen- not scholars h.ul ce.ised to 
:-. ! Hebrew r;' and in the lynagogue, when tin 

called that i*. .1 H, 1 or qu., 

had to rise and give tlie sense of the n the vulgar dialect. 

The Pentateuch ' ns from tlu> I'rophets, 

three o read together, and then the Meturgeman rose, and did not 

read, but gave orally in Amu-. use of the original. " 

While in our day, amon^ orthodox Jews, the Pentateuch is 
almost always read in the Hebrew, the 1'rophets are generally 
read in English or other vernacular. We know that already in 
the Mass the epistle and gospel are generally given in English, 
after they have been read or sung in Latin ; and also that, at 
marriages and funerals, certain prayers are frequently read in 
English, as well as in the language of the church. It is cer- 
tainly not the intention of the church that the laity should be 
ignorant of the exact language of the prayers of her liturgies ; 
and in truth, her original adoption of the Latin tongue arose from 
the fact that it was at the time, and continued for many ages to 
be, more generally understood than any other language. The 
history of the Latin language as a medium of expression is sin- 
gular, f Now, the Latin being known only to scholars, the church 

See the evidence of this from the Rabbinical literature in Zunz's Gotteidienstiicke I 'or- 
tragedtrjudtn, p. 7. Berlin, 1833. Our Lord upon the cross quoted Psalm xxii. in a Targum. 

t For a while the Latin tongue was confined almost wholly within the walls of Rome ; nor 
would the Romans allow the common use of it to their neighbors, or to the nations they sub- 
dued. Cicero observed that even in his time Greek was used almost among every people, but 
the Latin only confined to a very narrow compass. By degrees they were brought to grant the 
use of it as a favor ; and in time became sensible of the necessity there was of its being gener- 
ally understood for the conveniency of commerce ; and accordingly used their utmost endeavors 
that all the nations subject to their empire should be united by a common language ; so that at 
length they imposed that as a law which they had before granted as a favor. Rees Encyc.. 
Latin." 

Its adoption as the official and liturgical language of the Christian Church lent to it. in 
the days of its most marked decay, a new though a strangely transformed life. So appropri- 
ated, it became familiar to all who had even the elements of education throughout Western 
Europe ; it was universally retained in the services of the church if not in the discourses with 
which these services were sometimes, but by no means always, accompanied. Even in the 
sixteenth century sermons addressed to a mixed audience in Italy were frequently delivered in 
Latin. But during the seventeenth century, as a consequence of the steady development 
various national literatures, Latin came to be mure and more the language merely of the 
learned. In England the decay of Latin was never so complete as that of Greek ; in the eigh- 
teenth century we still find Latin used for works on science and philosophy which appealed to 
the learned in all countries. The use of Latin in diplomacy died out towards the end of the sev- 
enteenth century. The Spanish embassy sent to the court of James I. in 1605 used sometimes 
Latin and sometimes French ; the Latin state papers written by Milton during the Common- 
wealth are well known ; and in the negotiation at Munster. 1744. even the French representative. 
\vaux, prided himself on his skill in writing Latin. But at Nymegen (1677) the Danish 
Ambassador's claim that the Latin language should be used between the French rcprcs< 
and himself was rejected as an impertinence, and he was obliged to agree that, while he 
might employ Latin hin.jclf, the French should use their own language. At Ryswick. ; 
opened the proceedings in French; he was answered by the Bishop of Gurk in Latin ; but the 
French envoys pleaded th.u they had forgotten their Latin, and the subsequent proceedings 
were conducted in French (cf. Bernard's Lectures on Diplomacy, pp. 153-155). Li>' 
date the German Empire insisted that all negotiations with it should be conducted in Latin 
iiough Joseph II > make German the official language of Hungary in its 






I 
1890.] CATHOLIC PUBLIC WORSHIP. 39 

can only retain it for the sake of uniformity. The Hebrew is 
retained in the Jewish Church for the same reason, although 
every effort is made by the orthodox Jews to instruct their chil- 
dren in the Hebrew so far, at least, as to enable them to under- 
stand the chief prayers used in the worship of the synagogue. * 

Now, if it be the motive of the church in retaining a Latin 
service to preserve uniformity of worship and guard against 
error in doctrine, greater uniformity would be insured by con- 
centrating the attention of the congregation upon one set of 
prayers than by leaving it to select its own devotions; and cer- 
tainly no loss to doctrine could arise from the public use of a 
translation of a part of the very service used by the priest at 
the altar, f 

Secondly, as to the possible distraction of the priest during his 
Mass. Certainly no priest can -consistently urge this objection 
who can devoutly and with due recollection read the Offertory 

place, he was compelled to give way, and it was only in 1825 that Latin was for the first time 
displaced by Magyar in the debates of the Diet (cf. Encyc. Brit., vol. xii. p. 371). It is now the 
universal practice that written communications from any European power shall be made in the 
language of that power, but oral intercourse is carried on in French, with rare exceptions. 

' The commentary of the Rt. Rev. Dr. Challoner on i Cor. xv. 16 of the authorized 
English Catholic version of the Latin Vulgate: "Where also note that the Latin, used in 
our liturgy, is so far from being a strange or unknown tongue, that it is perhaps the best- 
known tongue in the world," while quite true at the date when written (1748), and when the 
English language was spoken by but ten or twelve millions of people, is wholly inapposite in 
our day. 

t Many religious uses of the vernacular in early ages in England are recorded. Gildas 
writes in the beginning of his history that when English martyrs first gave up their lives for 
Christianity during the Diocletian persecution, in the beginning of the fourth century, " all the 
copies of the Holy Scriptures which could be found were burned in the streets." These 
copies were undoubtedly in the vernacular. St. Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, who died A.D. 
651, is said by Bede to have employed those about him, laymen as well as clergy, in reading 
and learning the Scriptures, especially the Psalms. Caedmon, a lay monk of Whitby (died 
680), composed a metrical version ef several parts of the Old and New Testaments from Eng- 
lish translations furnished by monks from the Latin Vulgate. Eadfrith, Bishop of Lindis- 
farne (died 721), translated most of the books of the Bible (Archbishop Ussher, Works, xii. 282). 
An English Psalter is preserved in the National Library of Paris, the first fifty psalms of which 
are in prose and the rest in verse, translated by St. Aldheim, long Abbot of Malmesbury and, 
at his death (709), Bishop of Sherborne. An interlinear English translation of the Lindisfarne 
or St. Cuthbert's Evangclistarivm was added by Ealdred, probably the monk who afterwards 
(957-968) became Bishop of Chester-le-Street. An interlinear English version of what are 
known as the Rushworth Gospels, the original manuscript of which was written in Latin by 
MacRegol, an Irish scribe, about 820, was added eighty or one hundred years later by a scribe 
named Owen and a priest of Harewood named Faerman. The three later Gospels are so nearly 
identical with the Lindisfarne book as to show that the translation contained in the latter repre- 
sents a publicly circulated version. A translation of the first seven books of the Old Testament, 
made by Aelfric, latterly (994-1005) Archbishop of Canterbury, was in circulation in the tenth 
century. There were also in use as late as the twelfth century many copies of the "Anglo- 
Saxon " Psalter, and of the Gospels, some of which are preserved in the libraries of Oxford and 
Cambridge, and elsewhere. In some of these the English is written in between the lines of the 
Latin. (For much other information upon this subject vide Encyc. Brit., vol. viii. pp. 381-2). 

It may not be generally remembered that the authorized translation of the Holy Scriptures 
into the Vulgate by St. Jerome was, as the name implies, a translation into the vernacular of 
his day. This statement is emphasized by the fact that the translation was not made into clas- 
sical Latin, but into a form of it, or dialect, then perfectly well understood by the people. 



I 

40 ENGLISH LANGUAGE IN CATHOLIC PuBLt ///. [April, 

and ( >bl;ition at High Ma-s during the florid music of the avi 
rn choir. Surely, the priest might as well hear the rev 
- of the reader and the responding congi .is Mich 

, which cannot be otherwise than a hindrance to devotion, 
ilmost parallel actions t that proposed are found in 
cathedrals and churches where several M ire celebrated at 

different altars; and in the singing by the sub-deacon, at solemn 
Mass, of the Epistle, while the celebrant, assisted and 
answered by the deacon, reads the Kpistle, Gradual, Tract, or 
Sequence. All these services, however, are conducted in the 
one language ; and the only instance of a bilingual performance " 
of the same service which has come under our observation is 
the reading of the Passion of our Lord in English, for the 
edification of the faithful, while being read in Latin in the 
order. This is a proceeding exactly parallel to that here pro- 
posed ; and, if lawful, is a sufficient answer to the two objections 
we assume to exist. 

The spiritual advantages of a responsive service cannot be 
overestimated. There is something magnetic and soul-stirring in 
the mingling of voices in prayer, supplication, and thanksgiving. 
This is felt in the few Catholic services in which the people unite 
in address to God. Further than this, such a service would be a 
constant commentary on and exposition of the ritual and doc- 
trine of the Mass ; and also would encourage and bring about 
hearty congregational singing. If the people were accustomed to 
reciting the Confitcor, Gloria, Creed, and other parts of the Mas.-, 
together, they would soon learn to sing together. 

The service here advocated would not be feasible, or even 
desirable, at the earliest Masses, frequented principally by such 
as can spare, or who are given, but half an hour or so for 
hearing Mass. 

At later Masses, however, it would fully explain to Catholics 
fortunate enough to be able to attend it the transcendent beau- 
ties of a ritual not to be discerned in their fulness by a silent 
reading even of the Mass prayers themselves ; and instead of the de- 
votion of the individual being incited solely by individual effort, 
it would catch the contagion abounding throughout the entire 
body. Protestants would understand the service, and would soon, 
instead of reviling or disparaging the holy rite, be enrolled among 
its defenders. G. H. HOWARD. 

WaMnglom, D. C. 

* There arc various devotional exercises carried on during low Masses by con. 
fomfoitJ of children, in different parts of this country, confined chiefly to the singing of 
in the \ernacular. We know of one Sunday-school Mass which almost exactly meets the 
writer's suggestion of a bi-lingual service. EDITOR. 



1890.] PEAK NOT. 41 



FEAR NOT. 

Ail! doubting heart, where is thy faith? 

Art on the sea of Galilee, 
And does the Master sleep, 

And take no heed of thee ? 

And must thou place thy sullied hand 

Within the wounded, open side 
To suit thy narrow mind, 

To satisfy thy pride ? 

" Is there no balm in Galaad, 

Or is there no physician there " 
To heal thy malady, 

Fast leading to despair ? 

Arise ! arise ! shake off this sloth, 
The poppy-buds cast from thy path ; 

Taste not the lotus-bloom, 
Fear not the tempter's wrath ! 

Bethink thee of Gethsemani 

Dost hear Him say, " Tis not for thee 

I drain this bitter cup, , 

I kneel in agony " ? 

To-day, to-morrow, or the next, 

And life is done, and time for thee 
Shall be no more, and then 

Ah ! then Eternity : 

Where on the threshold thou shalt meei 
The King, unveiled before thine eye, 

Whose smiling lips shall say, 

" Thou art my friend ; draw nigh." 

And He shall lead thee through the gates 

Of prismy lights, with portals wide, 
And pearl and jasper courts, 

Where gem-like blossoms bide. 

MARIE Louis. 






THK TIN CAMEL. 

CHARLIE had positively cured his fat his fondnes- 

club-Hfe. Before Ned Armstrong was married, five years ago, 
he had been so fond of spending evenings at the club that his 
friends felt inclined to joke him when he became a Benedict. 

\rmstrong, you are going to make a big mistake," said a 
confirmed old bachelor to him, a man who spent seven eve: 
of the weHc at the club. "You'll get married, and won't want 
to come here any more, or your wife won't let you come, and 
then we lose you. Or, you'll come to the club, and then 
wife will lose you. So you see it's going to be a bad thing, 
anyhow ; and if you want a piece of real valuable advice that is 
.given for nothing, take mine and don't marry. / never mar- 
ried." 

But Armstrong had not the same view, partly because he 
was so much in love with a beautiful young lady that it didn't 
frighten him to think of spending his evenings in her company, 
and partly because he didn't want to leave his comfortable for- 
tune to his nearest relative, a cousin whom he didn't car 
button for. 

It must be confessed, too, that he was pleased by the 
thought of a home of his own, with a sense of stability and 
a home atmosphere -about it. His apartment was as hand- 
somely furnished as a bachelor could wish, and there was com- 
fort and luxury enough about it; but then it wasn't home. 

It would be pleasant to come from the office and find a 
chirpy little wife to greet him and seem glad that he was back. 
There was nobody to care whether he came in early or late at 
his apartment He had a night-key if it was late, and the lift- 
boy took him up stairs if it was early, but in either case it was 
an empty room that greeted him. 

It would be nice to find his slippers by the fire, and to leave 
the dinner-table, where Mrs. Armstrong would preside so grace- 
fully, to go and sit in a big, comfortable arm-chair before the 
open grate and talk over things with her. Or they . 
out somewhere together, and have that to talk over after they 
came home. Oh! it would be much pleasanter than old bachel- 
'-rlx of!, or ' vcn young bachelor' twenty- 

eight. 



1890.] THE TIN CAMEL. 43 

The fact was that he had such domestic tastes that he was 
almost ashamed to acknowledge them. This was before he got 
married. 

After that ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong set up an 
establishment, a very handsome and well-appointed house. It 
was very pleasant at first. But he had not been married very 
long before he found that Mrs. Armstrong was rather fond of 
going out. She liked society, and this was a taste she had not 
been able to fully gratify before her marriage. Now she meant 
to have what she liked. 

It was not long before Armstrong found out that, in point of 
fact, it bored Mrs. Armstrong to stay at home in the evening 
alone with him. If there was nothing in the way of some so- 
ciety event on the cards, she liked to go to the theatre or to a 
concert. Armstrong did not object at first, but finally got 
rather tired of going out every night to talk with people who 
hadn't anything very interesting to say, or to sit through a 

play- 
it was three months after they were married that they were 
seated at the dinner-table one Thursday evening. They had 
dined out Monday, had been to a dancing-party Tuesday, and 
to a reception Wednesday. 

" We will have a good, quiet evening at home to-night, Nell," 
he said cheerfully, as they rose to go into the drawing-room. 

Mrs. Armstrong did not look quite as delighted as he could 
have wished. She was silent a moment, and then said slowly : 
" Don't you find it rather dull, Ned, to sit down and read or 
talk with nobody here ?" 

" I don't feel as if nobody were here when you are here," he 
answered with a smile. " You are very good company by your- 
self." 

" That's awfully pretty to say, Ned," Mrs. Armstrong replied 
with a half-smile that was somewhat forced ; " but we don't 
want to settle down into a Darby and Joan yet, do we, and 
sit by the fire and look at each other for amusement ?" 

Armstrong was sensitive, proud, and quick. As he was sensi- 
tive, he felt hurt that his wife should virtually tell him that it 
bored her to stay at home in the evening alone with him ; and 
as he was proud, he did not care to let her see that he was 
hurt ; and as he was quick, he answered coldly : 

" I suppose it is pretty stupid to mope around at home. But 
I find it a greater bore to go out every night and smirk and 
talk to a lot of society people I don't care anything about. It 



44 



Till-. Tl\ LAM i-.l. [April, 



I don't object, but why don't you gel H.:ny to 
He likes tliat sort of tiling, .in. I I don't." 

" 1 .1111 sure 1 don't wish to force id Mrs. Ar.ii-trong. 

She si.it.-d ln.T-i.-lf and picked up the evening paper to read. 
Her hu-band tried to talk, but Mrs. Armstrm.; was a little ab- 
sent-minded in her answers, and once or twice yawned in an 
irritating way. He !y,an to think that i^oing to the theatre 
i letter than this. 

It was the beginning of what became quite a gap. Arm- 
strong inured himself to the thought that his wife's pleasure 
lay in attending the different entertainments society had to offer, 
where her beauty and her handsome gowns were admired. He 
gradually fell out of it, and got his Cousin Harry, who was a 
" society man," to take her, and he well, he got into going 
round to the club again. 

Then Charlie was born. Armstrong hoped that the little 
fellow would be a link to hold himself and his wife together 
more. But he wasn't. Mrs. Armstrong had a good nurse for 
him, and seemed fond enough of the child in a quiet way, but 
she was still just as fond of going out in society. 

Ned Armstrong took the greatest interest in his son. His 
baby ways were a revelation and amusement to him. Charlie 
brought the home atmosphere into the handsome house which 
Ned had wanted, and which he had made an effort to obtain, 
and hadn't obtained. 

It was a delight to the young father to sec his infant son 
and heir amuse himself on the floor, and when he got four 
small white teeth and would look up at his papa and smile, it 
became quite sociable. And he got so fond of watching the 
small chap that he very seldom went to the club. 

Charlie had very round black eyes, bright and snapping, and 
his* small mouth could take such a determined look that it 
was quite amusing. He was exceedingly fond of his papa, and 
as soon as the nurse would bring him into the room, wanted to 
go to him and play with his beard or investigate his watch- 
chain or scarf-pin. Armstrong would have spoiled the child 
without a doubt, if it hadn't been that Charlie was one of those 
wholesome children that are not spoiled easily. 

As the boy grew up and got to talk and to observe things, 
Armstrong used to find his wife's very moderate affection for 
the child annoying. How could' she take such a pleasure in going 
about, and seem so calm and unmoved by the baby visitor's 
'cute little ways ? The fact was that the young father felt such a 



1890.] Tin: T/.v CAMEL. 45 

pride and delight in everything his sturdy, bright-eyed son did 
that he grew more estranged from Mrs. Armstrong from the 
fact that she did not show herself a warmer-hearted mother. 

Charlie was mischievous. One day the maid was bringing a 
pailful of water into the kitchen. He had stationed himself by 
the door, and as she came by plunged his small arms in the 
water. Then he laughed so good-naturedly over his fun that she 
had not the heart to scold him very much. 

Another time the cook, a large, brisk woman, who was as 
neat as a pin, had made some pies. The crust was spread over 
them, and they stood on the table a moment before she put 
them into the oven. Charlie saw the smooth, soft coverings, and 
got the idea that he should enjoy poking his small fingers into 
them They were such proper -looking pies ! He sidled up to 
the table, spread out his tiny fingers, and stuck them into the 
middle cf a pie ! 

Then he stood, holding out his sticky hand, and laughed in 
his little chuckling way, his head cocked on one side, like 
a bird's. He was never afraid to be discovered. But Mrs. 
Armstrong thought this was naughty, and that he must be 
taught not to do such things. So, as he stood, his small nose 
wrinkled up, and his tiny white teeth showing in his smile 
of roguery, she took the little hand and slapped it once or 
twice. Right before the cook, too! 

It was not much of a punishment, but the little man felt it 
to the bottom of his soul. Children have intuitions, and know 
and feel much more than their elders suspect. His mother had 
slapped his hand hastily and with impatience in her face. Per- 
.haps Charlie felt that if it was justice, it was justice not justly 
administered. And without a doubt, his dignity was hurt by 
being corrected before Mrs. Mullen, the cook, who was most de- 
voted to him. 

The smile faded from his face ; a strange, serious expression of 
wounded pride stole over his small countenance, and without a word 
he turned and walked slowly away. There was something ex- 
tremely touching to Ned Armstrong as he looked at the small 
figure, in the dark woollen dress, walking so stiffly toward him, 
with its unsteady steps, and he had a strange feeling in his heart. 
He caught up the little chap, and crowed to him and put him on 
his shoulder to give him a ride. But Charlie pushed his head 
against his papa's breast, seeming to nestle there for comfort. 
He wouldn't play or smile. He simply clung to his papa 
closely. He didn't say a word, nor had he cried, but that look 



THE Ti\ < [April, 

:sg stayed on his face fur some time, and made 

1 very uncomfortable. 

I'-ually Ned and Charlie had a great old time together. N\d 
liked to see him sitting on the floor, his sturdy little legs stick- 
t'rom beneath his woollen gown, arranging the animals of 
9 ark in a fantastic procession. This collection of animals 
most demoralizing to correct ideas of zoology. The rhino- 
- was blue, the elephant \\as a distressingly vivid yellow, the 
> dazzlingly white that they seemed as wrong, chro- 
matically, as any of the beasts of alien hues. The Beau- 
tifully striped in buff and black, and a camel, whose tender pink 
d have petrified a son of the desert, were Charlie's especial 
ites. The hump on the camel was the source of fascination 
in this gracious heart, for Charlie would always rub his tiny fore- 
the elevation on the animal's back, and then wrinkle 
mall nose in a quizzical smile at his papa. Why the zebra 
-uch a joy, Mr. Armstrong could not fathom. But he was 
a very great favorite. 

When his papa took the capacious ark and tumbled the tin 
animal? out in a heap on the floor, his son and heir always 
looked out the camel, and when he found him, stood him up 
until he had arranged the procession, in which the quadruped with 
the undulating back was then given a prominent position. It 
was hard to tell which got most fun out of this tin menagerie, 
Armstrong pere or his bright-eyed four-year-old son. Nothing 
pleased the father so much as to see the constant delight the 
little man took in arranging them. The gravity with which he 
placed a glittering sheep by the side of the elephant, and "gave a 
rooster as companion to the blue rhinoceros, was very d; verting. . 
And Ned got to wait with pleasant anticipation for the camel. 
Charlie gravely picked him up, rubbed his finger along the hump, 
and then always looked up with the 'cute little smile to his father, 
as if he would say : " He's got that funny lump on his back 
still." 

It is the commonest mistake in the world for a fond parent 
to believe that his or her child is the most extraordinary phe- 
nomenon of its kind that exists. Xed Armstrong was certainly 
a proud and happy father, and he had nothing he would have 
1 different in his son. He was a grateful father, too Had 
not this small, bright-eyed boy of his made his home what he 
had so long wished ? Charlie was never tired of talking or play- 
. ith him The child ne\<-r wanted to leave him till his 
head, with the straight black hair that made him look like 



1890.] THE Tix CAMEL. 47 

a little Indian, grew so heavy with sleep that it began to fall 
over like a poppy's weighed down with the rain. 

Every day he got stronger and developed new traits. He 
was such a contented child, and although he was quiet, he was 
so full of roguery and animation. Ned would sometimes sit and 
smile to himself when he was left alone by the fire, after the little 
man had pressed his small, moist mouth against his for a good- 
night kiss. When he grew up, what fun they would have to- 
gether ! If he was such a.- companion to him now, when he was 
only beginning to talk and toddle around, what would he be 
when he was a fine, healthy boy budding out with ideas. 

One evening Charlie did not seem quite himself. He would 
lean his head against his papa's knee, and hold it there very 
quietly, and then walk around in a meditative way, with his un- 
steady steps. He looked at his father, too, with a sort of strange, 
frail look that worried Armstrong, because the boy seemed so pre- 
occupied with something. When his father took him in his arms 
and tried to ride him on his knee, talking to him gayly and ban- 
teringly, Charlie demurred in his quiet way, and climbing up into 
his papa's lap, nestled against him in a tired fashion. Armstrong 
felt that his cheek was hot when he pressed him close to his face. 

He got a little nervous and did his best to rouse the child to 
his wonted cheerfulness. Finally, he placed him on the floor. 
" There, Charlie, sit there a minute and we'll have the old Noah's 
ark, and give the animals an outing." He got the big ark and 
tumbled the pieces out on the floor, so that they spread all about 
the child. 

" Now, put 'em through their paces, Charlie ! Give 'em a 
constitutional," he cried cheerily. 

Charlie looked at the tin animals for two or three moments, 
and then turned his round black eyes up to his father with a 
pathetic little elevation of the eyebrows. There was the troubled 
look on his face. Then he turned one or two over, as if looking 
for the camel, but this was feebly done, and without the keen 
interest in that gibbous creature's whereabouts which he usually 
displayed. Then he seemed to give it up, and slowly took the 
tin beasts one by one, deposited them in the large green ark, 
and laboriously put the cover on. 

With his little mouth compressed he walked in his slow way 
over to his father, and put up his arms to be lifted up. He heaved 
a little sigh as he was taken on 'Armstrong's lap. After a mo- 
ment he said in his thin, childish voice : " Papa, does God 
love me ? " 






4* Tin-. Ti\ CAMEL, (April, 

Anu>trni; \\a> positively startled by the question. ]5ut he 

in doubt about his answer. He wrapped his strong arms 

about the small figure in its little woollen dress, and said robustly : 

41 Of course lie loves you, Charlie. \\'hy wouldn't he love a 

nice little chap like you ? " 

Charlie was perfectly quiet for a few moments more. Then 
.iid in his small voice again, and with the quaintly curious 
look: "Will he have me?" 

Armstrong w is quite set back and a little frightened by this 
nding query, coming so soon on the other. He felt nervous 
and uncomfortable. 

" He'll have you some time, little man, but not for a good many, 
many years. You're going to stay with your pappy for a .threat 
long time." 

Charlie kept up the strangely quiet air until the nurse-maid 
came in to put him to bed. Armstrong asked her if the child 
had been feeling unwell. She said no, only that he had been 
rather quiet in the latter part of the afternoon. Armstrong kissed 
him good-night fervently. He told the girl that he was afraid 
the little boy was unwell, and wished her to try and look after 
him particularly during the night. 

He sat with a very serious face after they had gone. But 
he flouted the idea that the child was going to be ill. He would 
not admit it. Another surprise was in store for him. The two 
had not been away more than twenty minutes when the nurse 
maid came into the room, looking a little shamefaced, with Charlie, 
in his night-gown, in her arms. 

" Please, sir, he kept saying ' Papa ' so, when he was going 
to say his little 'Our Father,' that I brought him down to 
you." 

She put him on the floor. Charlie walked gravely over to 
his father's knee and then tumbled on his own, and with his 
eyes turned up to his father's face said slowly, and with some 
prompting from the maid, the "Our Father." 

It was almost too much for Armstrong. There must be some- 
thing the matter with the child! His eyea filled with tears in 
spite of himself. 

The next morning Charlie was ill enough for Armstrong t 
call a doctor. He examined the child and said: "He seems 
feverish, but I hardly know what to think it is. It is not dan- 
gerou*. He has simply o\erheated himself." 

Armstrong went to his office, but was very restless and v. 
ried. II :rlier than usual. He was almost grateful 



1890.] THE TIN CAMEL. 49 

to Mrs. Armstrong for the cool way in which she answered 
his inquiry about Charlie's condition. 

" Oh ! he's feverish still, but there isn't anything really the 
matter. Children have those things always." 

There was such a cheerful confidence in her tones that he did 
not stop to question how well founded her experience in such 
cases was, nor what grounds she had for feeling so certain in the 
present instance. Men are prone to think that women are more 
knowing than themselves in matters of sickness, and it is certainly 
no more than human to welcome an assurance which helps to 
banish an agonizing doubt. 

He was so pleased that he didn't take offence at Mrs. Arm- 
strong's going over to her mother-in-law's for the evening. He 
drew his chair up by the little cot and watched Charlie's small 
head as it turned restlessly on the pillow. Once the little chap 
opened his round black eyes on his father, who smiled on him. 
" Papa ! " said Charlie, with a new accent on the word, but grave 
and unsmiling. Then he shut his eyes and slept. 

The next morning he was no better. The doctor said he 
was about the same, but would improve before evening, proba- 
bly. Armstrong insisted on his coming again in the evening, 
and rather reluctantly went to the office. When he reasoned 
things out, he convinced himself that his boy's illness was only a 
natural phase of the ups and downs to which boyhood was neces- 
sarily subject. But three minutes later he felt the former fear, 
although he would not admit it to himself. He came home 
earlier than the day before, and went at once to his boy's 
cot. Charlie was 1 asleep, but his cheeks were flushed and 
his breathing was a little labored. Ned tip-toed out of the 
room. 

When the doctor came after dinner he gave a new prescrip- 
tion, said the fever seemed a little increased, that it was holding 
on longer than he had expected, but the child was so strong that 
it didn't really amount to anything. 

" You don't suppose for a moment that there is anything 
dangerous in it, do you, doctor?" asked Mrs. Armstrong. "I 
have an engagement for this evening, but if the child is seriously 
ill I should let it go, of course." 

" Oh ! there is nothing you could do," the doctor answered 
easily. " The instructions are very simple, and the nurse can 
attend to them. I have left four powders, which should be given 
at intervals of every three hours. I don't think there is any ground 
for anxiety." 



50 TllH. TV.v ( [April, 

"Arc you ^oing out again to-night?" Armstron 1 uf 

soon as the doctor was gone. 

" Why. yi-it don't want me to give up the most important ball 
of the \\\- -'Mi simply because Charlie feels a little feverish. 

do you?" Mrs. Armstrong answered, in rather an injured ton;-. 
"You heard the doctor say there wasn't the slightest danger. I 
believe you care a great deal more for the baby than you do for 
me." 

It was on the tip of Armstrong's tongue to retort : " The 
baby cares a great deal more for me than you do." But he did 
not like to feel that the little boy suffering in the other room 
was acting as a wedge to drive his wife and him more asunder, 
so he quietly said, " Very well," and passed into the room where 
Charlie . 

In about an hour it was time for the powder. Armstrong 
raised the small head and held the glass with the medicine in it 
to the boy's lips, encouraging him to take it. He had tasted it 
himself to see if it was unpleasant. The nurse-maid hovered over 
and around, but he would not let her give Charlie the medicine. 

As he laid the little fellow back en the pillow he heard the 
soft swash of silk, and his wife entered the room. She was dressed 
in her costume for the ball, with her wraps over her arm. Arm- 
strong glanced at her for a moment. Then he turn :d away from 
the brilliant face with its cool, delicate color, the dewy softness in 
the eyes and the contented, easy curves of the small mouth, to the 
flushed face in the cot with the wide-open, feverish eyes and the 
parted lips. He felt a hard aversion for the mother who could 
leave her husband by the side of her sick child to go and dance 
and talk and smile with others. 

" How is he now, Ned ? " she asked airily as she came 
to the side of the cot and touched the little hot cheek lightly with 
her index finger. " His face is a little hot, isn't it ? By-by. 
darling." 

Pressing back her laces, she bent over the bed and kissed 
Charlie. He put up his arms to clasp her about the neck, but she 
drew back quickly and pinched his cheek playfully, smiling on him. 
It would be stupid to let the little chap spoil the delicate lightness 
of effect in her corsage by crumpling the lace. 

" Good night, Ned. I sha'n't stay very long," she said to her 
husband, and rustled out to her carriage. He felt relieved when 
she had left them alone, him and the boy. How could a mother 
checked that movement of affection in her child ? 

Charlie slept in a fitful way, and tossed about a great deal. 



1890.] Tin-: 77.v CAMEL. 51 

The nurse-maid came and looked at him now and then, and 
arranged the sheets and pillow. Armstrong gave him the second 
powder. Soon after he noticed Charlie's eyebrows raise them- 
selves in pain, and he labored a good deal with his breathing. 
Ned sat anxiously watching him. He suffered as much as the 
boy when he saw the small chest oppressed with the want of air. 
Why should die little fellow have to 'endure this pain? If he 
could only have taken it on himself! 

" Charlie !" he said to him; "how do you feel, little man?" 

The " little man " raised his eye'ids and looked at his father, 
but he did not speak. The breathing grew harder for him. Poor 
Ned drew his chair closer to the bed and put his finger in the 
tiny hand lying on the white counterpane. The small fingers 
closed tightly about it, and the old roguish smile half came to 
his lips. But it died away as he breathed more quickly. He 
straightened his little form out in his effort to breathe, and his 
forehead wrinkled a little with the pain. Then there was a little 
quiver of relaxation, his eyes closed, and he seemed to sleep 
quietly. 

Armstrong still left his finger in Charlie's hand. He sat per- 
fectly still, not to disturb the little invalid in the slumber whose 
refreshing folds had wrapped him about. This perfectly tranquil 
repose was a good sign. Charlie would be better when he woke 
up. The nurse-maid came into the room, but he glanced at her 
and said ' 'Sh ! " in a low tone, and she glided out again. 

He must have sat three-quarters of an hour, his finger still 
in the tiny hand. He would not stir for fear of disturbing the 
little boy's sleep. Suddenly he realized with a shudder that the 
soft fingers were cold ! They had grown chilly to his touch. 
He put his other hand to the child's head, his cheek. The chill 
there was icy already. 

He realized it all. While his "little man" had held tightly 
to his finger, another had taken his other hand and led him 
away that other whose name is Death. He took the small form 
from the cot, and held him tightly pressed to his face. Alas ! it 
was the first time the little cheek had pressed against his own 
without some answering touch of love. 

Slowly the hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never 
felt such a hateful loneliness. Oh ! how much this dear little boy 
had taken away from him. 

It was nearly half-past two, but he still sat holding the little 
form in his arms. He heard a carriage roll up to the door, then 
a light step on the stairs, and the rustle of a silken train. Mrs. 

Vol. !.!. 4 



TifE TV.v < |_ A ! )ril > 

Arm-trong came into the ro<>m. She hail taken <rT her wraps and 

-covering as she came up the stairs, and stood a moment in 

tli:- tin -sli of her radiant beauty, a diamond star in her dark h lir 

ling out sparks of glittering light. 

Is he asleep? Why don't you put him to bed?" she 

i her wraps on the sofa and began drawing off her 
long gloves. 

"He is dead," her husband answered in a cold, hard voice. 

" O Ned ! Xed ! " she cried. And the tears pushed from her 
she hurried toward him and sought to take the child. 

He rose, and holding the boy tightly with his left arm, held 
out his right to hold her off. 

" No, you can't take him. He is my boy. He would only 
rumple your dress," he said in a hard voice. 

She stood for a moment horror-stricken, the light fading out 
of her eyes. Then she fell in a swoon. He made no effort to 
break her fall. This woman had been whirling about to the 
seductive strains of music in a perfume-scented ball-room, while 
her only child gasped its little life out, clutching his father's 
hand. No ! he would rather care for his dead boy than for this 
mockery of a living wife. Let her feel all she could for < 

But this was only momentary. He rose, placed his dead 
boy in the cot, and ringing for the maid, raised his wife from 
the floor. Restoratives were applied, and gradually she sh' 
signs of reviving. Then she opened her eyes and sat up. As 
consciousness returned, memory recalled the dread event. Her 
husband, with her dead child in his arms, had refused to let her 
touch it. 

But he was here, supporting her now. She flung her arms 
about his neck, and buried her face on his chest, weeping and 
wailing. " O Ned ! I did not know. Forgive me ! But I am 
wicked and thoughtless. Oh ! how patiently you have borne with 
me! And now, Charlie " She could not go on, but sobbed 
anew. 

Her husband caressed and soothed her. AH his resentment 
had faded like mist before the agony of the mother's awaken- 
ing. In her humiliation and loss she was dear to him for her 
grief over the lost child. 

"Nell," he said, gently and softly, "it is not so hard when 
we bear it together. ' She rose, and he supported her to the 
cot where the bright little creature lay, his small person in- 
vested with the -olemn dignity of death. And then he left her 
to weep her heart c! 



1890.] THE THREE HUSSAR?. 53 

He stepped into the next room to allow her feelings un- 
trammelled vent. As he slowly paced to and fro, he paused 
near the sofa and felt something stiff and hard crunch under his 
foot. He stooped, and walking into the room where his wife 
was kneeling by the cot with her arms clasped about the boy, 
looked at it. 

It was the pink camel, his hump crushed flat by the pres- 
sure of Armstrong's foot ! 

The image of his little boy sitting on the floor, in his brown 
woollen gown, looking up at him with his queer little amused smile 
as his small finger wandered over the camel's hump, came back to 
him, and with a groan the strong young fellow sank by his 
wife's side, holding the camel tightly in his hand. 

She turned as she felt him there, and grasping Charlie's 
hand with hers, let her other arm steal about his neck. She 
drew his head down to her, and kissed him between her sobs. 

He clasped the mother's hand which held the dead boy's, so 
that he held them both. Then a faint smile dawned through his 
tears, as he looked at the tin camel's flattened back. 

" Nell," he said, and the tone thrilled her, " Charlie could 
never understand why there was a hump on the camel's back. 
There isn't any there now." His look told volumes. 

She threw her arms around him, and strained him to her. 
Charlie's dead finger had smoothed away more than a camel's 
hump. 

JOHN J. A BECKET. 



THE THREE HUSSARS. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF G. NADAUD. 

HOMEWARD were bound the three Hussars 

To. take their holiday. 
Freely they marched along the road. 

Singing their camp songs gay. 

" Soon shall I see the lass I love, 
Madge !" the first soldier cried ; 

"Madeline!" the second soldier said; 
" Janet !" the third replied. 



Till-: TllXKl: HUSSARS, |.'M>ril, 

.\ man stuoil in their onward way: 

" The rin-i-i- J.ihn," they name. 
"Wh.it news nc.w ill the village, say 3 " 

"All things are still the same." 

"Is Margaret still our nci;_;hb >r fair?" 

I M( year 1 rang for her, 
For she is now a holy nun 
In the convent Noirmoutier." 

" Is .Madeline still the same sweet saint?" 

"Twice lia\e I rung her joy ; 
Ten months ago her wedding-hells, 

Ten days ago her boy." 

" And Janet, is she happy still ?" 

"With her indeed 'tis well ; 
Three months ago this very day 

I rang her funeral knell." 

" Ringer, if Margaret you see 

Within her convent cell, 
Say to' her that I seek a wite, 

And that I wish her well." 

" Ringer, if Madeline you see 

Within her husband's home, 
Say to her I'm a captain now ; 

Hunting the wolf, I roam." 

" Ringer, when you my mother see 

Salute her reverently ; 
Say to her I am at the wars, 

To stay until I die." 

M. B. M. 






1890.] THE MEXICA.V HIERARCHY. 55 



THE MEXICAN HIERARCHY. 

So very little is known in the United States about the actual 
state of religion in Mexico that I hope the readers of THE 
CATHOLIC WORLD will find the following account of the bishops 
of the sister Republic of interest. The last number contained 
a sketch of the head of the hierarchy, the Archbishop of Mexico, 
apropos of his golden jubilee. 

Don Crescencio Carrillo y Ancona, Bishop of Yucatan, is a 
well-known litterateur and historian. He was born at Izamal, in 
Yucatan, his parents being D. Maximiano Carrillo and Da. Josefa 
Ancona. (It will be remarked that in Mexico, as in some other 
countries, the name of the mother's family is borne together with 
that of the father.) At his baptism he received the name of Jose 
Maria, and he was confirmed in 1848. He pursued his studies at 
the college of San Ildefonso at Merida, the state capital, and in 
1856 obtained the degree of bachelor of philosophy. Four years 
later he concluded his ecclesiastical studies, and received holy 
orders in June, 1860, being twenty years of age. He was pro- 
fessor of Latin, philosophy, theology, and belles-letters, and is 
regarded as the reformer of ecclesiastical studies in Yucatan, 
having introduced improved text-books, founded new chairs, 
and effected other notable changes in his university, and to him 
is due the foundation of the Academy of Ecclesiastical Science, 
founded on the 4th of July, 1864, and of the Yucatan Museum. 
In addition to his arduous literary labors, D. Carrillo devoted 
himself to his ecclesiastical functions with assiduity. On his 
ordination he received the cure of the church of Santiago. 
Later on he was appointed rector of the seminary, secretary of 
the ecclesiastical courts, provisor, and vicar-general of the dio- 
cese, and the bishop having petitioned for his aid as coadjutor 
on account of his advanced age, he was appointed Bishop of 
Lero in partibus infideliuin, and coadjutor-Bishop of Yucatan, 
with right of succession. He was accordingly consecrated on 
the 6th of July, 1883, by the Archbishop of Mexico, in the 
Collegiate Church of Guadalupe, and on the death of the 
bishop, Sr. Rodriguez de la Sala, in February, 1887, he suc- 
ceeded to the see of Yucatan. 

In this position, as also when coadjutor, he has exhibited the 



S 6 7V. fCAJf HIEKAKCHY. [April, 

in, prt: :iul capacity which might h;i\ v anti- 

cipated from his antecedents, ami, being still less than fifty years 
. ronsideiable period <>f usefulness may be hoped tor him. 

Don Eulogio Gregorio (Jillow. Bishop of Oaxaca. is English by 

the father's side, but the son of a Mexican mother. 1 le was horn 

;rbla, ami educated in Europe, the Roman University on one 

occasion designating him special preacher fora celebration held by 

it in St. Peter'-. Returning to Mexico, he managed the affairs 

of his family: the well-known Hotel Gillow in the capital, 

to the church of La 1'rofesa, is a portion of the family 

property. Dr. Gillow was nominated Bishop of Oaxaca in the 

-tory of March, 1887, and consecrated by the Archbishop of 

Mexico in La Profesa on the 3ist of July following. He has 

a'. ready effected a great deal in his diocese, and has founded 

there a clerical college. He speaks French, English, and Italian 

with fluency, and is a. man of considerable parts, from whom the 

Mexican church anticipates much useful service. 

Sr. D. Jose Perfecto Amczquita y Gutierrez, Bishop of Tabasco, 
was born at Fernandez, in the diocese of San Luis Potosi, in 1835, 
and early entered the Congregation of St. Vincent de Paul, of 
which congregation he was for some years superior at Guanajuato, 
where in 1 886 he was consecrated bishop by Sr. Baron in the 
parish church. His see, which is of recent creation, is not a bed 
of roses, and Masonry is rampant there. However, Dr. Gutierrez 
is a man of so benevolent a disposition, and of such exalted 
views, that he is eminently qualified for the arduous position which 
he fills. 

Dr. Don Pedro J. de Jesus Loza y Pardave, Archbishop of 
Guadalajara, who celebrated his priestly jubilee in 1888, and is 
the eldest of the Mexican bishops, was born in the capital of the 
republic in 1815. lie-re he graduated as bachelor of philosophy 
in 1833, and as bachelor of law four years later. In l83<S he 
was ordained priest at Culiacan by D. Lazaro de la Garza y 
Ballesteros, bishop of Sonora, and said his first Mass on the iQth 
of March of that year. He filled the chairs of philosophy and law 
in the Seminary of Sonora, of which institution he was after- 
wards rector, and he was also secretary of the diocesan eccle 
siastical courts. When Dr. Garza vacated the throne of Sonora 
to become Archbishop of Mexico, he was succeeded by Dr. 

who was elected in March, 1852, to the vacant 
lie could not be prevailed on at first, however, to accept the 
and responsibilities, but eM/api d to 1'uebla, at 



1890.] THE MEXICAN HIERARCHY. 57 

the other end of the country, where he was unknown, and ob- 
tained a chaplaincy in the cathedral. Here he was discovered by 
the archbishop, who prevailed on him to forego his scruples, and 
consecrated him at San Fernando's church, on the 22d of 
August of the same year, he being then thirty-seven years of 
age. There were some grounds for his nolo episcopari, for he 
was banished by General Corella six years later; again, in 1859, 
after a long confinement in Horcasitas, he was banished to 
Lower California (as yet unboomed) by General Coronado ; 
the year after he returned, to be expelled anew, and he suf- 
fered his fourth expulsion in 1866. He was one of the bishops 
who had much to suffer during the wars of reform and the 
French intervention. In Sonora he erected the episcopal resi- 
dence and various churches. In the consistory of the 22d of 
June, 1868, he was appointed to his present position, whither 
he proceeded from San Francisco in the following February, ar- 
riving at the great, western capital of Mexico on the 23d of 
March. Here he encountered various difficulties and some 
opposition, but his prudence, zeal, and charity overcame these 
obstacles. The same year he left for Rome to attend the Vati- 
can Council, whence he returned in February, 1871. Sr. Loza 
has effected many important reforms in education and ecclesiasti- 
cal government, has founded parochial schools and the Pontifical 
Academy of Guadalajara, and has fostered the cultus of Sr. 
S. Jose and of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The archbishop has 
a bi-monthly official organ, destined for the instruction of the 
clergy. He is a distinguished Latin scholar, a correct writer, and 
an able mathematician, and his life, if written, would illustrate 
the history of the church in Western Mexico for over half a century. 

D. Miguel Mariano Luque, Bishop of Chiapas, was born in 1838, 
at Zacapoaxtla, in the diocese of Puebla. He pursued his studies 
in the City of the Angels, where he received the priesthood and 
was secretary of the bishop. Here he held the parish of San 
Marcos, and was given a prebendal stall in the cathedral. He 
was appointed bishop of Chiapas on the I3th of November, 1884, and 
consecrated at Puebla by the Archbishop of Mexico on the 27th 
of December. During the five years that he has held the see 
of Chiapas he has gained the estimation of both clergy and laity 
in that remote district. 

D. Jose Ignacio Arciga, Archbishop of Michoacan, was 
born on the igth of May, 1830, at the dismal little town of 
Patzcuaro, being the eighth son of D. Pablo Arciga and 



-.V( //)'. ril, 

Kui/. His first -tu.! conducted by the 

itero ! >. Juan Leon; he then passed to Morelia, at which 
city he studied piiiiso]ihy and theology, nein- i.rdained sub-dca- 

:i iS;j, and deacon and priest next year by Sr. Mini 

; 1851 to 1854 he occupied the chair of physics in the 

Seminars' of Morelia, and that of dogmatic theology from IS;; 

which position he retaineil during the two fallowing 

ininary being now removed to Celaya. In i^l he 

ippointed cura of Guanajuato, where lie remained until, four 
- later, we find him back at Morelia as principal can. MI of 
the cathedra!. Whilst at (iuanajuato he effected the splendid orna- 
mentation of the parish church, and was especially zealous in the 
discharge of his ministerial functions. In 1867 the Archbishop 
Munguia, being at Rome in infirm health, petitioned for a co- 
adjutor-bishop to act for him at Morelia, and Dr. Al 
selected for the office, facing consecrated Bishop of Lt^ioiie /// 
partibiis infidclium on the 8th of September, 1867, by D. Jose 
Antonio de la Pena, first Bishop of Zamora. In December of 
the next year, on the decease of Dr. Munguia, Sr. Arciga was 
elected archbishop, and somewhat later received the pallium at 
Zamora. In 1869 he attended the Vatican Council, return! r 
his diocese the year following. 

D. Francisco Meliton Vargas, Bishop of Puebla, presides over 
a diocese in some respects the most remarkable in Mexico; it 
has over 2,500 churches, far more than any other, and its cathe- 
dral is the most beautiful church in the country. As to the 
bishop, his face, which is remarkable for high intelligence and 
benevolence, with a soupcon of genial humor, is one of the most 
fascinating we ever beheld Cardinal Manning's, without the 

ity. The worthy prelate first saw the light at Ahualulco, on 
the 9th of March, 1823, his father, D. Antonio Vargas, having 

a soldier of the wars of independence, and his mother's 
name being Da. Ignacia Gutierrez. His parents were poor: his first 
years were passed amidst struggles and privations, and he had to 
his parents in gaining a livelihood. Overcoming these 
difficulties, he commenced his studies in 1840, and concluded them 
nine years later, when he graduated as bachelor of theology. 

ir saw him advanced to the priesthood ; he was five 
professor in the Seminary of Puebla, and then in succession cura 
of Xapopan, Santa Ana Acatlan, Colotlan, and A-uas Calientes. 
In May, 1869, he was appointed to a prebendal sta'l in the ca- 
thedral of Guadalajara, a little later to a canonry, and from 



1890.] THE J/AAVC./.V HIERARCHY. 59 

to 1879 he was rector of the seminary in that city. Here he 
performed various important services with the greatest ability, 
amidst others the visitation of the vicariate-apostolic of Lower 
California, and in May, 1883, he was consecrated Bishop of Colima, 
at Guadalajara, by the archbishop. In his new position his ben- 
evolence and apostolic zeal were most remarkable, notably so in 
the epidemic of yellow fever at Colima and Manzanillo, where 
he appeared as the personification of charity. He was translated 
to Fuebla on the Qth of May, 1888, where the people, aware of 
his worth, accorded him a splendid reception. 

D. Fr. Buenaventura Portillo, Bishop of Zacatecas, was born 
at the ranche of S. Antonio, in the parish of Teocaltiche, on the 
8th of May, 1827. He was the son of D. Julian Portillo and 
Da. Jesus Tejada, and at six years of age commenced his educa- 
tion under P. Estanislao Tejada ; he afterwards studied at the 
Sjminary of Guadalajara, where, in 1847, he graduated as bach- 
elor. He then entered the college of Zapopan, and was ordained 
priest on the 8th of September, 1850, by Sr. D. Diego de Aranda. 
He had already joined the Franciscan Order, and in 1860 he was 
appointed cura of Ojuelos, where he remained several years, re- 
turning afterwards to occupy positions of importance in the Col- 
lege of Zapopan. In 1870 he went to Rome as definitor 
of his province. On the death of the Rev. Father Car- 
dona he became commissary-general of his order, and on the 
9th of March, 1880, he was appointed Bishop of Tricalia in 
partibus infidclium, and made Vicar-apostolic of Lower Cali- 
fornia. He was consecrated on the 291*11 of June next in the 
cathedral of Guadalajara by the Right Rev. Sr. Loza. In Sep- 
tember, 1 88 1, he was translated to the see of Chilapa. He 
visited Rome for the second time, heading the Mexican pilgrims 
who journeyed to the Vatican to felicitate the Pope on the occa- . 
sion of his jubilee. In 1889 he was translated to the see of 
Zacatecas, vacant by the decease of Dr. Jose Maria del Refugio 
Guerra. Dr. Portillo, in whom the monastic and episcopal virtues 
are combined, is one of the most highly esteemed prelates in the 
republic. 

D. Rafael Camacho, Bishop of Queretaro, was born in 1826, 
his parents being D. Jose Anastasio Camacho and Da. Matilde 
Garcia, both of honorable families and eminent in virtue. Etzatlan, 
in the State of Jalisco, was the place of his birth, and he studied, 
and later occupied various important positions, at Guadalajara, 
serving the Santuario, the Sagrario, and other parishes, and 



60 'TV//: J/A.v/cv.v HIERARCHY. [April, 

of the seminai rnor of the mitre, and canon ; 

; ry. On the 3Oth of July, 18X4, his brother, D. Ramon 

. Bishop of (Jtieretaro, died in his anus; ho was appointed 

<:ceed the latter in the consistory of the following Septem- 

nd on the 241!) of May, iSSj, he was consecrated at Que- 

> by the Archbishop of Michoacan, by the Bishops 

.niaulipas and Colima, his supporters being General D. Rafael 

Alvera, governor of the State, and Dr. D. .Manuel Septien. The 

;> has a great devotion to the national patroness and 

is a worthy successor to his illustrious predecess 

D. Francisco Diaz, Bishop of Colima, was born at the well- 
;i mining town of Catorce 'in 1X33, his parents being D. 
Rafael Diaz Hurtado and Da. Maria de Jesus Monies. At twenty 
of age he entered the Seminary of Guadalajara, and, his 
studies concluded, received holy orders at San Francisco from 
Dr. Loza, the exiled Bishop of Sonora. On the lyth of July, 
1865, he celebrated his first Mass in the Church of San Juan de 
Dios, at Guadalajara, his supporter being Father Agustin Torres, 
afterwards Bishop of Tabasco. Dr. Diaz occupied the chairs of 
Latin and philosophy at the Guadalajara seminary, and from 
to 1885 served in succession the parishes of Ahualulco, Mascota, 
Tizapan, and San Gabriel. He was then appointed prebend of 
Guadalajara, and was there consecrated Bishop of Colima on the 
25th of August last by the Right Rev. Dr. Loza, assisted by 
the bishops of Puebla and Qucretaro, the prelate who twenty- 
four years previously had ordained him priest now conferring 
the episcopal dignity on Dr. Diaz ; his antecedents assure to the 
see of Colima a worthy successor to the present Bishop of 
Puebla. 

Dr. Jose Ignacio Suarez Peredo, Bishop of Vera Cruz, had, 
like his episcopal brother of Queretaro, a brother as predecessor, 
lie was the child of Don Agustin Suarez Peredo and Dona 
Maria Agustina Bcsarez, and first saw the light at Orizaba, 
at that time in the diocese of Puebla, in 1834. He graduated 
in canon law, and was successively cura of San Juan Bautista 
de los Nogales, professor of canon law in the seminary of 
Puebla, and fiscal promoter, first at Puebla and then at 
Cruz. He was appointed bishop of that sec in 1887 and 
consecrated in June, 1888, in the church of the Pr.i\.>a in 
the city of Mexico by the archbishop. He then betook him- 
self to his extensive diocese, and at once commenced a visita- 
tion. During the short period that he has presided over his 



1890.] Tin-: MEXICAN HIERARCHY. 61 

see he has shown himself a worthy successor of his illustrious 
brother. 

D. Fr. Jose Maria Portugal, Bishop of Sinaloa, was born 
in the city of Mexico in 1839. He is of the same family as 
D. Juan Cayetano Portugal, celebrated in Mexican church history 
as Bishop of Micho'acan. Like his episcopal brother of Zacate- 
cas, whilst still young he entered the Order of St. Francis, so 
distinguished in the history of Mexico, making his profession and 
receiving holy orders in the college of Santa Maria de Zapopan. 
He was commissary-general of his order in Mexico, and for many 
years exercised the cure of souls in the archdiocese of Gua- 
dalajara until he was appointed to the see of Sinaloa, vacant 
by the death of Dr. Uriarte, and received episcopal conse- 
cration at the hands of Dr. Loza in the cathedral of Guadalajara 
on the 8th of December, 1888. 

Don Tomas Baron y Morales, Bishop of Leon, was born at- 
the hacienda of Treinte, in the archdiocese of Mexico, on the 2ist 
of December, 1828, and from 1843 to 1852 studied Latin, phil- 
osophy, theology, and church history at the seminary and the 
College of San Gregorio. In 1851 he received minor orders, and in 
1853 he was ordained priest. Five years later he was given the 
degree of doctor of divinity, and in 1859 he was appointed cura 
of Cuernaoaca. In 1867 he became secretary of the ecclesiastical 
courts of the archdiocese, and two years later a prebendal stall 
in the cathedral was conferred on him. In 1871 he received a 
canonry, and five years later was appointed to the vacant see of 
Chilapa. He was consecrated by the archbishop in the Collegi- 
ate Church of Guadalupe, and ruled the diocese till 1882. In the 
consistory of the 25th of September of that year he was trans- 
lated to his present see, where he has worthily presided ever 
since. He will be long remembered in connection with the dis- 
astrous floods of 1888, which worked such havoc in the important 
city of Leon, where he acted as almoner of the national charity 
with the greatest judgment and with paternal sympathy with 
the afflicted sufferers from the inundation. 

Don Ignacio Monies de Oca y Obregon, Bishop of San Luis 
Potosi, is the leading Mexican orator of the present day. He is 
a member of the Mexican Academy, of which he is foreign cor- 
respondent. He is a profound Greek scholar and author of a 
translation of Pindar and of portions of Anacreon. He has also 
published a volume of Spanish poems and is an acute critic. 
Mgr. de Oca is forty-nine years of age, and has been in succes- 



TV/A M/-.\fCA\ Hll-.HARCllY. [April. 

I .mi mlipas, Lilian s. ami S.in Luis. Il< rn at 

i of June, iXp. I) -ill:; the soil of the 

k.iown advo > I > .metrio Monies <!> I KM, and ot I), .fi.i 

. :li- !.i I.n/ < >l>re;_;oii. Ili^ earl) made in 

I, union, .nul his ecclesiastical course .it Uome, where in 1X62 he 
: in theology, and three years later in canon ami civil 
II. received the first orders at the hands of I)r Mungui'a, 
and 1. lined priest by Cardinal Constantino Patri/.i, in 

the basilica of St. John I.ateran. On the 6th of March, iS~i, 
he wa< apiiointi-d first bishop of Tamaulipas, ami six days 
later was con > -crated by Pope Pius IX. in his priv.ite oratory. 
After nine years' occupancy of the see of Tamaulipas Dr. de 
Oca wa; translated in June, 1880, to that of Linares > the 
cathedral, however, is at Monterey). In 1885 he was 
translated to the bishopric of San Luis Potosi, and on his arrival 
at that important city on the I5th of February, 1885, he was 
accorded a magnificent reception by both clergy and laity. 

The foundation of the bishopric of Mexico dates from a vei y 
few years after the conquest which Cortes completed in 1521 ; 
the twelve Flemish Franciscans, styled the " Twelve Apostles of 

co," arrived in June, 1524, and shortly after Charles V. 
offered the mitre to Fray Juan de Zumarraga, and presented 
him in December, 1527, to Pope Clement VII.; a year later he 
arrived at Vera Cruz, under the title of bishop-elect and pro- 
tector of the Indians. In September, 1530, a papal bull made 
him Bishop of Mexico and suffragan of the Archbishop of Seville. 
In the consistory held by Paul III. in 1545 the Mexican bish- 
opric was declared independent, and it was raised by a bull to 
the rank of an archbishopric with Bishop Xumarraga as arch 
bishop. In 1571 the Archbishop of Mexico was made Primate of 
New Spain. Pius IX. in March, 1863, divided the Mexican Church 
into three archdioceses ; of these, that of Mexico, the head of 
the eastern district, is the most important. It has 1,654 churches, 
and 1,328,000 baptized members, and the following suffragan 

;>rics: Puebla, with 2,513" churches, founded in 1526; Oaxaca, 
Chiapas, .Yucatan, Tab :is:o, Tulancingo, Vcra Cruz, Chilapa, and 
Lunaulipas. There are said to be between 1,300 and 1,400 parish 
priests in the archdioo 

One of the most notable of the archbishops of Mexico was 

Fray 1'ayo de Rivera Knriquez, twenty-seventh viceroy, who 

troin 1673 to 1680 was civil and religious head of the country, 

intake, which i-; a'.tested by the fact that, with 



1890.] TV/A- MEXICAN Hu-.KARcin'. 63 

the exception of various beneficent public works, there is nothing 
noteworthy to record during the term of his rule. During the 
perplexing period at the commencement of the present century, 
when Spain had no legitimate ruler, a difficulty very naturally 
arose in Mexico as to the authority to whom allegiance was due ; 
the national party, which eventually cast off the Spanish yoke, 
had its origin in these times, and the Archbishop Francisco 
Javier de Lizana was appointed viceroy at this epoch by the 
Junta Central Espanola. Though many of the men most prom- 
inent in effecting Mexican independence were churchmen, as 
Hidalgo and Morelos, yet this change sounded the death-knell 
of ecclesiastical supremacy in the country. It was long delayed, 
but the contest between the Conservative-clerical and the Liberal 
parties was fought with extreme bitterness during the four years 
preceding the French intervention of 1861. Juarez, by the laws 
of reform, nationalized church property. Maximilian, by the 
influence of the church party, was solemnly crowned emperor in 
Mexico, June, 1864, but he gave them dissatisfaction by failing 
to annul the laws of reform ; these have ever since continued in 
force ; the monastic orders have been suppressed, the church 
despoiled of its vast possessions, the very church edifices being re- 
garded as government property and merely lent by it to the church, 
and the clergy being even forbidden by law to appear publicly 
in a distinctive dress, or to conduct processions outside the 
church walls. Yet the old acerbity of party feeling is being 
modified by time ; the remarkable demonstrations at the late 
jubilee, in which prominent liberals were conspicuously present, 
would have been impossible a few years ago, and it is to be 
hoped that a benign period of harmony and progress, both civil 
and religious, is in store for the republic. 

City of Mexico. 



64 TV// no.VAKV THZOKY [A 



THK KVOLUTKiNAKV THKOKY AS AITI.IHU TO 
CONSCIENi 

No theory in modern times has caused so wide-spread an 
interest, or excited such universal attention, as the theory of evolu- 
tion. No theory has been so warmly advocated by its partisan , 
or so violently assailed by its enemies. While scientific agnostics 
have seen in it the opening of a new era and the answer to a 
thousand puzzling difficulties, nervous Christians have regarded it 
as an engine of fearful power, and likely in the hands of unscru- 
pulous men to lead to the destruction of the whole spiritual life. 

Now, within certain limits evolution is a fact, not a tin 
Up to a certain point it is undeniable. . Unfortunately, however, 
there is a strong tendency in man to drive an idea too far. X 
sooner is some new theory started, and found available for the 
explanation of certain phenomena, but there arises a strong desire 
to explain all other hitherto unexplained phenomena by the same 
method. Man naturally seeks uniformity, and strives to reduce 
everything to known laws. 

In these days the attempt is being made to explain on 
wholly natural grounds the present condition not merely of the 
material universe, but of all religion and morality as well. Be- 
cause the theory of evolution serves to explain, at leat in some 
measure, the origin of species, 'the formation of fruits, the variety 
of plumage in birds, of color in flowers, of structure in plants, and 
of endowments in animals, it is thought that it may also be ap- 
plied with success to the solution of such a question as the 
origin of man, considered not merely as a physical and sensitive 
animal but even as a moral and responsible agent. 

The evolutionary hypothesis as applied to man's physical n,,- 
ture I have already considered elsewhere.* I propose now to 
invite attention to the subject of this same hypothesis as applied 
to man's spiritual nature, or (to confine myself within the limits 
of an essay), let me say, as applied to man's conscience. 

The task before me is to show that the facts of conscience 
cannot be accounted for on any mere evolutionary hypothe- 

The importance of this contention cannot be exaggerated, for 
of all proofs of the existence of God and of a future life, the 

See Irish Ecclaiastital R f 



1890.] .4S APPLIED TO CONSCIENCE. 65 

facts of conscience are the strongest and the most convincing. 
Nothing speaks so eloquently of the supernatural. Neither the 
visible creation nor the traditions of men bear such a witness to 
an invisible and a future state as conscience. If conscience, 
therefore, turns out to be a mere development if, as Huxley be- 
lieves, " we shall sooner or later arrive at a mechanical equivalent 
of consciousness, just as we have arrived at a mechanical equiva- 
lent of heat" (see Lay Sermons, ch. xiv.\ then its dictates, 
being unsupported by any divine sanction, may be repudiated and 
disregarded at will. The simplest and readiest method of refuting 
the evolutionary hypothesis in its relation to conscience is to 
state as clearly as possible : 

1. In what the theory consists. 

2. What the theory postulates. 

3. And then to show, in the third place, that its postulates are 
irreconcilable with facts ; in a word, to disprove the theory by 
(rcdnctio ad abstirdum) reducing it to an absurdity. Let us to 
the task. . 

According to the extreme evolutionary school, conscience is 
\ merely a result of the slow growth of ages. To our earliest pro- 
genitors such a mental phenomenon was unknown. It sprang up 
and developed gradually almost imperceptibly under the in- 
fluence of external stimuli, in a manner exactly analogous to that 
in which organic development is said to have taken place. In 
fact, the general principles of "natural selection " and " the 
struggle for existence," and " the survival of the fittest,"- are ap- 
plied to mind, just as they have been applied to matter. Thus, 
just as any special condition of limb or organ in an animal 
which gives it an advantage over rivals in the general struggle 
for existence is likely to be transmitted, and to be gradually still 
further improved and perfected, so will it be with any disposi- 
tion of soul or any mental bias. If certain inclinations or disin- 
clinations lead to action's favorable to the general well-being of 
the race, such inclinations or disinclinations will in a like manner 
be preserved, transmitted, and still further accentuated in the 
descendants. And what is true of inclinations holds good of 
judgments and opinions. 

In order to diminish as far as possible the mist that involves 
the general proposition, we will set aside, for the nonce, con- 
science in general and examine some of its decisions in particu- 
lar, and see how evolutionists would explain their origin. Now, 
the essential characteristic of conscience lies in the power it pos- 
sesses of passing judgment on the virtuousness or the vicious- 



66 Tin-. /:/v/. vr Tin [April, 

the justice i-r the injustice, of any thought, word, dix 

.,n ex ample : Conscience dccla'v- in unmistak- 
able tcnn> tli.i! intemperance aiul gluttony arc -ins.. \\'hat doe- 
that verdict imply ? With us (,'atholics th.at statement cannot 
-laced to any simpler terms ; it admits of no further analv- 
It is simply the voice of God speaking t' our hearts and 
telling u-> what his \vili is: telling us what he would have us 
do, what he would have us leave undone. Not so with evolu- 
tionists. With them conscience is a sort of register of past ex- 
perience. It is nothing more than the echo of the mighty voice 
of all past generations resounding in the ears of the present. It 
is a warning based upon a past experience of the deleterious 
effects of certain acts and the advanta of others. 

To the first set of acts is given the name of vices ; to the sec- 
ond the name of virtues. Thus, according to this system, "vice" 
and "virtue," "right" and "wrong," come to mean nothing 
more than " useful " or " not useful," " advantageous " or " dis- 
advantageous." Though Catholics and full-blown evolutionists 
alike admit that conscience condemns intemperance, theft, adul- 
teiy, and murder, yet while the followers of Christ condemn 
such acts as intrinsically wrong, the followers of Darwin and 
Spencer interpret such condemnation in a very different manner. 
We say that theft, murder, etc., are condemned because intrin- 
sically at I'd riancc tcith a supreme anel immutable standard. In 
the Darwinian and Spencerian sense such condemnation simply 
means that such practices are opposed to the general welfare 
of the race. In a word, to say that they are sinful indicates 
simply that they are injurious to the material prosperity of man- 
kind. 

It is not, of course, necessary according to the Darwinian 
theory that individuals should at the time realize the injurious 
effects of actions condemned by conscience. What that theory. 
however, does suppose is that any injurious practice leaves its 
mark behind it, and becomes in the course of ages worked up 
into the very texture of each living descendant in such a man- 
ner as to produce an irresistible feeling of dread and responsi- 
bility ; a feeling that the practice should not be indulged in and 
that any such indulgence is sure to be followed by some undefined 
and indefinable penalty. At this stage we may say that the de- 
velopment of conscience is in full operation. In fact, the moral 
intuitions, or, as we would express it, the voice of the Holy 
Spirit instructing the soul made to the image of God in the. 
way> of -olvation, evolutionists consider to he nothing else than 



1890.] .is APPLIED TO CONSCIENCE. 67 

(to use their own words) " the result of accumulated experiences 
of utility." 

The statement, " intemperance is a sin," is thus equivalent to 
"intemperance is opposed to the temporal interests of the race." 
The knowledge of this truth has been acquired gradually and 
imperceptibly, and while the innumerable instances of harm done 
have been forgotten, the broad fact to which each instance has 
pointed viz.-: "intemperance must be avoided" is transmitted 
from generation to generation with an ever-increasing force and 
momentum. In a word, the general broad conclusions remain 
and are perpetuated, while the innumerable special instances on 
which these conclusions are in reality based are forgotten. Thus 
the consciousness of the sinfulness of the vice of intemperance 
would (on this hypothesis) have come about somewhat in this 
manner: In remote times undeveloped men were ruled and 
controlled not by sound reason, which was then only beginning 
to dawn, but by all sorts of fancies, prejudices, opinions, and 
whims. The superstitions lingering in some quarters at the pres- 
ent day that it is unlucky to travel on a Friday, or to sit down 
thirteen at table ; that the owl is a bird of ill-omen, and that 
the sight of a magpie is a forerunner of evil may be taken as 
modern instances of a state of mind at one time almost uni- 
versal. 

Now, observe, however varied these opinions and prejudices 
might be in different men, they would in each case influence and 
help to form conduct, behavior, and habits of life ; and of these 
countless strange opinions and prejudices, those which led to 
actions beneficial to the race would always have a better chance 
of spreading and perpetuating themselves than such as would 
lead to a mode of life injurious to the race. While the one set 
of judgments would in consequence gradually perish, the other 
set would survive and grow stronger. Thus : while the super- 
stitious beliefs that ill will- result from (i) sitting down thirteen 
at table, (2) from travelling on a Friday, and (3) from seeing a 
magpie perch near the house, or (4) from hearing the owl 
screech, are dying out because tlicy confer no advantage upon 
those who hold them, other superstitious beliefs (we must use 
this word while speaking in the evolutionary sense) e.g., that 
telling lies and cheating or stealing will lead to evil not only 
remain, but are become more deeply rooted than ever, and this 
is so because superstitions such as these do confer a decided ad- 
vantage on society and render social life and intercourse more 

VOL. LI. 5 



Till NARY TIII-.OKY [April, 

.UK! profitable. Let us suppoM .ui extreme case by way 
of illustration. 

:ip. >-e then arc five hundred families living on a d< 

J controlled wholly by superstitions and vain fears and 
prejudices; suppose half of them, influenced partly by the hor- 
rible nightmares and partly by digestive troubles occasioned 
by too sumptuous repasts upon buffalo-steaks and monkey-soup, 
conceived the notion that such excessive -ing punished 

by the spirits and genii of the forest. As a consequence, many 
of their number will persuade themselves that, for fear of arous- 

-till further resentment, they must eat and drink temperately. 
\\Y will call that section of the population Class A. Suppose 
tbat the other half of the community (whom we may call Cl.i 
are free from such nightmares and digestive troubles, and in 
consequence continue to eat and drink to excess as often as the 
occasion offers. What would be the result in the long run ? 
\Vhy, the unrestrained indulgence in eating and drinking would 
be fraught with most disastrous consequences, which would soon 
begin to tell upon the constitution and to threaten the very ex- 
istence of Class B. Class A, on the contrary, under the influ- 
ence of fear, would abstain from strong drink, and eat in 
moderation ; they would, in consequence, retain their wonted 
vigor and strength, while the more luxurious swains belonging t> > 
Class B would soon begin to experience the effects of their 
excesses. Excess would tend to produce disease, to shorten life, 
to render them less fit (cctcris paribus) in the general stru 
for existence. Their chances of survival would diminish more and 
more as compared with others less addicted to intemperance. 
But while Class B are thus steadily deteriorating, Class A, on 
the other hand, with their prejudice against excess, and their 
consequent abstemious and sober habits, would improve. Thev 
would, in the natural course of things, live longer and ! 
healthier children, who would inherit the prejudices of their 
parents in a heightened degree ; and when quarrels arose and 
wars were waged between these savages, Class A would come oft 
victorious, and Class B in course of time would dwindle away, 
and might at last die out altogether, like the aboriginals of Tas- 
mania. In a word, the tendency to condemn and denounce in- 
temperance would become more and more pronounced as time 
wore on ; and as the root of a tree or plant will follow the 
path of least resistance in preference to any other, so the race 
of man, other things being equal, will follow the path of 



1890.] . AS APPLIED TO CONSCIENCE. 69 

least intemperance, the path least opposed to its health and 
vigor. 

Thus, assuming the existence of a population half of which 
approve and hajf of which disapprove of intemperance, we shall 
find that the uniform tendency of natural selection will be to 
increase and multiply the number of those who hold a prejudice 
against intemperance, and to diminish, and even 'to wholly destroy, 
those who have no such prejudice ; in a word, its tendency is to 
make universal opinions u'hic/i are beneficial, and to stamp out and 
destroy opinions ivhick arc inimical ; in other ^vords, a constant 
effort is ever being made by nature to construct a " conscience " or 
an " universal judgment " condemnatory of what will bring ill 
and approving what will bring good to the human species. 

Thus, by a process of " natural selection and a survival of 
the fittest," as applied to opinions, prejudices, whims, supersti- 
tions, and fancies, the human conscience, as we now know it, has 
at last been formed. The accumulated experiences of the race 
regarding the deleterious effects of various actions have become 
stored up in each individual, so that (without necessarily know- 
ing or adverting to the reason) he condemns certain acts and 
approves of certain others. In this way the present generation 
has acquired the power of seeing an enemy in drunkenness and 
intemperance, just as the race of sparrows has acquired a power 
of detecting an enemy in the hawk, even the first time it encoun- 
ters one. 

What has been said of intemperance must, of course, be applied 
to every other act or habit which conscience stigmatizes and 
condemns. In fact, to use the ipsissima verba of the evolutionary 
school, " all moral rules are merely expressions of those social 
adaptations which, on the whole, and after infinite gropings, prove 
most serviceable in the preservation of groups of human animals 
in the struggle for existence "; and let us also observe that evo- 
lutkmists actually define morality as "the sum of the preserva- 
tive instincts of society." As Schurman very truly observes : 
' The fortuitous origin of morality through a process purely 
mechanical must, I think, be regarded as the fundamental tenet 
of the school." "The moral faculty is the result," they contend, 
" of all those experiences whereby mutually repellant individual 
animals were fused together into society and enabled to perpet- 
uate a victorious existence." 

In a word, " as natural selection has endowed the eagle with 
his eye, the bee with her sting, and the lion with his rage and 



-o TV/. .v.i/cy TllEOKY [A; HI, 



strength, so must naivral selection have endowed man not only 
witli an erect attitude, but also with a reason thai looks before 
anil alter, ami a <v//.v.v.y/<v that responds to right and \\ro: 

Such is the doctrine of evolutionists, and, as has already been 
said, it follows from it that there is no such thin- "lute 

right and wrong, and no such thing as absolute good or bad. 
These terms are merely relative. In the words of Mr. Spencer, 
" the good is universally the pleasurable " ; and " conduct is made 
good or bad solely by its ple.isurogiving and pain-diving 
effects." Conscience is thus reduced to nothing more than " the 
social instinct, illuminated by intelligence." From this it f 
that in another condition of life the dictates of conscience might 
be totally different, and even opposite to what they now are. 
What it now approves it might then condemn, and what it now 
condemns it might then approve. " If, for instance," says Schur- 
man, " men were reared under precisely the same conditions as 
hive-bees, they would possess a conscience which required un- 
married women, like the worker bees, to kill their brothers, and 
mothers to kill all their fertile daughters," and to do so would 
be to exercise virtue and religion. 

So far we have attempted merely to state and explain the 
theory. Our next effort must be to refute it. For this purpose 
we will summarize as clearly as possible what the theory postu- 
lates, and then endeavor to show that its postulates those very 
postulates upon which its whole existence depends are irreconcil- 
able with facts, and in the most glaring contradiction with expe- 
rience. 

On a careful analysis of the theory, it will be found that two 
propositions are insisted upon throughout, and, in fact, taken for 
granted : 

Prop. I. Every practice which is injurious to the temporal 
well-being of the community will, in the course of time, draw 
down upon it the condemnation of conscience, and will be r 
tered in the mind as a vice. 

Prop. 2. Every practice which is advantageous to the tem- 
poral well-being of the community or race will, in the course 
of ages, call down upon it the approval of conscience and be 
registered as a virtue. 

And this because the evolution of conscience is the gradual 
but continuous " realization of utilities." Darwin informs us 
that " any being, if it vary, however slightly, in any manner 
profitable to itself, will have a better chance of surviving, and 



1890.] AS APPLIED TO CONSCIENCE. 71 

thus be naturally selected." But a human intellect condemning 
an injurious practice varies from those which approve of the 
practice in a manner "profitable both to itself" and to every 
mind subject to its influence; and therefore it also will have a 
better chance of surviving, and will be naturally selected. 
" Hence," to use Schurman's words, " it follows that the moral 
sentiments, as motors tending to the preservation of the tribe, 
must, like the mental faculties, be self-preserving and self-accu- 
mulating under the utilitarian sway of natural selection." 

What follows from this ? Well, that every deleterious prac- 
tice should be condemned by conscience, and every useful and 
advantageous practice should be raised to the dignity of a 
virtue. But is this in any degree true ? Certainly not. As in 
many cases conscience refuses to condemn what is undoubtedly 
injurious to the temporal well-being .of the race, so, on the 
other hand, it frequently refuses to approve what is equally 
clearly to the advantage of the race. In a word, it acts again 
and again in a diametrically opposite manner to that necessarily 
supposed by the evolutionary theory. Take a single instance. 
What would obviously affect the general well-being of our wild 
and uncouth ancestors more than the quality and nourishing 
properties of the food upon which they lived ? Hardly anything. 
Let us once again have recourse to our previous example of the 
island with its population of five hundred families. Instead of 
the habit of intemperance we will now substitute the habit of 
eating unwholesome food. Hence, dividing the population, as 
before, into Division A and Division B, we will suppose that all 
those included under Section A, owing to the circumstances of 
their position, are perfectly well able to nourish themselves on 
buffalo-steaks and wild 'fowl, while the families forming Section 
B are compelled to satisfy their hunger with such poor and 
indigestible food as sour fruit, raw nuts, and unpalatable roots. 
The latter practice would be fraught with many disastrous con- 
sequences, and, in a few generations, the families following such a 
regime would ill compare with their better-fed neighbors. Their 
indigestible food would bring on dysentery and digestive trou- 
bles. It would reduce the strength and vigor of the tribe, and 
tend to shorten life and to lessen the chances of survival in 
the general struggle for existence. Section A, on the other hand, 
enjoying more nutritious and digestible food, would be healthier, 
in a better bodily condition, and more likely than their neigh- 
bors to overcome the obstacles to still further development. 



Till-. l : .roLcr:o\AKY Tin. [April, 

They wo u Li beget healthier children. These would inherit the 

or a still stronger taste for buffalo-steak and n>a>i ii 
,t-> well .is a stnm^er aptitude and cunning in hunting or trapping 
their game, while these qualities would carry the next generation 
on to a still greater vantage-ground in the struggle for exist- 
ence. 

Hut this is not all. If the evolutionary theory bo true, a far 
more momentous consequence must follow. The acquire* 
oil i- t'/ ///< utility of a more generous orcr a less gcncron* 
must give rise to a conscience proclaiming it sinful to live exclu- 
sively on roots and unripe fruits, and virtuous to live on animals 
and game and why ? Because evolutionists tell us that " moral 
intuitions are the result of the accumulated experiences of utility." 
Here we clearly see this supposition to be contrary to expe- 
rience. 

Indeed, a thousand practices might be pointed out which are 
unquestionably injurious to the temporal prosperity of the race, 
and against which, notwithstanding, conscience refuses to utter 
a single syllable of protest. But if " moral intuitions are," as 
these scientists insist, " the result of accumulated experiences of 
utility," how comes it that we have no moral intuitions, or in 
other words, no conscience condemning indigestible food, extreme 
poverty, incessant labor, broken sleep, and cold and naked: 
etc.? Considering how such things militate against the natural 
well-being of the race, they should by this time have reached a 
degree of sinfulness perfectly horrifying to contemplate. 

Even if it were possible in these cases to excuse the failure 
of conscience on the plea of its still incomplete development, and 
the insufficient time that has been allowed it to evolve, it is quite 
clear that no such excuses will avail (on the evolutionary th> 
in cases in which conscience positively condemns what is not only 
not injurious, but what is absolutely advantageous to the public 
On the hypothesis we are considering, conscience could 
never condemn any practice from whiclr the human race as a 
whole would derive real temporal advantage. The very defini- 
tion of conscience as " the result of accumulated experiences of 
utility," renders such a supposition absolutely impossible. Indeed, 
the whole object of evolutionists is to make conscience purely 
and simply the experimental knowledge of the race, rendered 
articulate in each member of its modern representatives, enjoining 
the useful and forbidding the opposite. If, therefore, it can be 
shown that conscience does not always approve of what is useful, 



1890.] ws APPLIED TO Cox SCIENCE. 73 

if it be proved that, so far from doing so, it sometimes does the 
very opposite, we may surely conclude that the evolutionary ac- 
count of conscience is a false one, and without any solid basis to 
rest on. 

Now, we will make bold to suggest an instance in which 
conscience strictly prohibits a practice distinctly beneficial to the 
material progress and welfare of the human race. In introducing 
the instance, it will be well to begin by calling to mind the con- 
gested condition of so many countries at the present day, and 
the millions of poor who are living on the very verge of penury, 
as also the competition for work, which is so keen and pressing 
that tens of thousands are forced to accept starvation wages, 
while thousands of others cannot get employment on any conditions 
whatsoever. Every year many persons in our largest towns die of 
hunger and privation. Now, in all circumstances, but especially 
in congested centres where the populations are unusually dense, 
and life, even for the strong and the healthy, is a hard and con- 
tinuous struggle, it would be a very great advantage (merely, ot 
course, from a utilitarian view) to destroy, by some painless 
anaesthetic, every diseased, deformed, or hopelessly imbecile infant 
as soon as possible after it is born. Any unbiassed man looking 
exclusively to the terrestrial good of the race as a whole, and to 
the formation of a more robust and healthier people, and to an 
exchequer less burdened by debt, must confess that the practice 
of such a carefully discriminating infanticide would be a decided 
gain. Indeed, this view is neither a novel one, nor is it merely 
a speculative one. It is a view which has been actually pro- 
pounded and approved by the most learned and the wisest 
among non-Christian writers and philosophers. Nay, more, it has 
actually been carried out in practice, not among savages and bar- 
barous tribes only, but among the most civilized and cultured 
nations of antiquity. Plato and Aristotle, who are certainly 
reckoned among the greatest intellects that ever lived, agree upon 
this point. "Both of them," says Mr. Grote, " command that no 
child crippled or deformed shall be brought up ; a practice," he 
adds, " actually adopted at Sparta under the Lycurgean institu- 
tions, and even carried further, since no child was allowed to be 
brought up until it had been inspected and approved by public 
nurses " provided for the purpose. " The Romans, too, were 
legally permitted to expose deformed children." 

A practice so beneficial as this, when once introduced, should 
most assuredly (on the evolutionary hypothesis) have impressed 



; 4 Till-: Eroi.CTlo\ARY 7 [April, 

iium.m conscience with a sense of its utility, and become 
binding as a permanently fixed intuitinn. And since such 
"moral suitiments as tend In the imprm ement of the tribe nui-t 
be not only self-preserving but self-accumulating, under the utili- 

!i -\\ay of natural selection," the practice should by this date 

secured for itself not merely tolerance but the hi 
approval of moralists. To destroy unprofitable infants should be 
He of the highest and sublimest of virtues, almost qualifying for 
canoni/ation. So much for the postulate of the theory. But 
what is the fact ? While from a purely utilitarian point of view 
its advantages are self-evident and undeniable, nevertheless, from 
a moral point of view, its deformity and iniquity are more self- 
evident still. 

Notwithstanding its acknowledged social utility, notwithstand- 
ing its admitted advantages, notwithstanding even its having been 
at one time largely practised by the most civili/ed races on 
earth, conscience rises up and, shaking off all such utilitarian 
wrappings, condemns it in the most absolute and unqualified 
manner ; yea, condemns it utterly, unconditionally, and fear- 
lessly, and peremptorily in spite of all that the united voices of 
utilitarians can urge in its favor. While freely admitting the 
possible benefits that such a practice might confer on society at 

. conscience declares, in the clearest and most emphatic 
language, that to kill a child, even though it be but an infant, 
and the most diseased and imbecile infant that ever breathed, is 
rank murder, and a sin crying to heaven for vengeance. 

This fact, which is only one selected from many others, is 
utterly irreconcilable with the evolutionary hypothesis of con- 
science. An evolved conscience, from its very raison d'etre, could 
never condemn in this unqualified manner acts which never had, 
and never could have had, the least prejudicial effects upon the 
prosperity and well-being of any race or tribe or people what- 
soever. The whole purpose of a developed conscience is to 
promote the temporal welfare of mankind as a whole at the 
expense of individuals. In the instance before us it not only fails 
to do anything of the kind, but it does precisely the reverse. 
It espouses and safeguards the interests of the individual child 
even though it be to the prejudice of the entire world. 

The fact is that nothing that Darwin or Spencer or Haeckel 
or any of their learned follower- have said suffices to account for 
conscience as we actually find it. Their ingenious theories and ex- 
planations of its genesis would pci , c to account !or a con- 



1890.] AS ATPLIED TO CONSCIENCE. 75 

science such as might have been fancied or imagined, but in no way 
does it serve to account for conscience such as we know it to be. 
We are forced to seek elsewhere for a satisfactory explanation of 
the phenomenon. It has been laid down by the evolutionary 
school that " the ancestors of man had no moral fibre in their 
constitution, but through long-inherited experiences of the conse- 
quences of conduct man has been rendered organically moral." 
To such an assertion the known facts of conscience give the lie 
direct, and so prove the entire theory to be as baseless as the . 
fabric of a dream. On a thousand practices incontestably injuri- 
ous to the race conscience positively refuses to utter one syllable 
of condemnation ; on the other hand, many practices undoubt- 
edly useful and profitable to the temporal prosperity of mankind 
conscience places under a ban. 

The plain fact thrust upon us is that the account of the 
origin of conscience proposed by evolutionists, though clever and 
ingenious, and even workable up to a certain point, will not 
bear a close scrutiny. On a careful examination the theory fades 
away, as fade the bright figures projected by the magic lantern 
so soon as daylight is allowed to fall upon them. To speak of 
conscience as Herbert Spencer does is to ignore its essential 
character. Conscience approves and disapproves, justifies and 
condemns, both single acts and lines of conduct wholly indepen- 
dently of their influence upon the temporal prosperity of the 
race. The truth is, conscience asserts a higher law than the law 
of utility ; it defends and safeguards higher interests than any 
interests of time, and points in unmistakable language both to 
a Law-giver and to a sanction of which mere sense can take no 
cognizance whatsoever. It even speaks to us of a better life and 
of a wider sphere of action, and throws startling gleams of light 
into that future world before the portals of which paces the grim 
sentinel Death. 

JOHN S. VAUGHAN. 

Chelsea, England. 



://; 



'Mi: ii.u'NTs OF THI-: PAUKKS. 
i. 

TlIK credit of discovering America in 1492 undoubtcdl}- be- 
longs to Spain. This has never been disputed. Of the earlier 

! to this great continent, recorded in song and story, \ve 
have nothing now to say. The discovery that made it of prac- 
tical utility to the Caucasian race was made by Columbus. But 
while receiving credit for the opening up of a new world, it 
seems to the writer that the Spaniards have never received even 
a tithe of the praise justly due them for the great work they 
labored to accomplish in the western hemisphere, especially for 
the aboriginal races. A few books, mostly written by them- 
selves, have sufficed to tell their faults and shortcomings. Ten 
thousand books could not do full justice to the daring warriors 
and holy priests who, amid frightful hardships, sought to civilize 
the picturesque heathen of earlier days and make known to him 
Jesus Christ and Him crucified. 

When studying history and biography as connected with 
the Pueblos and the Sierras, or traversing the dusty, sunlit 
plains of the great Southwest, this conviction has often forced 
itself upon our mind. To-day the Pueblos are representatives of 
the original or Indian civilization, sometimes overshadowed by 
the more pretentious civilization of a less remote epoch. But no 
fair-minded individual of ordinary observation can traverse the 
regions originally settled by the Spaniards, and not marvel at 
the remains of the wondrous works created in the wilderness by 
their genius or inspiration for the glory of God and the good ot 
souls. 

How were these stupendous works accomplished ? Was it, 
indeed, the barbarian of yesterday who left to the nineteenth 
century the unique specimens of constructive art which are the 
wonder and delight of every intelligent wanderer who has pene- 
trated the lands over which the flaming colors of Spain once 
waved ? Was it he, indeed, who planned the vast schem 
irrigation for the thirsty soil, the noble aqueducts, the graceful 
accqtdas, whose slow-moving waters make the burning yellow 
sands cool and verdant and productive? An aged inhabitant of 
one of these countries said to the writer: "The missionaries 



1890.] SOME HAUNTS OF THE PADRES. 77 

believed in work for their people above everything else. They 
used to say: 'If our children [the Indians] will only learn to 
work, we can Christianize them ; if they will not, our teach- 
ing of them will be vain.' ' Hence the missionaries every- 
where gave the untutored Indians an example of industry and 
thrift. They built houses and churches, planted vineyards and 
olive-groves for the service of the altar, and raised fruit and 
corn and vegetables for their humble disciples and co-laborers . 
in the Gospel. 

When we look at the compact, carefully erected " missions " 
basking in the sunshine of the plain, or resting peacefully on a 
gentle slope, or crowning seme verdant hill, beautiful even in 
the decrepitude of age, we are not surprised that the Indian and 
the old Spaniard look back lovingly to what they affectionately 
call "mission times." These abandoned churches, in many in- 
stances resisting time and weather ; their silent bells imprisoned 
in towers, but giving no sign of the life that is in them, save 
when the storm-winds blow upon the ramparts or through the 
port-holes and make them ring out spasmodic peals ; the carv- 
ings, because done for God, executed as carefully where no eye 
sees them as where exposed to the blaze of a semi-tropical sun; 
the walls many feet thick of baked earth or hand-made brick 
all these are eloquent of the solicitude and industry of the good 
padres, who planted and watered and nursed with a care that 
faith alone could bestow on the neophytes and their heritage. 

II. 

Among the missionaries were artists, architects, and brothers 
who were masters of every handicraft. Hence the civilization 
they produced wherever they settled. They did not use their 
power to exterminate the red man, nor did they covet his lands. 
They worked and prayed. They taught and exemplified the 
old monastic maxim, Laborarc est orare Work is prayer. 
Their history, eloquently told in the ruins of the works of their 
hands and those of their disciples, is one of the noblest treas- 
ures of the church. What was the industry or enterprise of 
modern immigrants compared to theirs ? In remote times, when 
neither steam nor electricity had come to abridge distances, how 
did they gather materials ? Or, having gathered them, how did 
they labor in the blistering sunshine ? True, the Indians were often 
but as hewers of wood or drawers of water to the priests who 
planned the grand works. Old settlers in Texas, and one in 



SO.VK HACXTS cv r/v 

particular \vli<> lived there over fifty ye.us, am! liad known the 

f tile missionaries told us that, while the Indians were will- 

:cording to their poor ability, the best of the work 

which we admire to-day was executed by skilled artificers fr,im 

i>e, girded with the brown habit and white cord of St. 

Francis, from plans and designs made by priests wearing the 

-.une holy garb. 

These saintly men were no fireside philanthropists, no lazy 
philosophers. They came to subdue the savage h.-arts of the red 
men to the beautiful virtues with which Mother Church 
to see her children adorned; to teach them to cry, "Abba," 
" Father," to their great Creator ; to make them heirs and joint- 
heirs with Christ to the kingdom of God. But, over and above 
the heavenly teachings of the church, the padres sought to in- 
troduce among the children of the forest the arts of civilixation. 
They taught them to till the land, and gather from the teeming 
bosom of Mother Earth the best part of their sustenance, so as 
not to depend altogether on the precarious means of living sup- 
plied by the chase. And, to add to their comforts, they im- 
ported several domestic animals and showed their " children " 
how to use them. For, strange to say, up to the early days of 
the nineteenth century the wild Indians in several places had 
not yet ' learned the use of the hor:e, and were wont to set out 
on foot on their hunting and marauding expeditions. 

If religion did not always precede these social improvements, 
she speedily followed in their wake. Barbarian hearts were touched 
by a goodness which they knew was not of earth ; and ere long 
the missionaries were recognized as the best friends of the savage. 
Whole tribes willingly forsook their nomadic life and settled down 
with their beloved padres, gladly subjecting themselves to the re- 
straints of civilization that they might enjoy the blessings of reli- 
gion. The missions often became central points for the govern- 
ment of the country. Jesuit enterprise was fostered by the mother 
country, and when, unhappily, the Jesuits were expelled, Fran- 
ciscans and others, undeterred by their fate, stepped in to con- 
tinue the good work which their predecessors had matured under 
the auspices of Mary. The names of these holy men are writ on 
American soil from pole to pole, and from ocean to ocean. In 
North, South, and Ccntr.il America the very ruins of their monu- 
ments praise them in the gate. But of the good work as of the 
human being may be said: "Not all of me shall die." The 
immortal part of their glorious deeds will be' found in houses no.t 
made with hands yea, in the treasuries of heaven. 



1890.] Soj/ HAUNTS OF THE PADRES. 79 

III. 

But as it would be impossible in one article to do justice to 
all the missions, or indeed to many, we shall turn from the 
Golden Gate and the shores of the sparkling Caribbean Sea, and 
passing by the Mexican Gulf, enter the fair land of Texas, and 
speak of " some western missions " within her boundaries. It is 
certain that Catholic missionaries were the first white men who 
penetrated the wilds of Texas, and they came not for fame 

or pelf 

'' Not as the conqueror comes 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drum, 
Or the trumpet that tells of fame." 

When a site was selected and the nucleus of a village formed 
by the Indians, under the direction of the padres, the next step 
was to build a church, or, as it was styled, a " mission." Many 
of these " missions " have yielded to the decaying action of time. 
Some remain, but they, too, will be consumed by a destroyer 
whose progress may be delayed but cannot be arrested. In 1715 
Antonio Margil, a Franciscan of the strict observance, began his 
labors in Texas, having previously exercised his ministry in 
Mexico, Central America, and Louisiana. Wonderful was the fruit 
that rewarded his zeal wherever his feet rested. Through him 
were established the missions that attract so much attention in 
the vicinity of San Antonio : Concepcion, San Jose, San Juan 
Capistrano, and San Francisco de Espada. In the term " mission " 
were included monasteries and forts. Into the outer parts of these 
edifices persons of European birth or lineage and Christian 
Indians often retreated from the savagery of the wild red men. 
The oblong apartment devoted to church purposes was usually 
of small dimensions compared to the portion devoted to cloisters, 
towers, apartments, arched passages, and belfries pointing heaven- 
ward. 

Parts of these edifices are still wondrously beautiful, though 
in many instances vandals, styling themselves relic-hunters, have 
anticipated the destruction which time would inevitably bring. 
The mission church of San Jose, begun in 1717 by Father Margil, 
was not finished till 1771, when that great missionary had passed 
away. It was built by Spaniards and Indians, who formed a 
Christian brotherhood and called themselves " The Children of 
St. Joseph." Even at this late day " San Jose " is a marvel of 
architectural loveliness ; or, to use the phraseology of the epoch, 



://. I f.-t i:\TS Of Till: rAf>KKS. [A]'ril, 

a poem in stone, or a dream of exquisite beauty. The c.min.,, 
entirely by the hand, and the carpenter's work, cannot be 
surpassed in elegance of design <>r perfection of finish. The cele- 
brated artist Huica, sent thithe/ for that purpose by the kin 
Spain, spent several years in carving the st.itues and various other 
ornamentations which, despite the rava-e*. of time, delight tlu 
of every beholder who has taste to appreciate the beautiful. Mis 
sion Conception, whose full title was " Mission Concepcion la 
Purissima do Acuna," is called the first mission ; San Jose, the 
second ; and San Juan Capistrano, the third. They are now for 
the most part deserted Sometimes one finds a dark- eyed, dark- 
haired family guarding a mission in its decrepitude, one of whom 
will show the ruins to visitors and not refuse a dole in return- 
The tops of the towers are half gone ; the walls, several feet thick, 
are covered with grass and field flowers ; here and there tall iron 
crosses may be seen erect amid the general dilapidation, as if 
to remind the beholder that when all sublunary things pass 
away the cross will stand. The front door of San Jose is 
studded with stone statues so embedded in the work that the 
door, archway, and figures seem to be made from one solid piece 
of rock. 

Across the Rio Grande from El Paso, the Gate City of Two 
Republics, is El Paso del Norte, in Mexico, the name of which 
has recently been changed to Juarez, a fact our geographies have 
not yet noted. There are hundreds of adobe huts in El Paso del 
Nortc, and some fine buildings in American style. The culture 
of fruit is universal. Instead of fences, there are fruit-trees planted 
very closely together, which answer the same purpose. American 
ideas have taken possession of this fair town on the hillside. 
Venders describe their merchandise in English and Spanish. The 
Mexican women have graceful figures, and dark eyes and skin. 
Among their good points must be reckoned most beautiful white- 
teeth, and long, blue-black hair; but the hair is known to be 
most populous. Minus the American houses and the English 
advertising of wares, this old town probably looks to-day exactly 
as it did in the time of the padres. Here, on a gentle elevation. 
is a mission church said to be three hundred years old. An 
ancient cemetery stretches out in front of it. Farther on is the 
plaza, prettily laid out, with a bust of Bcnito Juarez, his back 
turned to the church, on a high pedestal in the centre. The in- 
terior of the roof of this very ancient temple is of carved wood. 
As it is still in use, it is in good repair. The low, square houses in 
the valley empty themselves every Sunday mornin- to fill it. 



1890.] SOME HAUNTS OF THE PADRES. Si 

There are neither chairs nor benches ; the congregation kneel or 
squat ; the men in Mexican or American costume, the women 
wearing the ever-graceful mantilla. Our Lady of Dolors is dressed 
like a widow ; a younger Blessed Virgin is in bridal costume, in 
all the bravery of diamond ear-rings and gold bracelets, with 
human hair, and a cluster of precious stones for a halo. A statue 
of our Lord immediately after his painful death is terribly realistic ; 
it can hardly be forgotten by any Christian that ever gazed on it 
for a moment. On the walls of this venerable church are several 
little pictures representing miracles that have been wrought in favor 
of those who put them up, or their loved ones. They are not 
works of art, but water-colors of the most primitive description, 
that tell pathetic stories. One small bit of landscape has in its 
centre a bed on which a beautiful child lies dying, her friends 
about her, her mother bending in agony over her. A novena and 
procession to our Lady of Guadalupe, the Thaumaturgiste of these 
regions, obtained the cure of the precious patient when all human 
remedies had failed. The little story is told in the simplest Span- 
ish in an inscription beneath the picture. In these days of self- 
sufficiency and self-righteousness, when favors are regarded more 
often as a right than as a grace, these simple testimonials of gra- 
titude to God for his mercies in this far-away spot are singularly 
touching. This church is probably a good specimen of what each 
of the ruined churches was in early days. Imagination can easily 
fill it with Indians. But the red people of old are very different 
from those to be seen in the West in our day. These latter, with 
their ugly features all but hidden by the coarse black hair that 
falls in matted ropes about them, are repulsive, or, rather, hideous. 
Yet with their paint and bright-colored drapery they form pic- 
turesque groups seen at a distance. 

IV. 

It seems to us that no Catholic can enter these ancient 
missions without emotion. " The touch of a vanished hand " 
will never restore their pristine beauty, but " the sound of a 
voice that is still" will reverberate while stone clings to stone 
through their venerable cloisters. Since the cross was first 
placed by holy hands over these churches populous and mag- 
nificent cities have sprung into being. When the missionaries 
began to preach Christ crucified on these gentle slopes and 
sunlit plains, New York was scarcely a village, New Orleans a 
jungle of wet cypress and willow, Chicago a dismal swamp, 



HAUNTS <>/ ////-. r [April, 

S.ui I-'r.mcisco a range of sand hills, and San Ant' lio itself a 
beautiful \\a->tr, a cluster of wigwams, <ir a collection of Mexican 

ils. 

The site of San Antonio was exceptionally well chosen by 
the early missionaries. No city <>n earth is better watered. The 
long lines of aqueducts and the little runnels made by the 
> are still used for irrigating purposes, especially in the 
fields and vegetable gardens below the city. One cannot go far 
in any direction without meeting the pale green waters of the 
San Antonio River, or the crystal streams of the San Pedro. 
The source of the latter, on the estate of Mr. Breckenridge, is 
a unique sight. Under a giant tree, bent with the weight ol 
years, the water springs up pure and cold ; on account of its 
great depth the spring looks black, but the fluid is perfectly 
clear. Bubbling up from the bosom of the earth, it overflows 
its grassy boundaries, gliding in many streams over the beauti- 
ful country. The arrows, spear-heads, and tomahawks of abo- 
riginal workmanship which excavations have from time to time 
brought to light would seem to show that this region must 
have been a favorite haunt of the Indians long before the Span- 
iards set foot in Texas. 

In 1834 Colonel Almonte estimated the whole population ot 
Texas at 36,400. Of these about 21,000 were whites, and the 
remainder Indians. Money was scarce, purchases were made by 
barter, and in the settlements people shared with each other 
the necessaries of life. For lack of protection and encourage- 
ment, immigrants, who were greatly desired by the authori- 
ties, were kept out. The wild Indians harassed the whites, 
and their trail in the forest was often marked with blood. Old 
residents tell terrible tales of these troublous times. The su- 
perior of a San Antonio convent, a native of San Antonio, who 
has scarcely passed middle life, remembers being more than once 
hidden in a place of safety, with other members of her family, 
when scouts proclaimed that the red men were on the war-path 
and approaching her father's dwelling. 

But more often the savages came like the proverbial thief in 
the night. Mothers who with their girls went to the nearest 
village for supplies, on returning to their ranch sometimes found 
the entrance to their homes blocked up by the dead bodies of 
their murdered husbands and sons. Once, when the settlers, all 
Irish, fled in a body from San Patricio before a fo: for wlnm 
they were entirely unprepared, one of their wagons broke down 
in the wilderness. It took three hours to mend it. No one 



1890.] SOME HAUNTS OF THE PADRES. 83 

durst move till all could go together, and ever and anon they 
cried out: "The Indians will be on us!" But the delay they 
deemed so unfortunate was providential. On reaching the settle- 
ment where they expected shelter, which they did reciting aloud 
the Rosary, they found it, indeed, but by the door-steps they 
were horrified to see the still warm corpses of the brave men 
who would have shown them princely hospitality, riddled with 
the arrows of these terrible Bedouins and gashed with their 
tomahawks. 

An ancient Irish lady, still living, who was among those 
that fled from San Patricio on that occasion (over fifty years 
ago), says she never blamed " the braves " for their sanguinary 
deeds, for she had seen the treatment they experienced from 
some American settlers. When the Indians went to the chase, 
many dastardly pale-faces descended upon their helpless squaws 
and papooses, and behaved themselves in a manner our pen 
refuses to record. They achieved great dexterity as marksmen, 
and could almost split a hair. " Often and often," said she, 
" I have seen a man take aim at the eye or the nose of a 
papoose in its mother's arms or packed on her back, and boast 
of it as a great deed, when the little creature, covered with 
blood, breathed its last in the lap of the poor mother." The 
Indians would have been more or less than human had they not 
revenged the wanton cruelty which used their babes as targets 
and broke the hearts of the bereaved mothers. And this was 
but one of the many ways in which they were provoked and 
tantalized by the new-comers. 

San Antonio was the scene of many a fray of this kind, and 
many a battle and skirmish that helped to achieve the inde- 
pendence of Texas. It was also the scene of the early preaching 
of saintly men. It has always been famous for the extreme beauty 
of its situation and the salubrity of its mild arid genial climate. 
But the sanguinary battles, cruel massacres, the defeating and 
surrendering of armies, and other stirring events of which it has 
been the theatre, have allured the public mind from its nobler 
characteristics as a grand centre of missionary labor and the 
seat of churches which have weathered the attrition of ages. 

The strife between Royalists and Republicans ended in 1836, 
when Texas dissolved its political connection with Mexico and 
became a sovereign republic, with the Lone Star for its flag. 
Ten years later the Lone Star was absorbed by the star-spangled 
banner of its powerful neighbor, the United States. 

VOL. LI. 6 



,X 4 ://.. //.ICXTS ('/ THl- rADKI-.S. [April, 

V. 

The churcli of San Antonio Yaiero, west of the river Valero 
idded in honor of Marquis Valero, a viceroy of New Spain 

uas used by the Spaniards and their descendants. Not far 

from this was built for the Indians a mission whose fame has 
become world-wide. As it stood in a throve of cottonwood-trees, 
though no tree is now to be seen in its vicinity, it was called 
by the Mexicans Alamo, which means cottonwood-trees, as 
though one should say in English, The Oaks, The Beeches, The 
Kims, The Pines. Thirteen families from the Canary Islands, 
who settled on the same side of the river in 1730, built a town 
which they called San Fernando, in'honor of St. Ferdinand. King 
of Spain. Their memory was perpetuated in the name of the 
principal square, Plaza de las Islas. Facing this they erected a 
fine church in the Moorish or Moresque style, part of which is 
still standing, and forms the sacristy and sanctuary of the cathe- 
dral of San Antonio. From the single tower of this old church 
the Mexican generals were wont to display their flags. The 
cross over the high altar is of solid silver, and the chain which 
decorates the statue of the Blessed Virgin is studded with dia- 
monds. Behind the altar are the tombs of several of the first 
Spanish colonists. In the rear of the church is another plaza, 
once called the Presidio de Bexar, after the Duke of Bexar, a 
viceroy of Mexico. It was also called the Military Square, as it 
was used by the garrison. Both squares are now public mar- 
kets. The stalls are covered with the products of Jhe surround- 
ing country, and presided over by Mexicans, whose dark faces 
are shaded by huge sombreros. On the military plaza it is a 
pleasant though a weird sight to see the Mexicans cook and eat 
their spicy supper every evening towards nightfall, a custom 
which is doubtless a relic of the mission times. The Mexi- 
cans sit at long tables well lighted, and the cooking, done on the 
spot, consists entirely of the national dishes of Mexico. In these 
garlic and chili form a large ingredient. Everything is very 
highly seasoned. " When a Mexican is sick," said a friend to 
the writer, "one does not know what to give him ; the Mexican 
stomach is so burned out with red pepper and chili that one 
cannot find anything hot enough to make an impression." How- 
ever, the Americans take very readily to Mexican cookery, and 
are often seen in the gloaming supping with their Mexican 
friends. 

The church and fortress known as the Alamo were once out- 



1890.] SOME HAUNTS OF THE PADRES. 85 

side of San Antonio, but -are now in the heart of that city. 
There is nothing more touching and romantic in American his- 
tory than the episode known as " The Fall of the Alamo." 
This structure was useful to the early colonists as a place of 
safety for themselves and their goods and chattels in case of 
Indian hostility, but, being cut up into many small apart- 
ments, it had not the compactness necessary for a fortification. 
And it has often been surmised that history might have a differ- 
ent tale to tell had the garrison taken refuge in the strong and 
compact Mission Conception instead of the rambling Alamo. 
But many of the Aztecs thought " Los Tejanos " were invinci- 
ble, and unfortunately the Texans themselves leaned to the same 
opinion when they took the ill-advised step of entering a fortress 
they were never to leave alive. 

Early in spring, 1836, detachments of Santa Anna's army of 
seven thousand men approached stealthily and were seen de- 
scending the slope west of the San Pedro. Shots from the be- 
sieged were answered by shells from the invaders. February 23 
the general himself arrived and began the regular siege, which 
lasted eleven days. His force included the cavalry of Cualta, 
the infantry of Yucatan, the zapadores (sappers), and some per- 
manent militia. Three times they were repulsed by Crockett, 
Bowie, Davis, and their one hundred and seventy-two brave 
companions. At dawn, March 6, the red flag, and later the 
black flag (no quarter death), floated from the single tower of 
San Fernando, which was the original name of both cathedral 
and city. A blast of a bugle signalled the besiegers to march 
on in double-quick time, so that all might reach the outer bar- 
rier of the fortress together. The guns of the beleaguered pa- 
triots opened on the besiegers, who, however, soon beat down 
the outer walls. A band struck up the horrible music of the 
.dignello, no quarter ! A breach was soon made, and the assail- 
ants rushed in and fought hand-to-hand with the besieged 
wherever they were brought to bay. The fortress was taken by 
storm. Only three human beings, a woman, a child, and a 
Mexican servant, escaped in the carnage that ensued. Of the 
garrison not a soul was left to tell the tale of bravery and woe. 
It was likened to' the Grecian story of the Pass of Thermopylae, 
defended by the Spartan king, Leonidas, and his brave three 
hundred against the armies of Xerxes. But, as the slab that 
commemorates the event takes notice : Thermopylae had its 
messenger of defeat, whereas the Alamo had none. 

The victors made three piles of the remains of the slaughtered 



86 '!{ II A L:\TS of Tin. /'.-//> A' /-.\. [April, 

patriots, gathered out of pools of blood, and made of them a 
holocaust before the gates of the Alamo. But, about a year 
later. Colonel Sequin had their ashes reverently collected and 
buried with the military honors which the fallen heroes so well 
deserved. 

General Santa Anna afterwards excused this wholesale 
slaughter by saying that the Mexican law left him no alterna- 
tive, Congress having decreed that all " Los Tejanos " taken in 
arms should be summarily shot, like pirates. 

There were then no houses south or east of the Alamo to in- 
terfere with the cannonading or bombardment. The fort, with 
its church and dependencies, covered nearly two acres, and could 
easily accommodate one thousand men. Travis, Howie, Davy 
Crockett, with their companions, sold their lives as dearly as 
possible, for the capture of the Alamo cost the Mexican nation 
one thousand men. From that memorable 6th of March, 1836, 
the mission church, whose earthen floors were saturated with 
the blood of the brave, has not been used for sacred purposes. 
The renowned Alamo now belongs to the State of Texas. We 
regret to add that the chief apartments on its ground- floor form 
at this moment a grocery warehouse an adaptation which cer- 
tainly does not enhance the charm of romance and chivalry 
with which the American heroes of the Lone Star State in- 
vested every part of the Alamo " mission." 

The Indians who remained unconverted, like the terrible 
Comanches, were usually called "wild Indians." The other tribes, 
when Christianized, readily took to the arts of civilization. From 
the devoted missionaries they learned agriculture, and were 
taught by the same genuine apostles to manufacture the cloth used 
in their own apparel. Their cattle and horses roamed the plains 
in thousands. The necessaries and even the comforts of life 
were possessed in abundance by these reclaimed savages. They 
understood Spanish well and spoke it fluently. But the wars 
and political changes of which Texas was so long the theatre 
destroyed the fruits of the persevering and arduous labors of the 
devoted sons of St Francis on Texan soil. The country was 
periodically overrun by a licentious soldiery, whose evil ex- 
ample began and completed, with other untoward circum- 
stances, the ruin of the hapless red men. After the seculariza- 
tion and removal of their cherished padres, they gradually 
lapsed into their former barbarism. 

Father Diaz, the last of the missionaries, who lived far into 
the present century, used in his old age to expatiate on the 



1890.] DOLLINGER'S PLAINT BEFORE DEATH. 87 

virtues of the converted children of the wilderness, and the 
high degree of material prosperity they had achieved under the 
tutelage of the fathers generations before the white-topped 
wagon, or " prairie-schooner," brought thither the modern immi- 
grant. The hecatomb of the Alamo, the destruction of so 
many brave warriors within that grim fortress and outside of it, 
form sad pages of the history of our country under Texan skies. 
But not less sad are the pages that tell of the ruin of the 
Christian " missions " established by the faith of a great nation 
for the conversion of the aborigines whom Columbus had given, 
with a New World, to Leon and Castile, and the gradual fall- 
ing back into barbarism, of the converted savage, deprived of 
his spiritual father and best benefactor through the sin or fault 
of the covetous or ambitious white man. 

M. A. C. 

New Orleans, La. 



DOLLINGER'S PLAINT BEFORE DEATH. 

MY birth, forestalling close this nineteenth age, 
Had marked me for its ruling mind, whose aim 
Was first what soon I won historic fame. 

Then- fostered pride a mitre would presage. 

It came not. Hence with spite and learned rage 
I strove by plots to dwarf that Papal name 
Which erst I praised ; against the Petrine claim 

I fought, and clove our Catholic heritage. 

Some followed after me, but oh ! how few ; 

And how their leanings shocked my priestly soul ! 
How vile their praise to me ! How dear it cost ! 
Long since have I their tenets spurned as new ; 
Alone I stand, and wait the judgment-roll. 
Ah me ! my ninety years are worse than lost. 

L. D. 

St. Boniface, Manitoba, 



.Y ( >/.)/.-//. SCHOOLS FOR CATIIOI ics. [April, 



NORMAL SCHOOLS FOR CATHOLICS. 

As we are to a great extent unconscious of the development 
and decay of our physical and spiritual faculties, and become 
other without perceiving the process of change, so are we but 
vaguely aware of the transformations of a thousand kinds which 
are for ever going on in the external world. As the earth seems 
to be at rest, so human society seems to be stationary, and it is 
only when we look back that we see its progress. And when 
we examine closely we perceive that what appears to be a 
simple movement is as complex and involved as life itself. All 
kinds of knowledge are correlated, and every science tends to 
modify every phase of human existence. Art develops into 
science, and science gives rules to art, and the practice of art 
leads to new truths of science. A mechanical invention, such as the 
printing-press or the steam-engine, becomes the means of poli- 
tical, religious, and social changes, and the state, in creating a 
system of free schools which afford opportunity for education 
to every child, gives an impulse to human activity such as 
the sun of spring gives to the waters when he loosens win- 
ter's grasp upon snow and ice. A higher sense of the value of 
earthly life has thence resulted, and education has acquired new 
meanings. 

The pedagogue, who was originally a slave, and then a drudge, 
has risen in dignity, and the more enlightened men grow to be,, 
the more noble will his office and function come to be consid- 
ered ; more effective work will be demanded of him, and to 
do this he will find it necessary that he should be a more real 
and genuine sort of man. Education has become a science, and 
teaching has become an art which only they who are thoroughly 
versed in the science can intelligently exercise. A hundred 
years ago it was generally accepted that to know a thing was 
to know how to teach it, but now it is plain to all that knowl- 
edge is not necessarily skill, and that the teacher, besides know- 
ing what he teaches, should also have the ability to impart his 
knowledge. This special skill is the result of a knowledge of 
right methods, and of the training which will give power to 
awaken and interest the mind, to command attention, and thereby 
to bring the pupil's whole spiritual being under the teacher's in- 
fluence. But education is a deep subject, as deep as God and 



1890.] NOKMAL SCHOOLS FOR CATHOLICS. 89 

man and nature, and to know the best methods we must know 
the principles which underlie the science. 

Of old the teacher learned his art by experimenting on the 
minds of the young, as the physician learned the practice of 
medicine by experimenting on the bodies of men. This is the 
empirical method which is everywhere giving way to the rational, 
now that we have begun to make a serious study of the history 
of education and of the principles on which pedagogics rest. 
And we may be permitted to hope that the day is near when 
it will be considered criminal to entrust children to those who 
are ignorant of the science and art of education. Like the priest 
or the physician, the teacher must have special training, and there 
must be teachers' seminaries, just as there are theological and 
medical colleges. The Normal School is as essential to a system 
of education as is the elementary school, or the college, or the 
university. Numbers and majorities have with us such control- 
ling influence upon public opinion that we easily forget that they 
have nothing to do with truth and justice, with religion and 
culture. In education, certainly, the paramount consideration is 
not how many but what kind of schools have we ? Americans, 
whether Catholic or Protestant, would act in a wiser and a 
broader spirit if, besides keeping up a controversy in which, after 
all, there is nothing new to be said, and which is irritating, 
they set themselves resolutely to work to improve educational 
methods. 

The kind of school which develops the best men and women 
will in the end prevail. We live in an age of inductive reason- 
ing, of experiment and observation, and to be right in theory 
will avail nothing unless the application of our principles is justi- 
fied by results. What is called the school question will be settled, 
if it is settled at all, by facts rather than by arguments, and to 
insist upon our grievances may even divert us from the real 
work of educating our children. As for those who accuse Cath- 
olics of sinister designs against the common schools, they are 
bigots or politicians, and need not be taken seriously. It is to 
be feared that our actual education, whether common or denom- 
inational, does little more than impress upon the memory words 
and phrases, or paint on the fancy vague and pale images of 
things. How seldom does it inspire pupils with burning love 
and irresistible longing for the higher kinds of intellectual, moral, 
and religious life ! They quit the schools thinking, if they think, 
only of making a living, not resolved to make of themselves 
living men and women. Such education is not the art of forming 



90 NORMAL SCHOOLS FOX CATHO: [April, 

men, but a machine-making trade. As we train animals for 
practical service, so by our methods uf teaching we stimulate 
:i faculties, call forth certain aptitudes, but leave the soul 
untouched. Better than to warn the young of danger' and failure, 
would it be to make them feel how divine man's life may become 
if his whole being be turned to what is true, and good, and fair 
Let the pupil this should be the educator's motto become him- 
self good, and wise, and fair, and then, without effort or exhorta- 
tion, he will do what is good, and wise, and fair. Fashion the 
man, the rest will come of itself. \Yhat need is there to urge 
the bird to fly ? Give the soul wings and it will lift itself into 
ethereal worlds. Man wills what he desires and loves. Make 
him desire and love the best, and he will will the right. So long 
as he loves only the world of sense, he will dwell therein and no 
power can lift him higher, for through love alone is he capable 
of better things. All knowledge is good, all truth is sacred, all 
virtue is holy, all beauty is admirable, and once we know and 
feel this, we live and move consciously in the Infinite Adorable, 
and the good becomes the law of our life. 

It is indeed right and necessary to educate for practical ends, 
but the young must believe that they are working for more than 
earthly well-being. When we take pleasure in the thought of 
accomplishing something which as yet has no real existence we 
arc under the influence and impulse of an ideal which is not an 
image of the actual, but rather its prototype ; and the aim of 
education must be to make us able not only to grasp given 
ideals, but to create ideals of our own ; for the children ot 
a man's own soul fill him with the deepest and most abiding 
love, and impel him with irresistible force to give them the actual 
existence of which his heart and imagination make him believe 
they are capable. Thus the ideals which spring of themselves in 
our minds urge us to ceaseless activity, that they may take 
substantial form ; and by this energy our spiritual being is de- 
veloped. Our physical wants are certainly imperious, and will 
not be denied ; but they are soon satisfied, and unless we 
hearken to the appeal of the ideal we fatally sink into a sort of 
animal existence. We may, of course, make an ideal of the 
appetites, and seek to provide for all possible future hunger and 
thirst and comfort by gaining position, or by heaping up 
wealth. But in such an ideal there is no inspiration. The aids 
to noble life lie within us, and the young who dream of love, 
of virtue, of knowledge, and of fame, should not be turned, like 
a herd of swine, into some fat pasture. The school which 



1890.] NORMAL SCHOOLS FOK CATHOLICS. 91 

awakens a desire of knowledge is better than the school which 
only imparts knowledge ; for the young do not know, but only 
seem to know, and unless they carry into life the love of study 
they will never become really educated. Are not the minds of in- 
numerable children dwarfed by the practice which compels them 
during their early years to learn by heart things which it is 
impossible for them to care for or understand ? And when their 
minds have thus been made dull and callous, we find it strange 
that later on we are unable to arouse them to take interest in 
intellectual pursuits. 

Is not our method of teaching religion, which is the distinc- 
tive feature in our schools, open to just criticism ? The child 
learns by heart a multitude of definitions, which it is impossible 
he should understand, and because he can answer every ques- 
tion in the catechism easily persuades himself that he knows 
his religion. But since the notions he has thus acquired are to 
him almost wholly meaningless, they cannot become a part of 
his mental growth, and are too often soon lost even to memory ; 
and thus, it seems to me, the germs of religious indifference 
and unintelligence are implanted. It is nearly always fatal to 
imagine that we know a thing, for what is known loses power 
to interest ; but to imagine that to be able to repeat phrases 
whdse words are unintelligible to us is knowledge, is not merely 
a delusion but a sort of mental perversion. To know by heart 
is not to know at all, and this is one of the first lessons 
the child should be taught. No subject could be made more 
attractive to the youthful mind than religion, for the young are 
full of faith, hope, and love. The heavens and the earth are to 
them a perpetual miracle. As the smooth-lipped shell, applied 
to the ear, still murmurs of the ocean, however far away it be, so 
to the child the whole universe is alive with whisperings of God. 
When heaven thus lies about him, is it not a mistake to fill 
his memory with abstractions which can neither touch his heart, 
nor inspire his imagination, nor raise his soul ? And this is 
but an example of the false or imperfect methods by which all 
our teaching is impeded, both in common and in denomi- 
national schools. 

The teacher makes the school. He is the living moulding 
power ; the system is but the mechanical appliance. There are 
men to be brought into intimate contact with whom is to 
receive a liberal education ; and there are universities where one 
may spend years and bring away only an acquired stupidity 
which is worse and more irremediable than the natural kind. 



9 2 WOOLS /('A' 6".4y//(>//c.v. . r ril, 

If the best men ami women would devote their lives to teach- 
which an Meal social state would make possible, the 
problem of education would be solved; for such men and women 
are lovers of knowledge, friends of truth, justice, and temper- 
ance; they are brave, modest, and pure; they arc reverent and 
patient; they are eager to learn; they keep their minds strong 
and fresh, and the wisdom they teach flows from their lips as 
sweet and pleasant as limpid waters which bubble from the 
cool earth amid the quiet hills. But since in our class- rooms 
teachers of this quality are not always found, it is the duty of 
the true friends of education to provide means and institutions 
for the special training of those who take upon themselves the 
office of teachers. There is not only a gulf between our actual 
teaching and ideal education, but our practice falls far short of 
the conclusions of pedagogical science in its present initial 
state. Indeed, it is to be feared that the mass of teachers in 
America are oblivious of the fact that education is a science, 
and that teaching is an art resting upon rational principles. Ap- 
plicants for positions in our. schools are, sometimes at least, ex- 
amined, and if they can read and write it is taken for granted 
that they are competent to teach others to read and write. 

We still linger in the primitive phase of opinion when it 
was assumed that to be able to do a thing was to be able to 
teach others how to do it ; that knowledge was ability to teach. 
In all other things men are required to learn how to do before 
they attempt to do ; but when there is question of teaching it 
is not held to be necessary that one should have -learned how 
to teach. And yet it is plain that no amount of learning will 
of itself make a good teacher. What educated man is there who 
has not had experience of the utter failure, as teachers of men, 
of some whose knowledge was unquestionable ? A great mind, 
even, like Hegel's, for instance, may fail in the lecture-room, and 
yet be capable of exercising an influence upon the thought of 
mankind. If such a mind may lack the requisites of a good 
teacher, what are we to think of those who have neither learn- 
ing nor special training ? The teacher must not have knowledge 
alone ; he must have knowledge, method, and skill. Milton was 
a great genius, and both in a practical and a theoretical 
he took deep interest in education ; but as a teacher his success 
was not marked. And Bossuet and Fenelon, concerning whose 
genius and learning there cannot be two opinions, may be said 
to have failed as practical educators. Indeed, such are the infi- 
nite varieties of endowment that the education of any human 



1890.] NORMAL SCHOOLS FOR CATHOLICS, 95. 

being is a problem for the solution of which there can be no- 
fixed rules; but the chances of success increase in proportion to 
the teacher's acquaintance with the science of pedagogics and 
his skill in the practice of his art. The love of one's work is- 
essential to its right performance, and how can he love his work 
who neglects to inform himself of the laws and conditions of its- 
accomplishment ? The ignorant do not know the worth of 
knowledge, and an ignorant teacher does not appreciate the value 
of education. He will consequently lack enthusiasm, be wanting 
in the power to hold attention and to call forth energy. He 
will take a narrow view of his duties, be satisfied with mechan- 
ical results, will fall into sterile methods, and whatever verbal 
facility his pupils may acquire, they will not be taught to be- 
come self- active in the pursuit of rational aims, will not be made 
capable of complete living in the world in which God has placed 
them. Nature gives endowments, but it is the business of edu- 
cation to produce faculty and character, and if it fail in this,. 
it fails altogether. 

The Catholics of the United States have an educational sys- 
tem of their own. They have some four thousand schools of 
all kinds, in which not less than seven hundred thousand pu- 
pils are receiving instruction. Here is an interest which is at 
once vast and all-important. The welfare of both the church 
and the state is to a great extent involved in the work which 
these schools perform. In the Pastoral Letter of the Third 
Plenary Council, the purpose of the bishops in the matter of 
education is said to be two-fold " to multiply our schools and 
to perfect them." These are noble aims, but it is well to bear in 
mind that, in America, at least, multiplication is infinitely easier 
than perfection, and consequently that, if it is really our pur- 
pose to make our schools excellent, it will be necessary to de- 
vote to this end far more thought and labor than will suffice 
to increase their number. In the decrees of the Third Plen- 
ary Council, on the means of improving parochial schools,, 
the bishops declare that it is their purpose to labor strenuously 
that Catholics shall have " good and effective schools, inferior 
in no way to the public schools." We cannot take the public 
schools as a standard, for they vary from place to place, and 
while many are good, many are bad. Our aim should be sim- 
ply to form the best schools, and to this end we should be will- 
ing to receive information and guidance wherever they may be 
had. Since the pastor, by virtue of his office, is the head of 
the parochial school, the council requires that theological students 



94 -'/>< /. SCHOOLS FOR CATHOLIC*. [April, 

k-.irn p-ychology and pedagogics, with a special view to teach- 
in- Thi- is a decree of great importance, and it is to be 
li.-ped that in every theological seminary there will henceforth 
be found a chair of pedagogics, in which the history and science 
of education will be taught. This is a subject with which even- 
educated man should be familiar, one which, in a way, involves 
every other, and which, apart from its professional bearing, has 
a general value as an excellent means of awakening and culti- 
vating the mind, and it is strange that its very great impor- 
tance should have failed to be recognized by the superiors of 
ecclesiastical seminaries. The best minds, as well as the most 
philanthropic souls, from Socrates and Plato down to those of 
our own day, have occupied themselves with questions of edu- 
cation, and the literature of the subject is in interest second to 
no other. 

The history of education may be said to be the history of 
human progress and culture. Is not the church the school of 
Christ ? Is not religion a heavenly discipline ? The Gospel is 
the doctrine of eternal life and every priest is a teacher. How 
shall he teach unless he has learned not only what is to be 
taught, but how it is to be taught ? The dabifnr vobis was a tem- 
porary or exceptional dispensation, and now inspiration is given 
only to him who is prepared. To neglect the natural means of 
enlightenment is to be unworthy of divine illumination. The in- 
troduction of the study of the science and art of teaching into 
ecclesiastical seminaries will be the beginning of a new era in 
the church. It will modify both our method of teaching and 
our method of preaching. Better than our treatises on sacred 
eloquence, it will give to priests the skill to speak of eternal life 
like a living man to living men. But the Plenary Council goes 
further. The priest, though his office requires him to be a 
teacher, is only in exceptional cases a school-teacher. The 
burden of school-work is borne by others, and if our schools 
are to be improved, the teachers must improve. Hence the de- 
crees of the Council require that Normal Schools, Teachers' 
Seminaries, be established ; and, if necessary, that to this end 
the authority of the Sacred Congregation be invoked. Such 
invocation, however, ought not to be necessary, and might be 
found ineffective. Our faith in education is firm and unalter- 
able ; and though we know the teacher is not the only edu- 
cator that nature is a school, the state a school, the church 
a school, the social environment a school, life a school yet are we 
nevertheless convinced that the conscious efforts of man to develop 



1890.] NORMAL SCHOOLS FOR CATHOLICS. 95 

human endowments are indispensable, and that without such ef- 
forts wisely directed, neither nature, nor the state, nor the 
church, nor the social environment can make us capable of com- 
plete living. When the school fails, the fault lies in the teacher 
and his methods ; and the judicious, seeing how little educational 
institutions have done to favor the highest type of man and 
woman, know where the blame should rest, and perceive none 
the less clearly that without education, as without religion, we 
should be infinitely farther removed from an ideal state. 

The teachers in our parochial schools are nearly all religious 
women, just as the teachers in the public schools are mostly 
women. What the effect of this teaching by women is likely to be 
upon our national character, I shall not here inquire. The causes 
which have led to this state of things are likely to continue to 
exist ; and if we really desire to improve our parochial schools, 
some means must be found to increase the efficiency of our 
teaching communities of women. It is needless to speak the 
praises of our Catholic sisterhoods ; they are the glory of the 
church ; they are an honor to human nature. But a good re- 
ligious is not therefore a good teacher ; and as weak men in au- 
thority do more harm than wicked men, so nothing is so hurtful 
in a teacher as incompetence. These thousands of women have 
chosen teaching as their vocation. In the morning of life, when 
the whole earth gleams and glitters like another Eden, they have 
turned away from its fragrant, bloom-covered bowers, to devote 
themselves to a work which, if it is excellent, is also most ardu- 
ous. With what love, with what zeal, with what self-abnegation, 
even to the very loss of their names, they accept their task, as 
though they heard the voice of Christ committing to them the 
children of his love. Is it not cruel, is it not criminal to per- 
mit these tender virginal souls to enter the class-room un- 
prepared ? How many of them fade and fail and die, just when 
they begin to be useful, simply from a lack of knowledge of 
hygiene as applied to education ? Physical weakness generally 
causes mental lassitude, and the teacher should be sound in 
body if the mind is to be fresh and vigorous. In the larger 
communities of teaching women a certain amount of Normal 
School instruction and training may be, and no doubt is, given 
during the novitiate ; but for obvious reasons, in this way com- 
paratively little can be accomplished. 

A central Normal School, a sort of Educational University, 
should be established, and the most competent professors, whether 
men or women, lay or cleric, should be called to fill the differ- 



96 ffOOLS /-cK C.-irJ/of.rcs. [April. 

cnt chairs. The history of education, the theories of education, 
physiology .md psychology in their bearing upon education, the 
method- of education, >hould, of course, form part of the curri- 
culum. Philosophy and literature, and possibly the classical lan- 
guages and physics, should also have chairs ; for the aim of a 
true Normal School is not merely to impart professional and 
technical knowledge and skill, but to give culture of mind, with- 
out which the teacher always works at a disadvantage. The lecture- 
halls and class-rooms should be in a central building, and around 
this the various teaching communities of women should establish 
houses for their younger religious. Here they would live accord- 
ing to the prescriptions of their respective rules, and would 
meet only in the lecture-halls and class-rooms. If some Cath- 
olic who has both mind and money could be induced to put 
up the central building and endow three or four chairs, the 
teaching communities could easily bear the expense of erecting 
their own houses. In this way we should have an Educational 
University which would become a source of light and strength 
for all Catholic teachers. Its scholars, scattered through the 
various schools of the country, would rtot only raise the stand- 
ard of education, but inspire the enthusiastic love of mental 
culture which is the impulse to all effective intellectual work. 

A similar Normal School for men should also be founded. 
Our seminaries, colleges, and high-schools are sufficiently nu- 
merous to make this practicable. Who that has been edu- 
cated in our institutions does not reflect with bitterness of 
soul upon the incompetence of some of the teachers who were 
imposed upon him ? Who can tell how many have been turned 
away from the pursuit of knowledge by the false methods of 
teaching to which they have been compelled to submit ? We are 
entering upon a new era in which everything will tend to in- 
crease the power and influence of education. Machinery, in 
taking work from manual laborers, forces them to seek occupa- 
tions in which intelligence is necessary to success. In the over- 
crowded professions those who neglect learning are driven to 
drudgery. Roger Bacon's motto, " Knowledge is power," each 
day receives new applications. What but superior knowledge gives 
the Christian nations dominion over the whole earth ? The 
growing estimation of the worth of knowledge lifts the teacher 
in public opinion. His art henceforth rests upon science; like 
Socrates, the prototype of teachers, he must be a lover of wis- 
dom, a philosopher. He has opportunity for the exercise of the 
highest gifts of man. A career opens before him as before the 



1890.] TA'A/A r hVG OF TEACHERS /A r ONTARIO. 97 

minister, the lawyer, and the physician. The most sacred inter- 
ests of society are entrusted to him, and if he perform his office 
in ;i noble way, to him honor and position will be given. We 
must have an institution in which our Catholic young men, while 
they live in an atmosphere of faith and reverence, may acquire all 
the knowledge and skill, as well as the mental culture, necessary 
to success in teaching, that they may not be excluded from a 
profession whose power in the world will grow as civilization ad- 
vances. 

J. L. SPALDING. 

Peoria, 111. 



TRAINING OF TEACHERS IN ONTARIO.* 

THE British North America Act, which formed the " Dominion 
of Canada," was passed by the British Parliament in 1867. In 
the " Distribution of legislative powers," between the Parliament 
of the Dominion and the provincial legislatures, it enacts that, 
" In and for each Province the Legislature may exclusively make 
laws in relation to education, subject and according to the follow- 
ing provisions: i. Nothing in any such law shall prejudicially 
affect any right or privilege with respect to denominational schools 
which any class of persons have by law in the Province at the 
union." 

We have here the general authority under which educational 
matters in each province are committed to the care of the Pro- 
vincial Legislature, and the safeguard for denominational schools, 
which are thus recognized by the state. Each of the provinces of 
the Dominion, knowing the value of skilled teachers, has made 
ample provision for their professional training. But the training 
.system of Ontario differs from that of the other provinces in two 
ways : One making attendance at a Normal School compulsory 
for the middle grade of certificate ; the other separating the literary 
from the professional work, the latter being the exclusive work 
of the Normal Schools. 

In the Normal Schools of the United States, with, perhaps, 
the exception of that in Boston, "academic" and professional work 
are combined. The object of the present paper is to show how 

* This article, from a distinguished educator of the Dominion, is obviously pertinent in 
this place, in view of the one which precedes it. EDITOR. 



98 7 A 1 .: ' 

each, but more particularly tin- prof, -ssional training, is carried out 
in Ontario, in its two Normal Sclu>..!-, at Toronto and i>tt.i\v.i. 
The great fact in the Ontario >\ su-m is that every teacher, even 
of the lowe-t grade, must receive .?(>///< professional training before 
he is permitted to take charge of a school. It may be well, how- 
ever, to tuey that exigencies sometimes arise to cause a de'parture 
from this rule. But this is the /rttv. 

A certificate to teach a Public (or a Separate) School ranks 
as a First, Second, or Third Class certificate ; those of the 
Class are subdivided into grades A, B, and C ; those of the 
Second and Third Classes are each of one grade only. Third- 
class certificates are valid for three years only, at the end of 
which time the candidate is required to pass, by examination, to 
a higher grade of certificate, otherwise he is ineligible to teach in 
the Public Schools, except under certain conditions. There are 
two examinations for granting certificates : one for testing the 
literary attainments of the candidates, known as the Non- Profes- 
sional examination ; the other for testing their knowledge of the 
science and art of education, known as the Professional examina- 
tion, and conducted at the Training Schools at the close of the 
course in these institutions. The non-professional examination is 
passed before the candidate enters one of these institutions ; and 
preparation is made for it in the High Schools or Collegiate 
Institutes (Academies), or by private study. 

The holder of a Third Class non-professional certificate who 
takes the course, and passes the examination prescribed for 
" County Model Schools," is entitled to rank as a Third Class 
Teacher of Public Schools. Until he has taken up the course in 
the County Model School, and passed the professional examina- 
tion at the close of that course, he is not permitted to teach. 

In each county a school is ranked and used . for Model 
School purposes, under the following conditions: I. The Princi- 
pal shall hold a First-Class Departmental certificate, and have 
at least three years' experience as a Public School Teacher, z. 
There shall be not fewer than three assistants holding at least 
Second-Class Provincial Certificates. 3. The equipment of the 
school shall be at least equal to that required by the regula- 
tions for the fourth Form of a Public School. 4. A room for 
Model School purposes, in addition to the accommodation re- 
quired for the Public School, shall be provided either in the 
same building or elsewhere equally convenient. 5. The Princi- 
pal shall be relieved of all Public School duties during the 
Model School term, and the assistant provided for this purpose 



1890.] TRAINING OF TEACHERS IN ONTARIO. 99 

shall, under the direction of the Principal, take charge of Pub- 
lic School work only. 

The course of study pursued by teachers in County Model 
Schools is as follows : The theory and practice of education, prac- 
tical teaching under supervision and criticism, school law and 
regulations, temperance and hygiene, music, drill, and calisthenics. 
The course occupies fifteen weeks, beginning in September. 

Third-class certificates are good only in the county in which 
they are issued. The holder of a second-class non-professional 
certificate, who has taught a public or a separate school suc- 
cessfully for at least one year his success must be attested 
by his Inspector is eligible for admission to one of the normal 
schools. After he attends the normal school for one session, 
and passes the prescribed examination at its close, he is en- 
titled to rank as a second-class teacher, and his certificate is 
good for any part of the province. 

There are two sessions of the Normal School in each year, 
a session being about five months long. The course of study 
and training is as follows : History of education ; science of 
education; school organization and management; methods of teach- 
ing each subject on the programme of studies in public schools ; 
practice in managing classes and in teaching in the model school 
(a public school attached to the Normal School, conducted by a 
staff of experienced teachers, and under the control of the prin- 
cipal of the Normal School) ; instruction in temperance and 
hygiene; agricultural chemistry; reading, writing, drawing, 
music, drill, and calisthenics. 

Other arrangements are made for candidates desiring to pro- 
ceed to first-class certificates ; but as teachers of the second 
grade form the large majority of the profession in the province, 
this paper deals with them only. 

How does this system affect Catholic education ? For 
elementary instruction the Catholics have " Separate " schools, 
recognized by the government, receiving state aid, and inspected 
by Catholic inspectors specially appointed. But the separation 
stops here. The High Schools and Collegiate institutes, the 
county Model Schools and Normal Schools, are "non-denomina- 
tional," and are attended by Catholics as well as Protestants. The 
staffs of teachers in these schools are largely Protestant. The 
Principal of the Toronto Normal School is a Protestant ; and 
with one exception, the staff in the Toronto Normal and model 
schools is Protestant. The Principal of the Ottawa Normal School is 
a Catholic ; and with one exception, the staff of the Ottawa Normal 

VOL. I.I. 7' 



100 A'.-;. [-\pril, 

and model schools is l'n>t<->unt. In the Normal Schools, which 
tr.iin teachers for the separate as well as for the public schools, 
there is a fair proportion of Catholic student-teachers. They do 
much to keep up the efficiency of the separate schools, the trustees 
of which, as well as the public school trustees, are alive to the 
importance of skilled teachers. 

The Normal School regulations make provision for one hour's 
religious instruction for the student-teachers each week. On every 
Friday an hour is set apart, during which the students of each 
religious denomination receive instruction from a clergyman of 
their church. At this time separate rooms are placed at the dis- 
posal of the different denominations. 

On the whole, the Ontario training system, as a system of 
secular training, sends forth a constant supply of good teachers ; 
and its effects are seen in the high standard reached by the public 
and separate schools of the province. 

I. A. M. 

Ottawa. Out. 



. EASTER EVE. 

A WORLD of sodden leaves, and gaunt-limbed trees 
That stand as in a dream. Set in the skies 
The moon, like embers of a watch-fire, lies 

Half-quenched by all the mist of restless seas. 

And like a lion troubled in his sleep 

The wind, high cradled in the piney hills, 
By fits and starts with fretful moaning thrills 
The echoing air. And darkness rules the steep. 

And yet I know the sun will soon have kist 
To sudden gold the clouds so leaden-browed. 

And then I shall forget the duller mist. 
I feel the Easter sun that gilds the cloud 
Shall kiss God's robes, where last it touched His shroud. 

And all my hopeful soul is eloquent of Christ. 

THOS. AUGUSTINE DALY. 

PkilaJtlphia. 



1890.] THE JosEFPinEs' WORK FOR THE NEGROES. 101 



THE JOSEPHITES AND THEIR WORK FOR THE 

NEGROES. 

ST. JOSEPH'S SOCIETY, which has so much to do with the 
evangelization of the American "colored people, is composed of 
clergy and laity. Its clergy are secular priests ordained in the 
same way as the diocesan clergy, ad titulum missionis. The 
priests of St. Joseph are essentially missionaries ; hence they 
take the title of their ordination from the missions, and, like all 
sons of the Propaganda, must look to the missions for support. 

" I say, then, Go in the name of God, and, with the permission and blessing 
of the bishops, collect all that is necessary for your purpose in men and means. 
The candidates whom you will educate in the new house will be brought up 
under the rule and discipline of St. Joseph's Society, and thus they will be held 
together and strengthened to persevere in the definite missionary work for 
which you will train them. But let it be always felt and understood that our 
duty is to work under the bishops, and that we have no other interest or object 
than to further their views in the evangelization of the races to whom our rule 
permits us to be sent." 

These are the words of the Bishop of Salford on the foun- 
dation of St. Joseph's Seminary. 

The object, therefore, of St. Joseph's Society is to evangelize 
the races of men alien as yet to the Gospel. Up to this the 
American Church has taken no hand in the evangelization of 
Asia, Africa, or Oceanica. She could not do so, we are told. 
Let it be so ; as a matter of fact, she has not. Her excuse, 
however, shows a true instinct that her place in the great mission- 
ary career of the church needs soon be filled. Italy, France, Ger- 
many, England, too, and, within fifteen years or so, even af- 
flicted Ireland, have their sons and daughters doing battle for 
Christ against the triumph of Satan in those eastern lands so 
long in his bondage. Are Americans to form the home-guard 
of Christ's army ? By no means. Right at our doors is a mis- 
sionary field as uncultivated as it is inviting the negroes of the 
Southern States. The bulk of them are strangers to the Gospel. 
Living amid Christians, they are far from being such. Strange 
disposition of Providence : to save men by means of men ! 
Human means, human agencies, human hearts and hands are 
allied to God in his own peculiar work saving souls. He 
would become a man and die for men. He also would use 



THE JosF.niiTEs \\'OKK I-\>K ////. .V/ C.KOI-.S. [April, 



men to save men. Here is the niisoii d'etre of St. Joseph's 
Society. Ample provision exists for saving souls to whom the 
Gospel is no stran^i-r ; other means are necessary to win to 
Christ those who are ignorant of the Gospel. No small task is 
! to-ilay. after nineteen centuries of Christianity, the bulk 
of mankind is still pagan. 

Let us remember that all races of men who received the 
faith have at once thought of spreading it. Did they not do 
so, they soon would lose it themselves. The French, Spanish, 
Italians, Irish, were each in their day great missionaries. Italy 
was not even entirely Christian when her sons crossed the Alps 
to evangelize the barbarians. Ireland, glorying in the faith, sent 
Columbkille to Scotland and Brendan across the wild Atlantic 
wastes to the unknown races beyond. The Spanish missionary 
planted the cross alongside his country's banner whenever flung 
to the breeze in a newly-discovered land. Whatever ungrateful 
nation was not fired with missionary zeal lost the faith. The 
Christians of Antioch and Alexandria, of the Levant and Syria, 
ot Persia and Arabia, instead of turning eastward to win China, 
Japan, and India to Christ, spent centuries in theological dis- 
putes, and God punished them with the Moslem blight. Ger- 
many and England, the youngest European children of the 
church, forgetting her groanings in their births, became in their 
self-sufficiency a prey to the Protestant Reformation. We ap- 
prehend the same for the American Church. To keep home 
faith alive, the missionary spirit must be fed ; to save the sheep 
of the fold, other sheep must be gathered in. Individual sel- 
fishness is no more criminal before God than national selfish- 
ness. " Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap," is 
as true of the nation as of the individual. The Christian com- 
munity should be guided by the maxim that it is more blessed 
to give than to receive. 

What hopes, then, can St. Joseph's Missionary Society have 
of American subjects? There is every hope of a large aggrega- 
tion of American youths. And our hopes are based chiefly on 
this, that the church is essentially missionary and aggressive, and 
also that in America she is in her normal condition. Unhandi- 
capped by governmental interference, without any old scores to 
settle with raging mobs or greedy nobles, no past crookedness 
to make straight, but free and expansive in the glorious atmos- 
phere of American intelligence and liberty, the Catholic Church 
here, if true to her Spouse, must become the greatest of all mis- 
sionary churches. American political ideas are permeating the 



1890.] THE JOSEPHITES' WORK FOR THE NEGROES. 103 

whole world ; their influence is felt everywhere; American trade 
begins to knock at the gates of all nations ; it has opened the 
ports of Japan and reached China's great wall. And, most sug- 
gestive fact of all, American Protestant missionaries are every- 
where in the East, laboring, if with the limp of Protestant error 
yet with the courage of American sincerity, for the Gospel of 
Christ as they understand it. And are not these people bone ot 
our bone, flesh of our flesh ? Does Catholicism warp the Ameri- 
can genius ? Will we deny our American Catholic youths the 
energy which animates their Protestant brethren ? 

Self-preservation will make Americans missionaries. This 
country is to be won to the faith ; it will be done by going be- 
yond our own people. In trying to convert the blacks of the 
South we shall be strengthening our citadels of the faith in the 
North. Send missionaries to the Congo, and Catholics will in- 
crease on the Mississippi. Raise the cross on India's burning 
plain, and a chapel will go up in icy Dakota. Is it a cause- 
and-effect law ? We know not. Read history and see its truth. 

The Catholic Church is sure to sanctify the natural traits of 
Americans. The spirit which has pushed American brain and 
energy over the world surely must find a spiritual outlet. There 
must be scores of Stanleys, as yet known only to God's Holy 
Spirit, ready to bring Christ to the heart of Africa. Historians 
point out the universal dominion of Rome ; the one language 
current under it; the facility of travelling on the great Roman 
highways ; the " immensa pads Romance majestas" mainly the off- 
spring of the genius of government and material prosperity. All 
this was given by God as the means to propagate the Gospel. 
And now we have a counterpart. The well-nigh universal lan- 
guage in pagan lands is English. In Europe the traveller must 
know French ; in the Levant, Italian ; but away off among the 
pagans our own tongue is generally used. Again, the facilities 
of travel are at our disposal. And although A'merica has no 
colonial possessions in those Eastern lands, still the English gov- 
ernment, the controlling power there, makes our tongue dominant, 
and gives universal admission to all missionary enterprises. It is 
time for Americans to cry out, "Watchman, what of the night?" 
It is time for us to spread the faith. Are we, who consider our- 
selves so much ahead of Europeans, going to leave them the 
glory of Christianizing the world ? They have not our " snap " ; 
we call them old fogies, but they are missionaries and we are not. 
Such, in a few words, is the view of the members of St. Joseph's 
Society of the opportunities and duties of the hour, and such is 



IO4 Tin HI- \i (, /,('/ ..s. [April, 

a brief summary of their aspir.ui"ii-. And now a few words about 
our Rules. They .ire '.cry simple. 

J.-.-pir- Society has n distinct novitiate in the sense of 
a definite period of time set apart for exclusively devotional exer- 
.ind entire abstention from study. The j, r reat--st care is be- 
stowed, however, on the formation of the spiritual character, upon 
which the missionary's future chiefly depends. No sentimental 
piety nor superficial virtue will answer for a missionary career. 
Only a growth in solid virtue fits a man for his vocation in St. 
Joseph's Society. Let us summarixe the maxims and precepts of 
our Rule. Faith, the basis of all holiness, must be the strong 
root whence springs the missionary's life, which is to be spent 
in propagating the truth and morality of Christ's church. The 
missionaries of St. Joseph's Society must ever make Jesus Christ 
the special object of their study, imitation, and love. They shall 
never cease to ponder over the Gospel, which mirrors before them 
Divine Love Incarnate. The thought of our Lord's love, of which 
the Sacred Heart is the emblem, will urge forward the mission- 
aries to undertake all manner of labors and sufferings in his 
vice. 

From the love of Jesus Christ comes the love of souls, his 
brethren. We promote the honor and glory of God by preaching 
the Gospel and laboring to save souls. St. Joseph's Society is 
instituted for this purpose, and its members consecrate themselves 
to labor for the souls that are most abandoned and in the great- 
est need that is, for the heathen and unevangelized races of man- 
kind. Everything is done to foster a generous spirit of self- 
sacrifice for souls, which should be the constant aim of men de- 
voted to the apostolic life. Many motives concur : the priceless 
value of a soul redeemed by the precious blood of Jesus Christ ; 
the horrible destruction of souls by vice and crime going on 
ceaselessly, day and night; the nine hundred millions who depend 
for the light and knowledge of the Gospel upon the faith and 
charity of apostolic men ; lastly, the thought of what God has 
done for the missionary himself, individually. All these motives 
should inspire a generous co-operation in this work of God's spe- 
cial predilection, the salvation of souls. 

The Blessed Virgin Mary, as the Immaculate Queen of the 
apostles, is the mother of the missionaries, to \V!IOM- maternal heart 
they daily resort for intercession. St. Joseph is their father. The 
young institute bears his name, and is pledged to follow him in 
his love and service of Jesus and Mary. St. Joseph was the first 
foreign missionary when, by order of an an^el, he "took the 



1890.] THE JOSEPIIITES' WORK FOR THE NEGROES. 105 

Child and his mother " and went to heathendom, thus becoming, 
in St. Hilary's words, " the type of all apostolic men." The 
apostolate should cement the members in the closest bond 
of union. The sweet bond of fraternal love should be the uni- 
fying principle of their institute. And union is a source of strength. 
The success of the society depends on the union and concord oi 
many hearts and minds. 

While every virtue ought to adorn a missionary, there are 
three above all others which should be his : prayer, obedience, 
and apostolic poverty. Prayer is the soul and mainstay of the 
interior life, which is the true apostolic life. " By prayer," says 
the Rule, " is meant not merely the formal meditation and the 
regular vocal prayers which are the form of sound words, sup- 
plying topics ever ready for meditation, but also that constant 
communion of the soul with God which is carried on by as- 
pirations and movements of the will at all times, while travel- 
ling or at work, in the midst of crowds and in solitude, in 
sickness as in health." The model of obedience for the mission- 
ary is Jesus Christ, " who pleased not himself" ; " whose meat 
and drink were to do the will of his Father"; "who humbled 
himself, becoming obedient unto death." 

Certainly the motive power in obedience is God's love. For 
apostolic men the aim of authority is to conduct souls by ex- 
ample, as Christ himself first did, and then taught. " Jesus 
began to do and to teach." And when men , are the pioneers 
of Christianity, they need a guidance which will lead them to 
build up and nurture the little mustard-seed of incipient- Chris- 
tianity. In apostolic work everything is to be done by love as 
the chief motive ; an encouraging, stimulating authority will 
ever find a cheerful and efficacious obedience. Just as love is 
the first law of heaven and of earth, so, too, must love be the 
ruling spirit of superiors and subjects. Love is the unitive 
virtue, and obedience ministers powerfully unto it. 

Disorder is the surest mark of Satan's presence. In other 
temptations nature or our fellows may be the immediate cause ; 
but disorder and rebellion and disunion are always, in whole or 
in part, the handiwork of the enemy of souls. Hence, obedience, 
the opposite of rebellion and the cure of disorder, is ever the 
mark of the Spirit of God. Obedience is, therefore, an apos- 
tolic virtue. True, the missionary has a great latitude in his 
daily life ; he is not fettered by the many exercises of the 
usual religious state ; but he must be obedient to legitimate 
.authority. In the Gospels love and obedience are linked together. 



io6 TV/A ./C.VA/V///A.S' H\>A-A- AC* THE NEGROES. [.\\ ril, 

" If any man love me, he will keep my commandment-. ' 
" By this shall all men know th.it ye arc my disciples, that ye 
have love one for another." "If you love me, you will keep 
my word." Our obedience is but an ornament of Christian 
freedom. As in our own glorious land every citi/en, while 
liberty-loving, is ever dutiful and obedient to the laws, a firm 
defender of order, so the apostolic laborer plants hi> vineyard 
with the hedge of order around it, while breathing an apos- 
tolic freedom, and inspired with inextinguishable love for souls. 

" As St. Joseph's Society is an apostolical institution, endeavoring to follow in 
the footsteps of our Blessed Lord and his apostles, it attaches the highest im- 
portance to the spirit and practice of evangelical poverty, which is described by 
a spiritual writer as 'the foundation of the apostolic life.' Thus, though the 
vow of poverty is not prescribed by the Rule of the society, the conscientious prac- 
tice of this apostolic virtue is held to be an essential condition of its health and of 
its very existence. Hence it is understood that, by becoming a member of 
the society, a serious engagement is entered into with God and with the society 
to live in the practice of evangelical poverty, according to the following Rule : 

"That all moneys, gifts, offerings, and legacies, etc., acquired by members 
of the society on the missions, or in the work of the society, on whatever plea, or 
for whatever object of personal use they may be designed, belong to the so- 
ciety. . . . As to patrimonialia, legacies, and gifts from family and from persons 
standing I'M loco parentis, the father retains absolute and free control over their 
use and disposal, with the following reservation : He shall not use them for 
himself personally, so as to place himself in the enjoyment of comforts and dis- 
tinctions which might reasonably create a painful feeling of contrast between 
his own condition and that of the brethren with whom he lives, or be in any 
manner contrary to apostolical poverty. . . . While the society leaves its sub- 
jects free as to patrimonialia, it would keep before the minds of all the example 
of generosity and detachment set forth by Jesus Christ, who emptied himsell 
and became poor for our sake, and that of the glorious saints who are the pa- 
trons and models of the society. Thus the spirit of private interest and self- 
seeking will give way before a desire to do everything possible to extend the 
kingdom of Christ, whether by helping the education of missionaries or by pro- 
moting works of religion on the missions." 

The foregoing quotation from, the Rule sufficiently explains 
the poverty of the institute. 

What has St. Joseph's Society done thus far? Since 1875 
it has opened up new fields among the Telegu of the Madras 
Presidency, British India ; it has its sons laboring among the 
is of New Zealand; and since 1880 Borneo has witnessed 
the labors of them also, while within a year or so they have 
penetrated the Punjab, one of the most northern parts under 
British rule in India. 

In this country four missionaries began to labor among the 
negroes in 1871. Since then their number has increased to 



1890.] THE JOSEPHITES' WORK FOR THE NEGROES. 107 

nineteen, who have charge of missions in the dioceses of Balti- 
more, Charleston, Louisville, Richmond, and Wilmington, Del. We 
lay before our readers a tabulated statement of what was done 
during 1889 by the fathers of St. Joseph: 













i 














BAPTISMS. 


DEATHS. 




E 














7 






1 1 


B 








REMARKS. 









.- 






g 




w 


* 


I 












* 


jj 


| 


" 


a 

3 


1 


I 


'T 


B 


- 


i. 


4 


1 






ci 








*o 






6 a 




o 




o 








< 


'J 




< 


<J 


H 


^ 


J 


- 


d 


" 


H 
































, 

Baltimore : 






























St. Francis Xavier's 


4 


5 


153 


203 


44 


50 


94 


X 


4 


i 


M3 


170 


3>3 




St. Francis' Convent 
Orphan Asylum . . . 
St. Peter Claver's 


X 

j 


11 


35 


48 


8 


8 


16 


i 
i 
i 


S 


2 


62 


75 
45 


75 
7 
107 


Orphans. 


St. M onica s. ........... 
St. Joseph's Seminary.. 


3 

2 




35 


53 








X 


B 






4 


9 1 
49 


(i colored). 
(4 colored). 


St EBxaDeth's H 


(Boundary.) 
St Joseph's Guild 


Bg 


ht Sc 


tool 


CorSa 


rr&nt 


Girls 




I 

1^ 
I* 




2 
I 
I 


16 

33 


M 

3 


53 

S 




Davidson ville School 
Woodberry School 


Charleston, S. C. : 






























St Peter's 


I 


18 


.g 


64 


20 


10 


3 


I 




3 


58 


68 


126 




Louisville : 






























St Augustine's 


X 


33 


44 


77 


tfi 


37 


53 


X 


2 




66 


76 


'142 




Richmond : 






























St Joseph's. ........ 


2 


45 


27 


7 






20 


X 


3 




62 


68 


130 




St. Francis* School 


St. John Baptist's 
















I 


3 








35 


Industrial. 


Virginia Missions : 




15 


5 


20 






















Keswick .... 
















I 




i 


. 




S 3 




Lynchburg. . . 
















I 




i 






56 




Norfolk 
















X 


4 






1 100 




Petersburg. ...... 
















I 


2 








60 




Washington : 






























St. Augustine's .... 




66 


142 


208 


81 


OT 


114 


1 






00 


156 


255 




Wilmington, Del, , ( just 












OJ 










yy 








opened) 


I 




4 


4 






















TOTALS 


'9 


258 491 


749 182 


"49 


351 18 54 M 59" 


742 1889 





The above is not a discreditable showing for one year, espe- 
cially when we remember that five of the priests are engaged 
in St. Joseph's Seminary and the Epiphany Apostolic College. 
During the present year an orphanage for colored boys will 
be opened on the outskirts of Baltimore near the Epiphany 
Apostolic College. It is noteworthy that there is a large per- 
centage of births over deaths a proof, by the way, that the 
negro is not dying out, but rapidly increasing. 

How are these missions supported ? Chiefly by the untir- 
ing efforts of the priests themselves, who support their own 
churches and pay their own personal expenses entirely from 



io8 THE JosEritiTi-.s \\\>KK /-SK mi-. XI-.C.KOI-.S. [April, 

the revenue of their missions, and receive but a small fraction 
of the expenses of their schools from the Negro and Indian 
Mi.-Mons Fund. 

In the United States St. Joseph's Society has two institu- 
tions in which aspirants are prepared for the negro missions. 
The first is the Kpiphany Apostolic College, Highland Park, 
Baltimore. Into this college boys and young men are received 
for their college course, getting a good classical and scientific 
education. It is called apostolic to express its purpose of fos- 
tering the missionary spirit among its students. The charac- 
teristic traits of a missionary are love of the truth, as it is 
the universal heritage of all mankind ; in other words, a men- 
tal grasp of the church's breadth. In his eye the church over- 
rides mountains, rivers, and oceans, brings together and uni- 
fies all people and tribes and families, and makes the human race 
one. Possessed of truth himself, the apostle longs to impart 
it to others ; wistfully his eye gazes on those other sheep not 
as yet of the fold ; and longingly does he stretch out his arms 
towards them and lift up his voice to call them. And these 
traits must be fostered. They are implanted in the soul by the 
Holy Ghost, but they have a growth, need careful cultivation 
and direction, which the Epiphany Apostolic College will labor 
to impart. It is best, too, to take boys fresh from school and 
train them from a comparatively early age to their holy vo- 
cation. In Epiphany Apostolic College they are so trained and 
influenced from the beginning of their classical course onward, 
to the end that they may be ever drinking in the apostolic spirit 
and continually studying the methods peculiarly adapted to their 
vocation. The conditions for admission are : 

1st. A decided inclination for the colored missions. 

2d. Recommendation from a priest. 

3d. A sound preparatory course in a good school. 

4th. Good health and not less than fifteen years of age. 

5th. Love of study and discipline, together with a docile and 
cheerful disposition. 

6th. Besides supplying their own clothing and books, stu- 
dents are expected to pay as much as possible towards the ex- 
penses of tuition. The annual pension is fixed at $150, which 
will be modified as circumstances demand. 

The corps of professors is every way competent to give the 
young men a first-rate education. 

At present there are thirty-six students, four of whom are 



1890.] THE JOSEPIIITES' WORK J-CR THE NEGROES. 109 

colored, at the Epiphany. The building is large enough to 
provide accommodation for a hundred, a number which should 
ere long be found within its walls. All these students are in 
preparation for St. Joseph's Society. 

St. Joseph's Seminary is the other institution mentioned. It 
provides the aspirants for the negro missions with their course 
of divinity. Its students attend the lectures in philosophy, 
theology, natural sciences, liturgy, canon law, and Sacred Scrip- 
tures at St. Mary's Seminary, Baltimore, receiving together with 
the diocesan clergy the superior training imparted by the Sui- 
pician Fathers, who are specially devoted to the training of 
priests. At St. Mary's our young men are thrown in contact 
with the future pastors and bishops of a great part of the land. 
Friendships will be formed which are sure to t^nd, in one way 
or other, to the evangelization of the negroes and spread of 
the missionary spirit. 

The rules of admissions to St. Joseph's Seminary are: 1st, 
Students on entering become postulants for membership in St. 
Joseph's Society, as members of which they intend to devote 
their lives to the salvation of the negroes. 2d, Previous pro- 
fession in any religious order or congregation, or dismissal from 
any missionary society, prevents admission. 3d, They must be 
fit to enter upon the study of philosophy, at least, and be able 
to follow the lectures at St. Mary's Seminary. 4th, Every pos- 
t.ilant, if able, shall pay an entrance fee, and also provide him- 
self with clothing, books, and stationery until he becomes a full 
member of the society. 

St. Joseph's Society is also composed of laity. ''All per- 
sons contributing prayers and an annual alms, or giving 'substantial 
aid for the education of the missionaries, or for their work 
upon the mission, are affiliated members of St. Joseph's Society 
and participate in all its merits and good works." About the 
only attempt in anywise successful to affiliate the laity to St. 
Joseph's Society is by means of an annual paper on the plan of 
Father Drumgoole's Homeless Child. It is known as The Colored 
Harvest. All of its subscribers are affiliated members of St. Jo- 
seph's Society, and thus, besides the special favor offered for 
themselves, are in touch with the whole missionary work of the 
society. But the iay element in St. Joseph's Society has not as 
yet been properly organized in the United States. 

And just here let me say a word about organizing for mis- 
sionary purposes. In no age has the spirit of aggregating men 



no Til: K FOR niE NEGROES. [April, 

and women for community of effort been more wide-spread than 
in this. There are societies of all kinds, _;ood, bad, and indiffer- 
ent ; workwomen's clubs, syndicates, benevolent societies, insu- 
rance associations ; white men are united, blacks with hands 
joined, guilds of women ; men in the turnverein ; and even boys 
and girls banded together. In the church is the same. There 
are the conferences of St. Vincent de Paul, confraternities, so- 
dalities, total abstinence societies. \Vhy should not there be 
a great missionary association, of which the chief object \v 
be to foster the missionary spirit and to provide the sinews of 
war for missionary enterprises ? What opportunities such asso- 
ciations would offer for discussion of missionary questions, the 
opening of Catholic missions in Liberia ; the part American 
Catholics will take in the evangelizing of Africa, Asia, and the 
East ; the defence of the negroes against their religious dangers ; 
their claim upon us as American citizens ; the teaching of trades 
to the negro race, and their industrial education, etc., etc. V 
a moral support it would be to the missionary laboring in the 
black belt of the South to know that his Catholic brethren were 
with him in sympathy, were meeting to discuss the best means 
of seconding his efforts, by providing for normal schools, col- 
leges, orphanages, and other such institutions ! Amid the d 
Protestantism and it must ever be remembered that the South 
is intensely Protestant and annoying prejudice which surrounds 
him, the missionary, buoyed up by the voice which would come 
ringing across Mason and Dixon's line, would renew his youth 
like the eagle's, and win his thousands and tens of thousands for 
Christ and heaven. 

The Catholics of America have seemingly held aloof from 
the negroes. Our colleges and convent-schools, with hardly an 
exception, are closed against them. But a paltry hundred of 
Catholic schools are intended for negroes. There is no Catholic 
high-school or normal school for them, and but two industrial 
ones. In fact, it is no exaggeration to say that the weight of 
Catholic opinion, and much more of practice, silently ignores the 
negro. This is chiefly due to the fact that the missionary spirit 
is hardly yet alive among us. We are filled with ourselves, not 
caring a jot for those who are not of our kith and kin. 

We are looking, however, with hope for a change in all this, 
expecting to see our Catholic laity interest themselves in the 
negro missions. We hope to see a great society organized, with 
branches everywhere in America, with a central national council 



1890.] PA-O/-: BRIGGS DOCTKI.\E OF THE MIDDLE STATE. 1 1 1 

acting with the sanction of the American episcopate, meeting 
publicly and at fixed times, now in one city, again in another, 
pleading powerfully for the evangelization of the blacks, labor- 
ing to foster a missionary spirit in the whole Catholic body. 
Such an organization is feasible ; it simply requires a few coura- 
geous souls to make the start, with the determination to perse- 
vere and build it up. May the Holy Spirit soon inspire them 
to begin ! 

J. R. SLATTERY. 

St. Joseph's Seminary, Baltimore, Md. 



PROFESSOR BRIGGS' DOCTRINE OF THE MIDDLE 

STATE. 

PROFESSOR CHARLES A. BRIGGS, of Union Theological Semi- 
nary, one of the most noted divines of the Presbyterian Church, in 
his recent book, Whither? * remarks that " among the intra-confes- 
sional errors [of the Presbyterian Church] the most serious is the 
neglect of the doctrine of the Middle State. . . . The West- 
minster divines were themselves in the drift of antagonism to the 
Roman Catholic doctrine of purgatory. They did not distinguish 
between the doctrine of the middle state in the ancient Catholic 
Church and the perversion of it in the Roman Catholic doctrine. 
They threw away purgatory without substituting anything in its 
place " (p. 206). He also shows how Dr. Shedd, of his own 
church, has been guilty of an error in referring to the clause of 
the Apostles' Creed, " He descended into hell," as " the spurious 
clause," and in his further statement that " it required the devel- 
opment of the doctrine of purgatory, and of the mediaeval escha- 
tology generally, in order to get it formally into the doctrinal 
system of both the Eastern and Western Churches." " These 
observations," Dr. Briggs says, " are both of them unhistorical. 
There are few doctrines that can claim such common patristic 
consent as this doctrine [of the middle state], and it is at the basis 
of ancient and mediaeval eschatology, and not a later develop- 
ment of it. Those who endeavor to commit this sin against the 
historic church do it in the interest of an attempt to get rid of 
the middle state which is based upon the descent of Jesus into 
the abode of the dead." 

" W/iitfier? A Theological Question for the Times By Charles Augustus Briggs, D.D., 
Davenport Professor of Hebrew and the Cognate Languages in the Union Theological 

Seminary. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 



\i2 PKOF.BRI TRINE OP THE MIDDLE STATE, [April, 

The doctrine of the intermediate state is of such vital impor- 
tance in itself a- .in integral portion of Catholic eschatotogy, and 
has such a momentous bearing on the whole view of the future 
state, that its denial necessarily reacts on other truths intended 
to be retained ; it frequently leads to revolt against the dogma 
of eternal punishment, or substitutes for it purgatory, as in the 
case of the Universalists and Restorationists ; and sometimes it 
leads to doubt about the eternal life altogether, through the in- 
superable difficulties which it imposes by teaching that the soul 
of every believer passes straight from the death-bed to its eternal 
home. How few adults there are who seem fit at the moment 
of death to appear in the court of Him into whose eternal joy 
nothing that is defiled can enter ! " The souls of believers are 
at their death made perfect in holiness," says the Westminster 
Shorter Catechism. Now, the hypothesis that in the mere phy- 
sical act of separation of soul and body immediate sanctification 
takes place, is as unreasonable as it is unscriptural. What is it 
but a plenary indulgence without conditions ? " Immediate sanc- 
tification at death," says Dr. Briggs, " is an error added on to 
the orthodox doctrine of sanctification that makes it inconsistent, 
and virtually destroys it." The author sees with true discern- 
ment that the rejection of the intermediate state is an error 
fraught with terrible consequences. In one place he says : " The 
future life has been a blank or else a terror to most Protestants, 
and the comfortable hopes inspired by the New Testament have 
not been enjoyed " (p. 285). " Men are seeking relief," he adds, 
" by the doctrine of the extension of redemption into the middle 
state, by conditional immortality, by annihilation of the wicked, 
and by reaction to the Roman Catholic doctrine of pi 
(p. 287). 

Professor Briggs has thus opened up a new field of invest: 
tion for his brethren, and he has done it with a sincerity and bold- 
ness which I admire. He has established, by arguments which 
defy all attempts at refutation, the doctrine of the intermediate 

ite ; he has put forth on this question an irenic in theoi. 
which will remove some of the worst barriers which clem uni na- 
tionalism has erected. He, moreover, patiently submits to the 
stigma, so awful in the eyes of Presbyterians generally, of being a 
" Neo- Romanist," and tells those who class " Romanism " with 
infidelity that the Roman Catholic Church is a true church of 
Jesus Christ, and that those who deny this are "guilty of hei 
and schism." 

Hut lot us examine the question more closely. If the doc- 



1890.] PROF. BRIGGS' DOCTRINE OF THE MIDDLE STATE. 113 

trine of the middle state be essential to a right understanding 
of eschatology, what view of it is in harmony with the ortho- 
dox doctrines of the Incarnation, Passion, Death, and Resurrec- 
tion of the Son of God, and of the redemptive agencies by 
which the merits' of Christ are applied to our souls ? First of 
all, it must be one which in no way derogates from the perfec- 
tion of the holiness which is given in regeneration. To be born 
again is to be made a new creature, entirely free from con- 
demnation and fit for eternal glory. The white robe of baptism 
needs no cleansing ; it has been washed in the blood of the 
Lamb, and may be exchanged for the wedding- garment worn 
at the feast of the Eternal King. Hence, if all Christians were 
faithful to their baptismal vows, there would at death be no 
barrier between them and the vision of God, and the church 
has always taught that every soul which retains its baptismal 
purity until death, or has before death fully expiated the sins 
committed after baptism, goes immediately to paradise. It fol- 
lows, then, that there can be no intermediate state for those 
who die in communion with Christ, except for such as are im- 
perfectly conformed to his likeness. By the Ascension of our 
Divine Lord the door of heaven has been opened for the 
just, and for those who are pure there is now no need of 
a place of waiting. But before heaven was opened Limbo was 
for all the just, and for the purified it was only a place of joy- 
ful waiting i.e., a sort of paradise. Hence we conclude that 
the Christian intermediate state is properly called purgatory. 
But this state is not necessarily to be regarded as one of com- 
pulsory suffering, but may be considered as one in which the 
sufferer is a voluntary agent in the working out of his own 
purification. Here the will must co-operate in the process by 
which the remains of evil habits and inclinations are purged 
away until the image of Christ is perfectly reproduced in the 
soul, otherwise the purification could never be accomplished. 
Dante speaks of the "happy, suffering soul" which is "safe" 
in that middle home ; and St. Catherine of Genoa says that 
there is no joy comparable to that of a soul in purgatory save 
that of the blessed in heaven, and that this joy increases daily 
as every hindrance to the full influx of God upon the soul is 
gradually purged away. But yet this happiness does not dimin- 
ish the pain which is constituted by love finding itself im- 
peded in its longing for the Beloved. What St. Catherine of Genoa 
has to say about this subject, although the result of private reve- 
lation, bears, nevertheless, such credentials of wisdom, and is of 



114 /'AVA. /.'AY.' F THE MIDDLE STATt.. [April, 

such exquisite poetical beauty that I cannot help recommending 
it to all who wish to know the entire truth about the middle 
ite. 

Professor Briggs is inclined to the opinion that the in- 
termediate state is one of progressive sanctirication. No objec- 
tion need be offered to this definition if only sanctification by 
the removal of the penalty of sin and its other consequences, 
and the restoration of the perfect image of Christ, without in- 
-e of essential holiness, be meant by it. But if, as Pro- 
fessor Briggs seems to think, acts of the disembodied soul are 
to be regarded as affecting the eternal destiny of a man, like 
those of this life, or if the final and everlasting happiness or 
misery of the soul is not considered as finally determined by its 
spiritual condition at the time of its separation from the body, 
I cannot allow that his opinion is tenable. Such a theory is out 
of harmony with the doctrine of the reunion of the soul and 
body at the resurrection, because a soul which after leaving the 
body had advanced to a higher spiritual state than it had 
reached at the moment of its separation from the body could 
not properly be reunited to its body as that body was at death. 
The work of redemption was consummated when the Son of 
God expired on the cross ; the glorified body of the Redeemer was 
on the third day reunited to his glorified soul, because it was 
fitting that the body should share in the glory of the soul, 
hiving been humiliated to the very last with the soul. And the 
reunion of the soul and body of the Saviour was like what the 
reunion of the souls and bodies of the just will be on the last 
day. In short, just as Jesus finished his work of redemption 
before death, so must every man consummate the work of his 
salvation in this life. The whole man must complete the 
work of salvation, or the whole man cannot be glorified on the 
last day. This forbids us to hold that the acts of the soul in 
purgatory are worthy of reward; they no more affect its glory 
than do acts performed in paradise. This is why our Lord 
tells us to work while the day lasts, because the night (of 
hades) cometh wherein no man can work. 

Moreover, there must be a particular judgment of each soul 
after death, otherwise no one could be admitted to heaven until 
after the general judgment. Dr. Briggs, however, denies the par- 
ticular judgment in order to establish the theory that there are 
opportunities in the middle state for the further sanctification of 
those who have died in infancy or have otherwise been deprived 
of opportunities of performing holy actions in this life, as well as 



1890.] rxoi-: BKIGGS' DOCTRINE of- THE MIDDLE STA TE. 115 

to afford the heathen benefits of which they have been deprived 
from the lack of explicit knowledge of the Christian religion. 
But I think that the Catholic doctrine of the universality of the 
benefits of redemption in this life removes the necessity of -the 
extension of them to a future state. The Catholic doctrine is 
that God antecedently wills the salvation of all men, although he 
permits some to fail of its attainment through the operation of 
secondary causes ; and, furthermore, I am allowed to hold that 
no one of those who do fail of their true destiny will suffer in 
the next life except for conscious sin, and that those who de- 
part this life with only original sin will have a natural knowl- 
edge and love of God and the highest enjoyment of natural 
beatitude. 

The doctrines of future sanctification and probation are for 
the most part a recoil from the violent distortions of religious 
truth brought in by the Reformers, such as that " Christ died 
only for the elect," that " all heathen virtues deserve only dam- 
nation," that " man deserves to be tormented for ever on ac- 
count of original sin," and the like. The author speaks of " the 
awfulness of the doctrine of the eternal damnation of the heathen 
world," but I do not think that the condition of those who are 
invincibly ignorant of the true faith is as hopeless in this life as 
Calvinism declares it to be, for right reason and orthodox the- 
ology teach that a man may make an act of faith in God as 
existing and as a rewarder to them that seek him (Heb. xi. 6) 
without an explicit knowledge of the Incarnation and Redemp- 
tion ; nor are we obliged, in order to avoid the harsh supposi- 
tion that original sin deserves positive punishment, to fall into 
the inconsistency into which the author says his church has 
drifted in the new doctrine of the universal salvation of infants. 
In nearly every case the objections of unbelievers to the dogma 
of eternal punishment are directed against the distortions ot 
the truth which have been put forth by theologians of the Re- 
formed churches. 

The author admits that the error that sanctification cannot be 
accomplished in this life paralyzes every effort. True, but what 
will be the effect of the error of supposing that it can also be 
accomplished in the future life ? If many who know the short- 
ness of this life, and believe that " now is the day of salva- 
tion," postpone repentance even in that narrow limit, hoping for 
a more favorable time before death, what would they do if they 
thought there would be a chance for them to repent hereafter ? 

VOL. LI. 8 



1 16 /'A-C/. 7>'A7<;<;V AT /w/.v A c/ ////. .)///>/>/./: Sr.irj-:. [April, 

Besides, there is the further difficulty that the doctrine of pro- 
gr< mctification after death ought to apply with equal 

reason to all if to any, and this would place the goal of eternal 
rest and joy at a distance too great for human endurance. With 
the goal in sight, the race is easily run; but trial indefinitely pro- 
longed produces premature weariness and exhaustion. St. Paul 
* desired to be dissolved that he might be with Christ, not that 
he might engage in further conquests in a future state. Death 
is sometimes compared to sleep because it brings rest from 
labor, and to one who has " fought the good fight " it means 
the peace and joy of victory. Moreover, if one had succumbed 
to temptation here, where Christ's passion was consummated, 
where death was swallowed up in victory and where grace 
superabounds, it would seem incongruous that, in the state of 
a disembodied spirit, he should have an opportunity of follow- 
ing Christ's passion and death in another life. On the whole, 
I am obliged to object to Dr. Briggs' theory as one devised 
simply to meet a difficulty created by Calvinism; and more 
than this, it introduces other difficulties in the way of ortho- 
doxy greater than any which it undertakes to solve. Furthermore, 
the whole weight of Scriptural and traditional authority is against 
it. What I have already affirmed I repeat once more, viz. : 
that orthodoxy does not require one to believe that men must 
suffer in the next life, provided they had no opportunity of es- 
caping from it while in this life. The doctrines of sufficient 
grace for salvation for all who have the use of reason, and of 
perfect natural beatitude for those unregenerate persons who are 
irresponsible or who have not committed actual sin, answer the 
objection that opportunities are not given to all in this life to 
avoid everlasting misery. 

I fear that Dr. Briggs' doctrine of the future life will not 
advance holy living; but, on the other hand, I know that the 
Catholic doctrine of purgatory furnishes the strongest incentives to 
holiness by teaching men the atrocity of sin, since the punish- 
ments which even the lightest sins entail are painful and certain 
to be inflicted. And, in this connection, it must be remembered 
that there is also a bright side to this inexorable law, in the 
knowledge that the Divine mercies unceasingly flow through these 
punishments which only cure the soul ; the Divine charity is 
wondrously revealed in this righteous correction ; fraternal charity 
finds the widest scope for action in pious suffrages for the de- 
parted ; personal sanctity is increased by efforts towards a holy 



1890.] PROF. B RICGS' DOCTRINE OF THE MIDDLE STA TE. \ \ 7 

life, through hearty detestation of the smallest faults, humble con- 
fessions, fervent communions with Christ in the Eucharist, un- 
tiring labors, generous alms-giving, strict self-denial, constant 
watchfulness, and unceasing prayers. And, furthermore, the cer- 
tainty that the time of trial for salvation is short, and the rewards 
of eternity exceeding great, stimulate to action and give the 
greatest consolation, as the author's doctrine of the middle state 
of conflict cannot. And if it be objected that purgatory may be 
too long before the last farthing due to Divine justice is paid, it 
may be answered that through God's merciful provision the 
church militant proffers salutary aids to her suffering departed 
children incessantly and without stint. Thus the doctrines of 
purgatory and indulgences make infinite justice and mercy 
reconcilable in the intermediate state. All these considerations 
taken together clearly show the truth of my assertion, that the 
Catholic tenet regarding the middle state advances holy living. 

In reviewing the author's doctrine of the intermediate state, I 
have been forcibly struck by his singular omission of its corollary 
prayers for the dead. Yet his view of man's condition after 
death would make such a practice as praying for the dead a 
more urgent duty and a holier privilege than the Catholic belief 
regarding purgatory has. He must see that this pious practice, 
so full of comfort to affectionate souls, is reasonable, and not 
without sanction in Scripture, besides having the unmistakable 
witness of tradition. Prayers for the dead furnish the bulk of the 
testimony for the primitive belief concerning the middle state. 
Does Dr. Briggs think that the doctrine of the middle state will 
ever exert any practical influence on Christian life if prayer for 
the departed members of Christ is neglected ? I do not see how 
he can. Now, Protestantism, it must be admitted, has broken the 
golden chain which should unite the militant saints here with the 
holy souls who live in the unseen world, and has caused men to 
think that death builds up a cruel wall of separation which can- 
not possibly be penetrated or overleaped. As a consequence, such 
a revulsion against this unnatural sentiment has taken place that 
multitudes of Protestants have been inclined to think, as did J. 
Fenimore Cooper, that prayer for the dead is " the sweetest and 
most endearing of all the rites of Christianity," and with him 
to " devoutly wish that such petitions could have the efficacy 
that so large a portion of the Christian world impute to them." 
And will Dr. Briggs ever venture to revive among his 
brethren the long-lost and forgotten brotherhood of the living 



i is PKOP.&M / THE .!///>/>/./. Sr.ir/-. [April, 

and tl ncerely hope so, for I cannot think that lie 

will be proclaim a mere isolated truth, ignoring its 

connection -with relief'. us duty. His aim in the work of reli 

-libation appears to be the discovery of truth and the ap- 
plication of it to -.piritual conduct. As evidence of this, I need 
only quote the following words from the closing cliaptcr of 
]\'hitlicr .' "Every error should be slain as soon as possible. It 
it be our error, we should be most anxious to get rid of it. 
: is our greatest foe. Truth is the most precious pos- 
session. There can be no unity save in the truth, and no 
perfect unity save in the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth. . . . All forms of error will disappear before the 
breath of truth. . . . Let the light shine, higher and higher, 
the clear bright light of day. Truth fears no light. Light chases 
error away. True orthodoxy seeks the full blaze of the noon- 
tide sun. In the light of such a day the unity of Christendom 
will be gained." I heartily agree with these principles, and all 
honest men will follow them to their conclusions, lead where 
they may. Catholics are only too ready to debate with men 
like him " in a friendly manner," as he advises Protestants to 
debate with Catholics, and " seek to overcome their errors." " Is 
Rome an ally ? " he asks his brethren. He thinks that it is in 
nine-tenths of all Christian teaching. But I am sure that he has 
yet to learn how true and faithful a friend he has invoked. Rome 
has ever held that " truth is the most precious possession," and 
"error the. greatest foe." On these two propositions she has 
always staked the continuance of her very existence. 

H. H. WVMAN. 




1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW 



i 

TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

MR. HOWELLS, who is always entertaining, has never, to our 
notion, been quite so much so as in A Hazard of New For- 
tunes (New York: Harper & Brothers). Perhaps his portraits 
are not more true to life than heretofore ; certainly the young 
women of the incongruous Dryfoos household still leave open the 
question suggested by Marcia Hubbell in A Modern Instance ; 
by 'Manda Greer and her giggling friend Statira in The Min- 
ister's Charge ; and even, though, to be sure, in a much modi- 
fied form, by Penelope and Irene Lapham. Are these really 
American girls of the uncultivated classes, or, as in the case of 
Penelope, of the class which Mr. W. C. Brownell once aptly de- 
scribed as self-made people of culture ? Except when Mrs. 
March, or some strict social equivalent of hers, is under treat- 
ment, one is often moved to wonder just how far below the sur- 
face Mr. Howells' observation actually penetrates when he is 
studying certain varieties of his countrywomen. And if, reflect- 
ing that Mr. Howells, in his capacity as a professional observer, 
is sure to occupy a point of view less restricted, not to say less 
antiquated, than one's own, one concedes that Christine and Mela 
Dryfoos are true enough to prevalent contemporary types, then 
a doubt obtrudes itself as to whether the arrested development 
to which they testify, is or is not one of the results of that gen- 
eral deterioration of the native American farmer concerning which 
the Mugwump of the period has so much to say. He is con- 
scienceless, declares that observer; he is greedy; he has no sense 
of large public issues; his vote, take him by and large, is bought 
and sold with a facility to which the corruptest of city wards 
offers no parallel. In fact, if this critic may be believed, he is 
not a whit better than the French peasant of recent literature. 
Certainly, if Mr. Howells is a credible witness, it would not do 
to put his daughters into literature just as they are ; " the great 
American novel, if true, must be incredible," and chiefly on their 
account. We notice that the Dryfoos girls, though they have 
been " away to boarding-school," mark a perceptible decline in 
the scale of manners and ideals from that even of their parents, 
while Conrad is a pure exotic. 

Still, the novel depends for very little of its interest upon the 
character or the actions of the women in it, at least when Mrs. 



120 TALK AROCT .\'/-.ir Ac [April, 

March lias been exccpted. She is so especially well done, she 
shines with such a bright particularity as the good Bostonian 
wife par <MT<-//<-//<V, that if one were not afraid of too professional 
a joke one would be tempted to speak of Mr. Howells as a Bene- 
dicktine of the Strict Observance. < >ne reflects with a certain awe 
upon the immense mass of details concerning minor feminine pe- 
culiarities which a long and well-spent life must have enabled 
him to amass. And he can hardly, as yet, have done more than 
tap the reservoir at points accessible to the general public ! The 
stream is pleasant enough, wherever broached, to continually divert 
the present critic from an original intention to begin by remarking 
that it is the general trend and purport of this novel which gives 
it much of its special interest. And yet to speak of it as a 
novel with a distinct didactic purpose would be misleading. Al- 
though Lindau is a socialist who, on the whole, wins a more 
cordial suffrage from us than from young Tom March ; though 
Conrad, with his pure ideals and gentle spirit, is an interesting 
figure, and Margaret Vance a pleasant specimen of the society 
girl who sympathizes with strikers and finds her vocation in an 
Episcopalian sisterhood ; though the co-operative magazine, run in 
the interest of its contributors and artists, is not so wild an idea 
on its face, yet the story which connects all these people and 
their purposes is not so burdened with direct intention that one 
would 6e justified in ranking Mr. Howells among the convinced 
adherents of the new sociology. But he has made an amazingly 
readable novel with humanitarianism and co-operation as under- 
lying material. As a matter of course, the book being his, it is 
full of points which make themselves and give the reader sym- 
pathetic thrills, now through his sense of fun, now through his 
knowledge of himself and his neighbor, not to mention his neigh- 
bor's wife. The men are all admirably well done, Lindau being 
the best of them. When we have echoed Fulkerson's remark, 
" He's a noble old fellow ; pity he drinks !" we have exhausted 
our censure of him. Mr. Howells has managed his sentiments 
and his actions as well as his accent with consummate skill ; 
when the old man cuts the Gordian knot in which his sincerity 
has involved March and Fulkerson as well as himself, by refusing 
to earn money from Dryfoos any longer, he is superb. Quotable 
as the novel is on every page, it is only for a bit of the old 
man's talk in reply to Fulkerson's chaff in the office of /:><>;> 
Oilier U'fi-Jt that we can here find space: 

" One day, with the usual show of writhing under Lindau's scorn, he said, 
1 Well, I understand that although you despise me now, I.indau 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. \z\ 

" ' I ton't desbise you !' the old man broke in, his nostrils swelling and his 
eyes flaming with excitement ; ' I bity you." 

" ' Well, it comes to the same thing in the end,' said Fulkerson. ' What I 
understand is that you pity me now as the slave of capital ; but you would pity 
me a great deal more if I was the master of it.' 

" ' How you mean ?' 

"' If I was rich.' 

" ' That would tebendt,' said Lindau, trying to control himself. ' If you 
hat inherited! your money, you might pe innocent ; but if you hat mate it, efery 
man that resbectedt himself would haf to ask how you mate it, and if you hat 
mate moch, he would know ' 

" ' Hold on ; hold on, now, Lindau ! Ain't that rather un-American doc- 
trine ? We're all brought up, ain't we, to honor the man that made his money, 
and look down or try to look down ; sometimes it's difficult on the fellow 
that his father left it to ?' 

" The old man rose and struck his breast. ' On-Amerigan !' he roared, and, 
as he went on, his accent grew more and more uncertain. ' What iss Ameri- 
gan ? Dere iss no Ameriga any more ! You start here free and brafe, and 
you glaim for efery man de righdt to life, liperty, and de bursuit of habbiness. 
And where haf you entedt ? No man that vorks vith his handts among you 
hass the liperty to bursue his habbiness. He iss the slave of some richer man, 
some gompany, some gorporation, dat crindts him down to the least he can lif 
on, and that rops him of the marchin of his earnings that he might pe habby 
on. Oh ! you Amerigans, you haf cot it down goldt, as you say ! You ton't 
puy foters ; you puy legislatures and goncressmen ; you puy gourts ; you puy 
gombetitors ; you puy infentors not to infent ; you atfertise, and the gounting- 
room sees dat de etitorial-room toesn't tink.' 

" ' Yes, we've got a little arrangement of that sort with March here,' said 
Fulkerson. 

" ' Oh ! I an; sawry,' said the old man contritely '.I meant noting ber- 
sonal. I ton't tink we are all cuilty or gorrupt, and efen among the rich there 
are goodt men. But gabidal ' his passion rose again ' where you find gabi- 
dal, millions of money that a man hass cot togeder in fife, ten, twenty years, you 
findt the smell of tears and ploodt ! Dat iss what I say. And you cot to loog 
oudt for yourself when you meet a rich man whether you meet an honest man.' 

' ' Well,' said Fulkerson, ' I wish I was a subject of suspicion with you, 
Lindau. By the way,' he added, ' I understand that you think capital was at 
the bottom of the veto of that pension of yours.' 

"'What bension ? What feto ?' The old man flamed up again. 'No 
bension of mine was efer fetoedt. I renounce my bension, begause I would 
sgorn. to dake money from a gofernment that I tond't peliefe in any more. 
Where you hear that story?' 

" ' Well, I don't know,' said Fulkerson, rather embarrassed. ' It's com- 
mon talk.' 

" ' It's a gommon lie, then ! When the time gome dat dis iss avree gountry 
again, then I dake a bension again for my woundts ; but I would sdarfe before 
I dake a bension now from a rebublic dat is bought oap by monobolies, andt run 
by drusts and gompines, and railroadts andt oil gompanies.'" 

The evils deplored by Lindau, both in their immoral char- 
acter and their enormous extent, are real. His indignation is 
natural and well justified. Whether socialism such as he advo- 



i_v T.-ti\- Athn BOOKS. [April, 

cated by implication would be cither just <>r sufficient as a 
remedy is a question on which people may take different sides. 
But he stands out in admirably bold relief in Mr. Howells' pre- 
sentation of him, his "brinciples." and his steads- adherence to 
them, dwarfing the conventional respectabilities and compromises 
of March and company into a commonplace and ea-y sort of 
virtue. 

It is not difficult to see how and why the journal of .Marie 
Bashkirtscff (New York: Cassell Publishing Co.) has attained 
its present vogue. In it a young girl has done for herself 
that which the realistic school of fiction are constantly try- 
ing to do for her sisters. The result is only not so widely 
popular as that of some of the novelists whom she studied 
with interest and pleasure, because, notwithstanding her vanity 
and consuming egotism, she was hedged about not less by train- 
ing and ingrained prejudice than by an innate and chilly mod- 
esty which never permitted her to lose the innocence of ignor- 
ance. She goes to the bone with her probe, to be sure, but to 
a bone not hidden in a mountain of gross flesh. If she could 
afford to be candid, we may be permitted to be interested .and 
entertained as well as sympathetic. Poor little girl ! She has 
gone behind the curtain for good, and all her frantic self- 
display is over ; but it has let her attain the end she sought in 
making it. She will live for a while on the tongues of men ; 
then she will pass out of sight for ever, so far as this world goes. 
For she has nothing of permanent interest to impart, no real 
contribution to psychology to make. The world- knew before 
that pretty girls are apt to be conscious of their beauty, and to 
delight in it before their mirrors, though they seldom confide 
that fact to diaries intended for publication. It knew that the 
longing to love and be loved honestly is ingrained in their 
hearts by the nature which fits them to be wives and mothers. 
The only novel thing is to have one of them plainly admit 
it, even though her admission is, as it were, post mortem. Marie 
was by no means so frank in her intercourse with the " Cardi- 
nalino A " or her cousin Pacha, and it is quite safe to say 
that, if she had been, it would have been herself and not the 
general public who would have been the wiser for it. 

For our own part, the only sentiment awakened by this jour- 
nal is that of a profound compassion, not unlike that which its 
author so frequently expresses for herself. "I don't know how 
the case may be as regards happy people," she wrote about 
a year before her death, " but as for me, I am greatly to be 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 123 

pitied, since I have ceased to expect anything from God. 
When this supreme refuge fails us there is nothing left us but 
to die. Without God there can be neither poetry, nor affec- 
tion, nor genius, nor love, nor ambition." That was the great 
trouble with her always. She " expected things from God," 
prayed for them with fervor, worked herself up to a feverish cer- 
tainty of getting them, and then accused Him of deceiving and play- 
ing with her, or made a feint of doubting His existence, when they 
did not come. " O my God ! grant me happiness in this life, 
and I will be grateful ! . . . God grant that the Duke of H 
may be mine ! I will love him and make him happy ! I will 
be happy, too. I will do good to the poor. It is a sin to- 
think that one can purchase the favor of God by good works, but 
I know not how otherwise to express myself." That is what 
one reads in the first entry of her journal, written at the age of 
twelve, when she was indulging in a fantastic passion for a man 
whom she knew only by sight, and who never became aware 
of her existence, tmless, indeed, this diary may since her death 
have made him acquainted with it. And again, a month or two 
later, on the same theme : 

" O my God ! at the thought that he will never love me I am ready to die 
of grief. I have no longer any hope. I was mad to desire things so impossi- 
ble. I wished to possess what was too beautiful. Oh ! but no. I must not 
allow myself to be thus carried away. What ! I dare despair thus? Is 
there not a God to whom all things are possible, who protects me? Is 
He not everywhere always, watching over us ? He can do all things ; 
He is all-powerful ; for Him there is neither time nor space. I may be 
in Peru and the duke in Africa, and if He wishes He can bring us together. 
How can I have entertained for a single moment a despairing thought? How 
can I have forgotten for an instant His divine goodness ? Is it because He does 
not give me everything that I desire at once, that I dare to deny Him ? No, 
no, He is more merciful ; He will not allow a soul so innocent as mine to be 
torn apart by these sinful doubts. . . . This evening we spent at church ; it 
is the first day of our Holy Week " (Marie being a Russian was a member of the 
schismatic Greek Church), "and I performed my devotions. I must say there 
are many things about our religion which I do not like ; but it is not for me to 
reform them ; I believe in God, in Christ, and in the Holy Virgin. I pray to God 
every night, and I have no wish to trouble myself about a few trifles that have 
nothing to do with true religion with true faith. I believe in God, and He is 
good to me ; He gives me more than I need. Oh ! if He would only give me 
what I desire so much ! The good God will have pity on me, although I might 
do without what I ask. I should be so happy if the duke would only take 
notice of me, and I would bless God." 

This is sufficiently remarkable as the thought and expression 
of a girl of twelve, but the childish attitude of mind which it 
betrays was characteristic of Marie throughout her life. For her,. 



124 TALK ABOUT XEU- 7>\v,vx [April, 

tli- present life contained all the future that her mind or her 
tk-Mtv- could grasp. ^' lc was always endeavoring to placate 
God by -.libmi-MoM, or to bribe Him by promises, in order to 
obtain the little satisfaction that she thought would still the 
craving of the moment. "My God," she writes at fifteen, "if 
you will make my life what I wish it to be, I make a vow, if 
you will but take pity upon me, to go from Kharkoff to Kieff, 
on foot, like the pilgrims. If, along with this, you \\-ill satisfy my 
ambition and render me completely happy, I will take a vow to 
make a journey to Jerusalem, and to go a tenth part of the way 
on foot. . . . My God, pardon me and take pity on 
me ; ordain that my vows may be fulfilled! Holy Mary, it is 
perhaps stupid of me, but it seems to me that you, as a woman, 
arc.- more merciful, more indulgent ; take me under your pro- 
tection, and I will vow to devote a tenth of my revenue to all 
manner of good works. If I do wrong, it is without meaning it. 
Pardon ! " 

Here was a soul intense, ardent, capable of persistent and 
heroic devotion to an ideal, and yet as shut in from all true per- 
ception of its own value and eternal destiny as if it had been 
frankly pagan instead of nominally Christian. To Marie Bash- 
kirtseff, God was only a great Being who could fulfil all her 
desires for love, fame, distinction, health, and who probably would 
do so if properly importuned and flattered. Of any goods tran- 
scending these, or of eternal life itself, she never once shows any 
belief, or even any rudimentary comprehension. But if she prayed 
like a badly instructed child or a heathen, it must -be admitted 
that she did all that lay in her own power toward the attainment 
of her wishes, with an unremitting industry which might shame 
many ordinarily good Christians. From her twelfth year, when 
she awoke to the fact that her education had been neglected, and 
that if she desired to attain knowledge she must work for it, she 
devoted herself to the study of art and literature with a zeal 
which ended by quickly consuming the never very abundant oil 
in her lamp of life. She came of a family hereditarily afflicted 
with lung diseases, and the shadow of her own fate was upon 
her long before she found courage to admit it. It is inexpres- 
sibly sad to follow her through the career of work, and jealousy, 
and feverish ambition to excel, which she led in Paris. Handi- 
capped from the first by physical weakness, she finds all that she 
craves for slipping piecemeal from her grasp. Her lover is a 
weakling, and her love for him nothing but a fancy which, in 
<lying, leaves her ashamed and mortified that she should have 



1890.] TALK- ABOUI NEW BOOKS. 125 

coaxed it into existence ; she loses the voice by which she had 
hoped to gain distinction as a singer ; she paints, and wins at last 
an " honorable mention " from the Salon jury, but her rival, 
Breslau, sits like Mordecai in the king's gate, and her still greater 
successes take half the sweetness out of Marie's own. Then her 
hearing goes. 

" I shall never recover my hearing," she writes in 1882. "Can 
you understand how horrible, how unjust, how maddening this 
is ? . . . And so humiliating, so stupid, so pitiable an infirm- 
ity an infirmity, in short ! " Her vanity suffers horribly, but 
neither that, nor increasing weakness and the premonition of 'early 
death can quell her restless ambition, nor keep her from throwing 
her whole self into the work by which alone she hopes to satisfy 
it. " Miserable existence ! " she complains while waiting for her 
*' mention " the year before her death, " this, and everything else, 
and all for what ? To end in death ! No one escapes this is 
the fate of all. To end, to end, to exist no longer this is what 
is horrible. To be gifted with genius enough to last for an eter- 
nity, and to write stupid things with a trembling hand because 
the news of having received a' miserable mention delays in 
coming." 

And again, in the summer before her death : " I am in the 
deepest dejection. Everything goes wrong with me. . . . And 
I, who do not believe in God, have fixed my hopes upon 
God. . . . My God, why hast Thou given me the power to 
reason ? It would make me so happy if I could but believe 
blindly. I believe and I do not believe. When I reason I no 
longer believe. But in moments of extreme joy or extreme 
wretchedness, my first thought is always of that God who is so 
cruel to me." 

One closes the pitiful little book, so full of egotism, of vanity, 
of forever baffled desires, with a sense that her prayers must have 
been more efficacious than she could realize, and that in tearing 
off the veils that hid the nothingness of the things she craved for, 
God was preparing her for that great reality which alone can 
satisfy the heart. After all, the desire of the simplest soul after 
union with God, its unnoted efforts to subdue self, to conquer 
passion, to attain virtue, how immeasurably they surpass, both in 
energy and in high ambition, any ideal and any effort which can 
be formed so long as the thoughts are limited by the round horizon 
of the earth ! 

Lady Baby (New York : Harper & Brothers), by Dorothea 
Gerard, is an agreeable novel, though for terse effectiveness it does 



126 T.-t/A- Aficcr Xf- if />V [April, 

not reach the mark attained by the same author's Ortt- 
reviewed in this maga/ine some months ago. It is full of inci- 
dent and plot, however, and several of its characters, notably 
Lady Baby, Sir Peter, and Maud Kpperton, are drawn with a 
;_n -at deal of skill. There is no harm in it, and plenty of inn - 
cent entertainment. It is very well written, moreover. 

One would like to be able to say as much for Mr. \V. C. 
Hudson's Jack Cordon, Knight Errant (New York: Cassell's), but 
it is the sort of book likely to catch a large class of what might 
be called half-grown readers, who would be all the better off for 
letting it alone. It is not outrageously offensive in its suggestions 
or situations, and it keeps carefully within the bounds of propriety 
in its language. Nevertheless, there is hardly a woman in it who 
has not compromised herself in some way or other, the most vir- 
tuous-seeming and prudent of them all turning out, in the end, to 
have committed adultery and murder, from whose consequences 
she is shielded by the " Knight Krrant " and his fibbing lady- 
love, Lucy. As for the society girls who are introduced, and 
whose morals are certainly unimpeachable, it must be said that 
their manners and speech are very much worse than any credited 
by Mr. Howells to Christine and Mela Dryfoos, while their 
" bringing up " is assigned by Mr. Hudson to the matrons of the 
" New York Four Hundred." In the matter of society novels, 
however, it is safe to allow a wider margin for the imagina- 
tion of their authors than for their opportunities of observation. 

Mr. William Wetmore Story's Conversations in a Studio (Boston 
and New York: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) are rather interesting, 
'but in no degree thought-compelling. The talks occur between 
" Belton " and his artist-friend " Mallett," in the latter's studio in 
Rome. Belton's time probably hung heavy on his hands. He must 
have been a person of immense leisure as well as mildly persis- 
tent thirst for general information on subjects more or less connected 
with art and artists. The talk is very good in its way. One is 
pleased to observe what a cordial admiration both speakers have for 
Shakspere and probably for the " musical glasses" as well. Mallett 
so often succeeds in being encyclopedic that one ends by suspect- 
ing Belton of a covert intention to earn some " bit of color " or 
trifling sketch by the exercise of unwearied patience as a listener. 
As the artist says : " I suppose there are ten good talkers for one 
good listener. And what an art it is to listen with attention and 
interest and intelligence !" It seems impossible to doubt that the 
sentiment, so just in itself, sprang in this case from depths of 
di-heartening experience. Speaking for one only, an afternoon a 



1890.] TALK- ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 127 

week with him and Belton would presently cause us to fall into 
the category of persons whom he describes as prone to " look 
about while you are talking with them, and give only a half- 
mind to what you are saying ; ask you to excuse them a moment 
while they do this or that, or give this or that order, and are ever 
wandering about in their thoughts, and begging you to repeat 
what you have said. Nothing is so boring as this; nothing takes 
the whole life out of one like this " And yet such persons must 
often be estimable members of society, notwithstanding their in- 
capacity to enjoy to the full the entertainment popularly known as 
" chinning." Ten Malletts to one Belton is not that Mr. Story's 
own proportion ? 

Chita : A Memory of Last Island (New York : Harper & 
Brothers), by Lafcadio Hearn, hardly exists as a story, so slight 
are its incidents and so diaphanous its characters. But it is a 
very beautiful prose poem, all the same, with the sea for its 
theme and motive. The sense of loneliness and desolation, of 
the overmastering forces of nature in their warfare with man, is 
strong in it. Laroussel's coming, and later that of La Brierre, his 
half-uncertain recognition of Chita, and then his death in a si- 
lence which leaves her, unwitting of him, where Feliu brought her 
from the sea, affect one like the rising and the falling of the 
tide. They seem to have no vocation but to come and go, wash- 
ing infertile sands, leaving no deposit but weeds and sodden drift. 
Slight as the personages of the sketch are left in drawing, they im- 
pose themselves upon the imagination in a way which is seldom 
granted to the laborious mass of details accumulated by the mas- 
ters of the realistic school. Feliu and the " little brown woman " 
Carmen ; Laroussel on his knees before baby Chita ; the wait 
herself; La Brierre beside his own tombstone or in the rocking- 
chair by the window where Chita looks at him with her mother's 
eyes is there one of them whom a painter with a sense of 
poetic values could not put on canvas with so secure a hand that 
Mr. Hearn's readers would not recognize them without a name ? 
To be sure, he would need to be even more sure of his poetic 
values than of his drawing and his color. 

Mr. George Edward Woodberry's muse is academic, correct, 
refined, a trifle chilly, not specially attractive, not suggestive of 
abundant fruitfulness. So, at least, she appears under the veil of 
his just-published volume, The North Shore Watch and Other 
Poems (Boston and New York : Houghton, Mifflin & Co). By 
far the best work in it is contained in " Agathon," in which the 
contrast between the heavenly and the earthly love, symbolized 



ia8 TALK ABOi' . [April, 

by Eros anil Antci>, is none the less worth making by reason 
of its antiquity, and in which the recurring suggestion of Emer- 
son that one gets from time to time is not to be called unpleas- 
ant in itself. The first of the two sonnets " At Gibraltar " is 
fine, too, and so are the lines with which the volume closes, and 
which we give as a specimen of what Mr. Woodberry does when 
at his be-t : 

I. 

Be God's the Hope ! He built the azure frame ; 
He sphered its borders with the walls of flame ; 
'Tis His, whose hands have made it, glory or shame. 
Be God's the Hope ! 

II. 

The Serpent girds the round of earth and sea ; 
The Serpent pastures on the precious tree ; 
The Serpent, Lord of Paradise is he. 

Be God's the Hope ! 

III. 

I thought to slay him. I am vanquished. 
Heaven needed not my stroke, and I am sped. 
Yea, God, Thou livest, though Thy poor friend be dead. 
Be God's the Hope ! 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 129 



WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION. 

ALL COMMUNICATIONS RELATING TO READING CIRCLES,' LISTS OF BOOKS, ETC., SHOULD 
BE ADDRESSED TO THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION, NO. 415 WEST FIFTY-NINTH 
STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 

THE paper read before the Catholic Congress by Conde B. Fallen, Ph.D., 
elicited many favorable comments among the delegates best qualified to judge 
an essay on the subject of "Catholic American Literature." In well-chosen 
language the author showed that as yet we have not had in America the favor- 
ing conditions essential to the highest literary development, especially among 
Catholics. Those engaged in clearing the forests, preparing the soil, and build- 
ing vast cities had little time and few opportunities to cultivate the growth of a 
literature equal in quality and quantity to the finished productions of mature 
scholars in the Old World. Considering the environment, the chilling indiffer- 
ence of the public at large, and the apathy of publishers, Catholic writers in the 
United States have given us works which deserve the highest praise. We are 
encouraged by the hope that through the Columbian Reading Union these 
literary treasures, coming down to us from the pioneers of the faith, may 
become better known and appreciated. A system of Reading Circles properly 
organized is now demanded to safeguard the interests of present and future 
writers, as well as to preserve the valuable books inherited from those who have 
gone to their reward. 

We may be permitted to quote the tribute of praise given by Mr. Fallen to 
Father Hecker for his untiring effort to foster the growth of Catholic American 
literature : " The late Very Rev. Isaac T. Hecker possessed thorough honesty, 
earnestness, fervid faith, deep and genuine love of our liberty-giving institutions. 
The intensity of his love of country was second only to the love of his holy 
faith. No man of our age has displayed a more comprehensive grasp of its 
controlling spirit ; no one has shown a deeper insight into the principles which 
are shaping the history of the century. His sympathies were as wide as his in- 
sight deep, and his life was a consecration to the service of the church and his 
fellow-men. No Catholic writer has so luminously portrayed the beautiful har- 
mony which exists between the divine truth of Catholicity and the spirit of our 
republican institutions. He has vindicated the title of Catholics to American 
citizenship in such a way as not only to merit the gratitude of his fellow-Catho- 
lics, but to win the honest applause of his fellow-countrymen." 
# * * 

In reading the following letter our members will bear in mind the special 
qualifications of the writer on the subject of Catholic literature : 

" It is as a late guest that I come to make my salutation to the Columbian 
Reading Union. After the many warm expressions of approval and commenda- 
tion from so great a number of admirers and friends better qualified than I to 
pass judgment, there remains nothing new to be said. Feeling, however, that 
every additional expression of opinion, though it virtually cover the same 
ground, intensifies by mere force of gravity, I am constrained to comply with 
the request to contribute my mite to the general fund. 

" Combination seems to be the order of the day. Everywhere united and 



130 WITH RI-.AHKKS A\/> OWA.V rs. [A]>ril, 

concerted action is brought to bear to effect ends utterly beyond the effort of 
the individual. That Catholics should avail them the methods of the 

provided they lie not wrong, if they desire !> bring about large result-,, is 
.parent to require argument. Ti unique reasons why 

Catholics >hould combine to achieve the many great object! that lie within the 
scope of their united energy. They make but one-tenth ot the entire popula- 
tion of the nation, and they arc scattered throughout the land. Their efforts 
ate. there! ited and dispersed. The result loses just in pro- 

portion to this lack of concentration. Their interests are common, but. through 
the circumstances of situation, they want the one element of formal union 
to make them irresistibly effective. The Columbian Reading Union, it 
to me, is one of the desiderated factors necessary to bring about this end, and, 
therefore, the establishment of an intellectual union among Catholics in America 
should be hailed with unfeigned delight by all who have Catholic interests at heart. 

"The effort, through the Columbian Reading Union, to create a general 
and uniform demand for Catholic'and sound literature cannot fail to have its 
effect upon the market. It will no doubt stimulate our much-berated Catholic- 
publisher to meet the demand intelligently and tastefully, matters which he has 
too often left out of his calculations. When the Catholic reading public finds a 
channel through which its demands can reach the publisher, and a proper voice 
to give expression to its wants, better things are to be expected. 1 believe that 
the Columbian Reading Union may fill out this programme. It is not only, how- 
ever, as a stimulus to publishers that I understand the Columbian Reading Union 
is to carry out its purpose, but as a purveyor of good literature in general. That 
it may successfully accomplish its end must be the wish of all lovers of letters. 
The need of such a missionary factor amongst our Catholic people has been long 
felt. It is a difficulty against which Catholic writers have long struggled ; they 
have had no public to appreciate their work, and the lack of such appreciation 
will surely chill the most glowing ardor. If the Columbian Reading Union can 
breathe some proper spirit of appreciation of Catholic letters into the pub- 
lic, it will have accomplished a noble work, and one for which the Catholic 
writer needs must feel a debt of deep gratitude. CONDE B. PALLKN." 

'St. Loins, Mi>." 



We are pleased to announce that the city ot Brooklyn is to be prominently 
represented by its Catholic Reading Circles. Information has reached us that a 
beginning has been made in several places. The credit of taking the initiative 
belongs to 

THE FKNKLON READING CIRCLE. 

' That there is a great necessity of cultivating among our young people a 
taste for good reading no one will venture to deny. That there is also need of 
competent direction as to what shall be read, and some system about the read- 
ing, is equally true. To try to supply for its members this direction, and to 
cultivate in them this taste for the best reading, is the principal object of the 
Fenelon Reading Circle. It purposes to make Catholics better acquainted with 
their own literature, and to oppose the indifference which, unfortunately, inu-,1 
be admitted to exist in regard to our Catholic writers. How many of us have 
ever read Newman, Manning, Wiseman, Chateaubriand, Lacordaire, and the 
other master minds that belong to us? Yet Cardinal .Newman is admitted by 
all to be the finest writer of the English language now living. Should we not 
therefore feel it our bounden duty, as it would also prove a great pleasure, to 
make ourselves familiar with the writings of these men ? 



is )o.j WITH READERS AND CO-RESPONDENTS. 131 

" That this Circle will supply a long-felt want is evidenced by the fact that, 
though established only a month, the applications for membership have been so 
general that it was found necessary to extend the limit of membership at first 
determined on. Indeed, the growth of the society has been beyond the most 
sanguine expectations of the little band who first considered the formation of 
the Circle. These were a few of the graduates of the Visitation Convent, of 
Brooklyn, who, witnessing what had been accomplished in other cities by just 
such societies, saw no reason why they should be behindhand in any such move- 
ment. Having obtained the valuable co-operation of the Rev. Father Barry, 
\\lio most kindly assumed the direction of affairs, a meeting was called. Twenty- 
five young ladies from various parts of the city responded to the invitations and 
attended this meeting. 

" The society was duly organized and the name agreed upon. This name 
was adopted as being singularly appropriate, since Fenelon always advocated most 
strongly the education of women, and one of his best-known works is that on 
the Education of a Daughter. 

'The first regular meeting was held on January 14, and by that date the 
membership had grown to seventy-five. The rules of the society, which are 
very few and simple, were now made known. Each member is expected to read 
one-half hour every day in some book of the regular course of reading which she 
is following. 

" A meeting is held the first Tuesday of every month in the library parlor. 
At this meeting books are exchanged and a report of the reading done by each 
member is brought in. It is also expected that when the society has been fully 
organized and is in regular working order the members will at these meetings 
discuss what has been read by them during the previous month ; that selections 
from some of the authors will be read aloud, and recitations given by those fitted 
to do so. 

"The courses of reading so far adopted are the historical, which will take 
some special period of history, and the best Catholic authorities treating of the 
subject will be read, then the biographies of any of the prominent characters of 
the time will follow ; also, any work of standaid fiction dealing with the question 
in point may be read in connection with it, as well as any poem. 

' The miscellaneous course is subdivided into three groups art, biography, 
and general literature, including selected articles from the magazines; fiction. 
This last is intended for those who do not care_to begin with anything requiring 
more serious study. As there arc many who will not read anything but fiction, 
it has been thought wise to prepare this course, for it will at least accomplish 
some good by placing in their hands the choicest fiction instead of the worthless 
volumes now so widely circulated. 

" Each member is free to choose which course she shall follow, and as the 
necessity arises other courses will be prepared. It is the intention of the 
director to have during the season lectures on subjects connected with the read- 
ing matters, and on topics of general interest. These lectures will be delivered 
in the evening by competent speakers, and, together with being very instructive 
to the members, they will serve also to show the public at large what such a 
society can accomplish. 

"Brooklyn. X. \. CATHARINK K. HKXXKSSV, Secretary," 

* * * 

Vincennes, Incl., has a Reading Circle which provides for its members sev- 
eral copies of THK CATHOLIC WORLD. It is arranged on apian that allows 
each member to have the use of the magazine for one week. Mrs. J. Bayard, 
vol.. i.i. o 



Jf 'ITU A'/,!/'/-A'.v A.\l> ii'KKl-.Sl\'M>l.\ IS. [April. 



the Hi "wn miu li /e.d in the ^noii wink. in her letter 

-,lu- write-,: "We i-\|uvt to extend our 'e.ulini; on .subjects of interest to the 
members and report results at fortnightly meetings. Kor those wlm can do 
home-work the rmtnrn.il mnci is to I'e taken. each copy being retained two 
We h.i 'led in scouring the entire list published by the Co- 

lumbian Reading t'nion for our sodality library, and hope to have some Cath- 
olic works introduced into the Public Library. Since ThK CATHOLIC 
WnKI 1> is to be used so largely, we wish to secure when prepared the Index ' 
announced lately. It will not be necessary at present to make any large pur- 

chase nl' books." 



Catholic Reading Circles nre much indebted to Brother A/arias, professor ol 
literature at PC I. a Salle Institute. New York City. His counsel has been sought 
and freely given concerning many important matters relating to the Columbian 
Reading Union. From all sources we hear nothing but words of praise for his 
masterly articles on " Books and How to Use Them." w hirh have been repub- 
lished from THK CATHni.it/ WOKI.H in pamphlet form, under the title of Kwks 
tittii /\',-iit/:ng, by the Cathedral Library Reading Circle, 460 Madison Avenue. 
New York City. In less than a year it has reached its second edition, 
which should teach publishers that there is a positive demand for literary pro- 
ductions of the right kind when printed in a neat and attractive style. 

Many of our readers will regret their inability to be present at the interest- 
ing meeting vividly described in the following communication : 

"Recently the Ozanam Reading Circle had the honor of receiving the dis- 
tinguished Brother Azarias. Cards of invitation had found their way int. 
eral Catholic homes, and in response an interested audience awaited the presence 
of the guest of the evening. The members of the Ozanam were unbonnci 
hostesses, and the programme of the regular Monday evening meetings was 
given, in order to acquaint the friends with the work of the Circle. Music, 
both vocal and instrumental, was supplied by kind friends, and in place of a 
roll-call each member arose and gave a quotation, every one of which proved to 
be some literary gem which the speaker wished to share with her fellows. Then 
came a reading on the Philistine, from Maurice F. Egan, after which an essay- 
on art standards was read ; then followed a recitation by the president of the 
Ozanam. When the customary exercises had been concluded, Professor Young, 
on behalf of the Circle, introduced Brother Azarias, the guest of the evening. 
who gave a charming informal talk about Kathleen O'Meara, her books and 
ideas. With a modulated, sympathetic voice he told of her home in Paris with her 
mother and sister, and her salon, where the reverend brother had met many 
celebrated men of letters. The management of the sa/ti/i, 'that institution 
which only flourishes on French soil,' was so well understood by Miss O'M .u.; 
that she was eminently fitted to the task of writing her papers on Madame 
Mohl, her salon and her friends.' Kathleen O'Meara's Irish ancestry gave her a 
keen sympathy with the oppressed in all climes, and led her to write her best 
no\el, .\arka, ///< \i/iilist, which deals chiefly with Russian life and its 
wrongs. The reverend gentleman compared her work with that of Tdiirgenieti", 
and then went on to her especial talent for biography and great success in her 
Lift- of Frederic Osanam. More than once the gentle writer sem/uslv consid- 
ered the advisability of abandoning the undertaking. To Cardinal Manning's 
friendship, as well as his belief in Miss O'Meara's correct understanding of h.r 
subject, was probably due the writer's renewed efforts and final triumph. 

" At the time of her death Kathleen < >'M,..,;a had many literary pro 



1890.] // '//// READEKS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 133 

In view. Brother Azarias had supplied her with the materials for the ' Life of 
the Blessed De la Salle,' but the work was left undone, to the deep regret of 
her many friends. No biography has been published of this sweet Christian 
woman, although her sister has made some preparation by gathering material. 
The programme of this most delightful evening was brought to a close by the 
Rev. j. Talbot Smith, editor of the Catholic Review, who, in deference to a 
special request, made a short address, encouraging the members to continue 
their united efforts in the study of Catholic authors. 

''New York L'ity. JOSEPHINE LEWIS." 

# * # 

The interchange of opinion and suggestion established by the Columbian 
Reading Union has demonstrated the necessity of getting as soon as possible a 
complete list of books by Catholic writers published in the English language. 
Several non-Catholic publishers have already promised to print for the Colum- 
bian Reading Union a leaflet containing the books in their catalogues written 
by Catholics. Our members have already received copies of the lists kindly fur- 
nished by Messrs. Macmillan & Co., of New York, and J. B. Lippincott Co., of 
Philadelphia. Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., of Boston, and Longmans, 
Green & Co., of New York, have likewise offered to prepare lists of books pub- 
lished by them and known to be written by Catholic authors. In some cases 
even the publishers are in doubt, and cannot give the desired information. 
Hence it is that we ask our members to assist in this very important under- 
taking by sending us any knowledge they may have concerning the books of 
Catholic writers on various subjects. The obvious advantages of this plan to 
Catholic writers and publishers should induce them to co-operate by forwarding 
for our use critical notices of the latest editions of their works. With a complete, 
reliable list, such as we have in view, which is needed in every library, we can 
definitely show forth the influence'Catholic thought has exerted on modern liter- 
ature. M. C. M. 

The following extract from a letter to the Boston Pilot, from London, is. of 
interest to those who love to hear all the people sing the divine praises : 

" Congregational singing is in great vogue. Placards are hung upon the 
pulpit with the numbers of the hymns, English or Latin, to be sung. So far, I 
must say, I have heard none such hearty choruses as one finds at the Paulists' 
in New York ; nor is my local book of tunes so admirable as Father Young's. 
There is English in the air here. English prayers after Mass, English songs and 
litanies at Benediction, special English choral services, like the beautiful Bona 
Mors devotions, every first Sunday of the month at the Jesuits' all these are in 
evidence. In the diocese of Salford, that thrice happy diocese, Vespers [?] are 
always given in the vernacular a thing which Cardinal Manning, for one, would 
be delighted to have made into a universal law. 

" I have heard mixed voices but twice ; and in both cases the women were 
* yellers, ' and reminded me of some rural Sunday experiences in the land of 
the free. It is not always one has the pleasure of seeing the singers as well as 
hearing them. In some places, and for certain services, the choir go inside the 
Communion-rails, and group themselves about their music-stands ; but the only 
London Catholic church I can now recall as having permanent stalls in the 
chancel is Corpus Christi, in Maiden Lane. What perfectly obvious and desir- 
able things they are ! . . . 

" There is this to say of our English boy-choirs, that they do not sing nearly 
as well as their little brethren of the Established churches ; first, because they 
have far more trying music to attempt ; secondly, because they have to do it 
through the medium of an unfamiliar language. The music, owing only to 
these reasons, is often simply harrowing. There is a child at St. Etheldreda's 
to-day, breaking his throat on Beethoven and Cherubini, who seems to beaborn 



134 \Virn RK.MU-.KS A\/> ('<-/>/>/. .svc.\/'/ .\ /\. 

:.ui, :uul h, in Knglish anil in the old Plain Son-, would In- a |o> h 
and angels. Tin- o,.i:or\ ami l'n..( atlu-dral clu.irs arc e\ri-llent. in the in. .m 

ind the Jesuit.-.' is the best ol'all again, as nobody, nut even the antiphon- 
inan at Vcsiieis. ever bellows, anil as tlie organist does not put on Ill- 
hundred horse-power in order to hii;.;hten things up. 

"... The best choirs here, taking up with more hacknev 
sing more swce'.K. anil without the violent gradations from soil in loud and b.iiA 

which set the ear on edge in SOUK- Anieiii-an 'hutches. Some time the 
reform must come, and the win le business of our too ornate music will ^et re- 
el to its lowest terms. There is only one argument 1 know against tl 
pioymcnt of male voices only, and of befitting music: ami > on will -urss th.it. 
It is just such renderings of the incomparable old airs we are in the habit ol 
hearing. . . . But the bid is not so much for beauty as for propriety, 
wouldn't swear constancy to that accomplished choir of ours. th. "I the 

delight of years, could I but heat the ho\s at Manchester, in a churdi an hour's 
ride north, singing next Sunday night in English, and to Gregorian ton. 
divinest verses in the world : That without any fear, and freed from the hands 
of our foes, we might serve Him, in holiness and justice before Him. all our 

Such a thing I covet, even more than the seven sanctuary lamps which 1 
find here in London, and the great arch and screen of wrought brass. . . . 

" LOIMSK IMCM.I N Ct INKN ." 



A valued friend sends us the following: 

Thclastnumber ofTHK CATHOLIC WOKI.H seems to me particularly Strong. 

I was extremely well pleased with ' Bodasde Oro.' The only fault in it wa 
it was not comprehensive enough. I am a regular subscriber to El Tiemfw, 
and am somewhat acquainted with Mexico. The episcopate of Mexico and 
its clergy are fast becoming models. Bishop Monies de Oca. of San Luis 
Potosi, is undoubtedly the best sacred orator on this continent. Of course he is 
really learned. I do not remember reading anything in English (hitjus , 
that I liked as well as his sermon at the Bodas de Oro of Labastida. The n< 
thing to it I recollect is the lecture of Bishop Ryan on ' What Catholics do not 
believe.' Monies de Oca came to Baltimore with Bishop Gillow, who, b< 
being a millionaire and a relative of President Diax. is also considerable of a 
historian. A late work of his is attracting much attention. You see they sent 
us their best, and I was sorry that we sent nobody to honor the grand old 
martyr bishop, Labastida, and lo encourage, during the persecution there, the 
struggling church of Mexico. (live us some more Mexico, but the true 
Mexico Catholic Mexico. We have had plenty of tourists in Mexico. Public 
opinion in the United States moulds now to a great extent public opinion in 
Mexico. But, unfortunately, Mexicans hear and see of the United States noth- 
ing but nasty Methodist and Baptist gospel-mongers, who on rccrossing the Rio 
Grande heap lies upon lies against the Mexicans. A litlle sympathy, a wo 
encouragement from here will help the struggling Mexican Church, wh 
groaning under the Freemasons' bondage. 1 can only be a looker-on, but '1 ill: 
CATHOLIC WORLD can do good with such articles as that of the Hoi'. 
Oro. If Catholics of Mexico and the United States will know more ot 
other, it will be to the advantage of both. We have often talked of a (.'atholu 
daily paper ; Mexico has one, and a first-rate one it is El Tieinpn, Its Sun- 
day edition is as good as a literary review, only its mechanical make-up is bad. 
Those despised Mexican Catholics support that paper (and a doen other Cath- 
olic papers) very well, paying at the rate of $18 a year for it outside the Cit\ of 

It will do us good to look occasionally beyond the limits of our 

Jo-Sa\on, and Teutoni< hori/on." 



I 8yO.J NE If J'l '/if.fCA TIO.\ >. I ; > 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

LKS LUTTKS RKI.KJIKI si.s i-.\ FKAM.K AT SKIZIKMK SIKCI.K. Par le Vi- 
comte de Meaux. Paris : E. Plon et Cie. 

Our attention has been drawn to the works of the Vicomte de Meaux by his 
recent visit to this country, on the occasion of the Baltimore Centennial, the 
Catholic Congress, and the opening of the new University at Washington. The 
distinguished author is a worthy disciple of his illustrious father-in-law, the 
Count de Montalembert. A calm, judicious, impartial, and careful historian, 
an agreeable and polished writer, he has produced in the work before us an- 
historical sketch of a most important epoch in the grand drama of religious and 
political events in France and Europe. The chief scope of the author is to show- 
how religious truth ceased to be fortified by a civil and penal sanction in France, 
and to point out the double denouement of the struggles of the sixteenth cen- 
tury in the toleration of Protestantism and the renascent dominance ot Catholi- 
cism. 

Quite naturally, before proceeding to his main topic, the history of the modi- 
fication of the public law in France, the author presents in his introduction a- 
summary view of the manner in which the ancient laws, for a long time common 
to all Europe, were established, and the conjunctures in which they ruled. This 
introductory essay on a most difficult and generally misunderstood subject, is- 
not the least able and interesting part of the volume. 

The history which fills up the principal portion of the work is a very sad one, 
full of tragedies. It was a dark period for the French church and nation which 
intervened between the reigns of Francis I. and Henry IV. It embraces the 
rise and progress of Protestantism in France, the religious wars which tore and 
desolated the realm, the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and the war of the 
League. With the reconciliation of the two parties effected by the conversion of 
the Huguenot king, this dark period closes, and a brighter day begins to dawn on 
France. This is the objective point toward which the Vicomte de Meaux stead- 
ily aims at the beginning. His work closes with a description of the pacification 
of France brought about mainly by the wise government of Henry IV. and rati- 
fied by the Edict of Nantes. He shows how the struggles of the sixteenth cen- 
tury ended in the recognition of the Catholic religion as dominant, the toleration 
of Protestantism, and the political unification of the kingdom. And, moreover, 
he places in a clear light the result of the pacification effected by this modifica- 
tion of the ancient law of France, in respect to the two religions. Protestantism 
ceased to advance, and began rapidly to decline. There was a vigorous re- 
nascence of Catholicism, a healthy purification and restoration from within, and 
a preparation for the abundant fruitage of the seventeenth century in the blos- 
soming which succeeded to the wintry period of storms. 

LA RKFORME ET LA POLITIQUE FRANQAISE EN EUROPE JUSQU'A LA PAIX 
DE WESTPHALIE. Par le Vicomte de Meaux. Paris : Perrin et Cie. 1889. 

This second work of the Vicomte de Meaux, which is twice the size of the 
former one noticed above, is in close connection with it. Having presented in 
his previous work the spectacle of the religious struggles in France, he proceeds 
in the present volumes to describe the rfilf of France in the religious conflicts o( 



if /V/.V./C.' [April, 

He compares the ir^inii' inaugurated in Fran* e lor the maintenance 
i>r n.it!i>n:il unity in spite of religious division. tli that of neighboring Catholic 
nations which did licit tol.-r.ite ProieMantiMii. and Protestant nations which did 
not tolerate Catholicism, in order to tix their relative value. ll-->idi > this, the 
author has another object. Passing from the consideration of the struggles of 
th< two opposing religions within particular states, he turns his view upon tin- 
war which broke out between the principal state-, of opposite religions. In this 
war. France took the tide of the Protestant powers, while still remaining invin- 
1 to the Roman Church. She owed her intrinsic grandeur to the 
:iiolic religion, her exterior preponderance to t u- Protestant arms. Urn 
singular contradiction ! What is its explanation, and what were the results in 
Kurope of the part played by France in the complex religious and political 
drama? Such is the problem which the author attempts to solve. According 
to his view, the house of Austria aspired to the imperial domination of Europe, 
and of course awoke the opposition of the Protestant nations. France supported 
their cause, because it was the cause of national independence, and of that equi- 
librium of powers which modern statesmen consider to be necessary to the 
common security. Besides the direct menace to Protestants in the Austrian 
policy, the author regards it as an indirect and remote menace to the indepen- 
dence of the Holy See. 

The scope of the author requires him to pass in review each of the nations 
engaged in the great war, and to give an account of the struggle of the two 
opposite religions in each particular state. This task has been performed with 
conscientious care, and at the cost of great labor expended in the examination 
of the writers of the different nations and of original documents. The three 
volumes together make up a work of very great historical interest and impor- 
tance. 

THE HISTORY OK Su<;<>, TOWN AND COUNTY. 2 vols. By T. O'Rorke, D.I)., 
M.R.I. A. Dublin : James Duffy & Co. (To be had also from the author, 
whose address is Collooney, Ireland.) 

A very comprehensive and, to judge from the evidences of the personal and 
painstaking researches made by the learned author, a reliably authentic history 
of the County Sligo, with new views on the genuine sources and beginnings of 
general Irish history views, by the way, accepted and endorsed by almost all 
the critics who have reviewed the work in the Irish and the English press. The 
natural scenery and antiquities (largely illustrated) of the county; its religion, 
politics, social manners and customs, are all treated of with exhaustive accuracy, 
minute detail, and not lacking here and there humorous anecdotes to brighten 
up the pages. 

To Irishmen, students of Irish history, and especially to natives of the county 
described, the work cannot fail, of course, to be most deeply interesting. 
instructive, and entertaining in all its details ; of which not the least attractive 
tn their descendants will prove to be the memoirs of the old Celtic families, the 

rnnors. the O'Haras, the O'Garas, the McDonoughs, the O'Dowds, the 
Sweenys and McSweenys, and the McDonnells; and as well of the Anglo-Irish, 
l.nglish, Welsh, and Scotch " grantees who came in with Cromwell." 

Not a man from Sligo but will find the name of his family or some event 
connected with it duly mentioned. 

THK 1.1MIK Foi i.uwi k OK [ESUS. P.y Kc\. A. M. ( Irussi, C. PP.S. New 
York: P. J. Kenedy. 

This is an excellent adaptation from Thomas a Kctnpis for the UM of oung 



1890.] Ni-:\v PUBLICATIOXS. 137 

folks. Like the other productions of the same author, it is written in a simple, 
direct style, easily understood, and made interesting by numerous anecdotes. 

Catholic readers are indebted to Mr. Kenedy for many cheap editions of 
good books. It must be said, however, that there is a dreadful sameness in the 
pictures he has placed opposite the title-page in nearly *M his publications, and 
a deplorable lack of taste and judgment. An illustration used as a frontispiece 
should have some bearing, however remote, on the subject-matter of the book. 

CAROLS FOR THE MONTH OF MAY, IN HONOR OF MARY, VIRGIN BLESSED OF 
ALL GENERATIONS ; THE MOTHER OF GOD, AND HOLY QUEEN OF THE 
CHRISTIAN MAY. Words selected. Music by Rev. Alfred Young, Priest 
of the Congregation of St. Paul the Apostle. New York: The Catholic 
Publication Society Co.; London : Burns & Gates. 

We know of no religious melodies marked with the special characteristics 
belonging to Carols, having been written for words suitable for use during Our 
Lady's month, which have appeared previous to these compositions by Father 
Young. As the text of these carols, six in number, he has chosen two poems by 
Cardinal Newman, three by Rev. Dr. H. A. Rawes, and one by Rev. F. Stanfield. 
Something of this kind has long been a desideratum, at least as a change for 
the majority of the hymns in honor of the Blessed Virgin which one commonly 
hears at the usual May devotions. We feel assured that these carols will iincl a 
welcome in all our churches and schools wherever presented. 

AROUND THE WORLD STORIES. By Olive Risley Seward. Boston : D. Loth- 
rop Company. 

This pretty volume, bound in two shades of soft olive-green, relieved by the 
gilded lettering, and a pendant bough of the olive fruit, is charming inside and. 
out. In an easy, graceful style the great secretary's daughter ' personally 
conducts " us from China to Java through a typhoon and a monsoon, across the 
Indian Ocean to India, and thence up the Nile and back, with two chapters 
devoted to that beautiful, but dirty, mysterious, and enchanting city, Constan- 
tinople. 

The two chapters which supplement these travels in the far East describe a 
visit to Le Petit Trianon under the escort of the most charming (to our mind) 
of modern writers of fairy tales, M. Laboulaye, and a dinner-party at Kensing- 
ton Palace when it was the home of the Duchess of Inverness, aunt by marriage 
to the Queen. 

These sketches, all of which are interesting in substance and bright and 
readable in style, were written for the Wide Awake, and while enjoying them 
ourselves the thought came to us that the book which had grown out of the 
magazine sketches was admirably fitted to be used as a supplementary reader, 
thus carrying profitable enjoyment to a still wider circle of young readers. 

There is variety enough in the volume to please even the pampered and 
over-fed intellectual palate of the youth of to-day. There are thrilling chapters 
which treat " of moving accidents by flood and field"; amusing and pathetic 
chapters which tell of the "animals I have met"; instructive chapters which 
give us clearly outlined and brightly painted pictures of the quaint and uncouth 
city of Pekin, and that hideous intellectual mill, a Turkish school ; and chapters 
so charming that one wishes for the enchanted carpet on which we might be 
transported to that most fascinating of islands Java. 

In addition to the interest essential to subject-matter and style, the book 
has the charm of associating us with " high society " in the best and truest sense 
of that much abused phrase. We are not only introduced to the great ones of 



.\"A // re HI 1C. \ TIONS. [April. 

earth, but we have as .1 . -011*1.1111 tr.i , el!;. u companion ;i 111.111 of noli! 
high priiic ipli-s, .mil nrc.it achievement. \Ve In 11 lily coinniend these stories to 
the boy* .ir.il girl* of an earlier and later groxxth who love good company, 
literature, anil a wider and more varied kno-.vledgc of the world we live in. 

\ -i KII\II-.;N . \iw \MI iii.ii. lly Rex. Martin S. Brennan, Kr. tor ol' the 
( hiin-h ul' St. Thomas of .\<|iiin, St.* I.ouis. Mo. New York : The Cath- 
olic Publication Society Co. 

This is a readable and interesting little work, by means of whii li any one 
'ii a few hours hciome acquainted fairly well with the pn -*cnt -,tate of as- 
tronomical science. It undertakes to cover the whole ground, and necessarily 
must treat most of the matters contained in it in a manifestly hurried and im- 
perfect manner, but it is no doubt better to stimulate scientific curiosity than to 
satiate and overwhelm it. It is, however, of course impossible to avoid a sort of 
inaccuracy in such an epitome of science by the exaggeration of one part of the 
subject over another; but in the chapter on photography, and probably in other 
places, this difficulty could have been more successfully overcome. The wet 
process is treated at some length, but the dry gelatine one, now almost uni- 
versally employed, is barely mentioned. Other minor points might also be 
criticised. 

A very good idea is given, however, of the results attained by photography, 
and also of the principle and the work of the spectroscope. 

A chapter is devoted to the interesting question, ' Are the Planets Habita- 
ble ? " and the subject is well treated. 

LlliKATlKl. AMI I'OKIKY. Studicson the Knglish Language: tin- I'oetry 
of the Bible; the "Dies Ira.'"; the " Stabat Mater"; the Hymns 01 
Bernard: the University, ancient and modern; Dante Alighieii; the 
Divina Commedia.'' By Philip SchafT, D.D., LL.D., Professor of 
Church History in the Union Theological Seminary, New York. New 
York : Charles Scribncr's Sons. 

There is very much interesting reading in this book about subjects of im- 
portance to all who love good poetry consecrated to the expression of the religi- 
ous sense. We presume that the author does not profess to be original in his 
treatment of such well-studied themes as the poetry of the Bible, the " DK-, 
:he ' Suibat Mater," and the Hymns of St. Bernard, much less in that 
of Uantt, to whom he devotes his longest and most elaborate essay. But he is 
very entertaining, nevertheless, and has incorporated in his work bibliographical 
IMS of much value to persons who might desire to investigate more widely. In 
addition to this we must admire Dr. Schaffs candor in treating of matters, neces- 
sarily not a few in discussing such topics as those named, Hearing on Catholic 
doctrine and practice candor we say, for his information is not always quite 
accurate, and he uses terms now and then without sufficient discrimination. 

The book is a fine specimen of the publisher's art in printing, paper, and 
binding, and is sold for a very reasonable price; it has an alphabetical index, 
and is adorned with a fine photo-engraving of the author, in cassock, cincture, 
and biretta. insignia of his honorary degree from St. Andrew's University. 

I'll; H,\KI> i)h Ji -*i >. A Prayer-book in verse. By the Hex. Matthew Russell. 
S.J. Dublin: M. H. dill \ Son. 

We can easily see good use for this pretty little book in training children to 

tor it makes prayer musical. It might be called the p ...irtment of 

the k-ndcrgarten. Learned b\ heart, these simple venea xxould attune the *oni 



lS<;a] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 139 

to pleasant communion with God and his saints. We cannot say, however, that 
we should like to have children grow up with only a rhythmical version of the 
' Our Father " and " Hail Mary." There is here no pretence to offer the finer 
products of the art poetical, all being simply the metrical expression of the de- 
vout thoughts of the Christian. 

OFFICIAI REPORT of THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESS, held 
at Baltimore, Md., November 11 and 12, 1889. Detroit, Mich. : William H. 
Hughes. 

The compiler and publisher of this important volume is one of the editors of 
the Michigan Catliolic, a. journal of much ability and influence. Mr. Hughes 
represents in this the committee of gentlemen who so ably managed the Cath- 
olic Congress of last November, he having been chosen by them for his task. 
The book is not too large, and is well printed and bound. 

The letters, addresses, speeches, and other matter in this volume may be 
called the mirror of the Catholic Church in America. The air of liberty is 
everywhere evident that is, the liberty of Americans, calm, orderly, respectful 
of rights, reverent towards legitimate authority. What is none the less evident 
is the attitude of loyalty of all minds and hearts towards Catholic truth. There 
is not any touchstone of orthodoxy that may not be applied with the best, re- 
sults to the words uttered on this occasion. The personnel of the Congress was 
thoroughly representative, being made up for the most part of men of affairs, 
children of the people, who in the professions or in trade had achieved conspic- 
uous success, together with several who, besides this, represented the old Cath- 
olic families of the country. The papers read form together a repertory of ex- 
ceedingly valuable matter expository of the claims of the Catholic religion, both 
positive and controversial, on questions incessantly discussed by the people of 
this country. 

The effect of the Catholic Congress on the non-Catholic public has been to 
divide men into two camps one composed of the great mass of our fellow-citi- 
zens, honest and well-wishing ; these have heartily applauded the Congress, have 
been glad to see the Catholic laity capable of affirming the most distinctively 
American principles without in the -least degree sacrificing their standing as 
members of the church. The American secular press has almost unanimously 
voiced this sentiment. The other party is composed of bigots. They are en- 
raged to see the laity of the church standing before the world in her defence, 
represented by scores of men of national reputation, many of them leaders in 
their respective spheres of activity. 

We have said that this book mirrors the state of Catholicity in our own 
country. Let us not be misunderstood if we add that it outlines the future ot 
Catholicity everywhere. The distress in which the church finds herself in some 
countries of the Old World is not, in our opinion, any sign of the decadence of 
their religious spirit. But in what degree soever the trouble comes from con- 
flict with a new order of things social and political, in the same degree the pro- 
ceedings of the Catholic Congress at Baltimore point the way out of the difficulty. 
The Congress is itself an object lesson, and its proceedings a series of elaborate 
treatises instructing Catholic men and nations how to adjust the interaction of 
the religious and civil forces of life. 

It may be well to say that this volume is not the one which was first brought 
out under the same official auspices, this being smaller, much cheaper, and 
better adapted to actual use; it contains no illustrations, though precisely the 
same report of the proceedings of the Congress. 



M '/'A// //// /'/ r.i ISIII-.K. [April, 



WITH T1IK PUBLISHER. 



A- announced in our last issue, this department will be de- 
\nteil t<> literar\- notes, announcunents ol forthcoming books, new 
editions, etc. Hut the Publisher wishes it to serve another pur- 
pose as well. Heretofore he has had no medium ot -eneral 
communication with the subscribers to the maga/.ine. Experience 
has made it plain that some such medium is a necessity, and he 
therefore begs to call the attention of the readers of Tin: 
CAIHOIH \\IIKI.II to this department for all information rela- 
tive to the business management of the maga/ine. It will sa\ e 
both them and him time, expense, and often misunderstanding. 
This issue will be confined to a few general points not mire' 

quently disregarded. 

* 
* * 

The price of a year's subscription to THE CATHOLIC \VokU> 
is $4 IN ADVANCE. This magazine is not supported by a stock 
company, nor is it published with a view to money-making. It 
is the property of a community of priests who devote their time 
and labor to make it the exponent of the best Catholic thought. 
It was conceived by its founder, and has been conducted for the 
past twenty-five years, in a missionary spirit. Hut it should and 
can meet the expense of publication if our subscribers will for- 
ward their subscriptions in advance. Our writers, printers, and 
paper-makers cannot be kept waiting for their money. The date 
on the address tab sent to each subscriber tells him when his 
subscription must be renewed, and it is meant to save the time 
and expense of sending him a bill. 



* 
* 



AH checks, drafts, money orders, and registered letters should 
be made payable to the Rev. \V. I). Hughes. Tin: CATHOLIC 
W"i.i.l> is no longer published by the Catholic Publication 
ciety, or by Lawrence Kehoe, or by J. J. Farrell. It will >.ive 
the Publisher a great deal of time and trouble if our subscribers 
will bear this in mind. 



* 
* 



All t-ttiturial matter should be addressed to the Htlitor of I Hi; 
C.\ 1 IHM.ic \\ORI.II; all busings /filers should be addressed to 
the K.v. \V. 1). Hughes. 



I/'//// ////; /Vv/A/s///'/,'. 141 

When sending notice of a change of address, it is desirable to 
send both the old and the nei<< address on or before the 2Oth 
day of the month. The possibility of mistake is thus avoided. 



* 
* * 



It will save time and trouble if a notice to discontinue the 
maga/ine is sent to us before the expiration of tlte subscription. 



* 
* * 



All communications, whether to the editor or to the busi- 
ness manager, should bear the name and post-office address oi 
the sender, especially if money is enclosed. Post-office marks 
are often so blurred as to be illegible. There are at present 
several remittances in THE CATHOLIC WOULD office which 
cannot be credited to the senders owing to the neglect of this 
important matter. 



THE INDEX. 

The Publisher regrets that the Index to the first fifty vol- 
umes of THE CATHOLIC WORLD cannot be ready at the time 
announced. The illness of the compiler and unforeseen difficul- 
ties in the work of securing a complete list of the writers ol 
the articles, as originally intended, have caused this delay. The 
Index will, however, be issued at the earliest possible date after 
April i. 

The Publisher likewise regrets that he has received so few- 
advance orders for the Index. It was only on the presumption 
of a large demand for the book that the price was placed at a 
nominal figure. In order to meet the expense involved the 
price of the Index to all who order after the first day ot 
April will be $i net. As the edition originally intended must 
be reduced, and as the book will be printed from type, the 
Publisher reserves the right to further advance the price. All 
orders received prior to this date, at the advertised price of 
25 cents, will, of course, be duly honored. 



'. > />'/-.< A/ /'A/'. [.\piil. i Si.fi. 



l( iK- kl.( l.l\ I.D 
\ffafi /.- .f books in t/ii 

(OUT. By K S I' . delivered 111 llle Lecture Hall 

of the Catholic l'niver-n> "f \ Printed fni 

the - ity 

lilt. I. \YI.Vi, ..] Mil iTONI \M> Dl.liii \ll<:\ c,l ST. MARY'S CHURCH. ** 

:. Mich And it Ke\ . II I! Morey and Rev. I'alher I 

ancnt Magn.i i 'harta and the < 'lurch. Marshall. Mich Xhitftmun Print. 

\ri-R KT AlTKHA l'\Ks. A rejoinder to tl<. IfdeSC/ll 

HtUa Ctifs-i di Amcrn, in,,. I'.y I ...Ills.: Miilillmncr i\ 

Behrle. 

l-il : \ I.\s..l \i.l. nil; I IH. \\'i.m.n 

mat SimflijieJ. N..rk: Sold for the- author 1^ .i> . 

Mi-si<>\ WIIRK . \MIIM. mi i!H IMM.\N>. U'hai is lu-ing accoi. i 

.if.in> of the annual ikcn up for our ' morn Tin 

Book and Job Printing-Office. 

for LCIH. 

I nted from the Germ nn of ki-v \. licyer. I'o \\hu-h .iru adilfd Morning an- 
1'r.ivers, Devotiun^ for Mass, the Stations of ih> i othrr I'rayfr^ iu IHM, 

the I'.IS-IOM of Our l.i-rd. New York, Cincinnati, and Chicajjo : Krnzigrr Kros. 

I'm: Mini', s I'Hi'Xsi KI: ; or. Tin- v'.ihiu and Excellence- of Holy M.i-s. \ or.iclKal .md 

devout Method of hearing it with profit, by St. Leonard of Port Mai; -l.ued 

from the Italian, with an Introduction by the Bishop of Southward. \ nein- 
nati, and Chicago: Benziger BroS. 

I in. i Mr \. Von Kr. \Vilhelm Kiirber. (Als :i ^-rlriiokt.i St. Louis: DrnrL 

der .luterita. 

M \KY .11 N.N/ARKTH." A Legendary Poem in thru Parti. H\ John t'roker Harrow. Ban. 

Hart Hi. London: Burns It O.ite- ; N N'ork : The i ':ili -',.- Pulili ,ni :>:i S,,rin\ 



. \Mi.kK \s RKUOIOUS LEADERS. Dr. Muhlcnln-ry. By William \\'illM-rf 
Boston and New York : Houghton, Mifllin ,\ 

. \\IKKICAN KKI.IGIIII s Li. \iiKKs. U'illnir Kisk. By George Preniice. D.I).. Professor in 
Wesleyan University. Boston and New York: Houghton. Mifflin ,V 

MK ()F TUB DEAD HEART. By \\.rn . Phillips. Presenti-l at the l.yeeum Thi 
Henry Irving. Illustrated by J. Ber.ih ird Partridge. \V. Tclhin, J. Harker. anrl Hau,-s 
I'r.ivcn. London Paris. New York, and Melbourne: Casscll .. 

ViK>r ASM AI. KKi'oki 01 rut STATI < 'DMMISMCIN IN I.INMN IOK 1111 Yi. \u iSSy. 
Comnii-sTo.i.-r- : c'arios K. McDonald. M.D.. Chairman; Goodwin llrown, Henry \. 
Reeves, T. E. McGarr. Secretary. Albany : J.rni-- I!. I. von. State Printer. 

s r LIKK ; or, 'IT rs dedicated in Religion to the Service of God. In- 

tended chiefly T>r Superiors and Confessors By the Rev Arthur Dcvi'-e, PasMonisi. 
Second Edition. New York, i 'incinnati. and Chicago : Benziger Bros. 

t.ir M. Li i i i.k .11 ()i k Hoi.v FA i-iti.K, by Diiine Pro\n Kill., ,,,i the 

Chief Duties of ( 'hristian ( itirens. New York : The i .itholic Publi. . 

\\'no WAS BKI'.M>? A Direct Answer to a Plain OueMi.m. l-'nan the latest publish. 
ments. By John \. Moonev Ne York: The Catholic Publication >.iet. 
don: Bur' 

IIII.RI L*PBCT OF EVOLUTION. By Jiunes McCoih, D.D., ex-Pi C Prince- 

ton < -.larjj'-d and improved edition. New V.. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. MAY, 1890. No. 302. 



CATHOLIC AND DEMOCRATIC IDEALS. 

THE alliance which had lasted between Feudalism and the 
Catholic Church from the coronation of Charlemagne by Pope 
Leo III. came to a visible end on the day when Pius VII. 
crowned Napoleon. By this great symbolic message, delivered to 
all peoples on the threshold of the nineteenth century, it was 
announced that the old order of things had passed away ; and 
that Catholicism was to survive into the new. Feudalism had 
perished utterly in France. It was doomed to extinction, slow 
or swift, in the countries of Europe which the ." armed soldier of 
the Revolution" swept over like a whirlwind. And even England, 
the most conservative in many respects of the older nations, has 
revised her constitution again and again, until the very House 
of Peers is compelled to take thought as to whether -it shall be 
"ended" or "mended." Rags and tatters of its ancient banner 
still flout the breeze ; but, on the whole, Burke's funeral oration 
over it proclaims a fact, and "the age of chivalry is gone." A 
kind farewell to it, we say. " Chivalry " was an advance, and a 
notable one, on the effeminate impotence of the decaying Roman 
Empire. It was the flower, the high poetic bloom of Barbarism 
clad in coat of mail, and riding on in majesty, if not in meek- 
ness, justified to reason by the noble though rude and violent 
forms of civilization which its strength made possible. But now 
a stronger than Feudalism has come in ; and its thousand year 
tradition belongs to the past, having left with us a certain ideal 
of courage, honor, and " cheery Stoicism," which we must hope 
will not be forgotten in the hurly-burly of conflicting material 
interests now grown so tumultuous and so formidable. Evident 
It is that the " iron aristocracy," which was never able to make 

Copyright. REV. A. F. HEWIT. 1890. 



, 44 CATHOLIC AND D&MOCXATK ID&ALS, [May, 

its footing good on the American continent, is struck with paraly- 
in its native scats. The vehement Kaiser Wilhelm, its head 
and chief at this present time, whose sword flames all ways at 
once, like that cherubic one outside the gates of Eden, manifestly 
defends no garden of delights, abounding in trees of Life and 
Knowledge, but, let us say, a prickly hedge round about the 
cemetery of the past. Feudalism has gone out ; Democracy has 
come in. 

Hut the first stage of Democracy was disintegration, the melt- 
ing down, in a fire seven times heated, of the institutions, customs. 
and sacred laws which bound the social organism together. It 
has thrown men back upon themselves; and the reign of Indi- 
vidualism, hardly checked by reminiscences from former times of 
a more generous ideal, and harmonizing but too well with the 
dictates of sceptical doubt or pessimist unbelief, was perhaps 
never more extended than during the last forty years. With a 
growing concentration of the resources of the world in compara- 
tively few hands, there has naturally arisen a struggle among 
those who produce for some more reasonable share of that which 
they produce than the so-called maxims of political economy 
appear to warrant. Hence phenomena like the Socialist and 
Anarchist propaganda spread over the face of the earth, and are 
yearly assuming larger dimensions. We have entered, it may be 
said, on the era of strikes, which do but proclaim, to the seeing 
eye, a threatened "bankruptcy of government," as the not remote 
consequence of what has been called " the exploitation of labor 
and capital by the bourgeoisie." In other words, while pro- 
perty, which in the feudal system was at least supposed to have 
duties, now tends to have none but that of adding to its store ; 
labor is intensified, the home of the workingman broken up, the 
mother of his children made a factory slave, and the children 
themselves ground in the mill. Education has sunk to a poor 
mechanical teaching of the elements, not of a noble life but of 
mere mental knowledge, without hopes or ideals beyond that of 
freedom to go astray. The " disintegration " has reached far 
down into society ; and we may well ask ourselves what will be 
the next stage. 

" Industry founded on exploitation," " Commerce founded on 
fraud," and, it must be added, " Government founded on bribery 
or intimidation jn more than one country," are no constituents 
of an enduring order of things. Hut if Catholicism, in the person 
of Pius VII., laid its consecrating and prophetic touch on Demo- 
cracy, it does not follow that "laisscz-fairc" with all that it implies 



1890.] CATHOLIC AND DEMOCRATIC IDEALS. 145 

received a blessing thereby. Unchecked Individualism corresponds 
in the region of social ideas to unlimited " Private Judgment " in 
that of Christian faith. It is most alien to the methods and prin- 
ciples of a society which stands forth to mankind as the commu- 
nion of saints. But, on the other hand, does Democracy mean 
" unchecked Individualism " ? It was so taken by the Liberal 
forces which overthrew so many of the old barriers in England 
as in the United States. And the consequences of this disastrous 
interpretation are beginning to be patent to all men. For the 
accidental and merely apparent " freedom " which resulted has 
produced greater inequalities than ever in the human lot. If you 
are to start men really free on the career of development, you 
must start them equal in the essential resources of humanity. 
But the first who contrived, by whatever means, to get ahead in 
the race have kept the lead. And a golden aristocracy of 
money-lenders, land-forestallers, and stock-jobbers now holds the 
reins of power which have fallen from the grasp of Feudal- 
ism. 

The remedy for such a state of things ? It can be neither 
factitious legislation, nor a revolt of distressed and exploited labor, 
nor even a well-devised machinery for the just distribution ot 
products among the producers. It lies, I am convinced, as all 
other great reforms have done, in a change of ideas. Not the 
sort of change which, like faith without works, is hardly more 
than an intellectual process, but that which goes down into the 
heart and creates there an abiding vision. It is the duty of 
every man and woman, as I hold, to learn how their daily bread 
comes to them, through what hands it has passed, and in what 
manner the lives are lived of those who keep society in exist- 
ence and renew 'its constantly flowing stream from day to day. 
Until that vision has become habitual among us, the legislative 
changes which are indispensable to a true Democratic reconstruc- 
tion of society, will appear, even to many Christians, chimerical 
and unjust. We have been brought up to believe in "Laissez- 
faire " as a part of the creed. Most of us, though dimly conscious 
that the ways of modern money-getting are not in accordance with 
the teaching of the Gospel, take for granted that things always 
were so, that they cannot be altered. And even practised theo- 
logians are wont to acquiesce in the disappearance of the sin ot 
usury from the text-books of Christian Ethics. "Non sunt inquie- 
tandi" it has sometimes been imagined, is the church's judgment 
on the dealers in Wall Street. As well might we expect to find 
in the Sermon on the Mount Prince Bismarck's favorite aphorism, 

VOL. LI. IO 



146 CATHOLIC AKD DEMOCRATIC Ini-.Ai.s. [May, 

' /ifitti fossiiifiitt-s." Neither possession, nor the custom of the 
country, nor legislative enactments, will ever prevent justice in the 
long run from uttering the last word. The intrinsic quality of 
things, as God made them and not man, remains unalterable, 
though we pile up acts of indemnity for transgressors until they 
fill the statute-book. We need only consult the history of the 
past hundred years to be assured that unrighteousness is a tot- 
tering foundation on which to build our monarchies and republics. 
History shows more and more, as time goes on, that injustice 
carries witbin itself the seeds of death. " It cannot, and it will 
not, come to good." 

To create the feeling and the vision of social justice was the 
task allotted to those far-off heralds of Christianity, the prophets 
of Israel. They believed, and in the grandest speech uttered by 
mere man they reiterated the solemn truth that there is a God 
who judges the world. His judgment is written in the course 
of things. It is the drama in which all mankind are actors. 
" The play is the tragedy Man," and the issues of it lie in hands 
to which resistance, whether by force or fraud, is hopeless and 
futile. What matter if the prophets failed in their day, and were 
sawn asunder or smitten with the sword ? That word which the 
All-Seeing put into their mouths did not fail. The " burden " 
announced by them weighed heavier and heavier upon the na- 
tions until they were crushed beneath it, swept out of their 
place, and made an awful memory in desolate Asia to this day. 
And now, instead of a circumscribed National Church, and a 
prophesying in that remote nook between Jordan and the Great 
Sea, there is a Church Catholic addressing itself to all men, 
charged with the burden not of Tyre and Sidon, or of Egypt 
and Assyria, but of London, New York, Chicago, and the mighty 
marts of commerce which men have established beside all waters. 
it does not seem to me that the message has changed its sub- 
stance in these twenty-six centuries. Nor has it lost, but rather 
gained fearfully, if we had ears to hear, in the weight ot the 
Divine Sanction which follows it. Consider the fall of the world- 
empire of Rome ; the social outbreak at the Reformation ; the 
French Revolution, in whose consequences we are all entangled. 
These are not tokens of an abdication on the part of the 
Supreme. And the terrible uniformity in that law of avenging 
justice, ascertained more surely and by a deeper experience 
than any law of mere physical sequence, should teach us that 
the only way of escaping the effects which it threatens is to 
remove the cause. If unrighteousness lies in one scale, retribu- 



1890.] CATHOLIC AND DEMOCRATIC IDEALS. 147 

tion will weigh it down in the other. Such is the law of Divine 
Equilibrium, and no man can undo it. 

Now, I count it Providential that in bringing to pass the pre- 
sent chaotic and violent state of things, Catholic principles have 
not been at all involved. It is a direct consequence of the 
intense secular, money-getting spirit which the Reformation 
fostered and the development of trade and manufactures has so 
largely, yet so fruitlessly, rewarded. The system of bourgeois 
economics, or "capitalism," has grown up outside our borders. 
It could not subsist in a country where public life was ruled by 
the Catholic ideals. But, unhappily, no such country is any more 
to be found. Modern societies, discarding even the remnants of 
Christian teaching or relegating them to the church on Sundays, 
have taken for their rule in the great matter of social justice 
that every man must look to himself, keep what he has got, or 
submit to have it torn from him by the strong hand of the 
exploiter. " Free contract " is only another name for the law of 
economic gravitation whereby he that was rich becomes richer, 
and he that was poor, poorer still. The very conception of 
society as an organic whole, in which all the parts, humblest no 
less than highest, are successively ends and means, seems to 
have vanished from the minds of most men. There is a necessary 
combination for the creation of wealth, and it grows more com- 
plex every day. But for its just distribution who are they that 
combine ? Not the employers, certainly ; and not always the 
men. Stock-jobbers, money-lenders, landlords, peasant proprietors, 
agree in looking to themselves and not looking beyond. Tenant- 
farmers, who have been forced to compete with one another in 
the auction of their holdings, and so to pay rents which leave 
them the scantiest subsistence, oblige by precisely the same law 
their farm-laborers to accept the wages of starvation. And so 
it must be, from top to bottom of the social scale, as long as 
pure " Individualism " holds sway. 

Two things, it appears to me, are evidently needed to cure 
this anarchy. One is but instrumental the consolidation of all 
working interests as distinct from those of money-making in a 
union of which, naturally and by the mere fact that he is a 
bona fide worker, every member of the industrial classes should 
find his place. The old mediaeval and Catholic associations must 
be restored in such manner as may fit our changed circum- 
stances. The Via Unitiva is the way to social happiness ; not 
each for himself, but each in his place. It has been well said 
by Adam Smith that there is a natural confederacy of employers, 



148 CATHOLIC A.\~D DEMOCRATIC IDEALS. [May, 

who do not therefore need to unite. Hut hen-. ai;ain, I cannot 
help thinking that- we are on the eve of a revolution in which 
the actual number of those holding capital in whatever shape 
will decrease, until the great captains of industry in any land 
will be few and conspicuous. Already in the United States. H 
the newspapers tell us every day, there are moneyed dynasties 
controlling mines, railways, and enormous tracts ot country with 
their entire resources. Now, I do not hesitate to say that what- 
ever arguments avail against political despotism, may be urged 
even more strongly against these overwhelming monopolies. 
Such powers are too great to be lodged in the hands of a human 
being. And the larger they become, the more manifest it is, in 
my opinion, that they do and ought to belong to the society 
whose happiness and well-being depend on the right use of them. 
Charles Stuart or " good old George the Third " exercised in 
their own persons an authority by no means equal to that of a 
modern railway-king. But we have decided once for all against 
the Charles Stuarts and the George the Thirds. What is there 
more sacred in a Vanderbilt ? Plain it is to me that the process 
of concentration, now proceeding at a rapid rate, will force upon 
society this question of absolutism in its latest- form. Nor can 
the issue be doubtful. The material resources of a country, the 
" bounty of nature," ought not to be at the disposal of one 
man, or many men, who are not required to take into their 
consideration what is or is not conducive to the social interest,. 
but simply fill their pockets and spend their millions as seems 
right in their own eyes. The doctrine of " public property," as 
I have remarked elsewhere, is needed to complete and justify 
all doctrines whatsoever of " private property." The two stand 
and fall together. 

/ Much has been said and written of late years concerning the 
extent of " eminent domain," according to the Civil Law and 
the necessarily vague teaching of our own schools. I have no 
intention of entering on the legal question, which, after all, is 
subordinate to the ethical one, namely, what kind of dominion 
over its resources, movable and immovable, ought to inhere in 
a sovereign or perfect society. That is the true " eminent domain " 
of which the legal forms are but aspects and changing realizations. 
To say that a country belongs to its people has been dismissed 
as an empty phrase by certain " lost Liberals " astonished at the 
demands made upon them for something beyond " freedom " by 
the multitude who, having enjoyed it for a round number of years,, 
do not find that it fills their cupboards or gives them a sure 



1890.] CATHOLIC AND DEMOCRATIC IDEALS. ' 149 

resting-place for the sole of their foot, thanks to our unrivalled 
"industrial system." But so it is, and Carlyle was not jesting 
when he said that before declaring the " Rights of Man," it would 
be advisable to make certain of the " Mights of Man." I am 
free to do as I like with my own. Yes, but suppose I have 
nothing of my own, and by the constitution of society never 
had anything ; to what extent am I free ? Freedom is a relative 
word, to be defined by means and faculties. And the great 
primary injustice of the law of competition as now carried out, 
is that it denies to a vast multitude of human beings those 
material aids which are requisite to their fulfilling the ends of 
human existence worthily. Their birthright has been stolen 
from them. 

It is evident that the future of Catholicism will come more 
and more on the English-speaking and Germanic families. The 
churches which have withstood the flame and fury of the Refor- 
mation have brought one thing intact out of the fire their 
religion. But the whole mediaeval, feudal, or late Renaissance 
tradition of civil polity, which may have seemed at one or the 
other time to be inextricably bound up with Creed and Church, 
has gone into dust and ashes, like so much stubble. It is late 
in the day, then, for any people who are but just beginning to 
endure that fiery trial, to offer " the wisdom of our ancestors " 
as a panacea to their more advanced brethren for the evils of 
the " Commercial Era." It is they, rather than we, that have to 
learn. 

But, North and South alike, we share in the Catholic's ideals; 
and these, I cannot too earnestly repeat, are the mainspring of 
that " Fraternity " which is social justice. We have no need to 
borrow from any newly-invented " Religion of Humanity," or 
from Socialism in its changing forms, still less from the anarchi- 
cal instincts which find in a dissolution of order and casting 
down of law the immediate entrance into a land flowing with 
milk and honey. At the same time, it is clear that the mere 
possession of ideals, or even a genuine belief in them, will profit 
us nothing if we do not strive to realize them under our actual 
circumstances, and in view of the facts. The Catholic Church 
will be always amongst men, until the " consummation of the 
age "; but what sort of Catholic Church they shall possess de- 
pends upon themselves. It may sink into the condition of the 
ninth and tenth centuries, or of the eighteenth. It may rise, 
on the other hand, to a height of beneficent greatness which 
none of its children would dare to prophesy, seeing what hin- 



150- CATHOLIC A. \n DI-.M^CKATIC IDEAL v. [May, 

drances and obstruction lie heavy upon it now. The age of 
Democracy provided only that " the poor have the Gospel 
pre.iched to them," and that Pharisees are made to hear of 
"justice and judgment and the wrath to come" should be the 
" last great days " in which the mountain of the Lord's house 
is to be exalted above all the hills on condition that men will 
do their part. And this, in the present distress, I take to be, 
that they shall make strenuous efforts to create a theory and 
practice of Political Economy, in accordance with the mind of 
Christ. 

Theory and practice, for both are indispensable. Study of 
the Roman Law, the Canon Law, even of the Code Napoleon, 
has now gone on for a longer or shorter time intm cancellos 
scholce; and I see not that we have gained much light on the 
terrible questions of " usury " and " exploitation." 

The answer is not to be found in them, or not in the shape 
which can profit us. Some other method must be pursued ; not 
that of collating authorities, however great in their day, but the 
careful investigation of the phenomena, and as earnest an in- 
quiry into the Gospel principles which bear on them. No train- 
ing of the clergy, I venture to say, will be satisfactory wherein 
they are not possessed with a full and succinct view of the 
modern industrial system, and a general outline of the princi- 
ples on which it has grown up. Together with Laymann and 
Busenbaum, we must turn our attention to Adam Smith, 
Ricardo, .and even Karl Marx. The study of controversies on 
extinct points of discussion should give way to an endeavor 
(which will prove at once more difficult and more interesting) 
towards a comprehension of the nature of " Free Contract," and 
the evils to which it has led. I foresee much trouble and many 
dangers in taking so bold a course ; but, without it, the New 
Testament must remain a dead letter for the public life of 
nations, a mere collection of " Gospels and Epistles for Sundays 
and holidays throughout the year." 

If I am asked in what direction these hitherto unattempted 
studies are likely to issue, I can but answer as" I have previ- 
ously hinted, that to my mind the outcome will be a recogni- 
tion of the claims of society as a whole on every one of its 
parts, within the limits of conscience, and the abolition of many 
so-called rights which individuals have unjustly seized for them- 
selves. 

The conception of right?, co-ordinate or subordinate, in one 






1890.] CATHOLIC AND DEMOCRATIC IDEALS, 151 

and the same thing, is exceedingly familiar to the laws of all 
countries. What we now require is that it should be " touched 
with Democracy." Again, " capitalism " has been confounded 
with " capital " in the gravest and most religious discourse, so 
that hardly any one considers how unnecessary, or even hurtful, 
to society at large may be the claims of a given capitalist, while 
" stored-up labor," which is the definition of capital, is a requisite 
of all civilization ; or, let us grant the truth which lies at the 
foundation of " interest," viz., that living products are themselves 
productive ad infinitum. Is that any reason in the nature of 
things why certain individuals should appropriate the fruits of 
that fecundity until the day of doom ? Nay, to suggest how 
even the antiquated formulas of our text -books may, on occa- 
sion, do yeoman's service in clearing away the mists of " Free 
Contract," why should we not, with Mr. Devas, look upon 
" usury " as a sin arising out of " necessitous loans," and thus 
open the inquiry how it conies about that such loans, in France 
or Ireland, are a regular part of the system of " peasant-pro- 
prietorship " ? If the farmer's agreement with the money-lender, 
which ends in making him a slave to the neighboring bank, or 
to the great Jew-house in Paris or London, has all the charac- 
teristics of usury, why not say so, and pursue the matter to its 
legitimate term of discussion, to wit, by what process the usurer 
and the enslaved agriculturist have both of them been created ? 
And if it shall turn out, as it will, that such contracts are free only 
on the face of them, let us not shrink from the parallel inquiry 
in which machinery and urban trades take the place of land, 
while instead of the rustic we have the skilled or unskilled 
workman and his family, " contracting " under the iron law of 
competition. Here are questions enough to fill a new and 
sadly wanted treatise De Justitia et Jure. Who will undertake 
to make or find for them a place in our seminary courses of 
ethics? In a few years it will be too late. 

But, however earnest may be our investigation of these and 
kindred problems and here was the second thing I had to say 
let us not lose sight of the truth wjiich Democracy, like all 
other forms of social development, tends constantly to overlook : 
that men are governed by ideals rather than by systems. Our 
fault, as Christians, surely has been too little faith in our own, 
principles. We have allowed them to be spoken of, perhaps 
have treated them ourselves, as heavenly paradoxes, not laws of 
the world which now is. Yet the Founder of the Church did 



152 



CATHOLIC AND DI-.M^CKAIIC fn/-:.-us. 



[May, 



n-.illy mean to set up his kingdom on earth. There is no 
contradiction between a poverty willingly accepted for himself by 
the individual, and a highly refined public order in which the 
most precious things should be common. So far from it that 
the exact contrary is the case, and niedi.i-val cities and the 
great monasteries in their best days prove to us that a eiti/en's 
home-life may be of the simplest while the community to which 
he belongs enjoys a noble abundance and is a centre of human 
good ; whereas in modern times private riches are a public 
evil. The renunciation of that gaping desire to swallow down 
the substance of society is incumbent on every Christian. It 
is a command at the heart of the counsels of perfection, 
which themselves, instead of dividing men into a higher and 
a lower spiritual caste, as many have dreamt, are in truth our 
bond of unity. Monasticism exemplified them in one form. I 
am going to say a bold thing: Democracy does so in an- 
other. Not the anarchic Democracy which, pretending to make 
all men free, has simply left the rich and powerful free to plun- 
der the weak. But that Democracy whose purpose it is to 
" bring into one the children of God that were scattered 
abroad " ; which has laid to heart the saying of Christ, " It 
is not the will of your Heavenly Father that one of these little 
ones should perish " ; which aims at a human training of all 
who are called upon to share in the burdens of mankind, and 
which has clearly seen that the rulers of society are its ser- 
vants, and .must not live for themselves. What else is this 
than Christianity, energizing in the world of matter that it may 
be a preparation for the world of spirit? the true Religion of 
Humanity in its social, visible aspect. And if it be such, what 
is to hinder it from rising higher and higher until it becomes the 
everlasting Communion of Saints and the Vision of Peace ? 



\Vn i IAM HARRY. 



1890.] LUDIVIC VON WlNDTHORST. 153 



LUDWIG VON WlNDTHORST. 

NEVER, perhaps, in any former age, and certainly nowhere in 
this one, has there arisen a more valiant and successful parlia- 
mentary advocate of Catholic rights than Ludwig von Windt- 
horst. His indefatigable and victorious antagonism to the 
policy which Bismarck inaugurated in 1871, when that autocrat 
apparently resolved to eradicate the Catholic religion from the 
German Empire, grandly supported as his opposition has always 
been by his Catholic colleagues in the Reichstag, and by the 
devoted prelates, priests, and people of the Fatherland outside 
of the legislative chambers, has proven no small factor in 
bringing about the Iron Chancellor's recent retirement from 
official life. Fully as courageously as Daniel O'Connell battled 
in his day for Irish Catholic rights at Westminster, and in many 
respects far more successfully, has Dr. Windthorst, for over a 
score of years now, fought for his co-religionists and his faith 
at Berlin, and notwithstanding the fact that his antagonist was 
a man who swayed emperors and prime ministers at will, the 
Hanoverian lawyer has come out from that protracted contest 
a victor in the fullest sense of that term, even if some time 
must yet elapse before the German Catholics reap all the fruits 
of his labor and triumph. When William II., in case he at- 
tempts such a move, as now seems likely, shall have discovered 
that between the supporters of his policy and the Socialists no 
satisfactory or profitable alliance can ever be arranged, and 
when, no other alternative being left, the ministry is forced to 
come to terms with the Centrists, and on the demands of those 
representatives to blot from the Prussian constitution the last 
vestiges of the infamous Kulturkampf which still disfigure it, 
the full measure of Dr. Windthorst's success will be seen and 
recognized, even by those purblind individuals who are now vainly 
asserting that Bismarck's resignation by no means signifies that 
the German emperor will go to Canossa. 

It was seventy-eight years ago the twelfth of last January 
that Ludwig Windthorst first saw the light of day. Like many 
other German families, the Windthorsts had a Protestant as well 
as a Catholic branch, to the latter of which, it is hardly neces- 
sary to add, the parents of the future parliamentary leader be- 
longed. His father, who was quite well-to-do, was a lawyer, 



154 AT/HCA; rc.v \\'/\/>T//OKST. [May, 

but he evidently held his profession in no high esteem, since it 
'.ated of him that he strove hard to have his son made a 
shoemaker's apprentice, and grumblingly yielded to the deter- 
mined opposition of his family, whose other members insisted 
that Ludwig should follow the paternal footsteps. G<">ttingen 
and Heidelberg at the former of which, by the way. Count 
Bismarck also studied were the universities where the coming 
Catholic champion made his academic course, and one of his 
professors has described him as " an ugly little wretch, who 
had a thoroughly level head and was very far-seeing, and, in 
spite of his captious spirit, very pious." 

Graduating in due lapse of time, the young lawyer returned 
to his native town, where he soon acquired a large and lucra- 
tive practice. Even at the outset of his professional career he 
showed himself a loyal and practical adherent of the church, 
and one of his first moves was to join the local Catholic soci- 
ety, whose meetings he always attended whenever he could do 
so, and in whose debates he frequently participated. His emi- 
nent abilities and his invariable success at the bar soon obtained 
for him the notice of the Hanoverian government, and led to 
his appointment to the bench of the Upper Court of Appeal at 
Celle. In 1849 his political career began by his election to the 
Second Chamber of the Hanoverian Landtag, where he took 
his seat as a liberal, and showed himself such a skilled parlia- 
mentarian that, in 1851, the chamber chose him its president. 
He was not destined to retain that position long, however, and 
a few months subsequently King George V. appointed him 
minister of justice. Judge Windthorst soon found this office 
anything but a pleasant one ; he could not conscientiously 
assist the king in the efforts that ruler was making to curtail 
the constitutional privileges of his subjects, and the consequence 
was that, after a year's tenure of his portfolio, he tendered his 
resignation and went back to the Landtag to oppose his sover- 
eign's policy. There he remained for a number of years, an 
outspoken and vigorous opponent of the imperial idea, which 
was even then beginning to assert itself, convinced, as he was, 
that under the disguise of a national union Bismarck was 
striving to fasten a military despotism on the German states ; 
a conviction which after events proved fully correct. In 1862 
Herr Windthorst was again induced to accept the ministry of 
justice, and he managed while occupying that place to secure 
the passage of a number of popular laws. Three years later he 
again resigned his portfolio, and went back to Celle as the 



1890.] LUDWIG VON WlNDTHORST. 155 

royal solicitor. Then followed the absorption ot Hanover by 
Prussia, and the beginning of Windthorst's political warfare with 
Bismarck and that chancellor's centralizing policy, a warfare 
which became more energetic on Herr Windthorst's part when 
he saw that his antagonist was bending all his energies to the 
annihilation of the Catholic Church in the German Empire. 

Nemo repente fit turpissimns, an old Latin saying has it, and 
Bismarck, when he was meeting with success in his preliminary 
moves to build up the Prussian dynasty, did not show himself 
openly inimical to Rome. It may have been political prudence 
which caused the grim chancellor to conceal his enmity then, 
but certain is it that for several years following the annexation 
of Hanover he sided with the Catholics on more than one 
occasion. He refused at first to expel the German Jesuits ; he 
declined to interfere, at Count Arnim's request, with the at- 
tendance of the German prelates at the Vatican Council, and in 
various other ways did he bid for Catholic support for his 
military measures. When the Centrum was formed in 1871, 
however, and when some of his former stanch supporters, men 
like Prince Radziwill and Von Savigny, joined its ranks, the 
chancellor, who knew that the new party opposed his imperial 
policy, and who feared deposition from the success of its aims, 
began to wage an unrelenting war on its members, and as the 
majority of these were Catholics, his first move was to exclude 
all Catholics from the ministry of worship. This step was 
speedily followed by a second, and the " Old Catholics " were 
given to understand that the government stood ready to favor 
and protect their rapacious sect. Arbitrary and annoying laws 
governing the inspection of schools were also enacted, and when 
the lamented Pius IX. refused to accept as Prussian ambassador 
Cardinal Hohenlohe, whom Bismarck sent to Rome in the hope 
of embroiling the German Catholic representatives with the Vat- 
ican, the chancellor recalled the entire German embassy from 
the Eternal City, and openly declared war upon the Catholic 
Church in Germany. 

Then it was that the Centrum, under the able leadership of 
Dr. Windthorst and Herr Von Malinkrodt the latter now, alas ! 
no longer living began that masterly opposition to the chancel- 
lor's schemes which more than once brought Bismarck to his 
knees, and which finally compelled him to abandon altogether 
his position of antagonism to the Catholic religion. Its members, 
who comprised men of all classes of society and of various political 
views, but who were one in their determination to defend their 



156 . , r<>.v ]\'/.\-/>T//OKST. [May, 

church and their religion, were constant in their attendance at 
the leLM'-Iatu us, and whenever anything was t" he gained 

thereby, they voted like one man against the chancellor's pet 
projects. Of course their opposition and methods greatly angered 
Bismarck, who conceived the mistaken idea that all he had to 
do to crush these opponents was to employ the same means 
which hail enabled him to annihilate other antagi mists. In iSjj 
Herr Falk, a notorious enemy of Catholicity, was appointed min- 
ister of public worship, and then speedily ensued the enactment 
of the atrocious May Laws, under sanction of which subsequently 
the religious orders were suppressed ami their members expa- 
triated ; bishops and priests were removed from their sees and 
churches, and sent either to prison or into exile, and almost every 
liberty and right of the German Catholics were violently assailed. 
The member for Meppen, as Herr Windthorst was designated, 
while he naturally viewed with extreme sorrow the persecutions 
and injustices to which the church of which he was so loyal a 
son was subjected, never for a moment lost his courage or his 
faith in the ultimate triumph of the right. Time and time again 
he rose in the Reichstag to tell the government that its evil 
machinations would come to naught, and day after day, with all 
the eloquence of which he was capable, and with merciless logic, 
did he expose the injustices and infamies of Bismarck's course, 
and declare that there could be no peace in Prussia until the 
Kulturkampf was abolished and all her rights were restored to the 
church. Instead of heeding these warnings, the chancellor con- 
tinued and increased his persecutions of the Catholics, and closed 
his eyes to the fact, which other people plainly recognized, that 
Socialism and Communism were growing apace while he waged 
war on the one institution which had shown itself capable of 
restraining their pernicious influences. Windthorst and his col- 
leagues watched events closely, however, and as they saw pop- 
ular discontent with the government increasing, Catholics becom- 
ing more and more disaffected, and Protestants disgusted with 
the workings of the May Laws, they renewed their assaults on 
the chancellor, who was only too glad to dissolve the Reichstag 
after the attempts that were made in 1878 on the emperor's 
life, attempts which opened the eyes of the government to the 
danger of the policy it was pursuing and to the evils with which 
an unfettered proletariat menaced - the empire. 

From the elections of 1878 may be dated the commencement 
of Herr Windthorst's real triumphs. The Centre went back to 
Berlin stronger than ever it was before, and it was not long 



1890.] LUDWIG VON WINDTHORST. 157 

before Bismarck recognized that in order to secure the passage 
of his measures in the Reichstag it was necessary for him to 
conciliate the Catholic deputies. He knew, too, that there was 
but one way in which he could do so, and that before he could 
hope for the support of their votes' he must cease his oppres- 
sion of the Catholics. In 1879, consequently, he dropped a hint 
to his underlings to be less solicitous about the enforcement of 
the May Laws ; he paid court to the Centrist leader, invited him 
to his soirees, named him Oberprasident, or governor, in Munster, 
and declared his readiness to abrogate the whole Kulturkampf 
provided the Centre would dissolve and become supporters of 
the government. This demand was one to which Herr Windt- 
horst and his allies would not listen ; they distrusted the wily 
chancellor, who justified their distrust by endeavoring in an under- 
hand manner much in the same way in which the English govern- 
ment recently essayed to prejudice the Papacy against the Par- 
nellites to influence Roman opinion in their regard ; which move 
was frustrated, however, by Pope Leo's prompt refusal to inter- 
fere. Foiled in this attempt, Bismarck was compelled to relax 
still farther the execution of the May Laws, though, at the same 
time, he tried to lessen the estimation in which the Centrists 
held their leader by accusing Windthorst of being a Guelf ; and 
when that trick did not serve him, he denounced the Centrists 
themselves as enemies of the empire. The clericals, as the Cath- 
olic deputies are often called, continued to gain in strength, how- 
ever, while the ministerialists were constantly losing, and these 
things were not without their influence on the government. In 
1 88 1 the deposed bishops were gradually permitted to return to 
their sees, and other concessions to the Catholics quickly fol- 
lowed. At the date of the indignities which were offered to the 
Holy See on the occasion of the translation of the remains of 
the saintly Pius IX., it was even hinted that Germany would be 
willing to afford Leo XIII. a refuge in case he was obliged to 
quit Rome, and talk of Prussian interference to secure a settle- 
ment of the Papal question was heard. The Centrists took ad- 
vantage of every opportunity of furthering Catholic interests, and 
in 1 88 1 Herr Windthorst demanded the annulment of the expa- 
triation laws, threatening defeat to the budget unless his demands 
were granted. It was not until 1886, however, that legislation 
was secured virtually ending the Kulturkampf, though so severe 
had been the Centre's attacks on the odious code that Dr. Falk, 
the author of the May Laws, was forced to resign his office 
seven years before that event. 



SO.VG Of HV.\ [May, 

Herr Windthorst's victory, magnificent as it seemed four years 
ago, when the Amendment Hill was passed, has grown greater 
with each subsequent session, and the importance and influence 
of his followers have likewise annually increased. To-day, not- 
withstanding the immense Socialistic gains in the recent elections, 
the Centrists hold the balance of power in the Reichstag, and 
they can, consequently, dictate their own terms to the govern- 
ment. What those terms will be is a question time must be 
allowed to answer. But should Herr Windthorst and his col- 
leagues declare that before expecting their support the govern- 
ment must eliminate the last vestiges of the infamous Falk laws 
from the Prussian statute-books, and compensate the German 
Catholics for the injuries and losses which the Kulturkampf en- 
tailed on their church, could it be said that their demands were 
extortionate ? And should they go farther and insist that Prus- 
sian influence shall no longer be employed to bolster up and 
prolong the Piedmontese occupation of the Papal city, could any 
one deny their right to do so ? 

WILLIAM D. KEI.I.V. 






SONG OF WINE. 

O WlNE ! thou bringest moments brief of gladness, 
When round the festal board friends gaily sing, 
And Bacchus wakes the echoes till they ring ; 

But thy wild song's refrain is deepest sadness, 

And all thy sparkling wit akin to madness. 
Thy seeming blessings direst curses bring, 
And from thy kiss death and dishonor spring, 

Sin, poverty, crime, and all wretchedness. 

See where the broken-hearted mother lies, 

See where the wife mourns to her hopeless soul, 

Hear naked orphans' sad despairing cries ; 

Look where the maniac grasps the poison bowl, 

Look on the outcast who forsaken dies ; 

Then sing thy song : for thou hast wrought the whole. 

J. L. SPALIMM;. 

Ptoria. IU. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 159 

THE LIFE OE FATHER HECKER. 

CHAPTER III. 
THE TURNING-POINT. 

A BRIEF consideration at this point of a certain permanent 
tendency of Father Hecker's mind will be of present and future 
value' to the student of his life. It has been said already that he 
never changed the principles he had adopted as a lad among the 
apprentices and journeymen of New York ; principles which, for 
all social politics, he summarized in the homely expression, " I am 
always for the under dog." Thus, in the article quoted in the 
preceding chapter, he had the right to say of himself and his 
associates : 

" We were guileless men absorbed in seeking a solution for 
the problems of life. Nor, as social reformers at least, were we 
given over to theories altogether wrong. The constant recurrence 
of similar epochs of social agitation since then, and the present 
enormous development of the monopolies which we resisted in 
their very infancy, show that our forecast of the future was not 
wholly visionary. The ominous outlook of popular politics at the 
present moment plainly shows that legislation such as we then 
proposed, and such as was then within the easy reach of State 
and national authority, would have forestalled difficulties whose 
settlement at this day threatens a dangerous disturbance of pub- 
lic order." 

We dwell on his political consistency, however, only because 
it affords an evidence of that unity of character which was always 
recognized in Father Hecker by those who knew him best. 
Change in him, in whatever direction it seemed to proceed, 
meant primarily the dropping off of accidental excrescences. 
There was nothing radical in it. What he once held with the 
settled allegiance of his intelligence he held always, adding to or 
developing it further as fast as the clouds were blown away 
from his mental horizon. From the standpoint of personal ex- 
perience he could fairly criticise, as he did in conversation some 
few years before his death, Cardinal Newman's dictum that "con- 
version is a leap in the dark." " I say," he went on, " that it 
is a leap in the light." " Into the light, but through the dark," 
was suggested in reply. 



160 THE LIFE Of FATIIEK HI.CKEK. [May, 

"No," he answered. "If one arrives at a recognition of the 
truth of Catholic doctrine through one or other form of Protestant 
orthodoxy, then the difficulties of ordinary controversy will indeed 
leave him to the very end in the dark. Hut if he conies to the 
Church through the working and the results of natural reason, it 
is light all the way, and to the very end. I had this out with 
Cardinal Newman personally, and he agreed that I was right." 

It is true that his views were rectified when he entered the 
Church, and that when once in it he was ever acquiring new 
truth and new views of truth. But his character never changed. 
He was a luminous example of the truth of the saying that the 
child is father to the man, so often apparently falsified by expe- 
rience. Boy and man, the prominent characteristic of his mind 
was a clear perception of fundamentals and a disregard of non- 
essentials in the whole domain of life. To reverse a familiar 
maxim, " Take care of the dollars and the cents will take care 
of themselves," might describe his plan of mental economy. To 
the small coin of discussion in any field of inquiry he paid little 
attention. One who knew him many years has often heard him 
say, " Emphasize the universal always." 

He was a teacher by natural vocation. No sooner was^ he 
satisfied that he knew anything of general moment than he felt 
pressed to impart his knowledge. Contact with him could never 
be simply for acquaintance' sake ; still less for an idle compari- 
son of views. While no man could be more frank in the ad- 
mission of a lack of data on which to base an opinion in matters 
of fact, or a lack of illumination on affairs of conduct or prac- 
tical direction, when such existed, yet to be certain was, to him, 
the self-luminous guarantee of his mission to instruct. But until 
that certainty was attained, in a manner satisfactory to both the 
intellectual and the ethical sides of his nature, he was silent. 

As a priest, though he undertook to teach anybody and 
everybody, yet he could seldom have given the impression of de- 
siring to impose his personal views, simply as such. His vital 
perception that there can be nothing private in truth shone 
through his speech too plainly for so gross a misconception to 
be easily made by candid -minds. The fact is that the commu- 
nity of spiritual goods was vividly realized by him, and in good 
faith he credited all men with a longing like his own to see 
things as they really are. As he had by nature a very kindly 
manner, benignant and cheerful, the average man readily sub- 
mitted to his influence. In his prime he was always a most suc- 
cessful and oooular preacher and lecturer, from the combined 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 161 

effect of this earnestness of conviction and his personal magnetic 
quality. Men whose mental characteristics resembled his became, 
soon or late, his enthusiastic disciples, and as to others, although 
at first some were inclined to suspect him, many of them ended 
by becoming his warm friends. 

It is in this light that we must view the precocious efforts of 
the young politician. Nothing was further from his thoughts at 
any time than to employ politics as a means to any private end. 
Although we have already quoted him as saying that he always 
felt bound to demand some good reason why he should not use 
all things lawfully his, and enjoy to the full every innocent plea- 
sure, yet that demand was made solely in the interests of human 
freedom, never in that of self-indulgence. He seems to have 
been ascetic by nature a Stoic, not an Epicurean, by the very 
make-up of his personality. The reader will see this more clearly 
as we pass on to the succeeding phases of Father Hecker's 
interior life. But we cannot leave the statement even here with- 
out explaining that we use the word ascetic in its proper sense, 
to connote the rightful dominance of reason over appetite, the 
supremacy of the higher over the lower; not the jurisdiction of 
the judge over the criminal In his case, during the greater part 
of his life, the adjustment of the higher and lower, the restraint 
he placed upon the beast in view of the elevation due to the 
man, was neither conceived nor felt as punitive. We shall see 
later on how God finally subjected him to a discipline so cor- 
rective as to be acknowledged by him as judicial. 

Isaac Hecker threw himself into public questions, then, because, 
being a workman, he believed he saw ways by which the work- 
ing classes might be morally and socially elevated. He wanted 
for his class what he wanted for himself. To get his views into 
shape, to press them with all his force whenever and wherever 
an opportunity presented itself, was for him the inescapable con- 
sequence of that belief. Like his great patron, St. Paul, "What 
wilt Thou have me to do ? " was always his first question after 
his own illumination had been granted. There is a note in the 
collection of private memoranda that has been preserved, in which, 
alluding to the painful struggles which preceded his clear recog- 
nition that the doctrines of the Catholic Church afforded the 
adequate solution of all his difficulties, he says that his interior 
sufferings were so great that the question with him was "whether 
I should drown myself in the river or drown my longings and 
doubts in a career of wild ambition." Still, to those who knew 
him well, it is impossible to think of him as ever capable of any 



VOL. I.I. II 



1 62 Tin-: I. IFF. OF PATH IK HI.CKI-.K. [May, 

ambition which had not an end commensurate with mankind 
itself. To elevate men, to go up with them, not above them, 
iroin first to last, the scope of his desire. The nature of his 
surroundings in youth, his personal experience of the hardships of 
the poorer classes, his intercourse with radical socialists, together 
with the incomplete character of the religious training given him, 
made him at first look on politics as a possible and probable 
means to this desirable end. But he was too sensibly impelled 
by the Divine impulse toward personal perfection, and too inflex- 
ibly honest with himself, not to come early to a thorough realiza- 
tion, on one hand of the fact that man cannot, unaided, rise above 
his natural level, and, on the other, that no conceivable ameliora- 
tion of merely social conditions could satisfy his aspirations. And 
if not his, how those of other men ? 

One thing that becomes evident in studying this period ot 
Isaac Hecker's life is the fact that his acquaintance with Dr. 
Brownson marks a turning-point in his views, his opinions, his 
whole attitude of mind toward our Lord Jesus Christ Until then 
the Saviour of men had been represented to him exclusively as a 
remedy against the fear of hell ; His use seemed to be to furnish 
a Divine point to which men might work themselves up by an 
emotional process resulting in an assurance of forgiveness of sin 
and a secure hope of heaven. Christianity, that is to say, had 
been presented to him under the form of Methodism. The result 
had been what might have been anticipated in a nature so 
averse to emotional excitement and possessing so little conscious- 
ness of actual sin. Drawn to God as he had always been by 
love and aspiration, he was not as yet sensible of any gulf which 
needed to be bridged between him and his Creator ; hence, to 
present Christ solely as the Victim, the Expiatory Sacrifice de- 
manded by Divine Justice, was to make Him, if not impossible, 
yet premature to a person like him. Meantime, what he saw and 
heard all around him, poverty, inequality, greed, shiftlessness, low 
views of life, ceaseless and poorly remunerated toil, made inces- 
sant demands upon him. These things he knew by actual con- 
tact, by physical, mental, and moral experience, as a man knows 
by touch and taste and smell. Men's sufferings, longings, 
struggles, disappointments had been early thrust upon him as a 
personal and most weighty burden ; and the only relief yet 
offered was the Christ of emotional Methodism. To a nature 
more open to temptation on its lower side, and hence more con- 
scious of its radical limitations, even this defective presentation 
of the Redeemer of men might have appealed profoundly. But 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 763 

Isaac Hecker's problems were at this time mainly social ; as, 
indeed, to use the word in a large sense, they remained until the 
end. Now, Protestantism is essentially unsocial, being an extrav- 
agant form of individualism. Its Christ deals with men apart 
from each other and furnishes no cohesive element to humanity. 
The validity and necessity of religious organization as a moral 
force of Divine appointment is that one of the Catholic principles 
which it has from the beginning most vehemently rejected. As a 
negative force its essence is a protest against organic Christianity. 
As a positive force it is simply men, taken one by one, dealing 
separately with God concerning matters strictly personal. True, it 
is a fundamental verity that men must deal individually with 
God ; but the external test that their dealings with Him have 
been efficacious, and their inspirations valid, is furnished by the 
fact of their incorporation into the organic life of Christendom. 
As St. Paul expresses it : " For as the body is one, and hath 
many members ; and all the members of the body, whereas they 
are many, are yet one body, so also is Christ. For in one Spirit 
were we all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Gentiles, 
whether bond or free, and in one Spirit have we all been made 
to drink."* 

It is plain, then, that a religion such as Protestantism, which 
is unsocial and disintegrating by virtue of its antagonistic forces, 
can contribute little to the solution of social problems. Even 
when not actively rejected by men deeply interested in such 
problems, it is tolerably sure that it will be practically ignored 
as a working factor in their public relations with their fellows. 
Religion will remain the narrowly personal matter it began ; 
chiefly an affair for Sundays ; best attended to in one's pew in 
church or at the family altar. Probably it may reach the shop, 
the counter, and the scales ; not so certainly the factory, the 
mine, the political platform, and the ballot. If Christianity had 
never presented itself under any other aspect than this to Isaac 
Hecker, it is certain that it would never have obtained his alle- 
giance. Yet it is equally certain that he never rejected Christ 
under any aspect in which He was presented to him. 

Even concerning the period of his life with which we are now 
engaged, and in which we have already represented him as having 
lost hold of all distinctively Christian doctrines, we must empha- 
size the precise words we have employed. He " lost hold " ; that 
was because his original grasp was weak. While no authoritative 
dogmatic teaching had given him an even approximately full 

* I Cor. xii. 12, 13. 



164 Tin-. /.///-. o A 1'A rui: K HKCKKH. [May. 

and definite idea of the God-nun, His personality, His character, 
and His mission, the fragmentary truths offered him had made 
His influence seem restrictive rather than liberative of human 
energies. Yet even so he had not deliberately turned his back 
upon Him, though his tendency at this tinu was doubtless toward 
simple Theism. He had begun to ignore Christianity, simply be- 
cau.-e his own problems were dominantly social, and orthodox 
Protestantism, the only form of religion which he knew, had no 
social force corresponding to its pretensions and demands. 

\\; upon this state of mind the teaching of Dr. Brownson 
came like seed upon a fallow soil. Like that which preceded it, 
it erred rather by defect than by actual or, at any rate, by wil- 
ful deviation from true doctrine. Isaac Hecker met for the first 
time in Orestes Brownson an exponent of Jesus Christ as the 
great Benefactor and Uplifter of the human race in this present 
life. Dr. Brownson has himself given a statement of the views 
which he held and inculcated between 1834 and 1843 which in- 
cludes the period we are at present considering and it is so brief 
and to the point that we cannot do better than to quote it : 

"I found in me," he writes (The Convert, p. in), "certain 
religious sentiments that I could not efface ; certain religious 
beliefs or tendencies, of which I could not divest myself. I re- 
garded them as a law of my nature, as natural to man, as the 
noblest part of our nature, and as such I cherished them ; but as 
t/if expression in me of an objective world, I seldom pondered them. 
I found them universal, manifesting themselves, in some form, 
wherever man is found ; but 1 received them, or supposed I received 
them, on the authority of humanity or human nature, and pro- 
fessed to hold no religion except that of humanity. I had become 
a believer in humanity, and put humanity in the place of God. 
The only God I recognized was the divine in man, the divinity 
of humanity, one alike with God and with man, which I sup- 
posed to be the real meaning of the Christian doctrine of. the 
Incarnation, the mystery of Emmanuel, or God with us God 
manifest in the flesh. There may be an unmanifested God, and 
certainly is ; but the only God who exists for us is the God in 
man, the active and living principle of human nature. 

" I regarded Jesus Christ as divine in the sense in which all 
men are divine, and human in the sense in which all men are 
human. I took him as my model man, and regarded him as a 
moral and social reformer, who sought, by teaching the truth 
under a religious envelope, and practising the highest and purest 
morality, to meliorate the earthly condition of mankind ; but I 
saw nothing miraculous in his conception or birth, nothing super- 
natural in his person or character, in his life or doctrine. He 
came to redeem the world, as does every great and good man, 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 165 

and deserved to be held in universal honor and esteem as one 
who remained firm to the truth amid every trial, and Anally died 
on the cross, a martyr to his love of mankind. As a social re- 
former, as one devoted to the progress and well-being of man in 
this world, I thought I might liken myself to him and call my- 
self by his name. I called myself a Christian, not because I 
took him for my master, not because I believed all he believed 
or taught, but because, like him, I was laboring to introduce a 
new order of things, and to promote the happiness of my kind. 
I used the Bible as a good Protestant, took what could be accom- 
modated to my purpose, and passed over the rest, as belonging 
to an age now happily outgrown. I followed the example of the 
carnal Jews-, and gave an earthly sense to all the promises and 
prophecies of the Messias, and looked for my reward in this world." 

The passages we have italicized in this extract may go to 
show how far Dr. Brownson himself was, at this period, from being 
able to give any but the evasive answer he actually did give to 
the searching philosophical questions put by his youthful admirer. 
But it is not easy, especially in the light of Isaac Hecker's sub- 
sequent experiences, to overestimate the influence which this new 
presentation of our Saviour had upon the development of his mind 
and character. For reasons which we have tried to indicate by 
a brief description of some of his life-long interior traits, the 
ordinary Protestant view, restricted and narrow, which represents 
Jesus Christ merely as the appointed though voluntary Victim of 
the Divine wrath against sin, had been pressed upon him pre- 
maturely. Now He was held up to him, and by a man who was 
in many ways superior to all other men the boy had met, as a 
great personality, altogether human, indeed, but still the most 
perfect specimen of the race ; the supremely worshipful figure of 
all history, whose life had been given to the assertion of the 
dignity of man and the equality of mankind. That human nature 
is good and that men are brethren, said Dr. Brownson, was the 
thesis of Christ, taught throughout His life, sealed by His death. 
The Name which is above all names became thus in a new sense 
a watchword, and the Gospels a treasury for that social apostolate 
to which Isaac Hecker had already devoted himself with an ear- 
nestness which for some years made it seem religion enough for him. 

So it has seemed before his time and since to many a benev- 
olent dreamer. Though the rites of the humanitarian cult differ 
with its different priests, its creed retains everywhere and always 
its narrow identity. But that all men are good, or would be so 
save for the unequal pressure of social conditions on them, is a 
conclusion which does not follow from the single premise that 



,,-., Tax LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. [May, 

human nature, inasmuch as it is a nature and from the hand of 
God, is essentially good. The world is flooded, just at present, 
with schemes for insuring tin- perfection and happiness of men 
by removing so far as possible all restraints upon their natural 
freedom ; and whether this is to be accomplished with Tolstoi, by 
reducing wants to a minimum and abolishing money ; or by estab- 
lishing clubs for the promotion of culture and organizing a social 
army which shall destroy poverty by making money plenty, ap- 
a mere matter of detail at all events to dreamers and to 
novelists. But to men who are in hard earnest with themselves, 
men who " have not taken their souls in vain nor sworn deceit- 
fully," either to their neighbor or about him, certain other truths 
concerning human nature besides that of its essential goodness 
are sure to make themselves evident, soon or late. And among 
these is that of its radical insufficiency to its own needs. It is a 
rational nature, and it seeks the Supreme Reason, if only for its 
own self-explication. It is a nature which, wherever found, is 
found in the attitude of adoration, and neither in the individual 
man nor in humanity at large is there any Divinity which 
responds to worship. 

It is impossible to say just when Isaac Hecker's appreciation 
of this truth became intensely personal and clear, but it is easy 
to make a tolerable approximation to the time. He went to 
Brook Farm in January, 1843, rather more than eight years after 
his first meeting with Dr. Brownson. It was by the advice of 
the latter that he made this first decisive break from his former 
life. From the time when their acquaintance began, Isaac appears 
to have taken up the study of philosophy in good earnest, and 
to have found in it an outlet for his energies which insensibly 
diminished his absorption in social politics. We have a glimpse 
of him kneading at the dough-trough with Kant's Critique of 
Pure Reason fastened up on the wall before him, so that he 
might lose no time in merely manual labor. Fichte and Hegel 
succeeded Kant, all of them philosophers whose mother-tongue 
was likewise his own, and whose combined influence put him 
farther off than ever from the solution of that fundamental doubt 
which constantly grew more perplexing and more painful. We 
find him hiring a seat in the Unitarian Church of the Messiah, 
where Orville Dewey was then preaching, and walking every 
Sunday a distance of three miles from the foot of Rutgers 
Street, " because he was a smart fellow, and I enjoyed listening 
to him. Did I believe in Unitarianism ? No ! 1 believed in 
nothing." 






1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 167 

His active participation in local politics did not continue 
throughout all these years. His belief in candidates and parties 
as instruments to be relied on for social purification received a 
final blow very early possibly before he was entitled to cast a 
vote. The Workingmen had made a strong ticket one year, and 
there seemed every probability of their carrying it. But on the 
eve of the election half of their candidates sold out to one of 
the opposing parties. What other results this treachery may 
have had is a question which, fortunately, does not concern us, 
but it dispelled one of the strongest of Isaac Hecker's youthful 
illusions. He continued, nevertheless, to prove the sincerity with 
which his views on social questions were held, by doing all that 
lay in his power to better the condition of the men in the 
employment of his brothers and himself. After he passed his 
majority his interest in the business declined rapidly, and it is 
impossible to doubt that one of the chief reasons why it did so 
is to be sought in his changing convictions as to the manner in 
which business in general should be carried on. 

Although in accepting Christ as his master and model he 
had as yet no belief in Him as more than the most perfect of 
human beings, yet, even so, Isaac Hecker's sincerity and sim- 
plicity were too great to permit him to follow his leader at a 
purely conventional distance. " Do you know," he said long 
afterwards, " the thought that first loosened me from the life I 
led ? How can I love my fellow-men and yet get rich by the 
sweat of their brows ? I couldn't do it. You are not a Christian, 
and can't call yourself one, I said to myself, if you do that. 
The heathenish selfishness of business competition started me 
away from the world." 

If he had received a Catholic training, Isaac Hecker would 
soon have recognized that he was being drawn toward the 
practice of that counsel of perfection which St. Paul embodies 
to St. Timothy in the words : " Having food and wherewith 
to be covered, with these we are content."* Could he have 
sought at this time the advice of one familiar with internal ways, 
he must have been cautioned against that first error to which 
those so drawn are liable, of supposing that this call is common 
and imperative, and can never fail to be heard without some 
more or less wilful closing of the ears. Though the Hecker 
brothers were, and ever continued to be, men of the highest 
business integrity, and though there existed between them a 
cordial affection, which was intensified to an extraordinary degree 

* i Timothy vi. 8 



168 Till: I.II-E 01-' l-'ATHF.K ///.< 'A 7. A 1 . 

in the case of George and Isaac, y<-t the unfitiu-s of the latter 
for ordinary trade grew increasingly evident, and to himself pain- 
fully so. The truth is, that his ideas of conducting business 
would have led to the distribution of profits rather than to their 
accumulation. If he could make the bake-house and the shop 
into a school for the attainment of an ideal that had begun to 
hover, half-veiled, in the air above him, he saw his way to stay- 
ing where he was ; but not otherwise. 

In the autumn of 1842 there came upon him certain singular 
intensifications of this disquiet with himself and his surround- 
ings. In the journal begun the following spring, he so frequently 
and so explicitly refers to these occurrences, now speaking of 
them as " dreams which had a great effect upon my character "; 
and again, specializing and fully describing one, as something not 
dreamed, but seen when awake, " which left an indelible impress 
on my mind," weaning it at once and for ever from all possi- 
bility of natural love and marriage, that the integrity of any 
narrative of his life would demand some recognition of them. 
His own comment, in the diary, will not be without interest and 
value, both as bearing on much that follows, and as containing 
all that need be said in explanation of the present reference to 
such experiences : 

" April 24, 1 843. . . . How can I doubt these things ? Say 
what may be said, still they have to me a reality, a practical 
geod bearing on my jife. They are impressive instructors, whose 
teachings are given in such a real manner that they influence 
me whether I would or not. Real pictures of the future, as 
actual, nay, more so than my present activity. If I should not 
follow them I am altogether to blame. I can have no such 
adviser upon earth ; none could impress me so strongly, with 
such peculiar effect, and at the precise time most needed. Where 
my natural strength is not enough, I find there comes foreign 
aid to my assistance. Is the Lord instructing me for anything ? 
I had, six months ago, three or more dreams which had a very 
great effect upon my character ; they changed it. They were 
the embodiment of my present in a great degree. Last evening's 
was a warning embodiment of a false activity and its con- 
sequence, which will preserve me, under God's assistance, from 
falling. ... I see by it where I am ; it has made me 
purer." 

In addition to these peculiar visitations, and very probably 
in consequence of them, Isaac's inward anxieties culminated in 
prolonged fits of nervous depression, and at last in repeated 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER, 169 

attacks of illness which baffled the medical skill called to his 
assistance. Towards Christmas he went to Chelsea to visit 
Brownson, to whom he partially revealed the state of obscurity 
and distress in which he found himself. Brownson, who had been 
one of the original promoters of the experiment in practical 
sociology at West Roxbury, advised a residence at Brook Farm 
as likely to afford the young man the leisure and opportunities for 
study which he needed in order to come to a full understand- 
ing with himself. He wrote to George Ripley in his behalf, and 
later undertook to reconcile the Hecker household with Isaac's 
determination to go thither. 

It was during his stay at Chelsea that Isaac first began plainly 
to acquaint his family with the fact that his departure meant 
something more important than the moderately prolonged change 
of scene and circumstances which they had recognized as essen- 
tial to his health. We shall make abundant extracts from the 
letters which begin at this date, convinced that his own words 
will not only afford the best evidence of the strength of the 
interior pressure on him, but will show also its unique and con- 
stant bent. 

Our purpose is to show, in the most explicit manner possible, 
first, how irresistibly he was impelled toward the celibate life 
and the practice of poverty ; and second, that in yielding to this 
impulse, he was also drawn away from his former view of our 
Saviour, as simply the perfect man, to the full acceptance of the 
supernatural truth that He is the Incarnate God. 

It is at this period of Father Hecker's life that we first meet 
with a positive interference of an extraordinary kind in the plans 
and purposes of his life. Many men who have outlived thern^ 
and settled down into respectable but in nowise notable members 
of society, have felt vague longings and indefinite aspirations 
toward a good beyond nature during the " Storm and Stress " 
period of their youth. The record of their mental struggles gets 
into literature with comparative frequency, and sometimes becomes 
famous. It has always a certain value, if merely as contributing 
to psychological science ; but in any particular instance is of 
passing interest only, unless it can be shown to have been instru- 
mental in shaping the subsequent career. The latter was the 
case with Father Hecker. The extraordinary influences already 
mentioned continued to dominate his intelligence and his will, 
sometimes with, oftener without, explicit assignment of any cause. 
It is plain enough that, up to the time when they began, he 
had looked forward to such a future of domestic happiness as. 



i ;o TUF. LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. [May, 

honest younj,' fellows in his position commonly desire. " Hi- 
was the life <)" the family circle," says one who knew the Hccker 
household intimately; "he loved his people, and was loved by 
tin-in with ^reat intensity, and his going away must have been 
most painful to him as well as to them." 

On this point the memoranda, so often to be referred to, con- 
tain some words of his own to the same purport. They were 
spoken early in 1882: "You know I had to leave my business 
a good business it was getting to be, too. I tell you, it was 
agony to give everything up friends, prospects in life and old 
associates ; things for which by nature I had a very strong 
attachment. But I could not help it ; I was driven from it. I 
wanted something more ; something I had not been able to find. 
Yet I did not know what I wanted. I was simply in torment." 

The truth is that, while he had always cherished ideals higher 
than are usual, still they were not such as need set him apart 
from the common life of men. But now he became suddenly 
averse from certain pursuits- and pleasures, not only good in them- 
selves, but consonant to his previous dispositions. The road to 
wealth lay open before him, but his feet refused to tread it. He 
was invincibly drawn to poverty, solitude, sacrifice ; modes of life 
from which he shrank by nature, and which led to no goal that 
he could see or understand. There is no name so descriptive of 
such impulses as supernatural. 



CHAPTER IV. 
LED BY THE SPIRIT. 

THE earliest of the letters so fortunately preserved by the 
affection of Isaac Hecker's kindred, is addressed to his mother, 
from Chelsea, and bears date December 24, 1842. After giving 
some details of his arrival, and of the kindly manner in which 
he had been received, he writes : * 

" Hut as regards your advice to write my thoughts to you, 
that is an impossibility which I cannot govern or control. This 
ought not to be so, but so it is. Am I to blame ? I feel not. 
And what if I could tell ? It might be only a deep dissatisfac- 
tion which could not be made intelligible, or at least not be 
felt as it is felt by me. Let us be untroubled about it. A little 

We have corrected some slight errors of orthography and punctuation in these early 
letters. They were of the sort to be expected from a self-trained youth, as yet little used to 
the written expression of his thoughts. They soon disappear almost entirely. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKF.R. 171 

time, and, I hope, all will pass away, and I be the same as usual. 
We all differ a little, at least in our characters ; hence there is 
nothing surprising if our experiences should differ. I feel that a 
little time will be my best remedy, which I trust we will await 
without much anxiety. Resignation is taught when we cannot 
help ourselves. Take nothing I have said discouragingly. Turn 
fears into hopes and doubts into faith, and we shall be better if 
not happier. There is no use in allowing our doubts and fears 
to control us; by fostering them we increase them, and we want 
all our time for something better and higher." 

Two days later he writes more fully, and this letter we shall 
give almost entire : 

" Chelsea, December 26, 1 842. BROTHERS : I want to write to 
you, but what is the use of scrawling on paper if I write what I 
do not feel intend ? It is worse than not writing. And yet 
why I should be backward I don't know. The change that I 
have undergone has been so rapid and of such a kind ; that may 
be the reason. I feel that as I now am perhaps you cannot un- 
derstand me. I am afraid lest your conduct would be such that 
under present circumstances I could not stand under it. Do not 
misunderstand me. If I have ever appreciated anything in my 
life, it is the favor and indulgent treatment you have shown me 
in our business. I know that I have never done an equal share 
in the work which was for us all to do. I have always been 
conscious of this. I hope you will receive this as it is written, 
for I am open. Daily am I losing that disposition which was 
attributed to me of self-approval. . . . There is no reason why 
I should distrust your dispositions toward me but my own feel- 
ings, and it is these that have kept me back, that and the change 
my mind is undergoing. This is so continuous, and at the same 
time so firmly fixed, that I am unable to keep back any longer. 
I had hopes that my former life would return, so that I would 
be able to go on as usual, although this tendency has always 
been growing in me. But I find more and more that it is not 
possible. I would go back if I could, but the impossibility of 
that I cannot express. To continue as I am now would keep me 
constantly in an unsettled state of health, especially as my future 
appears to be opening before me with clearness. I say sincerely 
that I have lost all but this one thing, and how shall I speak it? 
My mind has lost all disposition to business ; my hopes, life, ex- 
istence, are all in another direction. No one knows how I tried 
to exert myself to work, or the cause of my inability. I was 
conscious of the cause, but as it was supposed to be a physical 



i;j THE /.///: 01- I-'ATHHK //AcA'A/-. [May, 

IIIH, the reason of it \v;is sought for, but to no purpose. In the 
same circumstances now I should be worse. When I say my 
mind cannot be occupied as formerly, do not attribute it to my 
wishes. This is what I fear ; it makes me almost despair, makes 
me feel that I would rather die than live under such thoughts. I 
never could be happy if you thought so. My future will be my 
only evidence. My experience, which is ncn<.' /r <>;.;/ evidence, 
I cannot give you. To keep company with females you know 
what I mean I have no desire. I have no thought of marry- 
ing, and I feel an aversion to company for such an end. In my 
whole life I have never felt less inclined to it. If my disposition 
ran that way, marrying might lead me back to my old life, but 
oh ! that is impossible. To give up, as I have to do, a life which 
has often been my highest aim and hope, is done with a sense 
of responsibility I never imagined before. This, I am conscious, 
is no light thought. It lies deeper than myself, and I have not 
the power to control it. I do not write this with ease ; it is done 
in tears, and I have opened my mind as I have not done before. 
How all this will end I know not, but cannot but trust God. It 
is not my will but my destiny, which will not be one of ease 
and pleasure, but one which I contemplate as a perpetual sacri- 
fice of my past hopes, though of a communion I had never felt. 
Can I adopt a course of life to increase and fulfil my present life? 
I am unable to give this decision singly. You will, I hope, 
accept this letter in the spirit I have written it. I speak to 
you in a sense I never have spoken to you before. In 
this letter I have opened as far as I could my inmost life. 
My heart is full and I would say a great deal more. Truly, a 
new life has opened to me, and to turn backward would be 
death. Not suddenly has it undergone this change, but it has 
come to that crisis where my decision must be made ; hence am I 
forced to write this letter. For its answer I shall wait with intense 
anxiety. Hoping you will write soon, my love to all. ISAAC." 

The next letter, though addressed to his brothers, was ap- 
parently intended for the whole family, and begins with more than 
Isaac's customary abruptness : 

" Chelsea, December 28, 1842. I will open my mind so that 
you can have the materials to judge from as well as myself. I 
feel unable to the task of judging alone correctly. I have given 
an account of my state of mind in my former letter, but will add 
that what is there said describes a permanent state, not a mo- 
mentary excitement. You may think that in a little time this 
would pass away, and I would be able to resume my former 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKEK. 173 

life ; or, at least, you could so adapt things at home that al- 
though I should not precisely occupy myself as then, still it 
might be so arranged as to give me that which I feel necessary 
in order to live somewhat contented. 

" I am sorry to say I can in no way conceive such an ar- 
rangement of things at home. 'Why ? I hate to say it, yet we 
might as well come to an understanding. I have grown out of 
the life which can be received through the accustomed channels 
of the circle that was around me. I am subject to thoughts and 
feelings which the others had no interest in ; hence they could 
not be expressed. There, can be no need to tell you this you 
all must have seen it. How can I stop my life from flowing 
on? You must see the case I stand in. Do not think I have 
less of the feelings of a brother and a son. My heart never 
was closer, not so close as it is now to yours. . . . 

" Do not think this is imagination ; in this I have had too 
much experience. The life that was in me had none to com- 
mune with, and I felt it was consuming me. I tried to express 
this in different ways obscurely, but it appeared singular and no 
one understood me. This was the cause of my wishing to go 
away, hoping I would either get clear of it or something might 
turn up, I knew not what. One course was advised by the 
doctor, and you all thought as he did that was to keep com- 
pany with the intention of getting married. This was not the 
communion that I wanted or that was congenial to my life. 
Marrying would not, I am convinced, have had any perma- 
nent effect. It was not that which controlled me, then or now. 
It is altogether different; it is a life in me which requires 
altogether different circumstances to live it. This is no dream ; 
or, if it is, then have I never had such reality. . . . 

" When I wrote last it struck me I might secure what I need 
at Brook Farm, but that would depend greatly upon how you 
answer my letter. If you do as perhaps you may, I will go and 
see whether I could be satisfied and how it is, and let you know. 
" So far had I written when your letter came. . . . You 
appear to ask this question : What object have you in contem- 
plation ? None further than to live a lip agreeable to the mind I 
have, which I feel under a necessity to do." 

" Chelsea, December 30, 1842. To MOTHER: I am sorry to 
hear that you feel worried. My health is good, I eat and sleep 
well. That my mind is not settled, or as it used to be, is no 
reason to be troubled, for I hope it is not changing for the worse, 
and I look forward to brighter days than we have seen in 



, 74 TiiKoi'Gii FAITH. [May, 

that arc gone. I was conscious my last letter was not 
written .in a manner to give you case; but to break those old 
habits of our accustomed communion was to me a serious task, 
and done under a sense of duty, to let you know the cause of 
the disease I was supposed to labor under. That is past now, 
and I hope we shall understand each other, and that our fu- 
ture will be smooth and easy. The ice has been broken. That 
caused me some pain but no regret, and instead of feeling sor- 
row, you will, I hope, be contented that I should continue the 
path that will make me better." 

(TO BE CONTINl KIl.t 



THROUGH FAITH. 

WHEN in the west we see the sun declining, 

We know some land 
Beyond our sight is glorious with his shining ; 

On mountains grand 
He streaks the mist with gold and purple splendor; 

Or in the vale 
He softly parts, with fingers long and slender, 

The petals pale 
Of flowers hiding midst the flitting shadows ; 

Then hies away 
To light the hill-tops and the low, green meadows 

With full-blown day. 
He flies to where the stately river marches, 

And in the spray 
Of cataracts he stretches rainbow arches. 

The roundelay 
Of waking bird he tunes to joyous metre, 

And all the white 
New day is purer and full trebly sweeter 

Because of night 
Thou soul, amidst the shades of sorrow faring, 

Lift up thy face ; 
Somewhere thy brother is but duly sharing; 

God knows thy place, 
And in His own good time will still thy aching, 

And lead the way, 
And show thee where the dawn is grandly breaking 

For thy fair day. MARGARET HOI.MKS. 




1 890.] A PEASANJ HOME. 



A PEASANT HOME. 

So you have never been, you say, in one of our country 
houses, in one of the houses of our peasantry ! You will not 
have long to say that. Come up on this little hill, and look all 
round you, and take your choice. I can make an excuse for 
calling at any one of them, Mr. Jonathan Columbus. 

" That house away in the fields with the orchard near it." 

" And the glimpse of sunlight resting on the gable-wall ? " 

" Yes." 

" Good ! that is Sylvie Kiely's. I'll just take him the Boston 
Pilot that I got to-day. Poor Sylvie will be glad to get it, to- 
know if they're thinking of th' ould land in thim furren parts. 
And he'll talk of John Boyle O'Reilly as if he knew him from 
a child." 

Now, then, we go ! You see the homes of our peasantry are 
scattered over the face of the country ; not gathered in groups, 
but standing in detached buildings here and there. It was not 
always so. Under the chieftains they were gathered around the 
stronghold. But when tanistry was broken up, the old Irish 
custom of gavelkind, or subdividing the land, continued; and so r 
on the death of the father, when the sons got their portions, 
they built houses for themselves as near the old home as pos- 
sible. The group of houses thus formed was called in some 
places " the street," in others " the town " ; and from it we have 
the word " townland." The whole farm or townland was called 
after the father ; and hence such names as Ballymurphy, or 
Murphy's town ; Ballykelly, or Kelly's town; Ballycahan,' or Cahan's 
(Kane's) town, and so on. When we go home I will place 
Joyce's Irish Names of Places Explained in your hand, and if it 
does not entertain and satisfy you, you haven't a spark of either 
patriotism or antiquarian lore. For us Irishmen it has more 
interest than any novel, and day after day we turn to it with 
new delight. 

God help us ! look at that care-worn poor woman, and that 
" dragged-looking " house and place. There is landlordism ! That 
poor woman's husband died a few months ago died, I verily 
believe, of a broken heart. His landlord (God forgive him !) 
ran him to death as sure as ever a blood-hound ran down a 
croppy in olden days. The poor man's sons were in Australia, 



i 7 e A PEASANT //O.I/A. [May, 

and his wife's brothers in America, and " they'd send " as the 
poor man often told me "the 40, and the 50, and the 60 
ier": and every penny of it would have to go to the land- 
lord. 

"Why would he give it?" 

" \\'Jiv? Because he was a fool ! Yet, mind, I for one, Jona- 
than Columbus, would be slow to blame him. Until we should 
be put in his position we could hardly realize his motives or 
his actions. There's many a man, and he'd shoulder a pike or 
a gun and take to the hillside far rather than see his poor wife 
and little ones flung aimlessly and helplessly on the roadside. 
Things, however, have taken a different turn, thank God ! The 
tenant now snaps his fingers at the landlord, and bids him do 
his best, when he will not do what is fair, or leave it " to the 
saying of two men "; for he knows he has the sympathy of his 
race at both sides of the water, an association with plenty of 
money to fall back upon, and the public opinion of the civilized 
world to judge between him and his oppressor ; and he knows, 
moreover, that the end is near, and ' God send it ! ' 

We cross the road here, sir ; over the fence, and into my 
aunt's farm. She lived a maiden life ; she' is dead. Do not ask 
me her character de mortuis (you know) nil nisi bonum but, 
troth, she was a tartar ! As I look around, old thoughts of boy- 
hood come upon me. We used to call this " the high field," 
and that " the white field," the one over there " the fort field," 
and the one next to it " the new field," and the long one " the 
clover field." There was no field in the whole of them like this 
for " musheroons." It was a wonder how we escaped poisoning 
ourselves. We'd come out here and fill our little caps or hats 
with mushrooms, or hang them on a " roper " (a wiry kind of 
weed growing in the fields), and then we'd go in to Mrs. Lanigan's. 
Mrs. Lanigan was the herdwoman my aunt had, and indeed her 
own son Jim was always the ringleader. We'd pull out the 
bit of fire and roast the mushrooms, and Mrs. Lanigan had 
always a small, sooty little bag hanging near the chimney, in 
which she kept her salt sure not a grain of salt would we 
leave in Mrs. Lanigan's salt-bag. And then we'd kneel down 
on the floor (where we had made three holes) and play marbles 
the rest of the time ; but on the first intimation that Mrs. 
Lanigan was coming, I tell you we would start. There's Mrs. 
Lanigan's old cowel (the ruined walls) standing there. She went 
to America, and Jim behaved the best son that 'ever breathed to 
her. 



1890.] A PEASANT HOME. 177 



From what various sources do we pick up our little crumbs 
of knowledge ! Three items in my inventory are connected with 
that old house. The first time my aunt drove me here, Jim's 
brother Patsy Patsy was a pedlar was ordered to take up the 
horse. " What name shall we call the steed, young gentleman ? " 
Now I thought he meant to sneer at me when he called me young 
gentleman, and sulkily therefore kept silent. " We'll call him 
Lord Edward ! " continued Patsy. Fancy me, a boy in the upper 
form at school, knowing Euclid, algebra, conic sections, and what 
not in the National School, and did not know who on earth Lord Ed- 
ward Fitzgerald was, never had heard his name ! That is the way 
the Irish National system of education, under the care of the govern- 
ment we have, teaches Irish national history. But we'll change that. 

My second scrap of knowledge was about Shakspere, and 
it was from Patsy again. He had a shaggy dog called " Romeo." 
In my universal knowledge, I thought this was simply adding 
the letter o to Rome, and condemned it like a man. Patsy 
took me aside, and told me the story of Romeo and Juliet. (A 
word about Romeo the dog, as his end, like that of his famous 
namesake, was tragical. He was great at hunting Mrs. Downey's 
cat. One day we urged him to follow the cat up a tree ; but 
in attempting to get at one of the outer branches where the cat 
had taken refuge, he lost his balance, fell, and broke his back. 
We buried him, and over his grave vowed vengeance on the 
cat. We kept our word, and left the cat dead in a drain. Next 
day I was sent to reconnoitre and report how Mrs. Downey bore 
the loss. I found her carding wool by the fire, singing away for 
herself, and on the tail of her gown there sat the cat !) The 
third was when, one glorious summertide, Patsy gave me an old 
discolored, dog-eared copy of Milton, and I lay on the grass and 
read it with as much avidity and delight as a child might some 
wonderful giant or ghost story. 

And now here we are. There's poor Merrylass come to 
meet us ! " Good old dog ! There, now, you wag your tail 
and whine with joy when you are patted ; or may be 'tis glad 
you are to see us, poor old Merrylass ! " 

That is Mary, the eldest girl, coming to meet us ; tall, easy 
of carriage, elastic of foot. Of her own notion, she learned music 
and the languages with the intention of becoming a governess, 
but the poor old man could not bear to part with her. It is 
well that you can make yourself invisible, Columbus, or she 
would never have come thus far to meet us. Her countenance 
is full, and pleasing, and happy, you see. 

VOL. LI. 12 



A /'/.-.f.v.-M '-/ //('.i//-.. [May, 

i "iood-morro\v, Mary; how arc you?" 

" Oh ! indeed, we ought to ' spread green rushes under your 
feet.' Where were you this year and more, pray, Mr. Stay- 
away ? " 

" Wait, now, Mary, and I'll explain. But first, is father at 
home ? // is the icny, av you plaise, ma'am, that I came over 
with the Boston Pilot to him that I got to-day." 

" It is the way, and so you wanted an excuse. Aren't you 
coming in ? " (We go in, Columbus.) 

"And how are you, Mr. Kiely?" 

" I oughtn't to spake to you at all. Wisha, what did we do 
to you that you didn't come next or near us this month of 
Sundays?" (Take it for certain, Columbus, you'll scarcely meet 
among any people with such friendship as among the Irish.) 

" Here's an American paper, Mr. Kiely, I brought you." 

" Theresa, Mary, bring me my spectacles. The Boston Pilot. 
Ah! poor Boyle O'Reilly and County Louth and '67. I saw him 
once, every inch a soldier; coal-black hair, slight moustache, his 
shoulders thrown back. I wish Ireland had every friend as 
true-hearted as Boyle O'Reilly ! " 

"Or as able, Mr. Kiely. But -Irishmen seem to be making 
their mark." 

Look, Columbus, this is the kitchen sanded floor, wide, open 
hearth, huge fire, and over there is the corner where the poor 
and the homeless may rest. Often and often I've seen them 
there ; and when the night-time came I've seen them bring in 
a bart of straw from the haggard, and spread it there near the 
wall, and turn the kitchen chair this way to lift their head 
(serve as a pillow), and get old sacks or some old things thrown 
over them for a coverlet, and sleep there as soundly as the pro- 
verbial sailor-boy on the top-mast. No roofing between you 
and the wheaten thatch, and the thatch is almost as white as 
the day when the threshers' hands made seed of it in the barn. 
Some common chairs, a dresser for delf and pewter ware look 
how the ruddy light of the fire plays upon it ; a clevey for 
tins, wooden pails on the <rtf-stool, and pots and pans under it ; 
a settle-bed 

' Contrived a double debt to pay : 
A bed by night, a place for chairs by day." 

Poor Thady Pate, the servant-boy he died in the lunatic asy- 
lum afterwards, poor fellow! he used always to call it "his gi<, r ." 
" Won't you come and sit in the room ? " (The apartment 
used as a parlor is always called among the unpretentious the room.} 



1890.] A PEASANT HOME. 179 

"I'd rather sit here by the fire, now." 

" Mary, bring out one of the room chairs." 

" No, Mary. There is no chair half so comfortable as the 
good old soogan chair." 

" Now, don't sit there," Mary says in her sweetest voice 
" come on into the room." Of course we can do nothing but 
obey. But did you notice the vessel over the fire, Columbus ? 
That was a pot of potatoes, and it meant that they would be 
soon ready for the boys' supper, and that was another reason 
why I followed Mary. You have hardly an idea of how deli- 
cate-minded our people are about such things. Among the 
poorer classes it is the custom to take all their meals in the 
kitchen or common apartment. The kitchen is the place where 
they sit and talk ; it has nothing in common with the kitchens 
of the great, except the fact of the meals being cooked there. 
The kitchen is the place where the poor take their meals as well 
as cook them. Often and often I've seen, when a neighbor has 
come in for a skanachus (gossip), and if a meal is served up 
while he is there, I've seen him look towards the fire, and most 
industriously occupy himself in counting the coals. And when 
he's asked to " turn around, man alive, and help us," I've seen 
him persistently refuse, till at length a compromise is come to 
by his taking in his hand a potato or some slight portion of 
" what is going." The beggar, if he or she be there, is just 
sitting on the stool in the corner by the fire, and given a plateful 
of potatoes. God bless our Irish poor ; what kindly hearts they 
have for one another ! . . . We follow into the room a 
nice, square apartment, uncarpeted, but the boards are " as white 
as a hound's tooth." Small but tasteful prints hang on the 
papered wall ; some are religious, the Blessed Virgin or the 
Sacred Heart ; some are national, portraits of the Irish leaders ; 
and some are slightly amatory. A square table occupies the 
centre, with the Bible and other books on it. Here in the angle 
is what you will not see in every peasant home, a book-case 
with a nice collection of books. A lounge, once fashionable but 
somewhat aged and faded now, is at one side, and chairs fill up 
the empty space at the other. There is a door in the opposite 
wall. It stands ajar, and you can see a statue of the Sacred 
Heart on a little altar with gauze curtains and a red lamp light- 
ing. Towards the side you get a glimpse of a patchwork quilt, 
as if spread on a bed. 

" Mary, daughter, where is Theresa ? Tell her her friend is here." 

" Theresa is not well, father ; she has got a sore throat." 



i8o -I /'/-..-/ \.4.vy HOME. 

Turning to us she says frankly : " \\Vve got no girl, and poor 
Theresa has to get up every morning at five o'clock to have 
the cows milked and everything ready by the time the factory 
car calls. But she'll be here immediately, never fear, when she 
knows you're hi 

Columbus, I tell you, be on your guard. 

" Her cheeks are like the snow-drops, 

Her neck is like the swan ; 
Her face it is the fairest 

That e'er the sun shone on 

That e'er the sun shone on ; 
And dark blue is her e'e " 

Hush, there she is, one of our gentle Irish girls, graceful, gra- 
cious, and modest. 

"Theresa, I was sorry to hear you were unwell." 

" It is a thing of nothing. Mary makes mountains of mole- 
hills. But account for yourself. We might all be dead and 
buried ttnknoicnst to you." 

" Mary, won't you get something, child ? " says the father, 
meaning some refreshment. 

"Of course there's no use in offering him wine. You'll wait 
and have a cup of tea ; we were just going to take it. Here's 
Nannie, too, your pet. You haven't seen her yet; she's just 
come home from school. And she has all her prizes to show you." 

" Poor Nan ! Come over and give me your hand. How you 
have grown since you were a little witch climbing up my knee! 
And the auburn locks are there still! Good luck to my pet!" 

" You will wait and have a cup of tea, now, won't you ? '" 
And Theresa puts on her sweetest smile as she pleads. There's 
nothing for it, I suppose, Columbus, but to give in. 

" Very well. Father and I will go out and have a walk in 
the fields for a while; the evening looks tempting." 

Accordingly, we take our hats; and the last thing we over- 
hear as we pass out the door is one of the girls bidding the 
other to "hasten and put down the pan for a s/iia-cakc." And 
outside the evening sunlight is casting a glamour of romance on 
the open fields and the green hills beyond. Oh ! that we had 
peace in our own dear land ! "So you went into the land courts,. 
Mr. Kiely. What reduction did you get ? " " Yerrah ! we were 
robbed from that schamer of a landlord. My father took a laise 
at the time that whate and everything was dear ; it was a coard 
around our neck ever since. The rent was double, and more than 
double, the government valuation. The valuation was 90, 
and he was dragging 195 out of us. It was that that killed. 



1890.] A PEASANT HOME. 181 

the poor woman herself (meaning his wife). She meant to make 
something of thim little girls, and sure 'tis the way she killed 
herself in the end." 

" I hear it said, Mr. Kiely, that within two years there will be 
no rent paid in Ireland." 

" See now, my respected gentleman, I can't for the life of me 
see how rent could be paid. I was making a calculation with 
myself the other night, when I could not sleep, and here it is. 
Will you sit on this sop of hay ? the legs aren't as soople with 
me as they used and we will go through it. My ! how nate the 
sun is setting there behind th' ould castle. Glory be to God ! " 
(and he reverently raises his hat). 

" It is lovely, indeed, Mr. Kiely ; but come to the calculation, 
if you please." 

" Give a man 100 acres of land, houses and out-offices all 
built, fences made, gates put down (and mind, all that is done in 
Ireland by the tenant, or by his father before him). Let the land 
be average good land, not the very primest, we will say, but 
good upland. He has to stock it. 30 cows, ' wet and dry ' 
(i.e., summer and winter), will want every perch of 75 acres ; 30 
sheep, 7 acres ; 2 horses and a jennet, 8 acres ; 5 acres green 
crops ; 5 acres corn. That is the best way he could farm the 
100 acres. We want first to see what that farm makes: 30 
cows, allowing almost 3 casks of butter to the cow, say, not 90 
but 85 casks* in all, at .3 a cask, ,255; calves, say 25 at 6 
each, ,150; 30 sheep, allowing for loss, profit i $s. each, 
.37 los. The sum total of receipts from the farm is ^352 los. 
Now for the working of that farm ; and in order not to compli- 
cate matters, we will suppose that he is a single man, and has to 
pay for all the labor on the farm : He will require 3 men, at 
I os. a week each, 78 (fancy a man having to work and to 
support himself and his family on los. weekly) ; 3 women, 
to find themselves in everything ; a first-class dairy-woman he 
will be wanting if he is going to make first-class butter ; it is 
an awfully low figure, but say .30 for her, and 22 los. each for 
the two others, ,75. Wear and tear and loss some say i los. 
a cow, some say 2 a. cow, represents the wear and tear and 
loss say 50 ; smith and carpenter, shoeing horses, doing ploughs, 
mending machinery, cart-wheels, carts, gates, doors, .10; cooper- 
age, 85 firkins at 2s. each, 8 los. ; salt and coloring, etc., i ; 
tollage in market, 6d. each, luck penny to buyers, 6d. each, and 
other trimmings, say .15; fuel, ;io; half poor-rate and county 
cess, 22 los. ; interest on .1,000 that is laid out on stock, 

* A cask or firkin contains about seventy pounds of butter. 



is: A PEASANT HOME. [May, 

horses, sliL-rp. machinery, carts, dairy utensils, hous-j furniture, at 
5 per cent., 50 ; cost of building out-offices for 30 head <>t 
cattle, stabling, suitable house, and all belonging's, 1,000 at 3 
per cent., 30. The man does not employ a steward ; he acts 
as steward himself; but there is no reason why the landlord should 
have a right to his labor ; acting as steward, \ a week, 50. 
That makes a total of .390 ios., as against .352 los. coming in. 

The occupier of the land has equal rights with the landlord, 
and, indeed, perhaps greater in the natural proceeds of the land.* 
Every penny of the above the tenant has put on the soil to work 
it; and if he does not pay for labor, if it is worked by himself 
and his family, are they to be allowed no compensation for their 
labor ? If you go to any sensible farmer, I'll engage, he will 
tell you there is no exaggeration in thim figures. 

" See that little villain ot a calf. Sook, you thief, Sook f 
There, now, out of our 30 cows this year, what have we but 12 
calves, and another angishore like that one. Still I couldn't bear 
to see 'em hit that craythureen with a sthraw ; herself was so 
fond of him, God be good to her ! This world is a world of 
crosses, God help us ! " 

I am listening, Columbus. Speak and don't be plucking me 
that way by the sleeve. " If his figures be correct, how cou'd 
rent be paid at all ? What proves too much proves nothing." 
" Do you see the way our people slave and toil ? Do you see 
how they deprive themselves in the matter of food, clothes, and 
rest ? If they lived and labored and dressed as their class do 
in other lands, in England or in your own country, Columbus, 
and if they charged interest on their own investment, they could 
pay no rent to the landlord from the natural product of the 
land. They live on the cheapest diet, they labor almost night 
and day, wet and dry ; their dress is not expensive, and they 
turn everything (as they say themselves) to the best account." 

" I tel 1 you, my respected gentleman, it almost makes me 
mad, when I go through thim calculations. If we kept books, 
like shop-keepers, the lunatic asylum would be the end of us. 
And soon America will hunt us out of the beef-market, as it 
has already done out of the corn and milling line. The tenants 
have surely a bad look-out, but the landlords have the d 1's 
own entirely, and h ll's cure to 'em ! But there is Annie 
coming out for us." We go, Columbus. 

"The land is no longer the exclusive property of (he landlord. By the beneficent li-j 
tion of Mr. Gladstone's former government, the tenant has now equal proprittorijl rif/its in the 
soil which he cultivates and if justice were done him, greater rtfhls for is it not by his : 
and toil that the land of Ireland has in almost all cases Iwen raised t its prrvnt economic 
value?" (Freeman's Journal. January 8, 1800; Most Rev. Dr. McCan: 



1890.] A PEASANT HOME. 183 

A table-cover, white as snow, is laid on ; tea service not 
expensive but pretty ; square little cakes of bread, fresh and 
steaming ; prints and rolls of home-made butter ; a ewer of sweet 
cream ; glass dishes of honey and preserver, and a comfortable 
fire. Who would say against a peasant home ? Annie, the 
youngest, will not sit down at table, but at her eldest sister's 
desire takes down her violin, screws up the cat-gut, and gives 
us some of our merry Irish music. I may tell you that Annie 
selected the fiddle when she saw that Mary could not have a 
piano after learning it ; and I may teU you also that poor 
Annie is going to be a nun. God bless her ! 

Oh ! but they had the good mother. They will still point out 
to you' the spot in the little flower-garden where she would hide 
herself and pray. Two rosaries daily, and one of them offered 
(like Job of old) for her children. Every week of her life she 
was at the altar-rails, generally at twelve o'clock Mass, and there 
she'd stay praying in the chapel when all the rest were gone. 
It would be two o'clock of a Sunday before she would get home 
to her breakfast. And when they'd remonstrate with her, she'd 
say : " We're not here for long, and we must only make the 
most of it." She died on the eve of St. Patrick's Day. The 
children were all that day going about getting St. Patrick's 
crosses made ; and she was as busy as any of them, and as 
happy, making them. And mind you, there was a man living 
near that the neighbors did not like, and they used not to 
make free with him. He had his little niece living with him. 
" There will be no one to make a cross for poor little Joanna ! " 
she said. And didn't she make it herself, and steal up through 
the orchard, and call little Joanna over the wall and give it to 
her ; and when she came back she said : " I am glad now ; 
Joanna won't be without a Patrick's cross. The poor child won't 
be crying." They were at their tea in the evening. She was 
for the rails next morning, and she wouldn't take anything, only 
a cup of tea. The clock struck six, and she said : " Let us kneel 
down and say the Angelus." About an hour afterwards she 
complained of an inward pain. She asked for some Lourdes 
water that was there, but it gave her no relief. She asked for 
it a second time, and they thought to get her to take burnt 
whiskey ; they pretended it was the Lourdes water ; but the 
moment she tasted it she refused it. She suddenly grew very 
bad, and called for the priest. A messenger was hurried to put 
the saddle on the horse and go for priest and doctor, but it 
was too late ! 

She raised herself on the bed by an effort, and tried to put 



1 84 Nu. A'/.w />:, AU//.V/-:. [May 

up her hand to make the sign of the cross, but was unable. 
They lifted her hand, and she blessed herself. She motioned to 
be laid back ; her head rested on the pillow, her lips murmured 
the holy names of Jesus and Mary, and all was over ! 

God bless our Irish mothers ! We have, thank God ! thousands 
and thousands of such angelic women beautifying and blessing 
the Peasant Homes of our Land ! R. O'K. 



NIL NISI TE, DOMINE. 

THE hastening flight of summer wings, 
The haunting sense of passing things, 
The emptiness the future brings 

Echo a dull refrain 

Within the time-imprisoned soul, 
That hears the clanging seasons roll 
Their changes round the shifting pole 
In monotones of pain. 

What trust within the restless years, 
Their broken hopes and pulsing fears 
A desert watered by our tears, 

And cockle for the grain! 

One Hope shines out from Galilee, 
The Life that walked the raging sea, 
And blossomed on the bitter tree 

That looked o'er Kedron's plain. 

One faith amidst the fleeting sense, 
One stay unto our impotence, 
One steadfast buckler of defence 

Against a world's disdain. 

One Love to flame our weak desire, 
And like Isaias' coal of fire. 
Chasten the heart that dare aspire 

To that eternal fane. 

One Hope, one Faith, one Love, O Lord, 
To lead us with a triple chord 
Three rays from thy eternal Word 

To make the dark way plain. 

COND B. PALI i v 



1 890.] THE ANTI-CA THOLIC LA ws IN NE w HAMPSHIRE. 185 



THE ANTI-CATHOLIC LAWS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 

II. 

RETURNING to the pioneers, it is certain that the anti-Cath- 
olic sentiments of the New Hampshire colonists were heightened 
by their sufferings during the French and Indian wars, when the 
settlements along the Piscataqua were repeatedly ravaged, 
especially Dover and the Oyster River settlement (now Dur- 
ham), and the inhabitants in scores massacred or carried into 
captivity. These attacks were supposed to be encouraged by 
the Catholic missionaries of Maine. The Earl of Bellomont, in 
his address to the General Assembly of New Hampshire, August 
7, 1699, speaks of the eastern Indians as "cruel and perfidious 
by nature, but taught and encouraged to be more so by the 
Jesuits and other Popish missionaries from France, who were not 
more industrious during the war to kill your people treacherously 
than they have since the peace to debauch these Indians from 
their former subjection to the crown of England " (N. H. Prov. 
Papers, iii. 66). Many historians, even of our day, have made 
similar assertions. The Rev. Mr. Baird, in his Huguenot Emigra- 
tion to America, speaks of the "savage raids from Canada being 
instigated, and sometimes conducted, by Jesuit: missionaries." The 
absurdity of this need not be demonstrated to Catholics. What- 
ever sympathy these missionaries might have had for their flock, 
and it was undoubtedly great ; however loyal they might 
naturally be to the French government, which claimed a prior 
right to the greater part of Maine, it is certain they never counte- 
nanced the cruelties of the Indians. The latter had endured too 
many wrongs from the English settlers not to avail themselves 
of every opportunity of vengeance. They needed no stimulating. 
It was the base perfidy of Major Richard Waldron, of Dover, in 
1676, when he invited the Indians to a sham fight and then 
treacherously seized several hundred of them and sent them to 
Boston, where some of them were hung and others sold as 
slaves in Barbadoes and elsewhere, that crowned all other wrongs 
and made them swear implacable revenge. It was this that led 
to the horrors at Dover and Oyster River in 1689 and 1694, in 



i86 Tut: A. \-rr-C.4 THOI.IC LA '.s i\ \i if HA. \trsniKi-:. [May, 

the former of which M.iji-r \V;il<ln>n him-elt" expiated his mis- 

i- in so terrible a in. inner. 

When war broke out attain in 1703, called Queen Anne's 
\Var, I.ieuten.int-CiDvernor Partridge, ( ,f New Hampshire, pro- 
claimed a general f.ist September 23, not only "that su> > eta might, 
under the good conduct of Heaven, attend the forces sent against 
the bloody and murderous salvages, and just revenge be taken 
of the perfidious enemy for the innocent blood by them shed," 
but " that the Protestants in Europe might be preserved and 
prevail," etc.* And April 29, 1704, all Frenchmen were ordered 
to be registered, and all French Roman Catholics to be forth- 
with made prisoners of war.f The few Huguenot settlers, how- 
ever, could not be suspected of sympathy with the Canadian 
schemes, and seem never to have been molested. Among these 
were the Janvrin, Chevalier (now Knight), and Jaques families, 
which have been perpetuated to this day. It was a Lieutenant 
Jaques who killed the saintly Father Rale at Norridgewock in 
1724. If he belonged to the last-named family, as seems not 
impossible, he was perhaps actuated by the venom of a Hugue- 
not, rather than zeal in the English cause. 

In this connection it might be mentioned that it was a 
native of New Hampshire who had command of the expedition 
to Norridgewock in 1722 for the purpose of capturing Father 
Rale. This was Colonel Thomas Westbrook, a member of the New- 
Hampshire Council under Governor Vaughan, and one of the 
wealthiest men of Portsmouth, but who ended his days in Maine, 
where he had accepted a government office. Failing in the 
chief object of his raid on Norridgewock, he pillaged Father 
Rale's house and church, and carried away his " strong box," 
containing, among other things, a dictionary of the Abenaki 
language, begun by the missionary as early as 1691, now pre- 
served in the library of Harvard College ; and also his hand- 
book of theology, the Medulla Theologies Mora/is, composed by 
Father Busenbaum, the celebrated German Jesuit, now in the 
public library of Portland, Me. The papers in the box were 
sent to the civil authorities in Boston, but the box itself, ot 
curious workmanship, was kept by Colonel Westbrook. His only 
child Elizabeth married Richard Waldron, grandson of Major 
Waldron, of Dover, and the box till a recent period was pre- 
served by her descendants, the VValdrons ot Portsmouth. Her 
great-grandson, the late Rev. Edmund Q. S. Waldron, of Pikes- 

* .V // 1'iwineiat J'affrs, vol. ii. 405. ) /6iti.. vol. ii. 439, 430. 



1890.] THE ANTI-CATHOLIC LAWS IN NEW HAM rsn IRE. 187 

ville, Md.,* a convert to the Catholic Church and a zealous 
priest, gave it to the Maine Historical Society in Portland, where 
it is "now carefully treasured. The same society is also in pos- 
session of Father Rale's church bell, discovered in 1808, which 
once summoned the Indians to their daily prayers, as related by 
the father in one of his letters to France (Lettres Edifiantes et 
Curienses, vol. vi.) 

The religious sentiments which animated the expeditions against 
the French in those days is evident from many official documents 
Governor Dudley, in his address to the General Assembly of New 
Hampshire April 7, 1707, speaks of the expedition to Nova Scotia 
and Acadie, to make, he says, " what spoil we can upon our ill 
neighbors the French, there inhabiting." And that same day he 
ordered a solemn fast on Wednesday, April 16, to obtain among 
other blessings " that the present wars may happily issue in the 
advancement of the Protestant religion and the glorious kingdom 
of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." f Among other fast days 
he proclaimed one, June 7, 1710, to pray "that our prisoners in 
the hands of the enemy may not be poysoned with the Romish 
religion, . . . that the true Protestant religion may be pro- 
pagated throughout the whole earth," etc. 

This anti-Catholic feeling is still more evident in the expedi- 
tion to Louisbourg in 1745. Whitefield, the noted English " revi- 
valist," was at that time in New England, and did all he could 
to fan the flame. He furnished the motto for Sir William Pep- 
perell's flag: Nil desperandum Christo duce Nothing should be 
despaired of with Christ for a leader thus giving the expedition 
the appearance of a crusade, as Belknap, the New Hampshire 
historian, confesses. One would think it was the Spanish setting 
forth against the Moors to crush the false Mahound. 

The Rev. Nicholas Gilman, the minister oi Durham at that 
time, || being at Kittery Point, heard Whitefield in one ot his 

* Father Waldron's line of descent from father to son, for six generations, is as follows : 

I. Major Richard Waldron, of Dover, killed by the Indians in 1689. 

II. Colonel Richard Waldron, councillor and chief-justice. 

III. Richard Waldron (who married Elizabeth Westbrook), long secretary o( the Province 
of New Hampshire, a councillor, judge of probate, and a great friend of Governor Belcher's. 

IV. Colonel Thomas Westbrook Waldron, an officer in the expedition to Louisbourg in 

1745- 

V. Daniel Waldron. 

VI. Rev. Edmund Quincey Sheafe Waldron. 

t N. H. Prov. Papeis, iii. 339, 340. t Ibid., ii. 607. 

$ Whitefield preached in Portsmouth February 25, 1745. Pepperell lived at Kittery Point, 
Me., a few miles from Portsmouth. The forces raised in New Hampshire against Louisbourg 
sailed from the Piscataqua March 23. Louisbourg surrendered June 17. 

|| The Rev. Mr. Gilman was the uncle of John Taylor Gilman, of Exeter, governor of New 
Hampshire in 1794 and 1795. 



i88 THE A\TI-ATHOUC LAW:. '.-HASH [May, 

prayers compliment Pepperell as having undertaken this expedi- 
tion, not from secular motives, bat because he had been " moved 
of the Lord." Mr. Oilman afterwards wrote a letter of reproval 
to Whitefield. telling him he was possibly mistaken in attributing 
Pepperell '* coarse to supernatural influences. And he warned 
Pepperell himself as to the importance of not omitting God from 
his scheme. 

Old Parson Moody of York, Me.,- was the chaplain of Pep- 
pereU's own regiment He is said to have beat up recruits for it 
with a drum, on the bead of which he inscribed bis own name 
as the first in the list, and to have shouldered an axe, vowing to 
destroy therewith all the images in the Jesuits' church at Louis- 
bourg. and afterwards to preach therein; which vow he is said 
to have fulfilled to the letter. 

And Deacon John Gray, of Biddeford, wrote General Pepperell : 
" Oh ! that I could be with you and dear Parson Moody in that 
church to destroy the images there set op, and hear the true 
Gospel of our Lord and Saviour there preached." 

Among the spoils brought home from Louisboorg was an iron 
cross, feur de lisee, still preserved in Cambridge, Mass. It was 
greatly injured some years ago in a fire, but has since been 
gilded and now hangs over the entrance of the library at Harvard 
College. And a church bell of six hundred pounds weight was 
brought to Portsmouth, Xj H., and presented by the officers of 
the expedition to Queen's Chapel, where it was pat ap March 
30, 1746. 

To this same chapel was given, a few years later, a baptismal 
font of African porphyritic marble, brought from another French 
Catholic church in Senegal in 1758, by Colonel John Tufton Mason, 
a descendant of John Mason, the early grantee of New Hamp- 
shire. This font was presented to Queen's Chapel in 1761 by 
Colonel Mason's daughters, and may now be seen in St John's 
Episcopal Church in Portsmouth. On its brass cover is graven 
the inscription, " Ex GaJluit manubiis afntd StiugaUiam." 

Governor Benning Wentworth, who was of old New Hamp- 
shire stock and understood the people, appealed more than once 
to their religious prejudices in order to stimulate them to action 
daring the French and Indian war. In his message of December 
II, 1754, he expresses great concern that so many captives taken 



. ' - 




1890.] Tut :. ' i So 

the previous summer should remain in the hands of the French, 
where, to use his words, "the young people are exposed to the era ft 
of the Romish clergy, and are in great danger of being corrupted 
with the pernicious principles of the Church of Rome, principles 
destructive of all societies but their own, and to be abhorred by 
every true Protestant," and he declares himself ready to do any- 
thing in their behalf, not merely to release them from captivity. 
but to " rescue them from the hands of the Romish clergy, who 
are more assiduous in proselyting them to their religion than any 
but those who have had the opportunity of seeing it can con 
ceive." * 

In his message of March 12, 1755, in view of the prepara- 
tions to resist the encroachments of the French, he says : M t he 
expense will be great, but neither that, nor any other considera- 
tion, can be put in the balance against impending tyranny, the 
loss of our civil and religious privileges, setting up Superstition 
and Idolitry (sic) in the room of the pure worship of the one living 
and true God. . . . Therefore let it not hereafter be told in 
Gain, or ever published in the streets of Askelon, that so many 
populous colonies of Protestants should tamely submit to entail 
irretrievable misery and bondage on the generations yet to be 
born (a burden which our forefathers could not bear) without 
making our strongest efforts to repel the threatening dan- 
ger." t 

And in his message of August 15, 1757, after the surrender 
of Fort William Henry, he urges the raising of fresh troops, and 
the use of every expedient to overcome the French, for, lie 
"nothing can be laid in the balance against our happy Constitu- 
tion in Church and State, nothing will avail us 1'rotestants when 
we become the abject slaves of Popery and 1'yranny. These are 
the calamities which we dread, but must inevitably be our lot 
unless we exert 0111 selves and use our utmost oliorts to make a 
stand against this powerful enemy now entering into the bowells 
(sic) of our country." \ 

Hut when peace was finally declared. Governor \\entworth dis 
continued his no-popery addresses, and spoke in the most deferefl 
tial manner of "his Most Christian Majesty i France," and even 
of " his Most Catholic Majesty " of Spain. 

It was at this period that, by way of avenging the massacre 
at Fort William Henry, Captain Rogers' noted company oi Rangers 
made a raid upon the Indians of St. Francis (i;-yi). and de- 
stroyed their chief village, taking care, however, to pillage the 

.V. H. Prov. Pttfm, vol. vi. 327. t //., vol. vl. 357. t /*., vol. vl. 60^3. 



190 Tax ANTI-CATHOLIC LAWS itr NMH //.I.I//'V/M I A. [May, 

church before they sot fire to it. Among the valuables is said 
to have been a silver Madonna of thirty pounds weight, which 
carried off by a soldier, who, probably finding it an impedi- 
ment in the disastrous march homeward, buried it for safety in 
the valley of the upper Connecticut. He doubtless died on the 
way perhaps of starvation, like so main of his comrades for 
he never returned for the silver Madonna, and it is said to 
lie still buried in some unknown spot in the Coos Meadows 
above Lancaster, N. H., perhaps to be brought to light 
years hence, like the celebrated Virgin of Montserrat in Spain, 
which lay buried for centuries after it was concealed from the 
Moon. 

Among the ministers who came to Governor Wentworth's 
assistance during this war was Parson McClintock, of Greenland, 
N. H., of " Scotch-Irish " origin, who rivalled Parson Moody 
in his zeal in using the secular arm. He not only aided in 
recruiting soldiers, but volunteered as chaplain, and took part 
in the expedition to Montreal in 1660. He lived to be the 
chaplain of the New Hampshire troops in 1775, and was at the 
battle of Bunker Hill. Trumbull, in his painting of that battle, 
depicts the parson in the midst, wearing his bands, and, if the 
writer mistakes not, ramming the shot into his musket with the 
force peculiar to his nature." 

Among the old anti-Catholic demonstrations in New i lamp- 
shire was the celebration of Guy Fawkes' day, at least in Ports- 
mouth and Exeter. Strange to say, this custom has been per- 
petuated to our day in the former town, where it is called 
" Pope's Night," the celebration being always in the evening.f 
In the Portsmouth Journal of October 31, 1885, is an absurd 

The writer cannol forbear mentioning another extraordinary minister of that day, 
though not of New Hampshire. This was Parson Smith, of Falmouth, Me. . who look a 
singular means of increasing his revenues. He was a member of a kind of joint-stock com- 
pany, formed to defray the expenses of private scouting parties in order to obtain Indian scalps, 
for which the government then offered sixty and a hundred pounds, according to circumstances. 
The stockholders had their share of this blood-money, and Parson Smith's dividend on one 
occasion may be seen from the following entry in his journal, June 18, 1757 : " 1 received 165 
pounds-3-3. of Cox, of my part of scalp money." It is not surprising that the parson became 
a wealthy man (Goold's Portland in the fast, page 191). 

One certainly need not be afraid of comparing any Catholic missionary of early times 
with such ministers as these above mentioned. 

t The celebration of " Pope's Night " in Boston is mentioned by Captain Francis Goclet, 
a New York merchant of last century, who, being in Boston in 1750, made the following entry 
in his journal : "After dinner went with some ot the Com'y to ye North end of the Towne . . . 
where we saw the Devil and the Pope, etc., caninl aht by the mob represented in Eflcgy 
very drole. . . This was called observing Popes Night," 

The celebration at tin.- mirth end generally ended on Copp's Hill, where the <; 
consumed in a bonfire, surrounded by a tumultuous crowd. Washington discountenanced 
this observance. 



1 890.] THE ANTI-CA THOLIC LA ws IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 191 

appeal to the citizens of that town for the better observance ol 
this anniversary. The writer expresses regret that so time- 
honored a custom should have found such scanty observance 
among thoughtful people the previous year, and declares " it 
would be a real loss if so wholesome and venerable a practice 
as the keeping of Pope's Night should prove to be in its deca- 
dence." 

After such encouragement, it is not surprising to hear that 
the evening of November 5, 1889, was duly honored by a satur- 
nalia among the Portsmouth roughs, though it does not appear 
there were any special anti-Catholic demonstrations. 

We now approach the Revolutionary period. The last royal 
governor of New Hampshire was John Wentworth, who was 
ordered in his commission from George III., August 11, 1766, 
to take the oaths appointed the first year of the reign of George 1. 
(1714) " for the further security of his Majesty's person and 
government, and the succession of the crown in the heirs of the 
late Princess Sophia, being Protestants, and for extinguishing 
the hopes of the pretended Prince of Wales and his open and 
secret abettors " ; likewise the oath of abjuration of the sixth 
year of George I. (1733) and his amended oaths of the seventh 
year of Queen Anne ; and to make and subscribe the declaration 
of the twenty-fifth year of Charles II., entitled "An Act for pre- 
venting dangers from Popish recusants." 

The members of- the Council and General Assembly, and all 
office-holders, were to take these oaths, and the governor was 
empowered to have them administered from time to time to all 
persons who came to reside in the province. That they were 
administered down to the very moment of the Revolution is 
proved by two original documents in the writer's possession. 
One is a commission from George III., signed by Governor 
Wentworth, February n, 1773, authorizing Ebenezer Thompson 
and four others, among whom is John Sullivan (afterwards general 
in the Revolutionary army), to administer to all officers of govern- 
ment, both civil and military, the oaths appointed by parliament, 
and " cause them to subscribe the test therein contained, together 
with the oath of abjuration." 

The other is a commission of April 13, 1775, also signed 
by Governor Wentworth, appointing Henry Rust and Joseph 
Sias special justices of the Court of Common Pleas, then sitting 
at Durham. To this commission is appended the following 
attestation of April 15, 1775 : " Then Henry Rust and Joseph 
Sias, within named, took the Oaths of Allegiance appointed by 



192 THE ANTI-CATHOLIC /../ irs /.v .\>:/r HAMPSHIRE. [May, 

Act of Parliament, as also tlic declaration against /V/Vrr, and 
took the oath of office before 

JOHN \Vi-.vi \\i IKTU, * 
I ,i;i \I:/KR TiH'Mi'Mix, f 

This was only two days before the battle of Lexington. 

The name of General John Sullivan has just been mentioned. 
He became prominent at the Revolutionary period, at which time 
lu was a resident of Durham. He was one of the most able 
generals in the Continental army, and was the personal friend of 
Washington. He aftenvards proved to be an efficient statesman, 
and was finally chosen chief magistrate of the State of New 
Hampshire. General Sullivan was as much of an Irishman as 
though he had been born in Cork, and should have been a 
Catholic, as he sprang from the O'Sullivans of Ireland a race 
noted for patriotism and fidelity to the Catholic religion. His 
father, also named John, one of the earliest Catholic emigrants 
to New Hampshire, was a native of County Kerry, and is said 
to have been educated on the Continent with a view to the 
priesthood. Abandoning this idea, he came to America, and as 
early as 1737 was married and living in that part of Dover, N. 
H., which is now Somersworth, near the dividing line from Ber- 
wick, Me. Here he taught school for years, and acquired a 
small tract of land, but at first eked out a livelihood in other 
ways, it appears. 

According to the records of the Somersworth parish, it was 
voted Dec. 15, 1737. "that John Sullivan be the schoolmaster 
for the ensuing year," and also that he "sweep and take care 
of the meeting-house, and have thirty shillings for so doing." 
What a fall from the priesthood, O Melchisedech ! This office 
of sexton seems hardly consistent with the tradition that he never 
attended the religious services in his neighborhood, whence it 
has been supposed he remained faithful to the church. Whether 
he subscribed the religious test, or evaded it, does not appeal. 
His wife Margery Brown, a native of Cork, was probably a Pro- 
testant, as she came to this country in her girlhood. At any 
rate all their children grew up Protestants inevitable, perhaps, 
in a country where there was no altar or priest. Three of 

This was not Governor Wentworth. but his kinsman, John Wentworth of Dover. 

t Ebenerer Thompson, the great-grandfather of the present writer, was then a member 
ol the General Assembly. At the Revolutionary period he was, for several years, a member 
of the Council and of the Committee of Safety. He was the first (o hold the office of sei-n-i.iry 
<( St.itt- in Sew Hamphire, which he retained for eleven years. He twice declined a seat in 
Congress, and for many years was judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and, for .\ time, of the 
Superior Court. 



1 890.] THE ANTI-CA THOLIC LA irs IN NE w HAMPSHIRE. 193 

their sons became governors, and all were prominent men. 
General Sullivan, the most eminent, was born in Somersworth in 
1740. He studied law in Portsmouth, and established himself in 
Durham. So violent was the prejudice here at that time against 
the Irish that a mob is said to have gathered around his house 
threatening to destroy it unless he would -consent to leave the 
town. But Sullivan was not a man to be driven. He addressed 
the mob from a chamber window, and by dint of native elo- 
quence and tact sent the crowd away in a good humor. He 
never left Durham except in the service of his country, and here 
he lies buried on a height overlooking the pleasant valley of 
Oyster River as it approaches the Piscataqua. 

At the close of the Revolutionary War General Sullivan lent 
his aid in preparing a form of government in New Hampshire, 
and showed himself opposed to the religious disqualifications for 
office still adhered to. Although the Declaration of Independence 
declared all men to be created free and equal, Protestants alone 
could hold office in the State, as before. An effort, howevet^ 
was made to abolish the religious test as early as 1781, when a 
revision of the temporary constitution of the State was under 
consideration. A committee was ordered to be chosen in each 
town to draw up the amendments thought necessary, and the 
people were required to vote thereon. The report of the Dur- 
ham committee, dated December 10, 1781, is worthy of notice 
not only for its purport, but because it must have been written 
by General Sullivan or Ebenezer Thompson, both of whose signa- 
tures are affixed thereto. We quote the following portion : 

" By the sixth article of the Bill of Rights the legislature is authorized to 
' empower the several towns, parishes, bodies corporate, or religious societies to 
make adequate provision at their own expense for the support and maintenance 
of public Protestant teachers of piety, religion, and morality.' This clause by 
implication excludes the legislature from authorizing those of any other denom- 
ination to make provision, even at their own expense, for the gbpport of public 
teachers of piety, religion, and morality. 

" It is somewhat singular that a Bill of Rights should declare that every 
individual has a natural and inalienable right io worship God according to the 
dictates of his own conscience, and at the same time exclude every denomina- 
tion of Christians except Protestants from being supported and protected by 
law, and even from holding any office in the State. This is not only evidently 
contradictory to the principles which it seems in other parts to hold up, but 
will have a tendency to prevent foreigners of every other religious persuasion 
from settling within the State." 

The committee therefore recommends " that in the sixth arti- 
cle of the Bill of Rights the words public teachers of the Chris- 
tian religion be substituted in lieu of the words 'public Protestant 

VOL. LI. 13 



194 THE A\TI-A 7//<</./r LA irs /.\ l Nt- if H AMI-SHIRE. [May. 

rs of piety, religion, and morality,' and that in all other 
where the word- ' I'rotesUnt religion' are u-ed a- a quali- 
tkation for office, the words Christian religion be substituted in 
lieu thereof."* 

All the votes in Durham were in favor of the above amend- 
ments, but this was net the case throughout the State, and the 
religious test became a part of the new constitution which took 
effect in 1784. 

An effort was again made to abolish this test when the con- 
stitution of New Hampshire was revised in 1792, but without 
success, though many of the leading men in the State were in 
favor of it. 

New Hampshire has so often been accused of bigotry on 
account of its test laws that, for the credit of the State, the 
names of some of the statesmen of 1792 who so far rose above 
the prejudices of that day as to vote for their abolition deserve 
to be mentioned. Besides General Sullivan and Judge Thomp- 
son, already spoken of, were the following : William Plainer, of 
Epping, afterwards governor of New Hampshire. Jeremiah Smith, 
of Exeter, judge of the Superior Court and governor in 1801. 
Daniel Humphreys, of Portsmouth, U. S. district attorney. Dr. 
Xathaniel Peabody, of Atkinson, member of Congress in 1 779-80. 
Dr. John Rogers, of Plymouth, who, as well as Dr. Peabody, 
claimed descent from John Rogers, who was burned at the stake 
at Smithfield in Queen Mary's time. Joseph Blanchard, of 
Chester, senator and councillor in 1 1800 and 1801. Colonel Nathan 
Hoit, of Moultonborough, a brave officer of the Revolution. 
Colonel David Copp, of Wakefield, who commanded a company 
for the defence of the Piscataqua harbor in 1775. Colonel David 
Page, of New Ipswich, a statesman and a man of inventive 
genius. Rev. William Hooper, a Baptist minister of Madbury. 
Dr. Samuel Tenney, a surgeon of the army all through the 
Revolutionary War. and afterwards judge of probate. Alriel 
Foster, of Canterbury, a graduate of Harvard, a Congregational 
minister, a magistrate, and a member of Congress for twenty 
years. Major Caleb Stark, of Dunbarton, oldest son of General 
John Stark, of Revolutionary celebrity. Daniel Beede, of Sandwich, 
judge of the Court of Common Pleas. And many others of like 
prominence in the State. 

Notwithstanding the influence of so many prominent men, it 
was again decreed in the revised constitution of 1792 that no 
one could be elected to the office of governor, or as State sen- 



* Town Records of Durham. 



1890.] THE ANTI-CATHOLIC LAWS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 195 

ator, or even as a member of the House of Representatives, 
"unless he be of the Protestant religion." And the sixth article 
in the Bill of Rights remained unchanged. 

The religious qualification for office remained in force for 
nearly a hundred years longer, and the sixth article in the Bill 
of Rights has never been amended. This was hardly a grievance 
in 1792, for there were no Catholics then in New Hampshire, 
unless a few laborers who had ventured in. The tendency ot 
the law, however, was to prevent emigrants from settling here, 
and thereby to injure the prosperity of the State. The cotton 
factories of Dover, begun about 1812, but not in full operation 
before 1816, and of no great extent till after 1821, drew thither 
a small colony of Irish, who acquired means enough to build a 
small wooden church in 1830.* But they were more desirous of 
obtaining work than of holding office, and gave but little thought 
to the religious test. By the middle of the century the railways 
and new industries of all kinds throughout the State had greatly 
increased the number of Catholics, especially in Manchester, 
Dover, Great Falls, and other manufacturing towns. Another 
attempt was made in 1851 to abolish the religious disqualifica- 
tions, but failed in spite of the efforts of General Franklin 
Pierce; and subsequently the influence of the "Know-Nothing" 
party strengthened for a time the feeling against their repeal. 
But twenty-five years later there was a second generation of 
Catholics, if not a third, who were Americans by birth and 
chafed under the restrictions, particularly those of any education 
and ability. The obnoxious laws, to be sure, were in a measure 
a dead letter, and several Catholics had already occupied a seat 
in the legislature, but their very existence was considered a 
stigma. It was universally felt that the time had come when the 
religious test must be abolished, in spite of more or less oppo- 
sition throughout the State. It was therefore decided in the 
constitutional convention of 1876 to submit the question again 
to the popular vote the following March, when the test of office 
was repealed by a vote of 28,477 against 14,231. This amend- 
ment, with some others, was confirmed by Governor Cheney 
April 17, 1877. Catholics were now legally eligible to office, 
and could feel that they were freemen indeed. Of the 307 mem- 
bers of the legislature in 1887-8 nineteen were Catholics, and 
in the legislature of 1889-90 there are twenty-four. 

* A church had been erected in Claremont seven years previous for the small number of 
Catholic settlers in that town. This was the first Catholic church in the State, and was chiefly 
built through the exertions of the Rev. Mr. Barber, a convert from the Episcopal Church, who 
was aided bv contributions from Canada. 



196 THE Axri-CA THOLIC LA irs IN NEW HA.MI-SIIIKK. [May,. 

A prominent Irishman in New Hampshire not long since as- 
serted in a public journal that the test laws of this State were 
..wing, "not so much to tin- 1'rotestants of English origin as to 
those from the North of Ireland "the so-called " Scotch-Irish," 
who, from 1718 onward, settled in 'Londonderry, N. 11., and other 
townships.* Strong as the latter undoubtedly were in their piv- 
judiccs against Catholics, enough has been said in this article to 
show that these laws were the legitimate outcome of the old pro- 
vincial laws and of the principles of the early English colonists. 

The last vestige of the old penal laws of England in the con- 
stitution of New Hampshire yet remains to be effaced. In the 
Constitutional Convention held in Concord, N. H.. January, 1889, 
under the presidency of ex-Governor Bell himself of Scotch- 
Irish origin for the purpose of again revising the constitution, it 
was resolved to once more submit to the popular vote whether 
Article Six of the Bill of Rights should be amended, and made non- 
sectarian. This article is as follows in the Constitution of 1 792 : 

" As morality and piety, grounded on evangelical principles, will give tin- 
best and greatest security to government, and will lay in the hearts of men the 
strongest obligations to due subjection ; and as the knowledge of these is most 
likely to be propagated through a society by the institution of the public wor- 
ship of the Deity and of public instruction in morality and religion ; therefore, to 
promote those important purposes the people of this State have a right to em- 
power, and do hereby fully empower, the legislature to authorize from time to 
time the several towns, parishes, bodies corporate, or religious societies within 
this State to make adequate provision at their own expense for the support and 
maintenance of public Protestant teachers of piety, religion, and morality. 

" Provided notwithstanding, That the several towns, parishes, bodies cor- 
porate, or religious societies shall at all times have the exclusive right of elect- 
ing their own public teachers, and of contracting with them for their support 
and maintenance. And no person of any one particular religious sect or de- 
nomination shall ever be compelled to pay towards the support of the teacher or 
teachers of another persuasion, sect, or denomination. 

" And every denomination of Christians, demeaning themselves quietly, and 
as good subjects of the State, shall be equally under the protection of the law ; 
and no subordination of any one sect or denomination to another shall ever 
be established by law." 

* The name of " Scotch-Irish " was given to these settlers at a later period. They invari- 
ably called themselves Scotch, and protested against being considered Irish, claiming that tlicir 
fathers were Scotch people who had settled in the North of Ireland, but had nevi-r intermarried 
with its inhabitants. The Rev. James McGregore, who came over with the first colony of them 
in 1718. and was their leader in civil and religious affairs for many years at Nutfiekl 1 1 .omlon- 
derry), in an address to Governor Shute, February 27, 1719-20, expresses his surprise that they 
were termed "Irish people" (A'. H. Pnv. Papers, iii. 770). In spite of this, an attempt has 
lately been made to enrol the names of many of their descendants, such as General Stark, the 
McClarys, etc., etc., among the Irish soldiers of the Revolution. This is a great error. lirsides, 
the military glory of the Irish in our country, as well as in Europe, is too well established for 
them to need claim a race that has always protested against being confounded with them. A 
tout seigneur tout honncur. 



1890.] BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 197 

The question of amending this article by striking out the word 
" Protestant " and some other words, to make it non-sectarian, 
was submitted to the people March 12, 1889. The entire vote 
in favor of it was 27,737 against 20,048, but as this majority 
lacked several thousand of the necessary two-thirds vote the 
amendment was not made. This was probably owing to the re- 
cent agitation of the school question in New England, and to the 
proposal to strike out the word " Christian " as well as " Pro- 
testant " perhaps in favor of the few Israelites in the State. 

New Hampshire still continues, therefore, to recognize, as it 
were, a state religion. MARY P. THOMPSON. 

Durham, N. H, 



BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL.* 

I. 

FOR more than half a century Dr. Henry Barnard has been 
active in sowing broadcast the seeds of educational wisdom. 
"' Declining numerous calls," says a friend and admirer, " to high 
and lucrative posts of local importance and influence, he* has 
accepted the whole country as the theatre of his operations, 
without regard to State lines, and by the extent, variety, and 
comprehensiveness of his efforts, he has earned the title of the 
American Educator." f He went abroad and studied the edu- 
cational systems and the educational methods of the various 
countries of Europe, and returned laden with the experiences 
of the older civilization. He explained to his countrymen what 
was being done for all grades of education in France and 
Germany, in Italy and Austria and Switzerland, and England and 
Ireland ; he brought home valuable documents giving facts and 
figures and suggesting improvements in methods. Nor did he 
confine his observations to state institutions. He also sat on 
the benches of the schools conducted by the Jesuits and the 
Christian Brothers, and found much to admire in their educa- 
tional methods, and without prejudice revealed the secrets of their 
great success. He went back to the educational traditions of 
the early Christian schools, and feared not to speak the truth, so 
far as he knew it, concerning the efforts of the Catholic Church 

* Normal Schools, and other Institutions, Agencies, and Means designed for the Professional 
-Education of Teachers. By Henry Barnard. Hartford. 

t John W. Stedman in the Massachusetts Teacher, January, 1858. 



198 />'/.<;/. v.v/.v<;.v <>/ //// .YcM'.i/.-//. Sci/on/ . [May, 

to preserve learning ami maintain schools during the ages of 
violence through \vliicli she was striving to civilize the barbarians 
who overran Kurope. Pamphlet after pamphlet ami volume 
after volume has he issued, embodying the past ami tlu- present 
of educational reformers and educational schemes, for the study 
and reflection of American teachers. This was a noble work, 
and nobly and well, according to his lights, did Dr. Henry 
Barnard perform it. All educators, knowing the man and his 
work, knowing the devotedness and the singlems- of purpose 
with which he labored during the past fifty years, will agree 
that he is worthy of any recognition, no matter how emphatic. 

The present volume on Normal Schools occupies 659 closely 
printed pages. It makes a survey of the workings of teachers' 
seminaries in Europe and the United States, and gives a rapid 
historical sketch of their establishment in various countries. \Ve 
in America borrowed our conception of the normal school from 
Germany, but the idea was conceived long before Germany had 
begun to make it a reality. As Dr. Barnard has not traced the 
origin and growth of the professional school for teachers, it may 
be of interest to do so and afterwards dwell upon the scope and 
function of such an institution. 

II. 

To every thoughtful teacher, in every age and clime, there 
must have frequently occurred the all-important question, " How 
can I best convey instruction to my pupils ? " And every success- 
ful teacher, after much experimenting and overcoming many 
difficulties, has managed to hit upon the method best suited to 
his talent and temperament on the one hand, and on the other 
to the capacities of the children under his charge. With religious 
orders, from the days of St. Benedict to the present time, teach- 
ing has held an important place, and educational traditions 
embodying the combined experiences of several successful mem- 
bers were handed down from generation to generation, and acted 
upon and developed to a certain extent. A century after the 
time of St. Benedict we find the Benedictine Common Rule 
insisting that the master who instructs the young religious shall 
be skilful.* Alcuin did much in his day to simplify instruction - r 
on one occasion we come upon him giving the Archbishop ol 
York a leaf out of his experience as regards the best method ot 
dividing and grading the classes of a school. loiter on, edtica- 

Cap. i. See Mabillon, tudes Momastiques, Paris, 1691, p. 47. 



1890.] BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 199 

tional traditions arc carefully cherished by the Brothers of the 
Common Life. Both John Sturm and the Jesuits learned from them 
many points in their systems of instruction. It is amusing to hear 
Sturm, forgetting the common source, speak of the method of 
the Jesuits as " a method so nearly like ours that it appears as 
if they had copied from us." * Now, while we would not detract 
one iota from the merits of Sturm as an organizer and educator, 
we must confess that we look upon the Jesuits as the legitimate 
depositaries of the traditions in which Thomas a Kempis was 
educated, for they were preservers of the faith that inspired The 
Imitation, while Sturm was organizing an adverse force to destroy 
that faith. Before the close of the sixteenth century the Blessed 
Peter Fourier of Mattaincourt, who possessed advanced ideas upon 
every subject to which he gave thought, prepared an admirable 
school manual for the Congregation of Notre Dame, which sister- 
hood he had organized. Alain, speaking of primary education 
in France during the two centuries preceding the Revolution, 
says : " In reality, the first normal schools were the novitiates of 
the teaching orders established during the last two centuries."! 
But these methods and traditions did not become public property ; 
they were confined exclusively to the members of the religious 
orders possessing them. Lay teachers had no share in them 
beyond the glimpses they got when receiving instruction as 
children. Lord Bacon saw the necessity of proper methods of 
teaching in his day, and wrote : " The art of well delivering 
the knowledge we possess is among the secrets left to be dis- 
covered by future generations." 

When we undertake to seek in our educational literature the 
origin of the normal school we are met with vagueness and ab- 
sence of documents. We turn to Buisson's Dictionnaire de I' Edu- 
cation. This is on the whole a valuable work. Many of the 
articles are solid and trustworthy. Many also are mere rubbish. 
M. Buisson and some of his co- laborers have their intellectual 
vision limited by the Revolution ; and so we are told in all 
seriousness that, in France, " this generous thought is due to the 
National Convention. . . . The history of normal schools 
dates from the year iii." (1795). \ The school established by the 
Convention was most abnormal. The ablest men in France were 
installed as professors that is, such as had escaped the guillo- 
tine. But these men had not the least conception of their duties. 
Laplace and Lagrange gave a few lessons in elementary mathe- 

* Barnard, Education in Germany, p. 233. 

t L' Instruction Primaire en France avant la Revolution, p. 129. } T. ii. p. 2,058. 



200 />'AV/.V.V/.\ .//A .\'< 'K.MAI. .SV/AW. [May, 

matics, .mil then started off explaining to a bewildered class their 
ni'M recent inatlieniatic.il discoveries. The Abbe Sicard was 
named professor of grammar; but he was content to interest his 
in the methods by which he taught his deaf-mutes. I.a- 
harpe made literature the cloak with which to cover his political 
disquisitions against the Jacobins. And so on with the others. 
The young men learned anything and everything except methods 
of teaching. The courses have been published, and they are a 
standing monument to the inefficiency of the work done. Within 
a few months the school was closed. The Convention, judging 
from the failure, could not appreciate the value of such an insti- 
tution, and voted against the establishment of normal schools in 
each district as chimerical. Fifty years before this vote was taken 
Hecker had demonstrated the success of normal schools in Stettin 
and in Berlin. But the first conception of the normal school ot 
which we have any record dates one hundred and fifty years 
back of the foundation of Hecker's institution. 



III. 

This conception originated with Richard Mulcaster. Mulcaster 
was for twenty years head-master of the Merchant Taylors' School, 
an experienced teacher, and a severe disciplinarian, to whom Ful- 
ler bears this testimony : " It may be truly said (and safely from 
one out of his school) that others have taught as much learning 
with fewer lashes." He was favorably looked upon by Queen 
Elizabeth his boys played twice before her and was good- 
naturedly bantered by Shakspere.f Edmund Spenser was under 
him, and imbibed some of his enthusiasm for English literature. 
Now, in 1581, Mulcaster published a valuable work on education, 
known as Positions, J in which, through much clumsiness of diction 
and no small share of pedantry, abound many wise suggestions. 
Among others does he suggest in his own awkward manner, and 
with apology as though he were too bold in his views, that a 
way might be found for the establishment of a seminary for ex- 
cellent masters, either without or within the universities. IK 
throws the hint out with the hope that the more it is thought of 

Worthies, vol. ii. p. 431. 

t "I protest the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain; too too vain. " 
Lovt's labor's Lost, act v. sc. I. 

The full title is : Positions wherein those primitive circumstances be crammed, which are ne- 
ffiiarr/or Ike training up of children, either Jor still in their oooke, or health in their hodie. 1581. 
A fac-simile edition of this volume was reproduced by Mr. R. H. Quick in 1887. It is from this 
i we quote. 



1 890.] nEG/X.Vf.YCS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 2OI 

the better it will be liked.* The suggestion was beyond the 
reach of the educators of his day and generation. All the more 
credit be his for having conceived and expressed it. 

The next allusion made to such an institution occurs in the 
annals of the University of Paris. At the beginning of the reign of 
Louis XIV. there was found to be a great lack of competent 
professors for the large number of colleges then existing in 
Paris. And so we are told that in October of the year 1645 
the rector, Doumoustier, " occupied with the best means of en- 
couraging vocations for professorships, proposed to raise at the 
expense of the university a certain number of poor and pro- 
mising children, who might afterwards become regents or 
professors." t But the suggestion remained fruitless. Doumous- 
tier's was a voice crying in the wilderness. Forty-odd years 
later another voice is raised, this time in the shape of a 
petition to Louis XIV., coming from M. de Chennevieres, who 
styles himself "a priest serving the poor prestre servant les 
pauvres." In a rather prolix style this zealous priest advocates 
the establishment of what he calls seminaries for schoolmasters 
and schoolmistresses in every diocese of France, for the good 
of religion and the benefit of the state. \ The memorial bears 
no date, but there is internal evidence that it was written after 
the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. It remained unheeded. 

But when this good priest was inditing his memorial the ex- 
periment had already been made. Shortly after Blessed de la 
Salle had organized the Brotherhood of the Christian Schools, 
the fame of the schools taught by them in Rheims spread far 
and wide. Their wonderful method of teaching was the subject 
of loud encomiums. Several of the clergy in the towns and 
hamlets applied for a single brother to take charge of their 
schools. This could not be, as the founder had established the 
rule that not less than two brothers teach in any school. Ac- 

* We here give this remarkable passage in all its quaintness of expression : " There were 
a way in the nature of a seminary for excellent masters in my conceit, if reward were abroad, 
and such an order might be had within the university : which I must touch with licence and for 
touching crave pardon, if it be not well thought of, as I know it will seem strange at the first, 
because of some difficulty in performing the devise. And yet there had never been any alteration 
to the better, if the name of alteration had been the object to repulse. This my note but by 
the way, though it presently perhaps do make some men muse, yet hereafter, upon better con- 
sideration, it may prove very familiar to some good fantasies, and be exceeding well liked of, 
both by my masters of the universities themselves and by their masters abroad. Whereby not 
only schoolmasters, but all other professors also shall be made excellently able to perform that 
in the commonweal which she looketh for at their hands when they come from the University.' 
Positions, pp. 236, 237. 

tjourdain, Histoire de I'UniversiU de Paris, p. 157. Quintane records the original 
Archiv. M. Reg. xvii., fol. 361. This MS. is now to be found in the Library of the Arsenal, 
Paris. {Alain, loc. cit. , p. 128. 



202 /I'/.I,Y.V.V/.\V.S o/- mi: XOKMAI .SV//< ><>/.. [May, 

cordingly, ho offered to open, under the- title of a seminary for 
schoolmasters, an institution in which young nu-n would be 
trained in the principles and practio--. of the new nielli" 
teaching. The school was opened in 1684. The clergy sent 
thither intelligent and virtuous young men. and \\ .le la 

Salle soon reckoned twenty-five under his direction.* This was 
the first normal school ever established. 

About the same time the Due de Mazarin, nephew of the 
great cardinal, having consulted Blessed de la Salle in regard to 
carrying out the pious intentions of his uncle, was .idvUed by 
the servant of God to found a normal school similar to the one 
then established in Rheims. for the training of teachers for every 
town and hamlet upon his vast estates. The duke had visited the 
Brothers' schools, had admired their methods, and hastened to 
meet the wishes of Blessed de la Salle. Accordingly, in a deed 
of contract testified to before the notary at Rethel, we find the 
duke agree to endow seventeen burses in perpetuity for young 
men " destined to be instructed in the true maxims of Christian 
pedagogy, as also to read, write, and sing well, in order that 
they may afterwards teach the youth throughout the burghs, 
villages, and hamlets in the Duchy of Mazarin." t The school was 
to be directed bv two competent brothers deputed for the pur- 
pose by " the aforesaid Sieur de la Salle." { 

This was certainly a noble work, and nobly and generously 
was it begun. But it was considered so new-fangled a notion, 
so great a departure from the old ways, so impracticable and 
unfruitful in its results, that it aroused opposition where opposi- 
tion should have been least expected. Monseigneur Letellier, 
the bishop of Rheims, refused to sanction the work. When La 
Salle and the duke submitted to him their articles of agreement 
and asked his approval, the good bishop looked at them amazed, 
and gave vent to his feelings on the subject in memorable words, 
which history has preserved : " And so you are two fools 
Vous ctes done deux fans ! " Other influences were brought to 
bear upon Mazarin ; they prejudiced him against the scheme, 
and for a time his ardor cooled. The articles of agreement were 
annulled. But his better judgment again prevailed ; again he 
sought La Salle. His vast territory extended beyond the juris- 
diction of Monseigneur Letellier. The marquisate of Montcornet, 

Conduit c aJmiratle de a PrmideiKt invert It VMiatU J. B. dela Sallr. MN. in Archives 
of the Regime, Paris. 

t Minutes ilc Me. Mistris. notaire i Rethel. 

! Minutes de Mailrc Aubert, notaire a Renwiz, chef-lieu de canton (Ardennesi. See Vie 
du VJH/mble dt la Salle, par F. Lucard, t. i. p. 75. 






1890.] 



BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 



also Mazarin's, was in the bishopric of Laon, and the bishop 
was a friend of both the noble lord and the eminent educator. 
'He entered warmly into their project of establishing a normal 
school, and gave them sympathy and encouragement in the un- 
dertaking. Thereupon new articles of agreement were drawn 
up. The territory not being so extensive, the number of burses 
was reduced. The document goes over the same ground as 
the one previously annulled, and bears the date of September 
22, 1685. We learn from it, furthermore, that La Salle solicited 
letters-patent for the establishment in Rheims "as well as for 
the normal school."* 

Nor were these La Salle's only efforts to establish normal 
schools. In 1699 he opened one in Paris, in the faubourg St. 
Marcel. This had attached to it a poor school, in which the 
young masters were exercised in the practice of teaching under 
the guidance of an experienced brother. In 1708 he opened 
another at St. Denis, which was the admiration of Cardinal de 
Noailles, deeply interested Madame de Maintenon, and caused 
Louis XIV. to grant the house, as a personal favor, exemption 
from having soldiers billeted upon it.f 

The course of studies in these institutions included simply 
the branches taught in the elementary schools for which the 
teachers were preparing. When, in 1851, the government of 
France established primary normal schools throughout the king- 
dom, it laid down practically the same course. Here are both 
programmes : 

1684. 1851. 



Catechism. 

Reading of printed matter. 

Reading of manuscripts. 

Penmanship. 

Grammar and orthography of the 

French language. 
Arithmetic, including the system of 

weights and measures then in use. 
Plain chant. 



Moral and religious instruction. 

Reading. 

Penmanship. 

Elements of the French language. 

Arithmetic, including legal system oi 
weights and measures. 

Religious music. 

N.B. In 1865 geography and the 
history of France were made ob- 
ligatory in this course. 



Under the guidance of the saintly La Salle the young men 
possessed an advantage which the state schools could not supply. 
Their spiritual life was cultivated by prayer, meditation, spiritual 
reading, and daily conferences. The result was in keeping with 

* M. Lepine. Monographic du Ifaryuisat de Montcornct. See Vu du Vtntrable J. B. de- 
la Salle, par F. Lucard, 1874, pp. 41-46. See also Annales de I' Instilut des Freres des Scales 
Chritiennes, t. i. pp. 32-40. \Annales, t. i. p. 243. 



204 />/:<;/\\/.\'GS OF THE NOKMA1. .SV//( '(>/.. [May. 

tin- training. The ivctor of the Seminary of St. Nicholas du 
Chardonnet bears witness to the merits <>f four young men who 
had been trained for his schools: "They went forth," he aayt, 
us and so well formed, that if the clergy with whom 
they were placed had cultivated the good dispositions with which 
they were animated, they might have established one of the 
most useful communities in the province. Both myself and my 
country are under never-ending obligations to M. de la Salle." 

Such, in brief, is the story of the establishment of the first 
normal schools. That which Mulcaster timidly alluded to one 
hundred years before, Blessed John Baptist de la Salle made a 
living reality. Withal the work of the great educator did not 
survive. It was the seed sown upon parched earth. It sprung 
up, soon to be nipped. In the meantime, the necessity of pre- 
paring teachers for their profession is dawning upon men's minds. 
As early as 1687 Des Roches established a normal school in 
Brussels. Hermann August Francke, an educator whose name 
should ever be held in benediction, in 1697 organized at Halle 
a teachers' class, composed of poor students who assisted him in 
return for their board and lodging. From this class, in 1704, 
he selected twelve pupils who gave evidence of " the right basis 
of piety, knowledge, and aptness to teach." These he constituted 
his Scminarium Prceceptornm. Their course of training ran 
through two years, and so great was his success in forming 
them hundreds flocked from all parts to witness and to study 
his methods. In 1698 Frederick II., Duke of Saxe-Gotha, de- 
creed that ten of the most experienced teachers in his duchy 
should assemble promising youths in their houses in order to 
initiate them into proper methods of teaching. The father of 
the normal school in Prussia was the eminent educator Johannes 
Hecker. A disciple of Francke's, thoroughly imbued with his 
spirit, he was no less devoted as an educator. He established 
his first normal school at Stettin in 1735. In 1748 Frederick 
the Great called him to Berlin, where he established another, 
and organized the schools of the city upon such a footing that 
they became the admiration of all Europe. The necessity of the 
normal school is again being felt in France ; and so we find 
Madame Guillard, a wealthy lady of Dunkirk, give in 1753 
"eight thousand livres to the commune of Saint Waast, Pas-de- 
Calais, for the purpose of founding a novitiate in which might 
be formed good schoolmasters, whom the boys so sadly need." t 

I'itdt -I/. J. B.dtlaSalU, 1733, t. ii. p. 179. 
t SociM dtt A*tiquaires de la Moruiit, t. ix., x partie. p. a&. 



1890.] BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 205 

The idea spreads. It takes root in Hanover in 1757; it 
becomes transplanted in Brandenburg in 1767. Bishop Felbiger 
is deeply interested in the problem of education. While still a 
young priest he hears of the wonders wrought by Hecker in 
Berlin. He visits the Prussian capital in order to see for him- 
self; he sees and is rejoiced; he finds description to fall short 
of the reality ; and forthwith the Catholic priest sits at the feet 
of the Protestant educator and learns his methods. In this man- 
ner was cemented a life-long friendship between kindred souls. 
He returns to Sagan and with renewed energy continues the 
work of regenerating his schools till they become models. In 
1764 the Royal Board at Breslau, under his advisement, decreed 
the establishment of normal schools in each province, to defray 
the expenses of which every newly-appointed pastor should pay 
the first quarter of his revenue ; and furthermore, that every 
newly-ordained priest qualify himself in a normal school so as 
to be able to direct and counsel the teachers of his parish ; and 
till such time as the normal schools are established that he repair 
to Sagan to familiarize himself with the reformed method as in- 
troduced by Felbiger. So great was the bishop's reputation as 
an educator he was called to Austria by Maria Theresa with the 
view of reforming the school system of the empire. In 1770 he 
organized a normal school in Vienna with a special course ol 
lectures and practice for teachers extending over four months. 
When recalled to his , native land, he had left the schools of 
Austria in a flourishing condition and with a uniform method 
the Simultaneous Method of Blessed John Baptist de la Salle. 

Thus it was that, two centuries from the first suggestion of 
the normal school one hundred years after the first of its kind 
had become a reality this institution came to be regarded, 
especially among the German-speaking nations, an essential factor 
in the work of education. Teaching was placed on a footing 
with other professions requiring a course of preparation. To-day, 
throughout the whole civilized world, the normal school is of 
primary importance. There are one hundred and fifty of them 
in the United States. 

IV. 

The Rt. Rev. Bishop Spalding has recently advocated the 
establishment of Catholic normal schools among us.* It is a 
want that must be supplied in the near future. He who so 
successfully sounded the necessity of a Catholic university and 

* THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1890. Art. " Normal Schools for Catholics." 



2O6 J!fi<;/.\'.\'/.\'GS OF THE NOK.IfAL Sl'ltOOI.. [May, 

labored so arduously to see it become a reality, cannot bring his 
fill pen or his eloquent voice to bear upon this greater want 
without -\oking enthusiasm and co-operation in the work. It is 
only normal schools can give our Catholic teachers the standing 
and the aptitude for their profession that will insure them com- 
plete success. Handicapped as they are in so many ways, they 
need all the encouragement that can be held out to them to 
enable them to persevere in their noble though ill-paid and 
greatly slighted profession. The day cannot be far distant when 
every bishop will consider a normal school as essential an insti- 
tution in his diocese as a seminary for the priesthood. Without 
a special training in the science of education, our young men 
and our young women can rarely become efficient teachers. 
From the lack of this training great injustice is done to our 
children. You will not let a carpenter attend to your plumbing, 
or a blacksmith mend your watch, but you will allow an iin-x- 
perienced teacher, with no knowledge of method in his teaching, 
with no clear idea of what a teacher's duties are, with no con- 
ception of the onerous charge he assumes, to tinker with the 
intellect and character of your child. You may remedy the 
damage done by the unskilful artisan, but what human power 
can undo the injuries inflicted by an ignorant or incompetent 
teacher ? 

Now, one of the most efficient means of guarding against this 
disaster is the normal school. There the young teacher will 
learn how to prepare and how to impart his lessons with method ; 
how to pass from the simple to the complex, from the easy to 
the difficult ; how to review subject-matters till they are well 
known and clearly understood ; how to awaken and direct the 
spirit of observation ; how to put questions that will cause the 
pupil to think. There he will be initiated into the psychology 
of education ; he will analyze the faculties of the soul ; he will 
learn how each may best be cultivated, and what subjects are 
best suited to strengthen and develop each without destroying 
any of the others ; he will learn how to exercise and improve 
the memory, how to exercise and improve the judgment and 
reason, how to exercise and improve taste and sentiment in a 
word, every sense and every faculty. He will learn how to com- 
bine the various groups and orders of studies so as to produce 
the maximum result with minimum labor to himself and his 
pupils. He will learn how to economize mental force and energy, 
how to keep the child's brain in a state never idle and never 
fatigued ; he will learn the limitations beyond which a strain 



1890.] BEGINNINGS OF THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 207 

should not be placed upon the youthful mind. There he will 
learn the discipline belonging to the class-room ; order, punc- 
tuality, cleanliness, carrying out the daily regulation with the 
greatest exactitude, and other such details as constitute an 
essential part of education. Therein he will study character and 
how to build it up ; how to take the various dispositions of 
children ; when to be gentle, when severe, and how to be always 
firm and uniform and impartial towards his whole class. 

Much of this a clever young man or woman can acquire 
after some years' experience in the school-room, by closely 
observing and following the methods of older teachers ; but while 
the clever young man and the clever young woman are gaining 
the experience, what is becoming ot the generations of children 
passing under them ? Have we ever reckoned the terrible ex- 
pense at which that experience has been acquired ? Have we 
counted the lives wrecked because the youthful character was 
ill-understood ; the numbers who abandoned school with a dis- 
taste for books and learning which accompanied them through 
long years, because teachers did not take the pains, or did not 
know how, to place before them in a clean and attractive man- 
ner the first principles of knowledge, and they were obliged to 
stumble through their lessons with scarcely a single ray of intelli- 
gence to light up their befogged minds ; the numbers who con- 
tracted physical diseases because their teachers knew not hoV 
to regulate the air or the temperature of the class-room, or 
allowed the little chests of younger children to become perma- 
nently contracted from stooping over desks or keeping arms fold- 
ed all day long have we ever scanned this awful record ? 
Valuable experience this of your untrained teachers ! But 
calculate the holocaust, and then say if normal schools are or 
are not a pressing want. 

BROTHER AZARIAS. 



(>( A' nil'l.o.MACY. [May, 



OUR DIPLOMACY. 

I. 

\Yi. were a gay set in our young days and made the halls 
of our old house echo and re-echo to our merriment. Ah me ! 
the days of the long ago, with what an atmosphere of sadness 
does not memory veil them ! But we were not given to retro- 
spection then, however much such moods may have grown upon 
us since. 

We were four, we children ; three girls, led by our brother 
Paul, who was the oldest. I rank next, Pearl being my suc- 
cessor and Beatrice the youngest. From the days" of my earliest 
womanhood until my father's second marriage I was obliged to 
take our dead mother's place in the house, and this has given 
me a self-reliance and self-possession not natural to me. People 
say, or used to say, that I was proud, but I think there was a 
mistake there. However, that is enough about myself; my 
story is about somebody else, or several somebodies. ; They used 
to say also, those who wished to flatter us, that they did not 
know which of the Misses Wnrrington was the handsomest ; but 
I think I know. Shall I use the past or the present tense ? 
For I am writing of twenty years ago, when the glamour and 
brightness of youth was over and about us, and yet these twenty 
years passed since have only matured, not altered, the faces and 
figures so much admired. Therefore I will write in the past 
tense and leave the present to our friends. 

My own mirror reflected a petite figure with black hair and 
eyes, and features, well not unpleasant. In coloring Paul and I 
are like our father, he resembling him in face and figure ; but the 
girls are of the blonde type, as our mother was. Pearl, as we 
called our Margaret, had a rose-leaf skin, large blue-gray eyes 
that looked black at times, and brown hair with just a glint of 
red in it. Her features were regular, like our father's, who was 
and is one of the handsomest men of his day. She was, in a 
word, " a daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely 
fair." But Beatrice was to me a dream of heavenly beauty. 
Pale as a lily, with large blue eyes shaded by dark lashes, be- 
neath dark, straight eyebrows, her hair was like spun gold. 
However, she was so dazzling that one did not pause to examine 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 209 

whether the nose was Greek or the lips curved. Though not so 
tall as Pearl, I had to raise my eyes to meet hers. Paul and 
Pearl had already disposed of themselves, the one engaged to a 
very dear friend of mine, the other to Lieutenant Henry Vin- 
cent, U. S. A. As Pearl's time was greatly taken up in inditing 
long letters to him in far-off Arizona, in thinking of him, and 
reading equally lengthy communications from him, Bee and I, who 
were fancy free, were thrown upon each other for companionship, 
and our love was something passing that of sisters. 

How or when the friendship between papa and Colonel Tal- 
bot had its rise is not germane to my story. There was a 
difference of some years in their ages, the advantage being with 
papa. He was so closely identified with us that I do not remem- 
ber when, in joy or sorrow, we children did not run to Colonel 
Talbot for sympathy. The tradition with us' how acquired I 
cannot say, was that early in life he had met with a disappoint- 
ment, from the grief of which he had never recovered. Certain 
it was, he seemed to us, except we in our childish pranks roused 
him, to be very quiet, if not sad. This sadness, in connection 
with his story as we had received it, created for him in our 
minds a certain awe. We wondered, too, in our ignorance, why 
he did not, being a Catholic, become a priest, for we looked 
upon him as a being set aside from the world and its ordinary 
affairs ; and if we gave him any place in the economy of exist- 
ence, it was as ours, the children's, friend. He was our hero. 
In all the pictures of heroic characters which imagination elim- 
inated from the magic pages of Froissart or other mediaeval 
history, we gave them the corporate appearing of our colonel. 
He impressed every one, so superb was his physique, although 
his face was not, strictly speaking, handsome. Tall, with broad, 
square shoulders, small head held proudly erect and thickly 
covered with iron-gray-hair, he had that unmistakable stately 
carriage which army training gives. His brown eyes always 
looked lovingly at us, albeit they could flash at times with sterner 
expression. A heavy brown beard, threaded with silver, hid the 
lower part of his face. And his was a noble nature, noble 
and strong, and withal gentle as a woman's. 

I remember one instance in which I received a glimpse, never 
forgotten, of his real, inner soul. And the reverence which 
that glimpse, child as I was, awoke in me has never diminished. 
Smarting under the sense of injustice and unnecessary severity, 
I was raging like a caged animal round the room into which 
I had been locked in punishment for some childish fault, when 

VOL LI. 14 



2io OUK />//'/. O.l/.-JCr. [May, 

the door opened and our colonel entered. I remember standing 
at bay for a moment while I tried to guess by his face whether 
he came as friend or foe. He did not speak, only held out his 
arms, and the next moment I was sobbing within their loving 
embrace. He let me cry my cry out, only holding me closely 
to him and occasionally passing his hand over my hair. Then. 
when the sobs grew less frequent, he sat down, and, drawing 
me to his knee, began to talk about outside matters that he 
knew would interest me, and thus gradually carried my thoughts 
into brighter channels. Afterwards he inquired into the cau^e 
of my punishment, and listened with loving attention while I 
told my version and inveighed against the injustice Never shall 
I forget the conversation which followed. It was too sacred to 
be repeated here. But from that time I knew better than any 
one how grand i soul was concealed beneath that calm and 
simple exterior. 

I write of the period preceding the War of the Rebellion, 
and before the mass of the people realized what was the promise 
of the near future. And as the summer faded away behind the 
glowing colors of a luscious autumn, we received, rather unex- 
pectedly, an addition to our family in the person of a ward of 
my father's. Juliet Rathburn was the daughter of another old 
friend of papa's, who was joint guardian with her uncle since 
her father's death. She was very wealthy and had made her 
home with the uncle until now; but Mr. Rathburn having de- 
cided to remove to Buenos Ayres, she came to us. She had 
been educated in Paris and Dresden, and had had Liszt for her 
music master. Her coming among us, thence, was an event, 
since, carefully as we had been schooled and many as were our 
accomplishments, the prestige of an European residence was not 
ours. But no thought of jealousy or fear of eclipse by her 
superior brilliancy occurred to any of -us; we had been too 
happy and healthy all our lives to be morbid. No; her coming 
was a delight and a pleasure entirely unalloyed. Only we won- 
dered how our colonel would like her, and anticipated the meeting 
anxiously. We had arranged among ourselves various ways in 
which this meeting should come about, but, as is so often the 
case, the happening was entirely different from anything we 
had planned. Colonel Talbot was indisposed for several days 
just at this time, and thus it was 

" They met by chance, the usual way ! " 
We were showing Juliet the lions for we love our queenly 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 211 

city in spite of the coal smoke which besmirches her face when, 
on turning a corner, we met the colonel. He was walking with 
his usual stately step, his cane well up under his left arm and his 
right hand behind him. In the instant he saw us his cane was 
lowered and his hat was in his hand. The introduction followed, 
and a few fafons dc parlcr. he standing uncovered the while ; then 
we passed on and he went his way, after promising me that he 
would spend the evening with us. I was in advance with our guest, 
Bee and Pearl behind us. The expected question came from the 
latter immediately : " How do you like him, Juliet ? " I can re- 
member her laugh as she threw her answer over her left shoulder : 

" How can I reply to such a question after two seconds' ac- 
quaintance, Mag ! Your Bayard has very courtly manners and a 
pleasing voice, voila tout ! " 

" He is a king among men, Juliet," said Bee quietly. 

" He certainly is fortunate in his friends," was the quiet reply. 

That evening we were gathered in the library around the 
fire when the door-bell rang and our colonel 'was announced. 
How my heart swelled with loving admiration of his noble pre- 
sence as he entered the room ! Juliet was half-buried in a luxu- 
rious easy-chair somewhat back from the hearth, and as the gas 
was burning low in the drop-light on the table her face was in 
shadow and I could not see its expression, but I know now what 
she thought of him. Greetings had hardly concluded when 
Arthur announced " tea " as served, and we adjourned to the 
dining-room. Pearl managed in some way that Juliet and the 
colonel sat next each other, and consequently it fell to him to 
offer her the courtesies of the table; but the conversation contin- 
ued general, and a laughing, merry time we had. Afterwards 
we prevailed upon her to play and sing, and her performance was 
as the opening of a sealed book to Colonel Talbot. Naturally, as he 
had spent several years in Europe, the conversation turned upon 
transatlantic topics and reached a number of subjects, literature, 
manners, and governments, in its range. After the first, we girls 
were content to listen while Juliet, Colonel Talbot, and papa kept 
the ball of talk rolling. 

"Is your colonel a veritable, or is the title one of courtesy?" 
asked Juliet that night during our dressing-gown symposium. We 
explained to her that he had graduated at West Point, but after 
the Mexican War had resigned his commission on the inheriting 
a small fortune, which meant originally about two thousand a 
year, but which had been greatly reduced since. In fact, our 
colonel was at present quite poor. And even though we talked 



212 OUR DIPLOMA [Mny, 

of other things this statement nf Colonel Taibot's financial con- 
dition recurred t<> me with an idea, the outcome of it, which, 
fortunately. I did not put into word-. 

Small nerd to tell any one that Juliet was a social succ. 
Wherever she went she seemed to dwarf all around her by her 
regal appearing; her beauty made her the cynosure of all eye-, 
while that indescribable something which we call magnetism drew 
all hearts to her. What a winter we had ! Towards Christmas 
I thought I noticed a great change in our colonel. It was a 
subtile one, such as the affection felt for him by me alone, per 
haps, would have discovered. But it was there all the same. 11. 
grew restless and nervous, and lost somewhat of the patient gentle- 
ness that had so distinguished him, though never towards us did he 
grow irritable. This slight ruffling of the waters seemed to show 
itself more to other men, particularly towards those young, aim- 
less butterflies of fashion, whose only use in the world seems t<> 
be to ornament a drawing-room en fete. And I at length dis- 
covered that this new phase was most evident when Juliet \\ 
the recipient of their attentions ! 

And so I think I was the first to know his secret. Uncertain 
at first whether I was correct, I watched carefully, and soon be- 
came satisfied. On entering a room where Juliet already was, I 
saw that his first glance sought her. Or, if she was the late one, 
he seemed to know of her coming before she passed the thresh- 
old. The tone of his voice altered in speaking to her, and his 
eyes, when they rested on her, seemed to caress her reverently. 
Having arranged the colonel's status in my mind, I gave atten- 
tion to Juliet, wondering whether she knew what I knew or not, 
or whether, knowing it, it made her happy. I could not imagine 
her a flirt, she was too queenly and large-minded for such small 
amusements. Still, I did not know her so very thoroughly, and 
I trembled for my colonel. Need I blush to record a wee bit of 
heart-ache which would not down when 1 brought home to my- 
self the thought that my colonel existed no longer ? 

But while I was studying the problem, 1'earl jumped to a 
conclusion after ten minutes' thought, and forthwith favored us 
with it. It was one night after Colonel Talbot had been spend- 
ing a quiet evening with us, a heavy rain preventing other vis- 
itors. Juliet had gone directly to her own room and we tlr 
were gathered around my fire in our dressing-gowns. T<> speak 
more correctly, Bee and I were there when 1'earl entered with a 
rush and a breathless exclamation : 

" Girls ! I do believe we're to have another wedding ! " 



1890.] O UK DIPLOMACY. 213 

" What makes you think so ? " and 

" Whose ? " were the joint questions flung at her. 

" My eyes, and Juliet and the colonel ! " was the compre- 
hensive reply. " Of course, you, my saint," to Bee, " nor you, 
my spinster," to me, " know not the signs, but I I do." 

" You ought, Pearl, if any one," said Bee, while I exclaimed : 

"Well, tell us what you saw." 

Before she answered me, Pearl caught at Bee's loosened tresses, 
which, as she sat on a low chair, reached and lay upon the floor, 
and wound them round their owner's head and face so that she 
was entirely enmasked. 

" That for your impudence ! " she said, laughing. Then to me : 

" I saw five things : first, the rose he wore in bis buttonhole 
fell to the carpet unnoticed." She counted this off on her thumb. 
"Then he said 'Good-night,' and as I was closing the piano I saw 
our empress stoop ; she picked up something just where I had 
seen the rose lying." So much for the first finger. " The top 
of the piano served me as a mirror, in which I saw this wonder : 
our empress pressed the thing she had picked up to her lips, and 
I saw that it was red his rose was a jacqueminot." Resting 
the third finger against her chin, she added : " And she bade 
me good-night all in a hurry and ran up-stairs ! Fifthly and 
lastly," she continued, holding up her little finger, " I went to 
look for the rose and it was gone, ' like the baseless fabric of a 
vision, leaving not a wrack behind ' nor a leaf. What say you, 
most grave and reverend ; am I not correct in my diagnosis ? " 

" What a vivid imagination you have, Pearl," I said laugh- 
ingly, " to found a marriage upon the inhaling of the perfume of 
a rose ! " 

" Inhaling ! Is her nose in her chin ? I thought Juliet's fea- 
tures were classically regular ! " with withering scorn. 

" What has that to do with it ? " I asked. " But " 

" But me no buts ! I know the act of kissing from that of 
' inhaling ' " triumphantly. 

' You ought " began Bee, whose hair now resembled that 
mythical horror of our childhood, an " hurrah's nest." Pearl 
made a spring at her, which she evaded, and for the next few 
moments there was a chase around the room, and a tussle which 
ended in Bee's being thrown on the bed and kissed till she cried 
for mercy. When quiet was allowed again, nothing broke the 
silence for several moments. 

" But you included the colonel in your statement, Pearl. 
How did you diagnose his case ? " I asked at length. 



A' Diri.oMALY. . [May, 

" Oh ! by intuition. I saw as soon as they met that they 
meant lor each other and I've seen the state ..( hi> feel- 
tor -i Hue time. Why, he is a veritable Othello! 

I winced at this, but I knew Pearl saw all tint 1 did. 

" He is so poor and she is so rich ! " I sighed. 

" Vet," -aid Pearl, " there's the rub. He'll never speak and 
she'll just ' let concealment, like a wurin,' etc. Oh ! it's too 
bad ! " 

To relieve her excitement she took up the pok r and broke 
the large lump of coal that had been smoldering during our 
confab. As the pieces were presently wrapped in cheery flame, 
they seemed to give her an inspiration. Alas ! that they did. 
" I say, girls, can't we resolve ourselves into the god in the 
machine, or out of it, and force the catastrophe some way ?" 

" Turn match-makers ! " exclaimed Bee. " Dear Pearlie, that 
would be a dangerous game." 

" Not in this instance, I am sure ; and if you won't help me, 
you two, I'll see what my unaided wits will do." 

Yes, it was a merry winter, and we, young and thought!' 
took no heed of the cloud, little bigger than a man's hand at 
first, but which spread to the zenith with wonderful rapidity and 
deluged the country for four long years with blood. Busin. 
men were the first to feel the storm, and there was, as we all 
remember, a general boulevcrscmcnt of fortunes. So it happened 
that late in January papa suddenly found himself called to the 
East to endeavor to save Juliet's. He was to start in the ten 
P.M. train, and we had just finished supper when Colonel Talbot 
came. Pearl telegraphed me by a nod that she had some plan 
in her mind, and went into the parlor alone. Papa was busy in 
his den, Bee was with Juliet, who was suffering from a nervous 
headache and from wlidm the reason for the journey had been 
kept. I was arranging a lunch to be stowed away in papa's valise, 
in case he should be delayed or get hungry, for in those days 
there were no buffet-cars attached to the trains. So I'.-.m had 
the field to herself. That she improved the occasion I learned 
in a very short time, when she appeared like a wraith in the 
dining-room and whispered hurriedly : 

" It's all right; I've done it ! He has asked to see papa, and 
I am going to send him in. Now, don't you go near him or 
you'll spoil all. Leave the affair to me." 

Before I could recover breath to ask a question she was gone. 
Her stay in the library was much longer than was ry to 

inform our father that Colonel Talbot wished to sec him ; it was 






1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 215 

fully twenty minutes after that that I heard the swish-sh of her 
dress in the hall. I opened the dining-room door, but she was 
half-way up-stairs, and, turning, shook her finger at me. Then I 
heard the library door open, and just had time to withdraw before 
papa crossed the hall. Immediately Pearl flew down and launched 
herself into the room and upon me in hysterical excitement. 

" He behaved so splendidly, Durdy " Juliet had given me 
the nickname of "Dame Durden," and this was the family 
abbreviation of the same. " I told him the reason for papa's 
sudden journey, and how sorry we were for Juliet, who as yet 
knew nothing of it. He seemed very much worried and yet 
glad, and after walking up and down the room and asking 
several questions which I didn't attempt to answer for I didn't 
know, you know, and didn't want to say anything to destroy 
the fine effect of my first statement he said he'd like to speak 
to papa, and then I knew it was all right, for you know his 
old-fashioned ideas, and he'd never think of asking Juliet to 
marry him without papa's consent. So it's all right ! " 

" I hope it is, Pearl," I said quietly. She made no reply, but 
caught up a piece of bread, crumpled it up, and threw it out of 
the window for the benefit of some early-minded sparrow in the 
morning, I suppose, for all but the most dissipated of the feath- 
ered tribe had tucked their heads under their wings hours ago. 
Presently papa came, and she asked quickly : 
" Was it as I expected, papa ? " 

" Yes," he replied, but added nothing to the monosyllable. 
" But, papa," I exclaimed in dismay, " she has not lost any- 
thing ! O Pearl ! why did you deceive him so ? " 

" Deceive him ! I didn't. Papa, you won't spoil it now ? " 
" If by ' spoil ' you mean tell Talbot that he is mistaken, 
no, for I don't know that he is ; it may be even worse than I 
fear. If, however, I am mistaken and Juliet accepts him, why, the 
plot will thicken slightly ; but if she don't " 

" ' If she don't ! ' " echoed Pearl. " Why, papa, dear, there is 
no such 'if I know she loves him." 

" Well, well ! I can do no more now and can only hope all 
will be well. You will hear from me as soon as I have any- 
thing to tell." 

That evening a note came for Juliet from Colonel Talbot. 
Papa got off in time, and then, after seeing that our guest needed 
nothing, and leaving Bee, who occupied ^ the small room adjoin- 
ing, with her, Pearl and I adjourned to my room, our council- 
ground, as we called it. How we went over and over the thing, 



216 OUK /;///.< M/.-fcr. [May, 

looking at it first in OIK- li^lit and then in anotlu-r ! I made lu-r 
repeat her words to him a dozen times, and was never tired 
<>f hearing how he looked and spoke. Neither of us slept much 
that night. 

Nor did we see Juliet until after Colonel Talbot had called. 
'1 he interview was a long one, and when, from the library, we 
lu-.ird the colonel's voice in the hall as he was leaving the draw- 
ing-room, we flew to the window nearest the front door and 
peeped through the blinds. The impulse which led us to this 
silly act was foolish, and one at which I have often smiled 
since. Did we expect some wonderful transformation of the 
familiar figure ? With beating hearts we heard the door close. 
He stood a moment on the veranda, drawing on his gloves and 
slightly turned towards us. The expression of his face told us 
all we wanted to know, and as he passed slowly down the path, 
with one impulse Pearl and I turned and caught hold of each 
other with a sob and a laugh, while Bee ran out of the room. 

.We were very glad in Juliet's gladness, and that was very 
deep. I doubt if the great disparity in their ages troubled her 
at all. I doubt if she thought of it, or remembered for a mo- 
ment that while she was but twenty-four her Philip was forty- 
two. But glad as I was for her, in spite of the sore regret I 
could not put aside for the loss of my colonel, I felt all the 
time a premonition of trouble. Colonel Talbot was so honest 
and so upright, so scornful of anything approaching deceit and 
subterfuge, that I hardly knew how he would bear the dcnoi'i- 
iiiait, even while exonerating Juliet from all complicity. 

When he came that evening we had an opportunity to offer 
our shy congratulations before Juliet appeared. I devoted the 
time of his visit to a long letter to papa, in which I unfolded 
my fears and my forebodings. Pearl had to begin one of those 
interminable communications to Harry, as the events of the two 
days had prevented her usual effort. What did she find of 
interest to fill so many pages every day ? Bee retreated to IK -r 
own room for her private meditations. She had long ago de- 
cided that a religious life was the one suited to her, and only 
awaited papa's tardy consent to make her novitiate at the dear 
old " Notre Dame " convent on Sixth Street 

The next afternoon we had a telegram from papa. He had 
arrived safely, and a letter just mailed would give particulars. 
How we devoured that Jetter, we three. Pearl and H< -i- over my 
shoulder. After all, much of it was Greek to us, but we 
gathered from it that Juliet's income would be greatly reduced. 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 217 

Some of her money was lost entirely. As civil war seemed 
imminent, securities were depreciating, but there was one invest- 
ment of a large amount which papa had been advised to hold, 
in spite of the panic that had lowered it something in Wall 
Street. I don't pretend even now to comprehend the jargon. 
Understanding that some loss was to befall Juliet O friendship ! 
blush for us ! we were glad. We were not to say anything 
.about it to her, as papa preferred telling her himself. 

He was at home- in a week. But whan we would have plied 
him with questions he declined to answer, saying that though 
we had put him into an unpleasant quandary, he did not think 
we could help him out of it ; at any rate, he preferred to extri- 
cate himself in his own way. He regretted, now that things 
had turned out so much better than he had hoped, that he had 
listened to Pearl's special pleading, and had not frankly told 
the colonel the truth at that first interview. For when he would 
have undeceived him now, Colonel Talbot would not allow him 
to touch upon the subject, evidently taking the worst for 
granted. Consequently, papa could not force his information upon 
him. 

All went smoothly for weeks. Harry Vincent paid us a 
visit on his way to his new station, Fort McHenry, near Balti- 
more. In April the question of war or no war was decided by 
the guns of Sumter. Who of us does not remember the excite- 
ment of that time ? And yet what a dream it all appears now ! 
Marriage-bells mingled their music with the roar of the cannon, 
for Harry Vincent wrote urging Pearl to hasten her wedding- 
day, which had been fixed for the autumn ; Paul had obtained 
Emily's consent to a marriage in the first week in May, braving 
the legend or superstition regarding that month in a matrimonial 
light, and Colonel Talbot, after offering his services to the 
government and being authorized to raise a regiment in Ohio, 
pressed for an early consummation of his happiness. As there 
were no reasons why these requests should be refused, I stood 
appalled by the threatened deluge of wedding favors. The 
eighth of May was the day fixed upon for the triple ceremony 
not quite a month in which to make all preparations. Juliet 
had been brought up an Episcopalian, but her long residence 
in Continental Europe had eliminated all prejudices, if they ever 
existed. She was too refined in feeling, too large-minded, 
too pure-souled, not to perceive the beauty and the holiness 
of God's house, and would defend the faith she had not as yet 
felt impelled to adopt from all attacks. Since then she has 



218 OUK !)//'!(": ' ). [M;iy. 

seen the necessity of professing that faith, and I know her 
conversion is the brightest jewel in our colonel'-, crown of 
liappini 

Through all my busy hours I could not help wondering 
whether papa would insist upon telling Colonel Talbot the truth 
about the money. Meantime the colonel was occupied with his 
regiment, and Paul with his company for said regiment. Harry 
Vincent was still in Baltimore, but he did not know when he 
might be ordered elsewhere. At last, one day at dinner, papa 
asked Juliet if she could give him an hour or two that after- 
noon, as he wished to have some conversation with her on 
business. Pearl and I exchanged glances, and both trembled. 
The interview was a long one, and when Juliet left the library 
we were on the watch for her. She had been crying. As she 
closed the door Pearl ran forward, and, putting her arms around 
her, together they got up-stairs somehow, while I followed. 
Once in Juliet's room my poor sister, unable longer to bear the 
tension of her nerves, gave way to an hysterical crying-spell, 
and we had some difficulty in quieting her. 

"O Juliet!" she exclaimed at last, between her sobs, "can 
you forgive me ? " 

" Forgive you ! Why, Pearl, I have to thank you for the 
greatest happiness of my life." 

" But what will you do? Will you tell Colonel Talbot?" 
we asked. 

"No." 

" O ^liet ! " It was I who made the exclamation. 

" No, I shall tell him nothing. Your father showed him a 
copy of the will which, under all circumstances, continues his 
guardianship until I am twenty-six, and also settles my fortune 
absolutely upon myself. I didn't know that until to-day, and 
am sorry that I can't give it all to him ! " 

" Has papa told him the truth, ever ? " asked Pearl, timidly. 

" No ; at first, you know " with a smile at Pearl " he found 
him under the idea that all was lost ; later Colonel Talbot posi- 
tively refused to be told anything about it." Then, seeing that 
I was about to speak, she hurried to add: "But, Dame Ihmlen, 
don't you suppose that I can arrange all when I am his wife ? 
Trust me, all will yet be well." 

But I knew my colonel, and I knew tha^ the deception arid 
secrecy would be more to him than loss of money. 

" I wish," I exclaimed, " that you, Juliet, had known nothing 
of it until you were married. Dearest," and I put my arms 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 219 

round her, " do be guided by me. Remember, I know Colonel 
Talbot even better than you do, and he will never broach the 
subject of your fortune again since he has seen your father's will. 
But if, even after long years, he finds that you have deceived 
him, oh ! it will be terrible. Do, for his sake, for your own 
sake, for the sake of all the happiness you -hope for in the days 
to come, tell him all now ! " 

" Dame Durden, I cannot. I, too, wish I had not been told 
of the deception until later. But how can I give him up ; what 
would life be to me now without him ? For that would be the 
end. Even to the breaking of my heart and his own, he would 
listen to nothing but his pride. I know him too ! " 

" I think you are mistaken there, Juliet ; he loves you too 
deeply." 

" But not too deeply to forget his pride ! What man does ' 
so love a woman ? No, I cannot, cannot ! " 

An hour after I was alone in my room, when there was a 
timid knock at my door and Juliet entered. But was this my 
radiant Juliet, this pale, tear-stained face, this drooping figure ? 
She came swiftly to my side, and dropping on her knees, buried 
her face in my lap, while her whole frame shook with her con- 
vulsive sobbing. I could not speak, but dropping my work, 
gathered the dear head in my arms and held her tight. At 
last: 

" Oh ! tell me what to do. And yet, no, no ! I can't, I can- 
not speak the words that will drive him from me ! O Dame 
Durden, what a curse money is ! I'd be glad to be the veriest 
pauper that begs upon the streets if only Philip loved me ! " 

It must have been indeed a deep and heartfelt, soul-enchain- 
ing love that could bring my queenly Juliet to this. 



II. 

The wedding-day came, soft and balmy and bright, and no 
one, to look into that azure sky and sc"ent the odor of the lilacs, 
but shuddered to think what might be ere those perfumed blos- 
soms faded. Weddings are stupid things to all but those inti- 
mately concerned, so I will not describe ours. My own heart was 
heavy, for in spite of common sense, the popular objection to the 
month, united to my knowledge of the ill-advised secrecy pre- 
served towards Colonel Talbot, made me fear a fulfilment of the 
prophecy. To be sure, he could blame no one but himself or 



220 



OUR /)///. o.JMn . [May, 



Juliet. \Yith masculine inconsistency, he might blame her for not 
telling him what he refused to hear from papa. 

Of course our bridegrooms I like the old-fashioned double 
word, the modern abbreviation smacks too much of the stables 
a- \\ell as their best men, were in uniform. Civilian's habiliments 
were at a discount in those days. And the gilded trappings well 
became our colonel's superb physique. He had asked to see 
Juliet for a moment before the first guests arrived and awaited 
her in the drawing-room, where I ventured to join him ; slipping 
my hand through his arm I walked beside him one or two turns 
of the room, and then, hearing the rustle of Juliet's satin dress 
on the stairs, left him by one door just as she entered by the 
other. I turned for one look and heard him say softly : " My 
queen ! " Then he knelt and pressed a fold of her dress to 
his lips. I felt a sudden swimming of my senses and turned into 
the library, closing and locking the door. Then I held hard by 
the back of a chair and shut my eyes tight till the sensation 
passed. Thus it was that I took leave of my childhood's ideal, 
for never more could Philip Talbot be to me what he had 
been. 

Of the two brides I do not know which was the more beau- 
tiful, Juliet or Pearl. The latter was a poem and a picture in 
one, robed in her bridal whiteness. There is something magni- 
ficent about Juliet at all times; her tall, svelt figure, her dark 
gray eyes responsive in tint to every emotion, her auburn-shaded 
hair, the long oval of her face and her regularly moulded fea- 
tures attract admiration and challenge criticism. But that day 
there was something added to it. She might have been Marie 
Antoinette in the pleasant days of the Petit Trianon, or did she 
more resemble the wondrous beauty of that fairest blossom of 
the Stuart tree ? Well, they were married, and then came the 
partings, Juliet and Colonel Talbot for Columbus ; Harry and 
Pearl to Philadelphia, where he could leave her till the railroad 
was safe for travel to Washington ; Emily and Paul to Day- 
ton, where Paul's company was mostly recruited. After that it 
was very lonely and dreary for a little while. I missed my 
colonel. 

Need I recount the events which crowded upon each other 
during that summer, till the first check was given at Bull Run ? 
After that folly the North seemed to wake to a sense of what a 
task she had in hand, and to realize that to succeed she must i;<> 
to work systematically and slowly. Ah me ! how the memories 
of those days gather around me ! Truly : 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 22* 

" Then there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale which, but an hour ago, 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
Pf ever more should meet those mutual eyes." 

In August Colonel Talbot was ordered to West Virginia with 
his regiment ; Emily returned to her father's house and Juliet to 
us. The latter was very happy, never a shadow of anything 
painful having come between- her and Philip. Several of his com- 
panies had been recruited in our city, as also those of the Tenth 
and Sixth Ohio. Without delay she sought out the families of 
the soldiers. Where she found poverty or sickness she relieved 
it, and where they were comfortable as to worldly goods she 
gave them sympathy and interest. And as the various skir- 
mishes which were then reported as such stirring battles occurred, 
she moved among them an angel of mercy where the fortunes of 
war were bitter. Indeed, we were all busy that summer with our 
Sanitary Commissions and clothing-bees. In all the battles among 
the West Virginia mountains our colonel escaped injury. His 
letters were as frequent as possible, and eloquent, I suppose, with 
proper sentiments, judging from Juliet's dewy smiles while read- 
ing them. She favored us with portions of them, and we had 
our own prized missives also. In one to papa he wrote : 

" I trust my wife is not denying herself things which, to her, 
must always be necessities to do for my soldiers' families. So 
many have come to me to sing her praises in that she has 
tended a wife or child in sickness, with open purse, that I fear 
she leaves little for herself. Long ago she insisted upon my 
retaining my pay, and under the circumstances I hardly know 
how to act. Without wishing to seem to dictate, let me entreat 
you to guard whatever is left to her well. The fortunes of war 
may leave her widowed in a moment, and then there will re- 
main but the paltry pension. O my dear George ! I pray you, 
guard and protect my jewel." There were tears in papa's eyes 
when he handed this to me. 

Early in the autumn Juliet decided to purchase a house, and 
was fortunate enough to secure one in our neighborhood, only 
across the street and around the corner, next but one to the 
corner, so that our third-story windows gave us a view into 
her rear yard, which ran back to Lysle Street, upon which a 
stable opened. The fitting up and furnishing of her house 



('/'A' Dll'l <>.!/.-*<). 

occupied much of our empress' time. Not a word was to be 
said to the colonel or general, as In- was now but when all 
was complete she would urge him to obtain a leave of absence, 
if only for four or five days. I had not forgotten the sword of 
Damocles, if Juliet had; I felt as if this was the beginning of 
trouble, if, as she said, she intended telling her husband the whole 
truth. She really had forgotten all danger I believe, and every- 
thing but her own great happiness. It was the latter part of 
November when the last touches were put to the adornment of 
the new home and it was just perfect. An aunt of Juliet's was 
to be her companion. I must not forget to state that that mys- 
terious investment in Wall Street which papa had made had 
turned out Bulls^ or Bears, I don't know which ; at any rate, 
Juliet was very much richer by reason of it than she had been 
before there was question of loss. 

Yes, our colonel was a general now, commanding a brigade ; 
Harry Vincent was chief of staff, and so Pearl was with us again. 
Paul, also, was on the staff. And as it sometimes happens in real 
life, though not so often as in novels, events turned out just as 
we think they ought, so it was that Juliet and her " aunty, dear," 
had hardly established themselves when news came that General 
Talbot's brigade was ordered to join the army in Tennessee ! Of 
course he would pass through Cincinnati. A letter came telling 
us that they were to begin the move as quickly as possible, 
marching up to Gallipolis, where they would take the boats. If it 
could be arranged, he would make the journey by rail and rejoin 
his command at Louisville. But, he wrote, we must not count 
upon this, for it might seem an unfair thing to do by. the other 
officers, who would be equally anxious to reach their families, 
and they could not all leave the men. And so it was ; he did 
not take the privilege his rank allowed, but remained with his 
" boys," going from boat to boat, for there were several, pre- 
venting disorders, encouraging the men, and looking to the 
maintenance of the strictest discipline. 

Not only we but the whole city was on the alert to greet 
the coming brigades ; for there were hundreds whose homes were 
among us, and one regiment was exclusively of Cincinnati, the 
Sixth. As the nucleus of this had been the crack city troop, 
the Guthrie Grays, comprising in its ranks scions of some of our 
best known and wealthiest families, those same butterflies of fashion 
of whom I've spoken disparagingly and whose pardon I beg 
for they proved their metal on many a field it could not go 
by unheeded. Alas ! for all our hopes and preparations. 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 223 

The day upon which all hearts were fixed, which was to be 
a universal feast day, dawned and brought a disappointment 
almost heart-breaking. The boats were not allowed to land 
their passengers, nor even to stop in mid-stream ! Rumors to 
this effect had been rife through the city the night before, but 
were scouted by the people. Military law is, however, military 
law, and takes no heed of anxious or breaking hearts. It would 
have been subversive of all discipline had the men been allowed 
cti i/iassc to set foot on shore, and how was it possible to dis- 
criminate ? So the gallant fleet, black from the water's edge to 
the hurricane decks with human figures, steamed steadily, ruth- 
lessly by. Not even the swarm of small boats that hung on its' 
edges were allowed to approach the vessels within speaking 
distance. It was a beautiful winter's day, the air crisp with 
frost and the sky a cloudless blue. The sunlight sought out the 
patches of snow that nestled among the Kentucky hills, gleamed 
from the spires of Newport and Covington and from the windows 
and points of the houses on the hill-top suburbs of Cincinnati, 
brought into strong relief the dull smoke of the canopy which 
rested above the city proper, caught on the bayonets of the 
slowly-pacing guards upon the boats, in the trappings of the 
men, and rippled in the folds of the flags massed near the pilot- 
houses and in the wavelets of the ruffled water. All eyes among 
the soldiers were turned citywards, and doubtless many were 
making calculations to locate their own homes and wondering 
whether dear ones were awaiting them there, or were in the surg- 
ing crowd that filled the public landing and the streets leading to 
it, stretching itself also along the very edge of the river tor miles. 

After the first shout of welcome there was silence ; hearts 
were too full for speech. The rhythmic puff of the steam, the 
rush of the water over the paddles, the jarring of the boats, were 
all that was heard. And so it was that many of Ohio's sons 
saw their home for the last time. I think few who witnessed 
the scene will ever be able to forget the passing of the boats 
from the mouth of the Kanawha to that of the Cumberland. For 
ourselves, having been assured from the then highest authority 
the day before that there would be no stopping, we remained 
quietly at home. But no words can tell our disappointment. 

Two days after we had a glad surprise. Pearl and I were at 
Juliet's, busy with arranging of scrap-books, as was then the 
fashion. From the small room at the head of the first flight of 
stairs, which she had arranged as a lounging-place and where 
she could make what litter she pleased, we heard Henry open 



-J4 ()( ' A ' Viri.o.MACY. [May, 

the door and a clanking of metal in the hall. The next moment 
Juliet was down-stairs and in her husband's arms ; we did not 
know whether he had come alone or not, but we slipped orT 
our work-aprons and hurried home, there indeed to find Harry 
and learn that 1'aul also was in the city. He and Emily prc- 
si-ntly appeared, and then papa and I had somebody to make a 
fuss over. It must have been two hours after that Juliet's 
carriage drew up at the gate. I saw the general alight and 
walk slowly up the path to the door, and flew to meet him. 
Alas ! of our colonel there was no trace ; cold and formal and 
very pale, he seemed with difficulty to suppress some strong 
emotion. After answering my many questions, he said that he 
wished to see papa alone. The interview lasted half an hour, 
after which he left the house at once. I learned afterwards that 
Juliet was in the carriage. 

The terrible parting, the thought of which had subdued our 
joy at seeing our dear ones, came all too soon, and not till this 
agony was over could papa tell us of the painful interview with 
General Talbot. As I feared, he resented the deception from 
his very soul. 

Towards evening I received a note from Miss Hilton asking 
me to come to her. Papa accompanied me, but Juliet would 
see no one. Her aunt said that she lay with her eyes closed, 
and \vould not speak or take any notice, only moaning like a 
dumb animal hurt to death every little while. She was very 
uneasy about the child, and so I concluded to remain all night, 
and after we were alone Miss Hilton told me all she knew of 
the visit. As soon as the first joy of the meeting was quieted,. 
Juliet sent for her to introduce her husband, -and his behavior 
was all she could desire ; she was charmed with him. Of course 
the project of taking a house and having Miss Hilton's compan- 
ionship had been communicated to the colonel and his approba- 
tion given at the first. But the exact location of the house, 
beyond the street and square, was kept a secret ; he had had 
to inquire of the neighbors to reach it. 

After this introduction Juliet asked him how he liked their 
new home. A glance around showed him that only lavish means 
could have supplied the demands of such luxurious taste, that 
the mirror and bronzes ornamenting one mantel alone were 
worth, if not a king's ransom, certainly several months' pay of 
a colonel in the army of the United States. In fact, the exte- 
rior of the house, the stately gray stone facade, the size and 
finish of it, had startled him. 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 225 

" It is all very lovely, but has not my wife been improvident 
a little bit extravagant ? " he said gently. 

" I think not ; indeed, Philip dearest, I have a great surprise 
in store for you," she replied. 

" I can guess it ; your guardian has recovered " 

" What was never really lost ! " she cried, throwing her arms 
around him. At these words General Talbot's face changed and 
Miss Hilton prudently withdrew. After a comparatively short 
time there was a knock at her sitting-room door ; she opened it 
to find the general standing there. He held out his hand and 
said quietly that his time was up and he must leave, expressed 
a hope that she would make her home constantly with Juliet, 
and bade her good-by. She hardly knew what answer she 
made to this, so troubled and nervous was she at the expression 
of his pale, set face. Then the carriage came, and Juliet, closely 
veiled, was handed into it, her husband following her. 

This outline gave me a pretty clear insight into what must 
have passed, and I could see our colonel growing colder and 
stiffer as the conviction was forced upon him of how entirely he 
had been misled. Well, perhaps it was natural, he being, after 
all, only a man, that he should resent the deception. But the 
punishment was, I think, out of all proportion to the fault. And 
the mental suffering which our poor darling underwent left an 
impress upon her after-life never to be effaced. Of course, that 
the general suffered also goes without saying, though he suffered 
as men suffer, in a far different degree. His duties forbade 
brooding and his self-love supported him. But she had, she 
thought, lost all not only her husband's love, but his respect 
and life took on a very dark and sombre coloring. 

For several weeks Juliet was really ill, and we were all most 
anxious about her. Then the letters from the army were very 
uncertain, and those she received from the general very formal 
and cold. He never mentioned her in his letters to papa. 
Pearl wrote to him under enclosure to Harry, but the latter 
could not muster courage to speak to his chief, so sent him the 
missive by an orderly. He wrote, however, that Headquarters 
was a changed place, and General Talbot a changed man ; that 
every one wondered at it, he only being in the secret. The 
general's answer to Pearl was short, cruel, and in every way 
painful. He thanked her for her frankness and generosity in 
wishing to take all the blame, but it was too late; no confessions 
would do away with the fact, and the least said about it the bet- 
ter. For the only time in my life I was ashamed of my colonel. 

VOL. LI. 15 



226 Ol'K Diri.o.MACY. [May, 

It was December when the colonel paid that visit, and it was 
well into January before Juliet was able to be about once more; 
She had forbidden us to write of her illness, and she was never 
too ill to answer her husband's letters, two of which only came 
in that time. 

Bee's novitiate was to begin the I5th of January, and so my 
hands and heart were full. Ah ! what a Christmas-tide that 
was. How the joyousness natural to the time was subdued by 
anxious dread and forebodings, and yet increased as we worked 
to send tokens to our brave boys, whose very names made our 
hearts swell with pride. What a strange medley of joy and 
fear, pride and dread, delight and anxiety, our minds were then ! 
How we pitied those who had neither kith nor kin in the army, 
yet how we trembled for our loved ones there. The words 
" Dulcc ct decorum est, pro patria mori ! " are very grand-sound- 
ing, and produce a fine effect stamped upon a banner, but 
when we were called upon to act out the sentiment, there were 
few Roman wives, mothers, or sisters amongst us or Spartans, 
either. 

In February General Talbot's command was at Nashville, but 
Kentucky being at heart in sympathy with the South and over- 
run with the raiders from that army, the mail facilities were not 
many. All those weary three months Juliet had lived quietly, a 
changed woman, but making it still her duty to go among the 
soldiers' families wherever she could brighten, comfort, or assist. 
I was constantly with her. In fact, she clung so to me that I found 
I must give up many of my own pursuits to meet all that was 
required of me as mistress of my father's house and companion 
to our poor " empress." It was that winter that my own hap- 
piness came to me. Among the military stationed here at dif- 
ferent times I found my fate, which has, thank God ! proved a 
very happy one. How strange it is to look back upon those 
accidents in life which seem to be sent as preludes to the drama 
of existence ! A chance meeting, a casual glance, a bow in 
return for some trifling courtesy, a hand extended to prevent a 
sudden casualty these things happen every day, and yet when 
a second meeting follows with its momentous consequences, how 
magnified become the proportions of the one until then almost 
forgotten ! So it was with me. We were introduced one evening 
at a friend's house, all properly, but nobody knew then, or 
knows now, of the first meeting. That was our romance ; it oc- 
cupied but a second, a bow and a backward stepping, a word 
of apology and a disclaimer, and the currents of two lives were 



1890.] OUR DIPLOMACY. 227 

changed. But that is all I am going to say about it ; it is our 
secret, and middle-aged, humdrum married folks as we are, its 
memory is one of the brightest in our years. 

On the 5th of April we received letters written just before 
the start southward, made on the i;th of March. Two days 
after the news of the battle of Stone River, or Murfreesboro', was 
flashed over the wires. And then came the awful, the soul-sick- 
ening list of killed and wounded. Among the latter was that of 
Colonel Harry Vincent, chief of staff to General Talbot. The 
next dispatch was as follows : 

" General Philip Talbot is not among the dead or wounded so far as dis- 
covered. Colonel Vincent reports him wounded, in fact caught him as he 
swayed in the saddle, and being struck himself at the same moment, they fell 
together. The colonel's fever has abated and he is able to talk intelligently. He 
thinks that the body of his chief will be found where he fell, or if not, that he 
has been taken prisoner. But that does not seem probable, as the enemy was 
driven from that part of the field and did not regain it. The fate of this gallant 
officer is a sad one, if he is indeed killed, for aside from the many friends among 
his comrades-in-arms who will miss him, there will be mourning as only women 
mourn, and tears shed too sacred for pen of ours to chronide." 

Pearl at once made her preparations for going with the corps 
of nurses which the Sisters of Charity sent out, and was all ready 
to start when a telegram came from Harry saying that he was 
able to be moved to Nashville and expected thence to get by 
boat to Cincinnati. Meantime, we had watched Juliet carefully, 
anxious to keep this last item from her, and that no paper should 
reach her hands containing any allusion to General Talbot's fate. 
None of us had the courage to speak to her on the subject until 
definite intelligence was received. But our precautions were made 
vain in a most singular manner. 

She had not risen until quite late since her illness, and on 
the morning of the Qth of April papa and I walked around to 
pay our usual visit of inquiry. She was descending the stairs as 
we entered and met us almost joyfully. Drawing us into the 
sitting-room, she said : 

" Mr. Warrington, I am going down to the battle-field. I 
saw Philip last night, was led to him by a colored man in sol- 
dier's clothes, and found him badly wounded but alive. He knew 
me and seemed to revive at sight of me. Before I was taken 
to him I was awakened by his voice calling me. I heard it 
distinctly ; he said, ' Juliet, come ! ' You have been very kind 
in keeping, as you thought, that dispatch away from me, but it 
was care wasted, for I saw it the next day, only I didn't believe 
he was dead." 



228 OUR Dll'l.OMACY. [M.iy, 

All this in a calm tone of voice, and we listened, mute. 

Then to me : " Will you go with me, Dame Durden ? " She 
looked at papa. But one reply could be given to that request, 
and 1 interpreted her look : 

"Papa, can't you come too?" I asked, and Juliet exclaimed: 

"Oh! if you would! I didn't dare to ask it." 

And papa walked up and down the room twice, then said : 

" I'll let you know by dinner-time. When do you want to 
start ? " 

" To-night if I can get the passes. Will you see General 
Burnside ? " 

" I will, of course." No word of remonstrance was spoken. 
Pearl decided to go with us as far as Nashville. We reached 
Louisville the next morning, and thence took the train for Nash- 
ville. A relay of ambulance cars had been telegraphed the morn- 
ing of our arrival, and we left Pearl awaiting with tears and 
smiles the coming of her hero. During the rest of the journey 
we did not see a woman's face. It seemed very strange. 

Once at our journey's end, as General Rosecrans was a 
personal friend and a fellow West-Pointer with our colonel, our 
way was open. We were sitting in the tent at " general head- 
quarters," listening to various accounts of the battle, when a 
contraband wearing a " regulation " suit, doubtless picked up on 
the battle-field, entered and saluted General Rosecrans. But 
Juliet sprang up, regardless of military etiquette, and hurrying 
to him, laid her hand on his arm. 

" Where is he ? Where is my husband ? You are the man 
I saw ; take me to him ! " 

The negro looked at her in alarm, and then at the general, 
to whom he was a stranger, having been sent by his temporary 
master on a message from a neighboring division. 

" Can't you speak, man ? " cried papa. 

" Dunno, mas'r, dunno ! " scratching his head. 

"My name is Juliet He calls: 'Juliet, come!'" exclaimed 
our poor child, catching the man's arm and holding it with 
unconscious force. At her words the negro's wool seemed actu- 
ally to stir, the blood rushed back to his heart, and his black 
face turned gray. His eyes started and his knees shook, and 
crying out, " It's de debbil ! " turned to run. But the two sol- 
diers on guard brought down their guns across the entrance. 
At this new terror the fellow dropped to the ground in a heap 
and lay there. 

"O Mr. Warrington ! O general! do you see? He lives 



1890.] OUK DIPLOMACY. 229 

he is near. My God, I thank thee ! " Papa caught her as 
she swayed backward. 

As soon as the matter was explained to General Rosecrans 
he acted promptly. The negro was carried into another tent 
and his employer sent for Then, by dint of scolding and en- 
treating, threatening and promising, he was made to understand 
what was required, and finally acknowledged that his old mother 
had a wounded man hidden away in her cabin, whom she had 
found on the roadside, where he had dragged himself, searching 
for water, the day after the battle. The reason why she did not 
give him up to his friends, who were in camp near, was not 
very clear ; the boy said it was because she was afraid of " ole 
marse," her cabin being near the residence of the planter upon 
whose property the battle had been fought. But we all thought 
it was for the sake of reward in case his friends were able to 
find him, or he recovered. 

The wounded man's cry had been, in all his delirium, 
"Juliet, come!" Hence the negro's fright. As soon as Juliet 
was able, we all, with Major Strange, in whose service our guide 
was, set out for the cabin. As we walked along Juliet pointed 
out a tree, or a fence-gate, or a cabin she had seen, and it all 
made me feel very creepy; at length, when the cabin was 
reached, we thought she would faint. The two officers entered 
the place first and found our colonel lying on a pile of hay, over 
which a blanket had been thrown. He was asleep, and retiring 
without waking him, Juliet in her turn went in. As she en- 
tered the old woman who had been sitting beside the lowly 
couch arose, nodded to her, and left her there alone. 

From Chloe we learned that General Talbot's wound was 
not one requiring surgery ; that she was a doctress among her 
own people, and had applied simple but sure remedies, and she . 
thought he would get well if his mind were set at rest. He 
cried out frequently, "Juliet, come!" 

" So one day I axes him : ' Is dat yoh wife, honey, what yo' 
is axin' fd' ? ' An' he sez : 'Yes, aunty; does yo' know whar 
to fin' her ? ' An' oh ! it make my ole heart ache to see him 
a-watchin' me, it I'se gwine to say 'Yes.' But laws a massy! 
how'd I know ? " 

But to the question why she did not come to headquarters 
no satisfactory reply could be obtained. We waited there 
patiently for an hour, sitting about upon fallen logs and stumps 
of trees. All around us were marks of the strife, in broken 
branches hanging from the trees, their foliage not yet withered ; 



230 OUR Diri.^MACY. [May, 

trenches plowed by the rushing balls, and balls and bullets lying 
around, thick as hail. Dark stains upon the ground and grass 
made me shudder, but nothing more painful met my ga/.e. At 
length I asked papa if I had not better go into the cabin, and 
he assenting, I did so. Juliet was kneeling beside the bed, but 
had not touched even the dear hand ; whether it was that my 
entrance roused him I don't know, but as I reached her side he 
opened his eyes, and oh ! what a joyous light came into them. 

" My Juliet ! I knew you would come. Did you hear me 
calling ? I called so loud ! " 

With wonderful self-control she steadied her voice to answer : 

" Yes, my dearest, I heard you and I came." Then she 
stooped and kissed him, and I slipped away unnoticed. 

When we left headquarters General Rosecrans had sent word 
to his staff surgeon to come as quickly as possible. I had not 
rejoined the waiting group long before that gentleman arrived, 
and the circumstances were related to him. Then I was dis- 
patched into the cabin to announce his arrival. I found our 
dear one lying quietly, with his hand clasped in that of Juliet, 
at whom he was looking with a dreamy intentness, as if the 
subtile change in her face puzzled him. He was as yet too 
weak to recall the cause. As I approached, his eyes turned 
upon me with a smile of welcome, and I knelt down and kissed 
him. When I told Juliet that Dr. Bond wished to see her hus- 
band, she made a movement to rise, but his fingers tightened 
around her hand and he looked at her in alarm. The surgeon 
found no bones broken ; the ball had passed entirely through 
the general's body, but touched no vital spot ; he praised 
Chloe's nursing and nostrums and said the wound was healing, 
and the only danger was from inflammation. On this account it 
,would be better to leave the patient where he was for the 
present. We made our arrangements accordingly, but it was long 
ere I sought my cot; literally, for a tent was set up for me 
near the cabin, and Chloe was to sleep in the outer division of 
it. Paul and papa occupied another quite near. TKe radiant 
moonlight, the soft air of the southern spring, the strange .sur- 
roundings all served to keep us waking, and we sat about upon 
logs and stumps until long after " taps "; that is, papa, Paul, 
Dr. Bond, Major Strange, and I. Juliet was with her hus- 
band, and Chloe and her hopeful were somewhere near. It was 
then I heard the story of the top fence-rails, since so frequently 
told. When the army first arrived orders were given that the 
enemy's property must be respected and preserved. There was 



1890. J OUR DIPLOMACY. 231 

rail-and-rider fence temptingly near, and the boys had nothing 
with which to make fires. General Rosecrans was asked if they 
might not take the fence-rails. The reply was : " Yes, if they 
only took the top ones ! " In a very short time there was no 
fence left. Presently our quiet chat was interrupted by a 
crooning noise which came from a clump of trees behind us. 
It grew louder, and we could hear some of the words:. " De 
Lincum sojers come ! glory ! " etc. 

The singers gradually worked themselves into a frenzy, their 
voices raised to a scream, and the " glory " of the hymn or song 
was emphasized by bringing their hands together with a loud 
noise. It was Chloe and her son, who, by the way, rejoiced in 
the following nomenclature, Thomas Jefferson Andrew Jackson 
John Henry Nobles. When she began a third verse, " I'se a 
gwine to the Norf, glory ! " I thought it time to silence her, 
fearing the general's rest would be disturbed, so I found my way 
to her quietly, and chatted a while, asking her about her family 
and her life, and learning in a short time many things which 
made my soul rise in protest, although they were told in a sim- 
ple, matter-of-fact way. 

Papa and I remained several days, honored guests of the 
whole camp, and very interesting days they were too, spent 
going about among " the boys." We visited the hospital also 
under Dr. Bond's escort, and oh ! the sights and sounds we met 
there ! they haunted me for months afterwards. But I think our 
visit gave some pleasure, for I had a note-book and received 
many messages which I promised to write from Nashville to 
loved ones at home, the last, perhaps, the waiting hearts would 
ever receive. 

My story draws to a close, for I only intended to tell of our 
diplomacy and how nearly it came to grief and to making mis- 
chief where we had hoped to insure happiness ; as other state- 
craft has gone awry before, and will again. 

When the Talbots returned to Cincinnati, lo ! Chloe was 
with them, and also Thomas of the many names. Chloe was 
determined to come " Norf," and Juliet has never regretted 
bringing her. She still reigns mistress of the kitchen, while 
Thomas, having determined to achieve an education, if only 
an elementary one, succeeded beyond his hopes by attending a 
night school, and is now the general's trusted, intelligent major- 
domo. 

MARY M. MELINE. 



232 THE CHI-KCII A\n ////:.//. n: [M.iy. 



THE CHURCH AND THE |K\Y. 

jKsr> (,'HKisr, our Divine Lord and Redeemer, was persist- 
ently and grossly calumniated, and In- predicted tli.it his church 
should undergo simil.ir experience. This mark of legitimacy, 
among others, the Catholic Church h;is disclosed ; during all 
ages she has been the conspicuous mark for darkest calumny. 

There is, perhaps, no matter in connection with which such 
calumny has been more constant and bitter than the one d the 
church's relations towards the Jews. Infidel and 1'rotestant have 
joined with the Israelite in elaboration of this theme until the 
chorus has grown at length so strong and loud that multitudes 
even of Catholics have come to accept all as truth. As a sam- 
ple of harsh misrepresentation in this respect, let us present one 
extract from a discourse delivered by Rabbi Sonneschein, <>t St. 
Louis, Mo, in Temple Sinai, in the city of New Orleans, bet 
a " crowded, . . . wealthy, and fashionable congregation," 
and published in the New Orleans riciirttnf of May IO, 1889. 
I he date is stale, but the matter is made fresh by constant 
renewal : 



Where is Edom now? Where is the great R'lmm Km pi re ? Wlu-i 
Rome itself? Ancient Rome is a heap of ruins. Modern Koine ! Where 
the Ghetto ? Where was the power and the might of Rome, th.it most m.ili- 
cious and inveterate enemy of the Jews on account of the Jewish religion, be- 
cause the Jews did not want to subscribe to a dying God ? Fallen, fallen 
for ever ! " 

By way of showing that Rabbi Sonneschein is no exception 
in the matter of denouncing the Catholic Church as a special 
persecutor of the Jew-, we submit the following from the Jcicisti 
Timi-s and Observer of February 28, 1890. Many other cita- 
tions in the same line might be added : 

" In the language of a famous personage, ' We have changed all that.' 
The Ghetto has fallen for ever, blasted by the scorching and destroying power 
of enlightened public opinion. O Garibaldi, of glorious and ininnnt.il mem- 
ory ! you and your red-shirted followers, the invincible Thousand .uul Oni 1 , 
battered and crumbled the accursed ecck-M.istii-.il ll.i-.tiK-. where hmulietK .uul 
thousands of God's children were ilepiiveil even of the fresh air of he.iwn. of 
I he golden beams of the beneficent sun, xvhieh the erawlinj; creatures of the 

!\ enjoy in fulness." 

I Ins is strong language, such as deep passion or feeling 



1890.] THE Cin'Rcii A\n THE JEU\ 233 

alone casts forth. If the accusation so hotly expressed be well 
founded, then does this force of expression but evid< -nee an in- 
dignation at once powerful and just. If, on the other hand, the 
charge be false, the display is then one simply of malignant 
animosity. By inveterate the rabbi meant " firmly established 
by long continuance ; obstinate; deep-rooted; vindictive ; malig- 
nant." Such is the definition of Webster. By "malicious" he 
means to announce that this persistent persecution was actuated 
by ill-will alone, every possibility of worthy motive being ex- 
cluded. Now, is this accusation against the Catholic Church, as 
represented in the Papacy, true or false ? 

\Ve have no question here as to actions of particular states 
or communities against the Jews. We need not enter upon a 
discussion of the reasons of state policy which led nations of 
every other blood and creed to circumscribe the privileges of the 
Hebrews, and even to expel them, as constituting a race at all 
times and in all places united among themselves and against 
others, and as harmful to society or dangerous to non-Jewish 
peoples. Nor need we, for the purpose of the discussion lei; it i- 
mately before us, investigate the causes of the various popular 
outbreaks against the Jews which have arisen from time to time 
and in different places. It were foreign to the issue to seek to 
establish from historical sources that the Israelite, on his part, 
when occasion presented, has been a furious persecutor, and to 
similarly disprove the pretension that he has been ordinarily the 
entirely innocent and unprovoking victim of hatred merely re- 
ligious. The question is whether, even were we to concede all 
these things to have been exactly as the Jewish orators and 
\\riters have claimed, has the Papacy participated or made itself 
responsible ? 

In a discussion such as this one has the right to appeal to 
historians of his own way of thinking. Catholic testimonies 
might, therefore, be advanced, and the case rested upon them 
alone Such are at least as worthy of credit as testimonies from 
non-Catholic sources. But when evidence can be produced 
favorable to Catholic positions, yet coming from those who are 
opposed to Catholicism, such evidences have greater weight 
than mere ' testimony. They are in the nature of confessions 
against interest. 

Having in the present instance at command an abundance 
of non-Catholic testimonies, we can afford to lay aside entirely 
the solemn declarations of Catholic councils and synods, and all, 
as well, which Catholic saints and Catholic historians have 



234 Tnr. Cm-Ken A\n THE JEW: [May. 

written. We have remaining for our use what Protestants, hos- 
tile to the church, have declared, and what has been admitted 
by Israelites themselves. 

It is proper, however, to present, as a basis upon which to 
rest the authorities to be cited, certain of the papal decrees, 
which may for themselves show the merciful temper of the Holy 
See in this connection. 

Saint Gregory the Great, in an ordonnance, published the 
following sentiment to the Christian world : " They must be 
called to the unity of the Faith by mildness, by persuasion, and 
the giving of charitable advice. Violence is calculated to dis- 
gust those whom mildness and charity would attract." Innocent 
III. repeats similar sentiments, and cites several of his pre- 
decessors as having done the same : " Although they [the 
Jews] prefer," says the ordonnance of Innocent, " persisting in 
hardness of heart, rather than seek to understand the secrets of 
their Law and so come to the knowledge of Christ, they have 
none the less right to our protection. Hence, since they claim 
our help, we place them under the zegis of our protection ; . . . 
and following in the footsteps of our predecessors of happy 
memory of Calixtus, Eugenius, Alexander, Clement, and Ce- 
lestin we forbid all, without distinction, to force a Jew to Bap- 
tism, since he who is forced is not esteemed to have the faith." 
" Let no one," decrees this same Pope Innocent, " disturb them 
in their days of feast, either by striking them or casting stones ; 
let no one impose upon them on such days, labors which they 
may perform at other times. Such as violate these prohibitions 
shall be excommunicated." Basnage, a Protestant historian, bears 
the following testimony : " Of all sovereigns, there has been 
scarcely any whose dominion was milder towards the" circumcised 
than that of the popes : they left them full liberty of con- 
science." * 

Milman, who, though an Episcopalian minister and dean of 
St. Paul's, wrote history in many respects as though he were a 
Jewish rabbi, makes the following concession : " Of all European 
sovereigns, the popes, with some exceptions, have pursued the 
most generous policy towards the Jews." f The following we 
extract from the Encyclopedia Britannica, one of the most 
bigoted anti-Catholic publications of our later years : " Practical 
consequences, such as these, the church of course did not counte- 
nance ; the popes set themselves against persecution of the Jews, 

Histoire dts Jutfs, vol. ii., part ii., chap. xix. 

t History of Ike yews, vol. Hi. p. 175 ; edition A. C. Armstrong \ Sun, New York. 



1890.] THE CHURCH AND THE JEW. 235 

but with imperfect success." * Bedarride, an Israelite, gives many 
testimonies in the same line, which are to be found in his work, 
Lcs Juifs en France, en Italic, et en Espagne. " Despite certain 
temporary expulsions," says this author, " which struck them 
(the Jews) in certain Italian states, they were able always to re- 
establish themselves ; and the Holy See offered them always a 
refuge " (p. 363). 

Gregoire, unfortunate priest, apostate to Red Republicanism, 
who, dying unrepentant, was denied Christian sepulture, and 
who appeared before the French National Assembly in behalf 
and in the name of the Jews, gives evidence as follows : " The 
States of the pope were always their (the Jews) terrestrial 
Paradise. Their Ghetto at Rome is yet the same as that in the 
time of Juvenal ; and, as M. de Buffon observes, their families 
are the most ancient Roman families. The enlightened zeal of 
the successors of Peter protected always the remnants of 
Israel." f 

Finally, we have to submit "the official declaration of the 
" Assembly of Notables of Israel, reunited in Great Sanhedrin," 
which body was called together by the First Napoleon, during 
his empire, and was to regulate Hebrew affairs. It met at Paris, 
February 4, 1807, and continued sessions until March 4 of the 
same year. During the session of February 5, M. Avigdor, a 
member of the Assembly, or Sanhedrin, presented the following 
resolution : " The Israelite deputies of the Empire of France, and 
of the Kingdom of Italy, at the Hebrew Synod decreed May 30, 
last, penetrated with (a sense of) gratitude for the successive 
favors which the Christian clergy has rendered in all past ages to 
Israelites of various states of Europe ; full of gratitude for the 
reception which different pontiffs and many ecclesiastics have ex- 
tended at different times to Israelites of divers countries, when 
barbarity, prejudice, and ignorance had persecuted and expelled 
the Jews from the bosom of society ; Resolve, that the expres- 
sion of these sentiments be recorded in the precis-verbal of this 
day, that it may remain for ever as authentic evidence of the 
gratitude of the Israelites of this Assembly for the benefits 
which the generations preceding them have received from eccle- 
siastics of different countries of Europe ; Resolved, further, that 
a copy of these sentiments be forwarded to his excellency the 
Minister of Worship." The presenter of this resolution, after 
detailing the many favors received by Israel during succeeding 

* Vol. xiii., art. " Israel," p. 431. 

t Motion en faveur ifcs Juifs, par Gregoire, Cure 1 d'Emberme'nil, De'pute' de Nancy, p. 15* 



236 THE CHUKCH AND THI-: J I-, n: [May, 

centuries from the popes, concluded his address before the 
mbly as follows: "The people of Israel, always unfortunate, 
ami nearly always oppressed, have never had opportunity for 
manifesting recognition for so many favors, a recognition which 
is so much more pleasant (literally sweet, </<>//<<) to express, be- 
due to men disinterested and doubly respectable. Since 
eighteen centuries the occasion now- upon us is the only one 
which has presented itself for making known the sentiments with 
which our hearts are penetrated. This great and happy occa- 
sion is also the most suitable, the most beautiful, as well as the 
most glorious for expressing, in a marked manner, to ecclesiastics 
our entire gratitude towards them and towards their predecessors. 
Let us hasten, therefore, gentlemen, to profit by this memorable 
era ; and let us pay them this just tribute which we owe them ; 
let us make these precincts ring with the expression of all our 
gratitude ; let us express with solemnity our sincere thanks for 
the successive benefits with which they have heaped the genera- 
tions which have preceded us."- The proccs-fcrbal, in its conclu- 
sion, informs us that, in addition to adopting the resolution, " the 
assembly applauded the discourse of M. Avigdor." * 

\Ye must not be understood as contending that the popes did 
not approve of many restrictive measures adopted in different 
ages by various civil governments, as also by councils, synods, 
etc., for protection of state and church against the dangers with 
which they were, from time to time, threatened by Judaism and 
by the Jewish race. To do so would be to falsify history ; it 
would be, in addition, to repudiate actions which were just and 
necessary, and which truthful history abundantly vindicates. 
What we do claim, and what has been fully established, is that 
whatever was in the nature of outrage or of unjust persecution 
was consistently discountenanced and resisted by the Papacy, and, 
in fact, by the great body of the Catholic clergy. In light of 
the unquestionable authorities cited, the untruthfulness and malice 
of Rabbi Sonneschein's onslaught against the Catholic Church, 
and especially the Papacy, must be manifest to all. 

FRANK MCGLOIN. 

\e~A Orleans, La. 

Prwts-Verbal des Stances dt t AsstmbUe des Difut/! /-'ntafais professant la Kelijina Juire. 
p. 169; AbW Lrfmann, Les Israelites dans la SocM/ l-'ran<aisc, pp. 107, 108 ; Drumont, La 
l-nuict Juivf. vol. i. 305, el se<j. 



1890.] KINSHIP OF SPECIES IN THE Atfl&AL KINGDOM. 237 



KINSHIP OF SPECIES IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM. 

IT is the belief of very many naturalists that when Almighty 
God created organic beings he implanted in them two properties, 
namely, Inheritance and Adaptation, which properties have ena- 
bled the immense variety of animal forms which we see around 
us to spring from a few original ones. By inheritance is meant 
the power in the parents of handing down to their offspring 
their essential characters. By adaptation is meant the plastic 
quality which organisms possess, whereby they are able to 
accommodate themselves by modification to changed conditions 
of life. The more we study fossil remains, the more probable 
does this view of creation become. There was an epoch, we 
know, in the distant past when implacental mammals, or Mar- 
supials, largely predominated. Then came a time when marsu- 
pials became fewer and fewer, and as they diminished in number 
placental mammals took their place. May we not believe that 
the latter were marsupials which, by this plastic quality of adap- 
tation, were changed with changed surroundings? This is not an 
unreasonable belief, for we discover transitional forms leading 
upward through geological time from the implacentals to the 
placentals, and would not these transitional forms be quite 
enigmatical unless we viewed them as forms developing gradu- 
ally from lower into more highly organized mammals ? We 
discover among the fossils of the Jurassic Age birds with teeth 
in their jaws and whose wing-bones were not grown together 
as in birds of our day, but were more or less parted, as are the 
bones of a quadruped's forefoot, and these bird's wings were 
armed with claws so that they could seize with their wings; 
they had also a perfect lizard's tail composed of twenty verte- 
brae, and with feathers not set fan-shaped, but running along the 
whole length of the tail. With these discoveries before them, is 
it strange that most naturalists should consider birds to be an 
offshoot from the great reptile branch of the animal kingdom ? 
Paleontology reveals a thread of kinship between the order of 
Pachyderms and the order of Ruminants, at present widely 
separated. It appears at first unreasonable to say that the 
graceful, active antelope is in any way related to the clumsy 
hippopotamus ; yet we can trace through numerous intermediate 
forms an almost insensible passage from the heaviest hoof of a 
pachyderm to the lightest hoof of a ruminant. 



238 A'/.v.s////' <>/ .W'AY'/A.s- /.v Till-. AxiMAl. Kixc.Do.M. [May, 

\Vc find also in the Tertiary Age a thread of affinity between 
the horse and the rhinoceros, as well as between the bear and 
the dog. The Amphicyon is more dog than bear ; tin- Hy.rnarc- 
\hich -ucceeds it, is more bear than dog. And putting these 
two forms between the present dog and bear, we find the interval 
which parts them very much lessened, and we are not unwilling 
to believe that they may have had a common ancestor. For a 
good description of many transitional forms we refer the readers 
of THE CATHOLIC WORLD to a work entitled l.cs Ancctn-s di- 
ttos Animaux dans Us Temps Gcologiques, by Albert Gaudry, 
Professor of Paleontology at the Museum of Natural History, 

Paris. 

If we wish to understand how animals of widely different kinds 
may be genealogically related, and if we wish to discover the 
path which the Creator marked out for nature to follow in order 
to bring about the numberless forms that exist to-day, it is 
necessary to study the laws which affect the relations of various 
species to each other, and which maintain or modify their exist- 
ence as species; and this we may call the study of the physi- 
ology of the animal kingdom. No study is more important to 
one who is fond of nature ; but within our limited space we can 
only touch on a few facts which this study embraces, and which 
help us to realize its usefulness. As we cast our eyes over ani- 
mated nature we often lose sight of the influence which one 
organism may possess over another organism. Yet it is certain 
that if we change the mode of an/ animal's existence, this 
change will influence the fate of other animals in any way de- 
pendent on it. Exterminate the insect-eating birds of a country, 
and immediately there will be a vast increase of insects, which 
will perhaps entirely ruin the grain crops; and then grain-eating 
birds, left without their accustomed food, must either perish or 
change their mode of life. If by long-continued droughts the 
grass of any region be destroyed, the herbivora will disappear, 
and then the carnivora, having no longer any flesh to eat, will 
disappear also, or change their habits. But experiments prove 
that if an animal be able to change its mode of life and to 
subsist on different food, this change will surely bring about 
modifications in its structure. Hunter, the English anatomist, 
fed a gull on grain for a twelvemonth, and succeeded in harden- 
ing the inner coat of its stomach so that it resembled the stom- 
ach of a pigeon. It has also been proved that the gizzard of a 
pigeon fed for a long time on meat is little by little changed 
into the soft-skinned stomach of a carnivorous bird. 



1890.] AV.V.SY///' OF SPECIES IN THE AXIMAL KINGDOM. 239 

Von Willich has shown that a frog's skin assumes a darker 
coloring when the frog is not given enough food. The quality 
of the food also exerts a marked effect. Wallace tells us that 
the Indians of Brazil change the feathers of a parrot Chrysotis 
festiva from green to red by feeding it on the fat of a fish 
allied to the shad. We know that the bullfinch turns black if 
fed on hempseed, and butterflies, especially those of the genus 
Euprepia, have an abnormal tint when the caterpillars are confined 
to a diet of walnut-leaves. 

It may therefore be reasonably held that, were experiments 
in food carried out on a larger number of animals and for a 
greater length of time, even more fundamental modifications 
might be brought about. 

The absence of light may also cause structural changes. It 
is proved that darkness destroys the eyes of animals, for eyes 
are useless without light, and by the law of degeneration they 
gradually, through disuse, disappear. Here let us observe that 
the facts thus far ascertained leave little doubt that blind animals 
descend from ancestral forms which were not blind. The mole, 
although almost totally sightless, has true eyes which are quite 
invisible outwardly, for they are covered by the skin. Sometimes 
the mole can see a little, for the optic nerve of both eyes Js not 
always degenerate, and the images formed on one eye may occa- 
sionally be transmitted to the animal's sense consciousness. In 
the embryo of the mole both eyes are found to be connected 
with the brain by perfect optic nerves. It. is, however, a curious 
fact that animals with well-developed eyes have been discovered 
in caves where total darkness prevails. Moreover, among certain 
insects living in darkness only the females are blind, and this might 
seem to show that their blindness was not owing to the absence 
of light, otherwise the males, too, would be blind. We may 
ask what use can these male cave-insects have for their eyes ? 
An answer has been suggested ; namely, that the blind 
females may be phosphorescent, and this light may guide the 
males to them. It is believed that in the case of fire-flies, 
phosphorescent light serves as a guide between the sexes. 

The greater or less degree of saltness in water has a marked 
influence on animals living in it. It has been proved that salt, 
when in solution in water, may penetrate an animal's skin without 
the animal's agency. . Place a frog in salt water in such a manner 
that it cannot swallow any of the water, yet it will soon be 
found that the salt has entered its body ; and a frog can endure 
a solution of one per cent, of salt without injury. But while it is 



240 A'/.v.sv///' OF />/.< //:. v i.\ THE AXIMAI. A"/.u;/x.i/. [May, 

now generally admitted by naturalists that many fresh-water 
forms may grow accustomed to a life in salt water, and many 
marine forms to a life in fresh water, nevertheless such changes 
must produce marked modifications. The recent experiments of 
Schmankewitsch prove that by adding or diminishing the quan- 
tity of salt in water, certain crustaceans may be made to vary 
so much as to become, in the course of several generations, not 
only of a different species, but of a different genus. 

It is very interesting to study the influence of oxygen in 
water. All the outward parts of an animal which come in con- 
tact with a medium full of oxygen form, as it were, a breathing 
surface ; and any internal portion of an animal may also become 
a breathing surface, provided the medium containing oxygen can 
reach it. But the part or parts which seem best fitted to breathe 
are those to which the term " organs of respiration " is properly 
applied. It has been proved that in many invertebrate animals 
the mucous membrane of the intestinal canal serves for breath- 
ing ; and we know that gills may occur in the intestine of a 
water animal as well as on the outer surface. In some species 
of water-lice gills are found as appendages to the legs, while 
other invertebrates the common leech, for instance breathe only 
through the skin. One species of fish Cobitis fossilis breathes 
through the intestines that is, it swallows air-bubbles at the 
surface of the water and thus brings oxygen in direct contact 
with the breathing surface of the intestines. Then, again, under 
certain conditions, the general respiration of the skin of a water 
animal may be so increased as to be enough for the animal's 
needs, and its special organs for respiration may be. dispensed 
with. It has been shown that a frog, when not allowed to come 
to the surface, may live under water as long as it is given food, 
and as long as it is plentifully supplied with fresh water. Here 
skin respiration takes the place of lung respiration. 

The physiological action of the air-breathing organs of animals 
living in air does not differ from that of the skin and gills in 
water-breathing animals ; through them the blood is brought into 
the nearest contact with the medium containing oxygen. Yet 
nothing can be conceived more unlike in structure than a fish's 
gills, the lungs of the higher vertebrates, and the tracheae of in- 
sects. The tracheae of insects are exceedingly fine elastic tubes 
ramifying in all directions, and allowing the alternate inspiration 
of fresh air and expiration of impure air; and by those tiny 
tubes the oxygen needed is brought directly to and absorbed by 
all the organs of the insect. 



1890.] Ki.vsff/p OF SPEC/ES IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM. 241 

So readily may organisms adapt themselves by modification 
to their surroundings that we find water-breathers which are 
able to be air-breathers. Fish, we know, breathe through their 
gills. These are placed at the sides of the head and absorb 
oxygen from a stream of water entering the mouth, and which, 
after bathing the gills, flows out behind through the gill-openings. 
We might, therefore, take fish to be animals adapted solely to a 
life in the water. Yet there are several kinds of fish which not 
only can breathe out of water, but which spend no small part of 
their life out of water. The Periophthalmus and Boleophthalmus 
skip along the sand near the water's edge in quest of mollusks 
and insects. Like all fish, they have true gills, but these do not 
fill up the bronchial cavities, which in their case hold air 
as well as water, and we may consider these organs as lungs 
which have developed by modification of a part of the water- 
breathing cavity. And the fishes which have such gills, and 
which are consequently able to exist out of water, may be 
looked upon as amphibians. Hence, we see that an organ which 
at one time acts as a lung may at another time become a water- 
breathing organ. But this is not so surprising when we know 
that in snails a gill cavity has by modification become finally 
changed into a lung. And this surely God-planned power of 
modification has no doubt saved many organisms from extinction; 
it may have enabled them to escape from enemies encroaching 
on their* native domain, be it land or water, or it may have en- 
abled them to procure food when it had become wanting in the 
medium in which they originally dwelt. The porpoise, although 
seemingly a fish, is not a fish, and it is not improbable that its 
remote ancestor may have lived on the land, whence some 
enemy or some unfavorable condition drove it away. Yet 
through the plastic quality of adaptation it has so taken on the 
guise of a fish that many people are surprised when they are 
told it is a mammal. 

There are eminent naturalists who believe that fertile cross- 
breeding between animals of two different species may have been 
one of the means by which new forms have originated. The 
possibility of such fertile cross-breeding can no longer be 
doubted, and it is interesting to know that in hybrids may be 
found characters which do not belong to either parent, while 
hybrids have sometimes been described as distinct species. It is 
positively known that the rabbit has crossed with the hare, the 
tiger with the lion, the polar bear with the brown bear, the dog 
with the jackal and the wolf. Nor are the newly originated 



AV.v.s////' Of .s'/v-r/A.v /.v TI/K A.V/MAI. KINGDOM, [May, 

hybrid forms always sterile. U *M formerly believed. Ilybnus 
between tin- jackal and tlu- .In-;, and between the dot; and 
w ,,lf -lay lertile for many generation*. Nor are the mst 
which are known of succ^sful hybridization confined t.. annuals 
under man's influence. Fertile union of hybrids ha, occurred 
a state -f nature; for instance, between the domestic cat and 
Felis torquato, described by Cuvier as a distinct B| 
fessor Siebold, in his K reat work on the fresh-w.iter fish, 
Germany, describes no fewer than eight hybrids, which other 
naturalists had described not only as different species, but actually 
as types of special genera. 

It is interesting to know that the mollusk forming the cnu< 
Onchidium has in certain localities eyes on its back as well as 
on its head, and these dorsal eyes, while simple in structm 
similar in type to the eyes of vertebrates. In both we tmd what 
is known as the ' blind spot ' (the spot where the optic nerv( 
pierces the outer skin of the eye), and this mollusk is the only 
invertebrate possessing the eyes of a vertebrate. Professor 
Semper, in his excellent work entitled Animal Life as affected 
by the Natural Conditions of Existence, tells us that this mollusk 
lives on the sea-shore, and that in the same neighborhood may 
be found the Periophthalmus, a fish which, as we know, is able 
to skip along the sand and whose chief food is this very 

mollusk. 

Now, Professor Semper believes that the presence 
Periophthalmus may account for the development of these eyes 
(sometimes ninety in number) on the back of the Onchidium. This 
mollusk is incapable of fleeing from an enemy, it has no pro- 
tecting shell like other mollusks, and it is consequently very 
much- exposed to capture by this singular fish, which is 
almost as nimble out of water as in the water. 

Professor Semper's hypothesis is that when the helpless On- 
chidium perceives through its dorsal eyes a Periophthalmus leap- 
ing toward it, it quickly contracts its whole body, and by doin- 
so the minute glands with which its back is studded eject count- 
less globules of an offensive secretion which strike the fish and 
cause it to turn aside. 

What renders this hypothesis a probable one is that wherever 
the Periophthalmus is found, there, too, is found this mollnsk 
provided with eyes on its back ; while in places where the 
Periophthalmus does not exist, there this mollusk may be found, 
but without dorsal ey 

\Ve have seldom read anything more interesting than Profe 



1890.] KINSHIP OF STECIES IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM. 243 

Semper's account of his actual observations of all the stages of 
development of these eyes as they take place in nature. He 
has been able to detect the very process of their formation from 
the simplest conditions of a cell or group of cells containing 
within themselves the elements of modification, first into an 
organ capable only of distinguishing light and shadow, and then, 
under the influence of natural selection, into a perfected organ, 
a true eye, which might give warning of the approach of a 
Periophthalmus.* 

We close by saying that the study of the physiology of the 
animal kingdom has strengthened our belief in the constancy of 
a species being dependent on the constancy of the external con- 
ditions. When the 'conditions of life change, the changes will 
effect a selection among the animals exposed to them and thus 
bring about, in the long course of ages, the transformation of one 
species into another. Professor Albert Gaudry, in the work 
already mentioned, Les Ancetres de nos Animaux dans les Temps 
Geologiques, says : " Les hommes qui etudient le monde vivant 
ont pu croire a la fixite des especes, mais ceux qui scrutent les 
temps geologiques sont plutot portes a penser que le changement 
est 1'essence des creatures : 1'activite de Dieu semble s'etre mani- 
festee par des modifications incessantes qui, en donnant de la 
variete a la nature, ont contribue a sa beauteV'f 

WILLIAM SETON. 

* When we speak of teeth we always associate them with the mouth of an organism. 
Yet so far does nature go to adapt special organs for an animal's preservation that teeth 
may actually be developed in the stomach. It is known that snakes of the genus Dasypeltis, 
which are found in Africa, swallow birds' eggs whole and never crush the shell in doing so 
lest some of the contents might be spilt. Now, this snake is provided with teeth in the fore 
part of the stomach, and these tiny teeth pierce through the coat of the stomach just far enough 
to break the egg-shell as it passes through. 

t " Those who study the living world may believe in the fixity oi species, but those who 
search closely the geological ages are rather inclined to believe that change is the essence of 
created beings : the activity of God seems to have manifested itself by incessant modifications 
which, by giving variety to nature, have contributed to her beauty. ' 



HAYTI. [May 



\ C.LIMPSE OF TH1. Kl PUBLIC OF HAYTI.- 

I. 

"OM v -ive him a fair chance," the friends of the negro li. 
been reiterating since the emancipation, "and you will see what 
he will do for himself." And then somebody has been sun to 
say, " Look at Hayti." 

Looking at Hayti through the newspapers is one thing ; 
spending several weeks in the capital of the Black Republic is 
another, particularly if exceptional opportunity is afforded for a 
study of her problems, the currents of her social and political life, 
and the significance of missionary effort in her behalf. I'ort-au- 
Prince is missionary headquarters, Catholic and Protestant. Look 
upon your map and see where it is situated: at the bottom ol the 
cul-de-sac deeply penetrating the western shore of the island which 
is the very key to the West Indies. Now, if you " read up " 
Port-au-Prince before taking passage on an " Atlas Line " or 
" Royal Mail," the probabilities are you will decide to stay at 
home; at least, not to land upon a shore of which little that is 
good has been said since Columbus painted it in glowing colors 
to Queen Isabella. The modern West Indian tourist looks at it 
from the outer harbor (and that with his handkerchief at his 
nose, as some tell us), and the tourists' reports do not contradict 
each other. . . . "The dirtiest city on the face of the 
earth. . . . " " The most fever-stricken of all pestilential 
localities. . . . " " The nest of the viper revolution." Sir 
Spencer St. John, at present the authority upon Hayti, cautions 
foreigners against the salted meat in the markets, lest they con- 
sume human remains. And Froude, who spent perhaps two 
hours ashore, says the boulevards are as foul as pig-sti. .>. and 
that forty thousand persons have died there of fever in a single 
year ; that black dukes and marquises drive over the poor 
white trash, and that the Roman Catholic clergy barely subsist 
upon the support given them by those who are outwardly Cath- 
olics, but who are in reality African pagans, practising voudoo 
rites under the ritual of the church. 

Never mind what took me to Hayti. Suffice my assuring 
you that I have seen Hayti within the last six months, and that 

The writer of this article is not a Catholic. EDITOR. 



1890.] A Gl.t.MI'SE OF THE RF.rrKLIC OF HAYTI. 245 

I have spent a part of October and November in Port-au-Prince. 
I may not dwell upon the unhappy history of Hayti, one of the 
bloodiest pages of the French Revolution. Suffice it to say it is 
now eighty-six years since the blacks of Hayti emancipated them- 
selves and France gave up the island, which had been called 
" the gem of the Bourbon crown," the Black Republic incor- 
porating in its constitution that significant clause : " No white 
man, whatever his nationality, shall be permitted to land on the 
Haytian territory with the title of master or proprietor, nor shall 
he be able, in future, to acquire there either real estate or the 
rights of a Haytian." The flag of the Black Republic is the 
French flag reversed the white left out. 

The established church was and still is the Roman Catholic, 
but the deep-rooted' jealousy of white domination makes its rela- 
tion to the Pope somewhat unique. The head of the state, the 
President of Hayti, is head of the church. "The anomaly is 
presented," wrote Redpath in 1861, "of a democratic Catholic 
Church a church without a bishop or any grade of superior 
clergy. . . . The Haytian ruler has always refused to abdi- 
cate his chieftainship ; and the pope, on the other hand, has 
inflexibly insisted on absolute control in ecclesiastical affairs. 
The difficulty has at last been overcome by the concession on 
the part of the pope of the most liberal concordat. ... It 
provides that the bishop shall be appointed by the president, 
subject to the confirmation of the pope ; and to this bishop shall 
be given the power of nominating the priests, subject to the 
approval of the president. . . . The church in Hayti is sup- 
ported by the contributions of its members and by an annual 
stipend made by the government for the repair of ecclesiastical 
edifices. The law fixes' the rate of honorariums for various reli- 
gious services, and these are paid to a church warden, who is 
also a civil officer, and who expends the fund under the direc- 
tion of the communal council for the use of the church, one part 
being paid to the priest and his assistants, and the rest expended 
for vestments, etc. The offerings made at baptisms, marriages, and 
the like are the exclusive income of the priest." 

From the date of the first settlement of the white man in 
the new world, December, 1492, San Domingo, as the whole 
island was originally called, has been under the control of the 
Catholic Church. Protestantism was not introduced until 1816. 
The Haytian Catholics have never persecuted Protestants, yet 
Protestantism has not yet succeeded in getting a really strong 
foothold on the island. The country is emphatically Catholic. 



./ <V/ /.i/7'.w or nn A'/ ///;/ /c o/- //.-/)//. [May, 

So much so th;it I felt justified in saying to sonic g"od Mctho- 
thcre that even they bad ac<|uircd " the Cathol in a 

; many ways. Of course there is a marked contrast between 
the i. 1I houses of the Catholic religious orders, both in si/.e, 
appointments, and numbers, and the missions of the Protestants. 
The schools for the better clar-s the girls' seminaries parti- 
cularly and the hospitals are almost entirely Catholic, if not 
wholly so. The daughters of the wealthy are sent to the con- 
vents of France, the sons to the best Catholic schools of Paris. 
Some two thousand Haytians, I was told, visit 1'aris almost 
annually. 

Only for what has been done by the Roman Catholic Church, 
and the comparatively recent and still nebulous missions of Pro- 
testantism, Hayti might seem to have rdason for saying, as 
she does say through her leading citizens : " We have been 
boycotted by civilization ever since we declared our inde- 
pendence." 

There is a measure of truth in the statement. This fierce, 
half-barbaric child of the French Revolution, this unfortunate off- 
spring of race-hatred, demanded the vigilant guardianship of 
civilized Christendom in a greater degree than new-born nation- 
alities often do. Hayti is our next-door neighbor. She holds 
the keys of the West Indies, and the control of those keys is 
becoming more and more a subject of the utmost importance. 
Her harbors are bound to be on the grand highway of the 
world's commerce at no distant day. And who knows but 
Hayti is the Canaan for the black race ? 

From the generalities of this subject, let me pass to parti- 
culars, to some of my personal experiences in the field at 
Port-au-Prince. 

II. 

1 had been several days in " the dirtiest city on the face 
of the earth " when I passed on the street one morning a Sister 
of Charity. She was alone and on foot. Only the women of 
the peasantry walk in the streets of Port-au-Prince. This woman 
was making her way unattended through the crcole, chattering 
rabble of soldiers, market-women, and donkeys, and watching 
her and the marked respect she received, I felt that I had 
discovered at last the clue I had strangely overlooked in my 
endeavor to get at the head springs of mission-work in Havti. 
There was the power which, if exercised aright, could shape 
Jl.iyti's future for righteousness. 



A GLIMPSE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAYTI. 247 

A tew Sunday mornings after (being the day following 
Hypolite's triumphant return to Port-au-Prince) found me ring- 
ing at the wicket- gate of the Sisters of St. Joseph de Cluny. 
A good Catholic, the leading physician of Port-au-Prince, Dr. 
Torres, the United States vice-consul, had arranged for my 
reception, and the sisters had invited me to attend High Mass in 
their chapel at 7.30 that morning, when I might see the one 
hundred and fifty or more Haytian girls of their school at ser- 
vice. A high wall concealed the chapel and court and the 
several houses of the palm-shaded enclosure from the world 
outside. shutting out a far different picture from the one inside 
the gate. Outside, although the school is in the pleasantest 
suburbs of the city, one could not forget he was in Port-au- 
Prince. Inside, one could easily fancy he was in a picturesque 
old convent of France. The well-kept grounds, the immaculate 
cleanliness and perfect order, the grateful shade, was something 
one must be a home-sick guest in a wretched West Indian 
hotel to fully appreciate. 

An English-speaking sister received me long a willing exile 
from her native land and chatting with her in the home-like 
reception room was like waking from a dream. There was an 
elegant yet severe simplicity in the furnishing of the room. A 
portrait of Anne Marie Javouhey, fondatrice de la Congregation 
dc Saint-Joseph de Cluny, hung upon the wall with other 
engravings. Two pianos were in the room, and many books. 
Several sisters came in to welcome me. Only one or two of 
them could speak English, a fact, however, which did not inter- 
fere greatly with our intercourse. But the girls were standing 
outside in line, and must not be kept waiting, and we stepped 
out upon the veranda to see them, as they stood singing a 
hymn of prafee a prelude to the processional hymn with which 
they would enter the chapel. Black girls all of them, very 
black the majority, with pronounced negro features, their ages 
ranging from six to twenty, if I guess aright. The daughter of 
President Hypolite was among them, and not a few Pro- 
testants, I was told, Bishop Holiy's daughter having attended 
the school prior to his removal to the country. 

The girls were dressed in a becoming and simple uniform 
black gowns of some light wool texture ; white, broad-brimmed 
Leghorn hats, tastefully trimmed with straw-colored ribbon, a 
little veil of black lace thrown back over the crown. The color 
of the sash worn by each girl red, blue, or purple indicated 
her scholarship and class standing. Singing, they preceded us 



o/- Tin- A'A/VA/./r 01- HAYII. [M.i>. 

into the chapel, where they reverently took their places, follow- 
ing the service with .1 ilevuut tleme.mor that was most im; 
she, while their rendering of the chant- was something I shall 
never foiget. The priest w.is one of the fathers from the Semi- 
nars- St. Martial, a boys' classical school in Port-au-Prince. At 
the close of the Mass he read a pastoral letter from the arch 
bishop, stating that the clergy of Hayti had been accused "t 
meddling in the politics of the country,, which the archbishop 
affirmed to be wholly false, praying that his people might be 
loyal to the new administration. Alter the service several of the 
music class were invited into the parlor, and their remarkable 
proficiency upon the piano added greatly to our enjoyment. 
Their teacher was a native Haytian sister of exceptional ability. 
While the order is under the superintendence of white women, 
and composed chiefly of them, there is, happily, nothing lii 
color line to mar its catholicity. Dr. Terres came in to 
sick sister, and the most excellent of wine was served ; the 
music and the pleasant converse making even a foreigner unac- 
customed to tropical heat forget how fast the hours were slipping 
on to the noontime, when all but natives reasonably dread the 
sun. "The innate lawlessness of the Haytian girl," said the 
sisters, " is the great difficulty we have to deal with their inborn 
rebellion against authority, their false ideas of libertc." 

The Sisters of St Joseph de Cluny have fourteen houses in 
Hayti, six of which are in Port-au-Prince. The principal house 
is the one I visited, a first-class seminary for girls, where the. 
course of instruction is the same as that of the best European 
establishments. Four of the Cluny sisters are at the seminary St. 
Martial, having charge of the housekeeping and of the infirmary. 
They also care for the younger boys of the brothers' school in 
Port-au-Prince. The other schools of the order are as follows: 
Cape Haytien, 150 pupils; Gonaives, 250; St. Marc, 150;. 
Cayes, 170; Baraderes, 160; Aquin, 90; Jacmel, 125; Petion- 
ville, 50. 

The order began its mission in Hayti in 1864 under the 
special protection of Archbishop Cestard du Cosquen, who in- 
vited them to the island during the presidency of Geffrard. 
Since then, they say, they have been duly appreciated by every 
administration, and by the people at large. They suffered 
greatly in the revolution just over (let us hope it is over). Their 
hospital outside of the wall was burned by the retreating troops 
of Lcgitime in the summer of 1888. 

Legitime was a devout Catholic. Hypolite is what lipisco- 



1890.] CARDINAL GIBBONS' "Oi'R CHRISTIAN HERITAGE." 240, 

palians would call " more evangelical." Although a Catholic,. 
Legitime burned a good part of the city before surrendering it 
to Hypolite ; some seven hundred dwelling houses being de- 
stroyed, to say nothing of public buildings. 

The sisters are by no means confident that a stable govern- 
ment has yet been established. Their experience makes them 
doubtful of the permanence of any administration in that land 
of revolution, but they are doing their best, with the help ot 
Christ, for the salvation of a land which, without their ministry 
and that of their fellow-laborers, would be desolate indeed. 

JANE MARSH PARKER. 



CARDINAL GIBBONS' " OUR CHRISTIAN HERITAGE."* 

WHATEVER comes from the pen of the illustrious author of the 
Faith of Our Fathers cannot fail to be of the highest impor- 
tance and, without exaggeration we may add, of national interest. 
By his position the cardinal is justly looked upon as the spokes- 
man of the Catholic Church in the United States ; by his tact 
and prudence, and the patriotic interest he takes in all the burn- 
ing questions of the day, he has acquired an influence over all 
classes of our people second to none, and there is no respectable 
body of citizens, whatever its religious convictions may be, that 
does not receive his counsels and warnings with respect and con- 
sideration. The Catholic Congress recently held in Baltimore has 
proved, beyond all question, to those who needed such proof, that 
the Catholic body is a powerful intellectual factor in our still 
young and vigorous nation, which must be taken into account in 
all national questions, and the Cardinal-Archbishop of Baltimore is, 
by excellence, the representative of Catholic thought and the 
exponent of Catholic views. For this reason it was that the 
new work, which was spoken of from time to time, was waited 
for with so much impatience. 

It was published at a most appropriate time, just when the 
prelates and clergy from every part of the Union had assembled 
in Baltimore to celebrate the centenary of the Catholic hierarchy, 
and it will remain one of the most lasting mementos of that 
glorious occasion. 

* We call our readers' special attention to this article, as well on account of its gleat 
intrinsic merit as of the importance of the work which it reviews. EDITOR. 



A' CffKfs 1 1 A v HEKITAC.K" [May, 

In the beautiful introduction the object of tin- \V'>rk is laid 
d"\\n with tlir gentle unction which characterizes all the car- 
itten ami spoken words. It is not polemical ; it does 
not pretend to deal with the controversies which for centuries have 
.in between those pn >fes^ing ditti rent forms of Chris- 
tianity. The intention is to erect and strengthen the platform 
upon which all who believe in Christ and accept his teachings 
may find a firm foothold to battle against the common foe The 
foundations not merely of Christian life but of .-ociety and 
of the natural law are being sapped ; the seeds planted by tilt- 
atheistic schools of France and Germany are bearing their disas- 
trous fruits; the very atmosphere is rank with unbelief; they who 
think for themselves, and they who think by proxy and these 
latter are, alas! in the vast majority are infected with the new 
which, logically carried out, must in time overthrow our 
civilization itself. The cardinal's work is addressed to all who 
aie hone>tly seeking the confirmation and vindication of the 
Christian truth which is their heritage; to those especially who, for 
some reason or another, such as "association, the absence "I 
Christian training, a distorted education, ^nd pernicious reading, 
have not only become estranged from the specific teachings of the 
Gospel, but whose moral and religious nature has n-ivived such 
a shock that they have only a vague and undefined faith even 
in the truths of natural religion underlying Christianity." 

The cardinal gives up as hopeless any effort t<> influence the 
professional infidel, even as Catholics have learned to avoid as 
productive of evil rather than good the controversies with pro- 
fessional Protestants which were so much in vogue half a cen- 
tury ago. The cardinal credits these professional unbelievers with 
"judging everything from their own narrow standpoint"; in our 
judgment it seems that nothing but malice, or self-ir >r (to 

give them the advantage of the most charitable interpretation) 
intellectual crookedness can explain their isolated and monstrous 
position. For a monstrosity is anything out of the common 
order of nature, and the cardinal shows by arguments brought 
forward from every class of men and from every period of his- 
tory that they who deny the existence of God, fur instance, are 
as much out of the common order of nature as the Siamese 
Twins or the Chinese Giant they are either frauds or freaks. 
V.'ith minds so constituted or determined all argument would be 
vain, and they are wisely excluded from the list of those who 
be bettered by a perusal of this interesting volume. Hut 



1890.] t',//<Y>/.v,//. GIBBONS' "OUR CHRISTIAN HKKITAGE:' 251 

for souls harassed with doubt, and anxious for some prop for 
their shattered faith, it must be a priceless boon to find solid 
ground beneath their feet. Much of the doubt of the present 
day is not so much the effect of positive unbelief as of igno- 
rance and perplexity with regard to the true doctrines of Chris- 
tianity, and consequently of inability to answer the captious 
questions in which modern sophists have dressed up very old 
difficulties. To these honest doubting souls Our Christian Heri- 
tage is especially addressed, though even firm believers will 
derive therefrom much profit and consolation, for it quiets doubts 
and answers difficulties by showing the faultless beauty and un- 
assailable strength and reasonableness of Christian teaching, with 
earnest words of warning ot the dangers lhat will follow to our 
moral and physical life if that teaching be neglected. 

The first fourteen chapters treat of God and man, and their 
relations to one another, as natural reason dictates, indepen- 
dently of revelation. 

The two arguments for the existence of God, drawn from the 
order which marks the external world, and from the united testi- 
mony of every people in every age of the world's history, are 
developed with much grace and vigor. The former of these 
arguments is irresistible, and there is no man who can evade 
the force of it ; " for the invisible things of him, from the creation 
of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things 
that are made ; his eternal power also and divinity ; so that they 
are inexcusable " (Rom. i. 20). 

When we consider the glorious beauty and order throughout 
all creation, the regularity with which the seasons succeed to 
one another, the intricate provision which has been made for 
. every living thing upon the earth's surface ; when we consider 
the great worlds and systems all about us, rolling and plunging 
through space yet never deflecting from the orbits marked out 
for them, where the least irregularity would be followed with 
universal chaos ; when we examine the exquisite workmanship 
displayed in the tiniest blade of grass between our feet, and see 
everywhere the means so exquisitely adapted to the end, who 
can resist the conclusion of a mighty intelligence and will that 
has fashioned and brought all this varied beauty and stupendous 
power into being ? It is an insult to our intelligence to ask us 
.to ascribe to chance or fate any portion of this complex machin- 
ery. As the cardinal well remarks, " The most ignorant peasant 
will recognize order in the disciplined march of an army, and 



CAKD/.VAI. (;//. \UK CHRISTIAN HERITAGE? [May, 

disorder in the pell-mell rout of .1 mob"; and the most ignorant 
-lit will just as surely argue from the existence of order to 
the existence of an ordering intelligence. His ideas of (iod 
may be COVM ami stupid, as anthropomorphic as you pie. 
he may represent the Su])reine Being under the form of a frisky 
old Jupiter, or a more dignified yet no less frail Deus ; or it 
may take the higher form of a vague indefinite Great Spirit 
proclaiming himself in thunder and lightning, yet irresistibly man 
is driven to the knowledge of an intelligence -uperior to himself, 
and the first cause of all that is. This involves no complex- 
process of reasoning; it is as simple as the law of cause and 
effect; indeed, so spontaneous and ready is it that several schools 
of thought have tried to explain it by innate ideas or by a blind 
instinct of the intellectual faculty. It is not to be wondered at, 
then, that no people of ancient or modern times ^indeed we may 
add, no single individual enjoying the right use of his intellect 
has ever seriously denied the existence of God. The car- 
dinal brings forth a vast amount of proof from the writings ot 
the great men of every age, and from the accounts of travellers 
and missionaries from every land. Prejudice and ignorance spring 
from local, mutable causes, and are necessarily limited within the 
narrow circumference of changeable circumstances ; the universal 
voice of man is the infallible voice of nature herself, and she pro- 
claims aloud the existence of God. " Men had, indeed," observes 
Cicero, quoted by the cardinal, " false notions regarding the Deity 
[for that involves profound and complex reasoning], but they all 
acknowledge a divine nature and energy." 

It is to be regretted, we think, that the illustrious author 
did not deal professedly with the form of infidelity which is 
really the only one in our day that claims to be respectable, 
and, by a very old trick, cloaks its inherent wickedness and we 
have no hesitation in adding, its stupidity under an impressive 
Greek name, Agnosticism. How much less fashionable the sys- 
tem might have been, at least in America, if it had been called 
by its English equivalent, Know-nothingism ! The agnostic 
not directly question the truth of the existence of God ; he 
claims to be neither a theist nor an atheist, but to have found 
the happy mean between the two extremes the dividing line 
whereon two contradictories can be verified. His position is, 
that if there be a God, he is unknowable; we can predicate 
nothing whatsoever of him, because he must necessarily he a 
being of whom we can form no concept whatsoever ; indeed 



4890.] CARDINAL GIBBONS' "OUR CHRISTIAN HERITAGE" 253 

his very existence cannot be conceived except by means of 
propositions which are self-contradictory, such as the infinite 
time in which he was, or the infinite space which he filled with 
his necessarily all-pervading presence. Thus the agnostic con- 
structs a monstrosity ; puts up as the God of the Christians or 
of the intelligent heathen, for that matter a bundle of contra- 
dictions and absurdities, has humor enough to see how ludicrous 
it is, knocks it down from the pin to which he had fastened it, 
and then gravely imagines he has dealt a deadly blow to the 
foundation of the whole system of Christianity. It is clear that 
a god who is the offspring of human ingenuity or imagination 
must of necessity be a contradiction, quite as much as a god 
would be whom human hands had fashioned, and into whose soul 
a human breath had breathed the breath of life ; but what 
Christian, pray, bends the knee to such a monster as the 
agnostic conceives to be the supreme Lord of all ? 

It is true that Agnosticism is refuted with very old princi- 
ples indeed, the very same with which the sophisms of Lucre- 
tius and Epicurus and Epictetus were overthrown thousands of 
years ago ; but these principles must be applied according to 
the necessities of the time. Agnosticism is nothing, after all, but 
the evolution of the sensism of Locke, or the scientific doubt of 
Des Cartes, or the mental forms of Kant ; it is a conglomeration 
of all, and the real name for the new agnosticism is the very 
old word scepticism, which, however, had fallen into such bad 
odor that it had to be changed. The vast majority of men are 
unable to manage an abstract principle and follow it throughout 
all its dizzy windings to the very end of the thread ; some one 
else must do the thinking for them, and then they can follow, 
or, at least, imagine they can, which comes to the same thing. 
We know of no one better fitted than Cardinal Gibbons to show 
in a popular way the shallowness of modern agnostic reasoning 
and the real truth which is impugned by the followers of Hux- 
ley and Spencer ; and therefore it is a source of regret to us that 
the cardinal did not dwell at greater length upon this point, 
which is one of the most serious dangers to our Christian heri- 
tage in the present day. 

The chapter on Conscience as bearing testimony to the ex- 
istence of God as just, and good, and holy, and all-seeing, and 
as a providential Governor is written with great clearness and 
force. It is not necessary to go out of ourselves for a convinc- 
ing proof that there is One above us upon whom we are de- 



TA- CffK/s /'/../ .v Ili-m I AI;I :." [May, 

pendent, to whom we are responsible. It is the "still small 
" within us proclaiming a clitTcrcnce between ri^ht and 
wrong independently of the judgments or opinions of other men; 
it points to a law, and a law without a lawgiver is inconceiv- 
able. " \ law constantly acting, universally averted, in- 
wardly enforced, supposes a living, omnipotent, omnipresent law- 
giver." 

After treating <>1 the omnipresence of God, and the practical 
lessons to be drawn therefrom, the cardinal takes up the .(tiestion 
of Divine Providence. This subject doubtless is boet with many 
difficulties, but the cardinal gives us the key to the solution of 
all of them. "To judge correctly of God's providence, we must 
bear in mind, first, that man's soul is immortal; secondly, that 
his duration will be eternal; and thirdly, that the day of reckoning 
will come at the term of this mortal life." There is the solution of 
all our difficulties on this vexing and important point. Why am / 
miserable while lie is happy? Why do I sutler the pinches ol 
poverty while such another, notorious for his wicked life, is roll- 
ing in wealth? Why is one confined for years bed- ridden while 
another employs the robust health that has been given to him 
only to indulge more heedlessly his disorderly inclination^ ? He- 
cause sickness and health, wealth and poverty, sorrow and re- 
joicing, are in the sight of God indifferent indifferent means to 
an end, which end shall be everlasting. Man's good or evil 
fortune is to be measured by this end only; God's providence 
directs all things gently to this alone.' The glorious Edmund Cam- 
pion won the crown of life by long years of imprisonment, by fre 
quent application of the rack and the torture, and finally by 
strangulation and butchery at Tyburn ; would even his name have 
been preserved if he had carried out the promise of social and civil 
distinction of his younger years at Oxford ? Stanislaus Kostka died 
at the early age of eighteen ; if he had lived longer, would he 
have been honored by the Catholic Church as one of the gn 
saints in her annals? St Benedict Joseph Labn t because 

he spent his years in poverty and beggary; would !'is life have 
had any influence upon posterity if he had been the czar of all 
the Russias? Not, then, by the brief span of mortal years is 
man's destiny to be measured, and consequently we art not to 
estimate God's providence by the ups and downs of this perish- 
able life ; man's destiny is an everlasting one, and it is in this 
light only that divine providence is to be viewed and scru- 
tinized ; it is from this standpoint, and this alone, that a complete 



1890.] CARDIXAL GIBBONS' "OUR CIIRISTIAX HERITAGE." 255 

answer can be given to the difficulties usually brought forward 
under this head.* 

After having established the truth of God's existence and of 
his goodness to us, the cardinal discusses the duties and obliga- 
tions on our side which flow as necessary corollaries from the 
preceding. Worship, prayer, gratitude to God, and, above all, 
the shaping of our wills in accordance with the demands of the 
divine will all this follows immediately from the relations that 
exist between God and man. Nor is God's will unknown to us ; 
it is manifested within us by the voice of conscience, and outside 
of us in the voice of them of whom it was said, " He that heareth 
you heareth me." Those very visitations of Providence that fill 
our hearts with anguish and dismay, and cause dark doubts to 
obscure our minds if indeed there be really after all an infi- 
nitely good God directing man's destiny these very disasters 
may be blessings in disguise to make the soul look into itself, 
and to become alive to the vanity and futility of all earthly joy 
and worldly prosperity, in order that it may more readily labor 
for the things that are eternal. 

After bringing forward an array of arguments for the immor- 
tality of the soul, the cardinal discusses the question of Eternal 
Punishment, not from the standpoint of revealed truth, but of 
natural reason. It is not the object of the cardinal to demon- 
strate positively the reality of an eternal punishment for sin, 
but simply to show the reasonableness of it ; that there is nothing 
in the doctrine repugnant to the dictates of right reason; nay, 
more, that the infinite sanctity of God and the heinous nature 
of sin' seem rather to demand such a chastisement. " It is usu- 
ally," writes the cardinal, "malefactors that have defied the law 
and that are punished for its violation who condemn our criminal 
code as too severe ; and it is only such as choose to be rebels 

* Since writing the above we have come across some of Mr. Ingersoll's puzzles in the 
December number of the North American Review. The cruelties of nature cannot harmonize, 
he says, with the goodness and wisdom of God. The theist will find it impossible to account 
for earthquakes, storms, fever, war, flood, slavery, and a host of other inconveniences. Now, il 
man were created to be free from all these miseries, it might indeed shake one's faith to see 
the world filled with them ; but if they are one and all indifferent means to a higher and nobler 
end, we fail to see that Mr. Ingersoll has scored a point. He might as well ask, How account 
for the fact that one man is black and another white, and another copper-colored, and yet 
another red-skinned? Besides, the theist's faith is not based upon things he cannot account 
for, but on things that can be accounted for only on the supposition of an all-wise, all-good, 
all-powerful Creator. In the same number of the Review Lord Wolseley asks : " It [war] is a 
fearful evil, but an evil for which greater good often compensates. Would the United States 
now prefer to have had no Washington, no Lincoln, none of the many heroes of the War oi 
Independence and of the Civil War, in order to blot out the record of all war from its history ? " 
The Christian believes that no evil of this life is without its compensation in the life to come- 
nay, that the very miseries of this life may be the means to a greater reward. 



256 C.4Ki'i.\'.-t/. C/'/AV.V A-.S' "r'r/ 1 CHRISTIAN HERITAGE" [May, 

ag.tii: that insist upon calling him tyrant." After di 

don that such a punishment is unjust because 
out of proportion with the offence, the cardinal rejects in a few 
lines the objection, much more frequently urged, that it is opposed 
to the divine meiey and (.leniency. God's mercy is not to be 
considered in itself as something separate and torn away from 
his other attributes, God is a perfect bein^, and in him who is 
the exemplar of all beauty and order the most perfect order is 
to be found. " His mercy cannot absorb his other attributes ; it 
cannot run counter to his justice, his sanctity, and that moral 
order he has established in the world. The higher appreciation 
one has for benevolence, truth, chastity, and moral rectitude, the 
greater is his antipathy to the opposite vices. Now, God, whose 
love for virtue knows no bounds, must by the very nature of his 
being have an immeasurable aversion for all iniquity, and there- 
fore he can never be reconciled to the sinner so long as he 
voluntarily clings to sin. God exults not in the sufferings of his 
creatures, but in the manifestation of his eternal attributes." This 
reasoning would seem to lead to the conclusion that God could 
never again be reconciled to one who had grievously offended 
him ; we are willing to take the conclusion. That God is ready 
to take back the repentant sinner appears, in some respects, 
more difficult to understand than that he will punish for all 
eternity those who have voluntarily turned away from him, and 
rebelled against his sweet law. 

With the opening of the fifteenth chapter the cardinal brings 
forward a splendid series of arguments for the divinity of Jesus 
Christ, and the truth of the faith which he brought into the 
world, and of the church which he founded. The Divinity of 
Christ is proved first of all by the testimony of the Apostles and 
of our Blessed Lord himself, who on every occasion sought to 
impress upon his followers that he was indeed the One who was 
to come, the Only-begotten of the Father, the Christ who will 
come again in power and majesty. Nothing can be more con- 
vincing than that Christ claimed to be God, and demanded for 
himself the worship that is due to God alone. There is a class 
of writers at the present time who deny that Christ was God, 
yet admit that he was the greatest teacher the earth has ever 
seen, the noblest character that ever moved amongst men. " He- 
was a moral teacher, pure and simple," writes one of these 
modern admirers of this great purely human doctor, " and as an 
inculcator of moral ideas he stands at the summit of mankind. 
Hi- teachings were the simplest and loftiest, his life was the 



1890. J CARDINAL GIBBONS' "OunCifRisriAN HERITAGE." 257 

noblest and most self-sacrificing, that literature and history pre- 
sent to our gaze." And yet this learned pundit rejects with 
scorn the idea of Jesus Christ being the Son of God, for the 
very simple reason that in his heart he had said, There is no 
God. Now, Christ's teaching and the history of Christ's life we 
have only from his disciples, who revered him as God, to whom - 
over and over again he had declared himself to be the Son of 
God. If, then, he was in reality not God, does it not follow that 
he was the greatest impostor and the wiliest deceiver that ever 
sought to lead men astray ? Was he not the most immoral teacher 
that " literature and history present to our gaze " ? The second 
proof of our Lord's divinity is taken from his miracles and 
especially from his resurrection. " If Christ be not risen," says 
St. Paul, " your faith is vain " ; and the Christian of to-day is 
ready to let Christianity stand or fall with the truth or falseness 
of Christ's resurrection. Let the enemies of Christianity dis- 
prove this one fact, and we will submit ; let its advocates con- 
tinually recur to it, and they have a complete vindication of 
their faith. We refer the reader to the brief but convincing 
demonstrations of Cardinal Gibbons, who has condensed here in a 
wonderfully lucid form most of the arguments with which theo- 
logians are wont to strengthen and make impregnable this bulwark 
of Christian faith. If he had stopped here, his work would have 
been done ; no stronger argument for our Christian heritage can 
be brought forward than that it is the inheritance we have 
received from the Son of God ; the teachings that have been 
delivered by infallible truth need no confirmation ; the precepts 
given by him who is the Supreme Lord and Master of men's 
minds and bodies require neither palliation nor explanation. 

But the cardinal goes further ; he contrasts the effects of 
Christ's teaching with the results of pagan practices and the 
necessary consequences of modern atheistic and materialistic 
principles. Although the pagan of ancient and modern times 
had the advantage over the modern infidel in that he did not 
deny the existence of God, yet that belief had little or no 
influence in the practical affairs of his life, and thus the triumph 
of modern infidelity would surely and infallibly lead us back to 
the awful state of things which reigned in the world before 
Christianity came to elevate and purify. Like causes produce 
like effects, and no reflecting man can fail even nowadays to 
see the old pagan abominations advancing step by step as the 
influence of Christianity recedes. Fain would we follow the 
author page by page through his beautiful work, but we prefer 

VOL. LI. 17 



258 CAKDIXAI <V//.7.v.v.v' "Om: CHRISTIAN HERITAGE." [May. 

the reader should pi-ruse it carefully by himself, anil ponder 
deeply upon its wholesome doctrines. \Ye call especial attention, 
however, to the chapter- upon the relative influences of pagan- 
ism and Christianity upon morals, and the condition of woman 
in pagan civili/alion contrasted with what Christianity has done 
for her. The return of paganism that i>, the triumph of modern 
unbelief would mean nothing more nor less than the deification 
of the basest desires and most brutal passions of the human 
heart. Philological writers busy themselves about the origin of 
the ancient mythologies, and discover, by the convenient form 
of analogy, which ingenuity can make to prove all things, in the 
solar system a seeming (though in our judgment an absurd) 
explanation of the origin of the heathen gods and goddesses ; the 
real origin is to be sought for in the lower and coarser views 
which men took of things ; their gods were merely the poeti/.ed 
personifications of human passions. Jupiter sprung from the idea 
of brute force, Bacchus was inventu! to make gluttony and 
debauchery respectable, Venus was created to beautify and sanc- 
tion sensual indulgence. Let the reader go to the pages of Cardinal 
Gibbons and meditate deeply over the chapter entitled " Influence 
of Paganism upon Morals." The awful picture is not overdrawn ; 
the horror of those times is not exaggerated ; the cardinal does 
not fall back upon his own imagination for proof ; his testimonies 
are derived from the most authentic sources ; it is the voice of 
paganism that is made to testify against itself, and it is the con- 
dition of things that would be again if unbelief were to prevail. 
The desecration of the marriage-tie, the grinding down of the 
poor laborer by the merciless capitalist and monopolist, the 
beastly intemperance which disgraces all our large towns all 
this is nothing but the restoration of Jupiter, Venus, and Bacchus 
to their old place amongst the gods before whom men worship. 

There is nothing, probably, in which the influence of Chris- 
tianity has been so palpably felt as in the elevation of woman 
from her degradation to the position of honor she now occupies 
in the Christian family. " The family is the source of society ; 
the wife is the source of the family. If the fountain is not pure, 
the stream is sure to be foul and muddy. Social life is the reflex 
of family life." How foul and muddy the stream i.e., social 
pagan life was the cardinal has already shown; how filthy and 
disgusting the source was, may be read in the chapter on the 
" Condition of Woman under Pagan Civilization." It was, and is 
to the present day wherever paganism exists, " an unbroken r< 
of bondage, oppression, and moral degradation"; and the testi- 
monies brought forward by the cardinal prove this to be true. 



1890.] CARDINAL GIBBONS' "O UK CHRISTIAN HERI TAGE." 259 

The woman was merely the toy of man's caprice, the victim of 
his lust ; it was her duty to toil and slave for him ; her very life 
in many cares was at his mercy. It was then a new doctrine 
that. St. Paul preached when he said: " There is neither Jew nor 
Greek ; there is neither servant nor freeman ; there is neither 
male nor female." It is the universality of the redemption that 
has brought about this universal equality amongst men ; the soul 
of the yet unborn babe is as precious in the sight of Christian- 
ity as the soul of the greatest hero on earth, because the price 
paid for both is the same, the blood of Jesus Christ. 

The cardinal shows the noble Christian sense in which woman 
has now equal rights with man ; not, indeed, similar rights, which 
have caused women to cast aside their innate modesty, and to 
mount the stump in company with professional politicians and 
pour forth their fancied grievances in defiance of every law of 
decorum and propriety. Equal rights Christianity has given to 
her, an equal chance for the same everlasting reward ; but as 
nature in her very physical construction has destined her for 
special duties distinct from those of men, so her equal rights 
must be in keeping with her nature and her duties. The cardinal 
goes on to show that it is the sanctity with which the church 
has hedged in the marriage-tie that has really conferred the 
greatest boon on woman, that has elevated her and made her 
man's helpmate and equal ; and he briefly points out the jealous 
care with which Christianity, against fearful odds and in the most 
trying circumstances, has proclaimed and defended the indissolu- 
bility of wedlock. It is in this apostolic firmness and fearlessness 
that the divine authority of the church is manifested ; human 
passion will ever beat against this barrier, and nothing short of 
a divine power can keep it from bursting through. Hence it is 
that all the sects that have broken away from the truth have 
found themselves compelled to yield on this point ; they were 
unable to resist the pressure. " One divorce to eight marriages 
in Ashtabula County, Ohio, which is the focus of the Western 
Reserve, a colony founded by New England settlers " (p. 367), is 
a very sad showing for the morality of our time ; it is certainly 
not Christian morality. 

The cardinal continues to contrast paganism with Christianity 
in the practice of social virtues, in the training-up of children, 
in the treatment of the poor and the afflicted, in the conduct 
towards the vanquished in war, and in their respective influences 
upon slavery. Let our would-be pagans of the present time 
ponder carefully these instructive pages ; let our Christian breth- 
ren be consoled on reading them, and be encouraged to defend 



260 CAKDI.\AI. GlBBONfOUK CffXISTlAN H& [May, 

with all tlu- powers of soul and body that Christian het 
which has d< -n nded to them .liter purifying all tin- centuries 
and literally renewing the face of the earth. The atithoi 
proved his tin-sis that Christianity is the only bulwark ot our 
civili/ation, that it alone is the only foundation upon which a 
true and just government t. This he h,is demonstrated for 

the most part historically, and there is no one that can fail to 
he force of his arguments and to hi deeply impressed by 
them. It is a question of vital importance, one that concerns 
each individual because it concerns society, of which each is an 
integral part. 

The cardinal is not merely retrospective. In the last chapter 
he looks into the future, and raises a voice of warning against 
the dangers that threaten our well-being. " \\ e are confronted 
with five great evils : Mormonisni and divorce, which strike at 
the root of the family and society; an imperfect and vicious 
system of education, which undermines the religion of our youth ; 
the desecration of our Christian Sabbath, which tends to obliter- 
ate in our adult population the salutary fear of God and the 
homage we owe him; the gross and systematic election frauds; 
and lastly, the unreasonable delay in carrying into effect the 
tences of our criminal courts, and the numerous subterfuges by 
which criminals evade the -execution of the law." Perhaps some 
other threatening evils might be added to the list, but if the five 
enumerated are remedied, the other reforms would be soon likely 
to follow. 

We have read through this interesting volume with intense 
delight ; it is a worthy companion of the Faith of Our Fathers, 
which made the illustrious author's name a household word in the 
United States, and revered by hundreds whom his gentle, per- 
suasive eloquence had led to the truth. God grant that 
Christian Heritage may have a like success ! It is the work of 
one who is thoroughly convinced of the trut^i of every word he 
utters ; who is so proud of the Christian heritage of which he is 
so representative a defender that his one desire is to make all 
men sharers in his good fortune. The work is marked by that 
spirit of sweetness for which all the cardinal's words are distin- 
guished ; it is truth for its own sake he is striving to inculcate ; 
for the persons of those who propagate error he has nothing 
but words of apostolic charity and mildness. Let us hope that 
every honest seeker and every wavering Christian soul may turn 
to the pages of Our Christian Heritage for light and strength. 

JOHN A. C<>N\\.\y, S.J. 

Woodstock. Md. 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 26 r 



TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

THE spring novels make their appearance with a variety and 
abundance which eminently suit them to the season. Benziger 
Brothers send us a pretty volume by Miss T. Sparrow, one or two 
of whose shorter tales have been published in this magazine 
within the last three years. It is a historical romance called 
Olympias (London : Remington & Co.) its period being the first 
half of the twelfth century, by the way, and not the second, as 
seems to be implied by Miss Sparrow in her " Proem." John 
Comnenus succeeded his father in 1118 and died himself in 1143, 
while the action of this tale hardly extends beyond the date of 
his accession to the throne of the Eastern Empire. In the main, 
it is cleverly conceived and prettily written, although either the 
proof-reader or the author has not kept the pages as free as they 
should be from small but annoying blemishes of a sort easily 
overlooked until once they have been handed over to the public. 
Then they attain the immortality of a perpetual pillory. The 
character of Theodore is very well understood ; so, too, is that 
of Olympias ; while the others 1 , including Anna Comnena, though 
hardly more than shadows, are sufficiently suggestive of real 
substance to make one sure that Miss Sparrow has considered her 
strokes before making them. 

The twentieth number of Worthington's Banner Library is a 
reprint of Captain Mayne Reid's Afloat in the Fqrest, with a 
biographical sketch of its author by R. H. Stoddard. It is super- 
fluous to recommend it, for, like the rest of Reid's stories of 
adventure, it is more than well known already to all boys who 
are given to reading. His tales have what we believe to be 
the well-earned reputation of being safe as well as entertaining. 

David Todd : The Romance of his Life and Loving, by David 
Maclure (New York : Cassell's), is a very good story, although told 
in a leisurely, prosaic way not unlikely to repel many readers. 
It has staying qualities, however. The author has a story to 
tell and a character to elucidate, and though the former might 
have been condensed into less space than even these brief pages 
give it, yet the struggle of conscience against a pure and power- 
ful but selfish love, is well worth the space devoted to its de- 
scription. David Todd is a Scotch minister, a man in middle 
life, staid, grave, and " shady." Neither in his pulpit nor out 



26.- TALK A. [May. 

of it, Uyt Mr. Maclure in explanation of the latter epithet, does 
he ever o>nu- out into any ^lo\v. There is that about his pre- 
sence indoors which M ibre, heavily draped r. 
adorned with silhoiu hstingtiished undertakers, and. out-of- 
I, reminds the beholder of " groves and Blades, dti^ky ami 
umbrageous twilight and evening. He resembles a solar ec 
in never being seen save under a metaphorical smoki 
Yet, though all is secret, nothing is underhand about him. He 
is a dreamer, not a villain, in spite of the persuasion of some 
among his parishioners that he is no better than he should 
be." Mr. Maclure, whose veneration for Scotch orthodoxy 
not strike one as profound, describes his hero as " a religious 
devotee, reared at home and at school to a narrow- view of life, 
life bounded at the one end by death, with a d; :t of 
formal religious duties between." Taking this view in profound 
earnest, and with the intensity of a strong nature, he soon 
devoted himself to the enforcement rather than the propagation 
of it. He has been the minister of Crosscairn. a small seaport 
town, for fifteen years, preaching to a people equally convinced 
with himself, but not equally conformed to their belief. 

David Todd is a bachelor, and, so far as the traditions of a 
Scotch pastorate will allow him to be so, a recluse. Both con- 
ditions had once been accepted by him as the inevitable 
sequences of his convictions : 

" Under similar conditions of training, varied only by dh -.ions, he 

might have thought that for a man to shave his head and live in a hole, poring 
over a record of what had once existed, and groaning over foretold destin> . .is 
a profitable and proper way to ameliorate the lot of men, particularly alter they 
were dead. In short, in his peculiarly sombre nature it was natural for him, 
under all the circumstances, to consecrate himself to that which he pondered 
deeply, and to commune with himself away from the world." 

Yet, when this story opens, the dream and the passion which 
for several years have crowded out his earliest ideal, of joyless 
consecration to the eternal welfare of a handful of Scotch 
villagers, have just been brought, the one to a bitter awakening, 
the other to an intenser life. The reader's first glimpse of him is 
caught as he comes out of Squire Amphlett's door a rejected 
suitor. A surprised one, moreover, for such an issue to his 
secretly cherished love has never occurred to him as possible. 
And Grace Amphlett shares his surprise though not his love. 
Though she is twenty-one, and has been under David Todd's 
pastoral care almost since her babyhood, never has such a j> 
bility as this dawned on her As for him, she has long been 



1890.] TALK A. 263 

the cause of his taking a wider and more humane view of life 
and men. But his passion for her has been so ideal that he 
has seldom, until lately, felt any need of actual communication. 
He has walked and talked with his dream-image of her. making 
that the sympathetic confidant of his high-strung, reticent nature. 
and taking so strong possession of her in imagination that no 
shock could be greater than that of finding that in her actual self 
she can be lacking to him. 

It is this poetic conception of David Todd, and of his love, 
which gives quality to Mr. Maclure's novel. We hesitate to say 
that the execution does not equal the conception, for although 
he has an amateurish touch, yet there is a certain fitness in Mr. 
Maclure's dallying, prosaic prose which belongs to Crosscairn and 
its " shady " minister. We could find it in our heart to wish that 
a writer so capable of understanding the David Todd sort of 
man had shed some light on a problem which we find difficult. 
How is it that the actual possession of a woman, unloving and 
reluctant, can ever offer itself to such a one as a temptation in 
any degree, least of all as one to be struggled with almost to 
death before it can be overcome ? For there comes a time when 
circumstances put it in Todd's power to wring from Grace's sense 
of filial duty what she can not only not yield to his wooing, but 
what she has already promised to the man she loves. It is here 
that Todd's battle with himself is fought. . The issue of it is. 
of course, not doubtful. But the battle ? Some touch of nobility 
was surely lacking or there could have been none. 

Mr. Jerome K. Jerome has a most English sense of humor. 
It would never do to apply Mr. Howells' new-coined " funning " 
as descriptive of it. Still, his Idle Thoughts of an Idle FelloiL' 
(New York : Henry Holt & Co.). although something too heavy 
in its intent to be lively, has both amusing and suggestive pages 
in it. We think his essays do not gain from being collected in 
a volume. A book has something obligatory about it ; to turn 
over its pages consecutively gives the reader, especially if he be 
professional, a sense of conscious virtue which is apt to make the 
task of pleasing hard for comic essayists. This book, however, 
is not meant to be made a business of. It will do to take up 
and lay down again in a railway train, or to disguise impatience 
and possibly change it to good temper before a delayed domestic 
dinner. 

.1//J-.V Mordecks Father, by Fani Pusey Gooch f (New York : 
Dodd, Mead & Co.), is an extraordinarily clever novel for which 
we incline to predict a phenomenal success. It should rival that 



264 TALK ABOI-T .\ [May, 

f Hugh l ..nu.iv's (<///(</ Hack, and for not dissimilar reasons. 
"I lu- American story is the more skilful, however, and not that 
alone. It has a distinct interest in some of its character-drawing 
illy in that of the two girls, and the love awakened by 
each of them in the same man which docs not strictly belong 
to the plot and its development, although it very cleverly illus- 
I the chief problem of the central situation. To outline such 
a story as this one would be altogether unfair, and we refer our 
readers to the book itself as a puzzle which will .it ..nee perplex 
and profoundly interest them. Mordeck and his double who is 
also not his double are most skilfully treated. Although the 
identity soon becomes evident to the reader, he will be shrewder 
than we if he anticipates by a sentence the writer's pronoir 
ment as to whose identity it is. Hut there is nothing tricky or 
mechanical about either the involution or the evolution of the 
mystery. It is a pathological inquiry, made with a skill which 
our experience in novels inclines us to esteem singular ; with an 
even hand, too, which cannot well be charged with having over- 
loaded the scale of possibilities merely in view of the reader's 
coveted perplexity. 

There is one point, however, which touches neither the path- 
ology nor the riddle of the tale, but only its psychology, and 
, here we find Fani Pusey Gooch as hopelessly entangled as she 
is elsewhere clear. It has become evident to Shreves Chilson 
that his love for Naida Dunbar has been transferred from her to 
her double, Browne Mordeck, the latter having a soul and heart 
beneath the beautiful exterior which is as common to each as 
if one were the other's reflection in a mirror. But he is engaged 
to Naida, having met her first, and she has no thought of 
releasing him, nor any wish to do so. Then comes up the 
question as to which of the two girls has a father whom the 
law will recognize as such. It is Chilson's intimate persuasion 
that the Dunbar household is the legitimate one, but still there 
is a heavy possibility to the contrary. He has been betrayed 
by a moment of weakness into avowing his real love, and has 
found it reciprocated by Browne, but each of them is too loyal 
to Naida to repeat the treachery. Yet each, knowing as they 
do of the dilemma which must impale one or the other family 
on its horns, secretly looks forward with unavowed hope 
toward the realization of Chilson's surmise. What he will do 
in case Naida is robbed of her name by the establishment of 
Mordeck's sanity he knows ; he will marry her and never let her 
find out that he has depths of soul which she can never fathom. 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 265 

But it the end is different, and it is Browne who must face the 
world, nameless and poor, oh ! with what joy he will hasten to 
comfort her by giving her his name and home ! All very 
pretty, reflects the sympathetic reader, but how would Mr. Chil- 
son undertake, in this latter case, to reconcile Naida to his 
desertion ? Would he tell her he does not love her, but since she 
is a millionaire's daughter, and a beauty, she will be able to 
console herself? Since, with what force she has she loves him, 
the one difficult thing, under any turn of luck, should be to tell 
her of his change toward her. Why should Browne, poor and 
disgraced, be ready to accept his love, when, rich and honored, 
she would turn from it as a terrible temptation ? A pair en- 
gaged, but still unmarried, are either bound by a mutual love or 
unloosed by the failure of it, and by that alone. There is too 
much sentimentalizing done in novels about the dishonor implied 
in breaking an engagement which mutual love no longer cements. 
It is better, if hearts must be broken by truth-telling, that either 
man's or woman's should endure the fatal strain before actual 
marriage has put its constraining, binding hold upon both pres- 
ent and future generations. Such a quandary, at all events, as 
the author of this story has invented for her hero, and such a 
way out of it, must be held more romantic than convincing. 
There is no shorter road to the divorce court, and none so 
thronged, as marriage which is loveless, however full of love's 
base imitation. 

Mr. Jeremiah Curtin prefaces his Myths and Folk-Lore of 
Ireland (Boston : Little, Brown & Co.) with an interesting dis- 
sertation on myths and mythology in general. According to his 
view, which we believe he has qualified himself to form by much 
research into the mythology of many peoples, a myth is one of 
a cycle of tales in which the primitive races of men have em- 
bodied their conceptions of the forces ruling the world external 
to man. As the earliest ot' these tales point to a common source, 
no matter to what race they may belong, their genesis and 
development are alike noteworthy. Mr. Curtin has found them 
especially well preserved among our American Indians, and also 
among the Gaelic-speaking Irish. Those embodied in his present 
volume were personally collected by him in Kerry, Galway, and 
Donegal in 1887. They are interesting after a fashion, but mo- 
notonous, as was to be expected, since for the most part they are 
but Irish versions of the fairy tales which all of us read or lis- 
tened to in childhood, no matter what land we hail from. Whether 
one's grandmother said Cinderella, or Aschenpiittel, or Fair, 



TALK AROi'i \/- // /.VCA-.V. [May, 

Brown, ami Trembling, we all alike havi- sympathi/ed with the 
much-ahu-ril MSUT and longed for the arrival of her prince with 
the glass slipper. What the tales point to, or what Mr. Curtin 
thinks they point to, is needed, now that we have grown older, 
to make them entertaining as well as to explain their universal- 
it) and their persistence. He says that the American myths, to 
which Irish and all other myths are closely akin, describe CTCa 
tion. They refer to an order of things which preceded the 
present order, and to a race of beings who inhabited earth and 
the country beyond the sky before man existed. The earth was 
then occupied by persons, but persons who were not human. 
They had great power; they could do what they would; they 
had but to name what they desired, and it appeared ; the 
thoughts of others were open to them. At first they were all 
alike beneficent; but later on they divided into two camps, good 
and bad, and warred upon each other. In one were those who 
originated the different kinds of food, and established all games, 
amusements, dances, and religious ceremonies for the race which 
was to follow them. They overcame the evil beings of the 
opposite camp in many ways; by stratagem, skill, swiftness, or 
the all-powerful wish ; but both races were immortal, and even 
when overcome the bad could not be totally destroyed. They 
were changed into beasts, birds, rocks, plants, and various ele- 
ments. Sometimes, too, the evil ones got the last word in the 
encounter, and as they sank into these lower forms they retali- 
ated by casting a like spell on their enchanter, who by it re- 
mains fast bound. To quote Mr. Curtin textually: 

" This earliest American myth-cycle really describes a period in the begin- 
ning of which all things and there was no thing then which was not a person 
lived in company without danger to each other or trouble. This was the 
period of primeval innocence, of which we hear so many echoes in tradition and 
fiirly literature, when that infinite variety of character and quality now manifest 
in the universe was still dormant and hidden, practically uncreated. This was 
the ' golden age ' of so many mythologies the ' golden age ' dreamed of so 
often, but never seen by mortal man ; a period when, in their original form and 
power, the panther and the deer, the wolf and the antelope, lay down together ; 
when the rattlesnake was as harmless as the rabbit ; when trees could talk and 
flowers sing ; when both could move as nimbly as the swiftest on earth." 

There is still another reading which these familiar tales will 

bear, and one which, to our sense, explains equally well their 

recurrence in one form or another in the folk-lore of all lands. 

)i though regarded as embodying a reminiscence, universal 

and historic, of the innocence of Eden and the consequences of 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 267 

the fall, they may also be held as perennial witnesses to the 
spiritual element in man which makes him, as St. Paul declares, 
" inexcusable " if he does not penetrate that transparent veil of 

external nature behind which the invisible things of God have 
lain hidden since the creation of the world. That the childhood 
of races should have produced these imaginative renderings of 
what in their external aspect were historic facts, and in their 
internal one essential truths, is natural. All great poems belong 
to the infancy of literatures, when men's eyes and ears were less 
wholly attuned to a world in which evil had begun to triumph, 
and from which God seemed to have withdrawn. Though the 
original writing had been rubbed away, yet the palimpsest of 
nature bore traces of it to which poets and seers were not in- 
sensible. For that matter, the whole drama, repeating itself 
for ever in every human heart, condenses the past anew with each 
new consciousness, and makes history, and all else that is ex- 
ternal, in one sense only a great mirror in which we see our- 
selves "writ large." For us, too, there is the temptation, the 

two camps, the quick readiness with which all heaven allies itself 
to the good will and makes it conqueror in every struggle, and 
the immortal malignity which forces even the conqueror to another 
battle-field with each new day. Here is the Voice which warns 
and the Light which illumines every man who comes into the 
world, and here the touch that defiles and the knowledge which 
darkens counsel. And here, too, is the all-victorious wish which 
is omnipotent, and to which is granted that " desire of the 
heart " not withheld from any soul which " delights in the 
Lord," and never loses courage to go up to battle for Him. To 
the simple and the pure of heart the gates of Eden are never 
closed. The fiery sword which, turning every way, guards access 
to the tree of life is only a beacon to show them the road 
thither, and a weapon which they may count on in the battle- 
field which lies outside. And the record of their victories ? Is 
that written only in the myths and fairy tales of heathendom ? 
We who are of the household of the faith know a part of it as 
the Lives of the Saints, a chronicle which from one day to an- 
other grows with every answered prayer, with every' resisted and 
therefore conquered foe, giving joy in heaven and peace on 
earth, and trouble in all realms which lie below. 

Speaking of the lives of the saints, what a pity it is that 
Mrs. Burnett had not read Montalembert's beautiful life of St. 
Elizabeth of Hungary before writing her unnatural Little Saint 
Elizabeth and Other Stories (New York : Charles Scribner's Sons). 



268 TALK ABOUT NBW BOOKS. [May, 

Tin- "other stories" arc delightfully told bits of fairy lore which 
mmend t<> children of all ages. Hut the first i> stiff and 
unnattir.il and untrue. Untrue as to fact in its references to St. 
l.li/.abeth in the first place. The " <.ivage landgrave" of Mrs. 
I'urnctt's version, who frightened his wife into a downright lie 
from whose guilt "the saints" preserved her by changing the 
tacts to suit it, has no exigence in history, whatever he may 
have in the legends which this lady may suppose to exist. 
Louis of Thuringia and his wife were a pair of married lovers, 
whose devotion to each other was only strengthened by Elizabeth's 
life of charity and prayer. One of the pictures of her devotion 
which conies up unbidden to refute such idle tales as those which 
evidently pass current with Mrs. Burnett, is that which describes 
her as holding fast to the hand of Louis while passing so many 
hours of the night on her knees in prayer beside their bed. Ma- 
licious tales were, indeed, invented by his mother and sisters to 
estrange him from her, but his love and confidence were proof 
against them all. And the story of the roses, which Mrs Burnett 
uses to teach, at any rate by implication, that the Catholic con- . 
ception of sanctity is entirely compatible with lying, is not told as 
she tells it by any biographer of the " dear Saint Elizabeth." 
This is how she does it : 

" Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a great 
deal of the saint whose namesake she was the saintly Elizabeth whose husband 
v. .is so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from doing good <1 
And oftenest of all she had read the legend which told that one day as Eliza- 
beth went out with a basket of food to give to the poor and hungry, she had 
met her savage husband, who had demanded that she should tell him what she 
was carrying, and when she replied 'roses,' and he tore the cover from the 
basket to see if she spoke the truth, a miracle had been performed, and the 
basket was filled with roses, so that she had been saved from her husband's 
cruelty, and alsi> from telling an untruth," 

The italics are ours. It may seem a trifling fault to object 
to in a writer who has probably no sort of intent either to de- 
ceive or to calumniate. But truth to fact is rather a good thing 
to stick to, even for Protestant story-tellers. Louis did not ask 
his wife what she had in her basket. He was as willing as she 
to succor the needy, even though his ears had been filled by the 
tale that his wife's charity would reduce them to poverty. He 
and his train met her, with her basket of loaves, as she was 
going down from the castle in midwinter to distribute bread to 
the hungry, and he 'pulled aside the covering to see what she 
had within. And what he saw, and what they saw who \\ 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 269 

with him, were fresh roses, and he accepted the miracle as proof 
that Heaven was with her, and that he need not regard the 
calumnies of those that resented her generosity. But that she 
lied, and that the saints rescued her from the taint of untruth 
by a sort of ex post facto act, passed expressly to meet her 
case, is no part of the story. 

The author of Ccesar's Column : A Story of the Twentieth 
Century (Chicago : F. J. Schulte & Co.), takes a far more gloomy 
forecast of what awaits the world in the year 2000 than Mr. 
Bellamy does, but we are not prepared to say we think him a 
less plausible prophet. Both of them appear to have run without 
being sent. But we find it easier to believe that our present 
civilization contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction, 
than to take any stock in that proposed apotheosis of humanity 
by which it is to lift itself to the serene heights of plenty, peace, 
and joy by means of its own waistband. Still, Caesar Lomellini's 
column of a quarter of a million dead New-Yorkers of the 
military, police, and " landlord " classes, entombed in cement 
applied by the hands of their crushed but surviving compeers, is 
more grotesque than ghastly as an object of imaginative con 
templation. 

By the year 1988, thinks the " man of wealth and high 
social position " who writes this novel " under the nom de 
plume " of " Edmund Boisgilbert, M.D.," New York will 
have extended its borders all the way to Philadelphia^ and 
will contain at least ten millions of inhabitants. The rich will 
have grown so rich and haughty and the poor so abject, that 
titles will be as thick in the air as mosquitoes in July. We shall 
" prince " and " my lord " each other, or, rather, we shall so 
address our betters, and our chief occupation will be to help them 
gratify their evil passions at our expense. No poor girl's honor 
will be safe, no poor man's virtue able to resist even a paltry 
bribe. Were there not a Brotherhood of Destruction, numbering 
over a hundred millions of discontented workingmen throughout 
the world, the vast majority of souls upon the planet would be 
the helpless bond slaves of the money kings. Science lends her 
aid to these by inventing navigable air-ships, and discovering 
strange poisons, which, being dropped upon unruly multitudes 
from above, sweep them into death by myriads. Neither rich 
nor poor any longer have consciences ; the Brotherhood of De- 
struction, when in its turn it comes to power, has nothing better 
to propose than what went before it. All is greed and lust and 
selfishness, and the collision of the oppressors and the oppressed 



270 TALK ARQCT -A'A/r />'<>< >A-\. [May, 

can l.i\< mi re-ult but the crushing out of civilization and the 
return of all tin- world to chaos. 

\ < t ivt all, either, since in the African state of I'ganda there 
still remain about five thousand people, mostly Swiss coloni-ts 
who. having learned about the dreadful condition of things else- 
where, revive to build a high wall about themselves in order to 
" defend themselves against the invasion of the hungry and starving 
hordes who would range and ravage the earth." Hehind this wall 
they agree to live in peace and practise justice. They " worship 
God," and in their schools " mingle with abstract knowledge a 
cult of morality and religion to be agreed upon by the different 
churches " ; they hand over to the state the ownership of " all 
roads, streets, telegraph or telephone lines, railroads and mines," and 
having arranged all these and a few other important matters, 
they hope to insure every man " not only liberty, but an educated 
mind, a comfortable home, an abundant supply of food and 
clothing, and a pleasant, happy life." Evidently, some burden 
lies heavy on " Edmund Boisgilbert's " soul, but that it is not 
the burden of the prophetic spirit seems tolerably clear. 

The "success of Looking Backward ha's had the natural 
effect of bringing Mr. Bellamy's old stories anew before the 
public. G. P. Putnam's Sons re-issue, in blue paper covers, a 
rather pretty little summer romance of his entitled Six to One, 
which will probably entertain and certainly cannot harm any- 
body. 



.1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 271 



WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION. 

ALL COMMUNICATIONS RELATING TO READING CIRCLES, LISTS OF BOOKS, ETC., SHOULD 
BE ADDRESSED TO THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION, NO. 415 WEST FIFTY-NINTH 
STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 

No Catholic author of our day has been more highly praised by the critics 
of current literature than Colonel Richard Malcolm Johnston. His Dnkesbor- 
augh Tales and other stories have been deservedly ranked among the best 
productions of contemporary fiction. For powerful delineation of rural life in 
Georgia as it was fitly years ago. his stories have a distinctly historic value. A 
writer in the Boston Literary World declares that Colonel Johnston's " humor 
is genuine and all-pervading. To praise it is like praising the perfume of-,a 
rose or the flavor oi a peach. It is part of the subject and never a superadded 
charm. It is never satirical or cynical. The foibles and failings of poor hu- 
manity are set forth with a gentle touch." 

Many of Colonel Johnston's notable productions have appeared in the pages 
of THE CATHOLIC WORLD. At our request he has kindly written the follow- 
ing letter, which will be gratefully esteemed by all our Reading Circles : 

" I was gratified to hear of the institution of the Columbian Reading 
Union, convinced that by its endeavors Catholics will take much more interest 
in the publication of their history and ideas. It is well to trust in the inherent 
strength of those ideas ; yet no cause, however strong, can afford to dispense 
with the help that is imparted by public discussion. Among Catholics are 
many writers who, besides enriching the literature of the church, have wrought in 
history, fiction, poetry, art, in every department of physical inquiry, in every field 
of secular intellectual endeavor. The Columbian Reading Union will tend to 
lead these writers and those who are not of them to a more intimate and cordial 
acquaintance with one another. I need not argue how salutary, in many re- 
spects, such a condition would be to all, as well those without as tRose within 
our church. 

" I heartily wish the movement abundant success. 

" Baltimore, Md. R. M. JOHNSTON." 

* * * 

The Cleveland Public Library has sent forth a model catalogue of the 
English books in its circulating department. To the librarian, Mr. W. H. 
Brett, we are indebted for a splendid copy, firmly bound, and embellished on 
every page with the latest improvements in type and presswork. About thirty- 
two thousand volumes are arranged in this catalogue on the dictionary plan 

that is, " all the entries, whether authors, titles, or subjects, are given in one 
alphabetical series. The object is to enable a person to find a book of which 
either the author, title, or subject is known, and to show what the library has 
by a given title, author, or on a given subject." Each book is entered under 
the author, if known ; under the title, with some exceplions which are noted ; 
and under the subject or subjects of which it may treat. Thus, for example 
under the title " Roman Catholic Church," we find these subdivisions : i, his- 
tory ; 2, church in Italy; 3, church elsewhere; 4, biography; 5, doctrinal 
works and arguments in favor ; 6, debates ; 7, arguments against ; 8, miscel- 



" '/7V/ A'/.i/'A/'.s .( [y. 

laneous \V. .in- pleased to notice the names of many of our well-known 
Catholic author. but the list is not by any means complete. One omission is 
very noticeable, vii.: The Faith of Our l-',ittt,-r>, by Cardinal C.ibbons. Yet we 
find a book written .1- a rejoinder, entitled Thf Faith ,</ Oat 1 , >fj,ithtrs, by E. 
J. Stearns. Fair play demands that the readers ol ttu -Cleveland Library should 
not be deprived of the ch.< C what an Ametiian animal lias written in 

defence of the rhurch. His two books, Tht l-'aith <>/ Our l-'atho i and (';/> 
Christian / mg of a conspicuous place in every public library 

i.l" the I'nited S 

other omissions we could not avoid noticing, viz.: that only one of Father 
Heckc: M of the Soul, has been admitted, and only one ol 

Father Hewitt. Problems of the Age. Dr. Bnmnson. however. " the Agamem- 
non of Catholic American literature," is well represented by the complete edition 
of his works in twenty volumes, edited by his son, Henry F. P.; 

The highest praise is due to the system of intelligible cla adopted 

for the catalogue under consideration. It can be easily unde: stood by lin- 
age reader, but the knowledge, skill, and labor required for it-, preparation can 
be fully appreciated only by the thoughtful student who has had to do the same 
work unaided, and to deal with stolid librarians and catalogues especially de- 
signed to perplex a weary brain. 

. 

President Harrison attended the opening of the Carnegie Free Library and 
Music Hall at Alleghany City, Pa., and made an address which we quote as an 
official sanction of all efforts for the diffusion of good literature. 

" Mayor Pearson introduced President Harrison, who spoke in part as fol- 
lows: 

MR. CHAIRMAN AND FKLi.ow-Cn I/KNS : I have spent a very instruc- 
tive day in Alleghany County. I have seen that which was only tit in the crude 
state to be trodden under the foot of man transmuted into that which serves the 
highest purpose of our material lives. But here we witness the transformation 
of what we are wont to call the precious metal into something that blooms for 
eternity. \Ve will find here in the instructive volumes that are to crowd these 
alcoves the. impulse, the spark, that is to touch the slumbering mind of many a 
stalwart boy and many a bright and ambitious girl into the lite that shall make 
them the servants of their fellow-men and the companions of the Son of man 
who left his glory to serve the race. 

" 1 hope that this institution may carry with it always and with every bonk 
that rests upon its shelves the suggestion to those who will participate in its 
blessings : ' Read and think.' Because, unless thinking accompanies reading, 
there is not much profit in the books. I congratulate you that you have a 
citizen who could conceive a work like this. I am sure it will be an impulse to 
others who dwell among you, which will influence those who have accumulated 
wealth to feel that they hold it as trustees for mankind. ' May I not do what I 
will with my own?' is the selfish spirit that dedicates to personal luxury the 
fruits of toil. How much higher and nobler use of accumulated wealth ha\c we 
before us in this magnificent structure ! It gives me great pleasure to be asso- 
ciated with the inauguration of this great enterprise. No one can tell how wide 
and deep and strong the stream will be that shall have its origin here. \Ve can- 
not follow it through the generations that are to come. 

" It is left in your charge, citizens of Alleghany, and speaking for its gener- 
ous donor, I declare it now to be opened to public use and a place ol assembly 
for all, and 1 charge you that you care for it in such manner that its highest 



1890.] U'ITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 273 

usefulness may be reached, and that it may not in your hands fall below the 
igh thought which was in the mind of him who has out of his own personal 
neans erected and dedicated this library to public use." 

We hope that some enterprising members of our Reading Union will inquire 
once whether any arrangements have been made to get for the Carnegie Free 
ary a proper supply of the literature produced by Catholic authors. 

* * * 

Ex-President Cleveland has also shown on a recent occasion a deep per- 
sonal mterest in the welfare of the New York Free Circulating Library We 
give an extract from his address, well deserving of attentive perusal : 

" If we are to create good citizenship, which is the object of popular educa- 

:ion, and if we are to insure to the country the full benefit of public instruction 

ran by no means consider the work as completely done in the school-room' 

While the young gathered there are fitting themselves to assume in the future 

icir political obligations, there are others upon whom these obligations already 

rest, and who now have, the welfare and safety of the country in their keeping 

ur work is badly done if these are neglected. They have passed the sc'hoS 

age, and have perhaps availed themselves of free instruction ; but they as well 

as those still m school, should, nevertheless, have within their reach the means 

tetter mental improvement and the opportunity of gaining that additional 

instructive 6 book'" "" ^ ^ S6CUred by aCC6SS tO USeful and 

"The husbandman who expects to gain a profitable return from his 
orchards not only carefu]ly {ends and ^^ ^ * ^ ^ ^ ^m Jn 

they grow to matunty, but he generously enriches and cares for those already 
in bearing and upon which he must rely for ripened fruit. 

Teaching the children of our land to read is but the first step in the 
scheme of creating good citizens by means of free instruction. We teach 
young to read so that both as children and as men and women they may read 
)ur teaching must lead to the habit and the desire of reading to be useful- and 
only as this result is reached can the work in our free schools be logically sup 
plemented and made valuable. 

" Therefore, the same wise policy and intent which open the doors of our 
free schools to our young also suggest the completion of the plan thus en ered 
* " *" """" f """" Who fa - -hoo.s have bee" 



A man or woman who never reads and is abandoned to 



of usefulness in valuable service and wholesome political action 

" GOOD BOOKS SHOULD BE PROVIDED. 

"Another branch of this question should not be overlooked. It is not only 

aMUv trT 1 " 06 ^ ur >' outhand our men and women should have the 
hty, the desire, and the opportunity to read, but the kind of books they read 

y C o L ar uf negatiVeSOrt ' if n0t ****** bad and mischievous St 



274 }\'ir/i RKAVKKS A\D COK. [May, 

other good things, the ability and opportunity to read may be so used as to 
t their beneficent purposes. 

riu' hn\ who greedily devours the vicious tales of imaginary daring nd 
blood-curdling adventure which in these days are f.ir too accessible to the young, 
will hare hi- brain filled with notions of life .uul standards of manliness which, 
if they do not make him a menace to peace and good order, will certainly not 
tend to make him a useful member of society. 

Hie man who devotes himself to the flash literature now much too common 
will, instead of increasing his value as a. citizen, almost surely degenerate in his 
ideas of public duty and grow dull in his appreciation of the obligations he o^ 
his country. 

In both these cases there will b a loss to the state. There is danger also 
that a positive and aggressive injury to the community will result, and such 
readers will certainly suffer deprivation of the happiness and contentment which 
are the fruits of improving study and well-regulated thought. 

. too. the young woman who seeks recreation and entertainment in r. 
ing silly and frivolous books, often of doubtful moral tendency, i- herself in the 
way of becoming frivolous and silly, if not of weak morality. If she escapes 
this latter condition, she is almost certain to become utterly unfitted to bear 
patiently the burden of self-support or to assume the sacred duties of wife and 

mother. 

" Contemplating these truths, no one can doubt the importance of securing 
for those who read, as far as it is in our power, facilities for the study and 
reading of such books as will instruct and innocently entertain, and which will 
at the same time improve and correct the tastes and desires. 

" KEEP ABREAST OF THE TIMES. 

" There is another thought, somewhat in advance of those already suggested, 
which should not pass unnoticed. 

" As an outgrowth of the inventive and progressive spirit of our people, we 
have among us legions of men, and women too, who restlessly desire to in- 
crease their knowledge of the new forces and agencies which at this time are 
being constantly dragged from their lurking places and subjected to the use ot 
man. Those earnest inquirers should all be given a chance, and have put 
within their reach such books as will guide and inspire their efforts. If by this 
means the country shall gain to itself a new inventor, or be the patron of 
endeavor which shall add new elements to the sum of human happiness and 
comfort, its intervention will be well repaid. 

"These considerations, and the fact that many among us having the ability 
and inclination to read are unable to furnish themselves with profitable and 
wholesome books, amply justify the beneficent mission of our Free Circulating 
Library-. Its plan and operation, so exactly adjusted to meet a situation which 
cannot safely be ignored and to wants which ought not to be neglected, 
establish its claim upon the encouragement and reasonable aid of the public 
authorities, and commend it most fully to the support and generosity of private 
benefaction." 

Judging trom the information which we have obtained, we would suggest to 
the managers of the New York Free Circulating Library that if they reall 
to provide good books for their readers they must give more attention to the 
standard works of our Catholic authors. Perhaps we should also warn them 
not to consult the Hon. John Jay, who was present at their recent public meet- 



WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 275 

ing, because he is classified as a fossil bigot belonging to a species rarely found 
in the nineteenth century. 

* * * 

A correspondent sends us this notice of a writer who has done all in his 
power to make ludicrous many objects and places venerated for their historical 
associations : 

" Mark Twain's Yankee at the Court of King Arthur is full of that pecu- 
liar humor for which the author is notorious. He casts about liberally the 
creations of his deep ignorance in regard to the church, to which he seems to 
credit all the evils of the world in early times. In his mind the chief agencies 
of civilization are soap, steam, gunpowder, and electricity. He has all the 
irreverence of the worshipper of the almighty dollar, and all the bitterness and 
hatred of the church which led the Puritans into those sarage attacks on art, 
music, and the requirements of civilization which the church founded and fos- 
tered. The book will not do much to elevate his reputation as a humorist, while 
it shows him to be much more ignorant of history than any one could have 

believed. " 

. 

From Port Huron, Mich., we have received an account of the work done by 
a flourishing Reading Circle. A prominent feature is the preparation of essays 
based on the subjects selected for the reading of the members. Music, songs, 
recitation, talks, and criticisms are allowed at the meetings. The officers are : 
President, O'Brien J. Atkinson ; Vice-President, Mrs. Suzie O'Neill Lynn ; 
Secretary, Miss Stella Fitzgerald ; Corresponding Secretary, Miss S. F. Duryee ; 
Treasurer, Dr. C. C. Clancy. 

Miss Mary G. Walsh writes an excellent synopsis of the objects of the Port 
Huron Reading Circle as follows : 

"We do not lack encouragement ; our pastor feels a deep interest in our 
welfare, and under the leadership of Mr. O'Brien J. Atkinson, whose love for 
literature is well known and whose zeal for the mental culture of Catholic youth 
has won both our admiration and our gratitude, we will surely make progress. 
The idea of establishing these Circles originated with the Paulist Fathers, of 
New York, and the plan of conducting them is being developed by THE CATH- 
OLIC WORLD. 

" The question has often occurred to me, Why is it so difficult a matter to 
procure certain works which are written by Catholic authors ? Why are not the 
novels of Boyle O'Reilly, Christian Reid, Mrs. Sadlier, and Kathleen O'Meara 
given as prominent a place in the bookstore as those of Rider Haggard, Bertha 
M. Clay, Mrs. Braddon, and the ever-present Duchess ? The question is read- 
ily answered. The demand is for light literature, and those works are published in 
cheap editions. And with whom did the idea of the cheap edition originate ? 
With no less a personage than His Holiness the late lamented Pius IX. He 
said : ' I bless with very great heartiness all who aid in circulating books of 
small size, in which the people will have an antidote to preserve them against 
the impiety of the perverse and filthy press.' As a result the Vatican Library 
followed, and later Sadlier's Household Library, a precursor of the twenty-five 
cent novel of to-day, so eminently successful ; the former was but a partial suc- 
cess. And yet who would think of comparing Robert Elsmere with that beautiful 
Christian tale Callista, written by the acknowledged master of the classic style, 
Cardinal Newman ? 

" It is from a want of thought on our part that we have this state of affairs. 



276 WtTB RXADM** AND COKXKSPONl [May, 

Longfellow. \Vhittu-r, Sxt. am! Dickens arc our familiar friends; Ryan, Kabcr, 
-.in. .iml Newman an- known only tiy name. The object ot the Columbian 
Reading t'num is the dittiision of ihebcst books among the people in the hope 
that when we become acquainted with our Catholic writers there will 

demand for their works, and then they will be encouraged to devote their 
time and talents to enriching Catholic literature, and not 1 they 

are now, to enhance by their genius secular journals ami m The plan 

arranged by the Colutnbi. in I'nion is very simple. Beginning at the dawn of 
Christianity, history is divided into epochs. The historical novel is taken as a 
basis. In the first epoch, for instance, is that pathetic tale so familiar to us all, 
/'iiHt'/a. which may be studied in this way : One member would write the 
biography of the author ; another a paper on the location of ancient Rom 
habits and pursuits ; another on the condition of the church in that period 
Thus in one evening the Circle could glean a large fund of information from a 
small amount of time and labor. One suggestion might be profitably accepted 
that parents should join in order to assist their children, thereby making it a 
family affair. 

" Our Circle, then, has a two-fold object : first, self-culture ; secondly, the 
acquiring of knowledge of our own literature and our own history. These 
double links, united by our singleness of purpose, will bind us in happy union for 
time to come, and secure to us all many evenings spent pleasantly as well as 
profitably." 

" A Reading Circle has been formed at St. Paul's Church, which has 
adopted the name of the Fullerton Reading Circle. Meetings are held weekly, 
at the Convent of Mercy, for the study of church history. An outline of a 
century or period is read to all, and various topics and characters are taken by 
different members. The topic of the catacombs was taken and excellently 
treated of by one of the members; then each member read in turn from Pil- 
grims and Shrines concerning the catacomb of St. Callistus. The reading of 
the outline of a century is from the History of the Church by Darras. A num- 
ber of topics and characters have been discussed by many of the members, as 
The Discipline of the Secret, St. Justin, St. Ignatius, The Four Great Heresies, 
St. Polycarp, and other* Many of the books read by the members are selected 
from the list of historical novels. Each member does as much reading outside as 
her time will allow. Very Rev. J. J. Power, D.D., is president of the Circle. 

"Worcester, Afass. MARGARET A. Fi..\m ><-/ary." 



The following communication touches on an important matter, concerning 
which we would like to have further information from some Catholic professors 
of literature : , 

" Jenkins' Handbook is good indeed, very good as far as it goes, a simple 
text-book of literature for beginners. We need a more advanced work treating 
the subject betimes from an ethical and more elevated rhetorical standpoint ; 
dealing generally with such authors as are now most read, rather than devoting 
so much attention to those who are scarcely ever studied, except by literary 
antiquarians. Such a treatise would tend to develop a sound critical judgment 
in senior students, and counteract the false views prevailing to a considerable 
extent in American society with regard to literary style and its later de- 
velopments." 

' * 

"The Literary Society, which holds its session every Saturday afternoon in 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 277 

one of our academic halls, was organized for the purpose of cultivating a taste 
for useful reading in the pupils of the more advanced classes, and rendering 
them conversant with the standard authors of England and America. To insure 
due preparation of the subject-matter, the presiding sister outlines the work to 
be accomplished in advance of each meeting ; such as a written or an oral 
account of the author's life under consideration, an abstract of a selected 
volume, the reading of an extract, critical notes on certain passages, etc. The 
programme is occasionally varied by discussing admissible topics of the hour, re- 
lating to current scientific news, poetical recitation, and instrumental music. The 
teaching of English literature, included in the curriculum of the academy, is 
materially supplemented by this weekly annex for self-improve'ment. 

"The catalogue of the Young Ladies' Circulating Library records over five 
thousand volumes. Through our agent and others we order current books, 
being often guided in the selection by the critical reviews in THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD. With few exceptions, we have the books indicated in the guide-lists 
up to date. In cities and towns where religious teachers control circulating 
libraries connected with schools and sodalities such carefully prepared lists will 
prove of great service. We heartily endorse the good work undertaken by the 
Columbian Reading Union. When its prime object, the diffusion of Catholic 
literature, is well advanced, we hope it will turn its attention to outlining special 
courses of study." 

The above description of a plan now in operation at one of our most pro- 
gressive academies leads us to hope that something of the same kind may 
speedily become general among Catholic institutions devoted to higher educa- 
tion. Colleges and academies can easily establish Reading Circles, and at the 
same time maintain the regular course of studies. Objections based on old 
customs should have no weight in view of the positive advantages to be gained. 
The arrangements should be made dependent on the voluntary exertions of the 
students themselves. When allowed to do the work in their own way, they will 
find it more enjoyable as a change from the ordinary routine of class. A great 
amount of valuable time is consumed by teachers in giving lectures which are 
too long. It is a positive relief to many students to be freed at times from the 
obligation of absorbing the thoughts of others, and encouraged to do a little 
spontaneous thinking. The power of expressing thought is cultivated much 
less than the receptive faculty of acquiring knowledge. By judicious manage- 
ment the Reading Circle can be made to foster mental growth and activity 
in a way congenial to American ideas. M. C. M. 



[May, 



MAV ITHI.ir.X IK 'NS. 



I.lM .'l I \lllt K CHAKI K-* Slkl. New York: Ik-iui^cr 1 

This simple sketch is the work of a loving hand, an elder brother. and can- 
not but be productive of great good, especially .1111011^ <>ur American youth. 
Father Sire was a Jesuit who died during the tirst year of his priesthood. Like 
St. Aloysius and St. Herchmans, he is a model for \outh. and, more than that, 
he is a pattern of the true missionary. St. Aloys^ .in.l Si. r..-r. hnians .lied in 
a religious house, surrounded by their brethren and fortified by the Sacraments. 
Father Sire died on the ocean without the Sacraments, and was buried in the 
waters of the Atlantic. 

His mission on the isle of Reunion, off Madagascar, was only of a few 
months' duration. He was simply to point out the way to other youths whom 
God may tire with his spirit. This biography should ha\e an extensive circula- 
tion in our Catholic colleges, that through Venerable Charles' example and 
intercession our youths may drink in the missionary spirit. 

In reading of this young Jesuit's life in the College of Reunion, where he 
was prefect of the boys, who were nearly all blacks or Creoles, one cannot refrain 
from begging Venerable Charles to beseech God, who made men of one race, 
that in the American colleges of his own order, as well as of other communities, 
room may soon be found for the American sons of that Africa which so quickly 
exhausted his vitality, and thus gave him his crown when only thirty-three years 
of age. J. K. s. 

AMERICAN RELIGIOUS LEADERS : DR. MUHLENBERG. By William Wilber- 
force Newton, D.D. Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

This life is supposed to belong to a series of lives of " American Religious 
Leaders." Coming in a series of lives of philanthropists or teachers it would 
have fitted very well ; but as a religious leader, beyond the little field of the sect 
to which he belonged his influence was unfelt. He may have been an Episcopal 
religious leader, but certainly he was not an American religious leader. 

The " story of his life " is poorly told in elegant English in the short space 
of forty pages. We say poorly told, for we are sure that a most interesting 
account of his works might be written, comprising a volume as large as the 
one before us. But the author has an axe to grind, as we shall see. He wishes 
to set before the world Dr. Muhlenberg as a follower of the teachings of K. 1>. 
Maurice, whose best representative in America is Dr. Allen, of the Protestant 
Episcopal Seminary in Cambridge, Mass. When the axe is ground we find it 
to be dull, as well as double-edged. The book leaves one's mind in the same 
state as the reading of the famous poem of the " Jabberwock," in Tlif Adven- 
tures of Alice in the Looking-Glass House, or a couple of pages of the Hunting 
of the Snark. We have been able to pick out with a deal of pains and labor 
enough to show what manner of man the subject of the book \yas. If we put 
ourselves in thought outside the great America to which we belong, into the 
loud-talking sect to which Dr. Muhlenberg belonged, we may, by the aid of a 
strong glass, perceive that he was a great man in his own little world. He did 

* Several notices of new books have been unavoidably postponed to the next issue. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 279 

institute a hospital famous for bigotry toward Catholics. He founded a school 
which was the parent of a grander and greater which came afterwards; of which 
latter the writer of this notice has the honor to be an alumnus. He first initi- 
ated, in spite of all his protestations to the contrary, in spite of calumny heaped 
on Catholic institutions of the same sort, a Protestant sisterhood. These were his 
three works, and they redound to his personal credit. His heart was big with love 
for the suffering, the needy, and the ignorant, and big with schemes to remedy 
these evils. But his mind was dwarfed by prejudice, and he labored under the 
disadvantage of being very ill informed of the true reality of the Catholic insti- 
tutions which he imitated. Like the author of his biography, he knew as little 
of true Catholicity as the Hottentot in Africa knows of Victor Hugo. 

His churchmanship was of the " Evangelical Catholic type." What is that? 
We know the Evangelicals and the party in the Protestant Episcopal Church 
who call themselves Catholics, but to mix the two together is something new. 
The " Anglo-Catholic" is more or less an imitator of the real Catholic. The 
Evangelical is a school of thought now nearly died out, more or less infected 
with moderate Calvinism. Dr. Muhlenberg was certainly to a greater or less 
degree an imitator of Catholics, in spite of his protests to the contrary. We 
think his type of churchmanship was somewhat Catholic as seen, but when he 
opened his mouth to speak the long ears and the harsh voice proclaimed that the 
animal was different from the one the skin he had assumed would indicate. 

The author has made also a grotesque mistake in comparing poor Dr. 
Muhlenberg with the great Cardinal Newman ; this will only make serious- 
minded people smile with pity or contempt at his audacity. The ill-natured 
insinuations against the author of the Apologia simply belittle, if that were pos- 
sible, the man who penned them. The last chapter, " The After-glow of His 
Influence," is a delightfully hazy, dreamy, cloud-land piece of rhetorical bosh. 
The book is written, it seems to us, to advance the opinions of the school of 
Stanley and Maurice. We remember once hearing this sort of religion described 
by the late Dr. Gray, of Cambridge, as the " Gospel of Mush." We voted then 
in favor of that name and we never have seen any argument presented to make: 
us change that vote. 



2ft \VlTll THt. y'r/.7./.s7/AA'. [May, 



WITH TIIK PUBLISHER. 



IT is with no small degree of satisfaction that we note the 
many expressions of good-will anil congratulation called forth by 
our Silver Jubilee. From all sources, from private letters as well 
as from the public press, THE CAIII<>II< \YoKl. i> has received 
the most generous praise and the heartiest good wishes for a lung 
life of continued influence and increasing prosperity. It is with 
much reluctance that we refrain from quotation ; but to cite a 
few would be unjust to the others, while to quote them all would 
be to use more space than the Editors can spare to this depart- 
ment of the magazine. The first issue of our fifty-first volume was 
worthy of an occasion so important, and in many instances served 
as the text for the congratulation we received ; the interest 
aroused by the opening chapters of the " Life of Father Hecker " 
was of itself sufficient to make the number memorable. 



We tell this brief story of the esteem in which THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD is held for the benefit of our readers. Our subscribers 
have their share, and a very considerable share, in these congrat- 
ulations. It is significant, to say the least, that so large a per- 
centage of our subscribers have been with us from the very 
beginning. Without their aid the magazine could never have 
been sustained, nor could its influence have been so far-reaching. 
Their interest was something more to us than dollars and cents ; 
it was a stimulus, an unfailing source of encouragement during 
the often up-hill work of the past twenty-five years. To such, 
then, is certainly due a large measure of the praise so liberally 
bestowed upon us. 

But praise should be a stimulant, not a hypnotic ; it should 
give new life to vigor, should give an added zest to endeavor. 
Those who are charged with the publication of this magazine so 
interpret all the praise it has received ; to maintain its position 
as the representative of the best Catholic thought, to keep pace 
with these times and with the progress of our people this 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 281 

makes demands upon the exercise of the highest ability and 
energy, and to this we pledge ourselves. 



And you who read these lines, what place have you in this 
work ? You share with us in the praise ; will you share with us 
in the renewed effort of which this praise would be the parent ? 
Fair words are good, fair deeds are better. We said in our 
March issue that we wished to make our Silver Jubilee memo- 
rable by the addition of ten thousand new subscribers to our list. 
The Michigan Catholic, to whom we here make acknowledgment 
for many warm words of praise, thinks we should add another 
cipher to that figure ; our sentiments in this respect are those 
of the lamented Barkis. But in the meantime what are you 
doing for the ten thousand ? 



* 
* * 



What can you do ? A great deal. And without going out 
of your way very far, either. There is not a single subscriber 
to THE CATHOLIC WORLD who cannot do some service to the 
magazine which no one else can do. You like the magazine ; it 
is something for a Catholic to be proud of; you always find some- 
thing of interest in its table of contents ; you often find an article 
which is alone worth the price of a year's subscription. Why 
not speak of it, then, to those of your friends who are not 
subscribers ? Talk is said to be cheap, but you know that it is 
one of the mightiest of levers for good or for ill. A word or 
two from every subscriber to this magazine would soon be heard 
at the publisher's desk. 

* * 

There is another thing you can do. It will serve a good 
cause and won't cost you much. Among your acquaintances you 
may know some who haven't the good luck to be subscribers to 
THE CATHOLIC WORLD. Take a postal card and send us the 
name and address of even one such person. We will send him 
a sample copy and you will thus have filled another place in 
the ranks of the ten thousand. If every one who subscribes to a 
Catholic periodical would do either or both of these things, the 
Catholic press of this country would soon realize the ideal of 
prosperity and influence. Don't fail to send the publisher of this 
magazine at least one name before the date of the next issue. 

* * 

It will be of interest to our readers to learn that the Most 



\VlTH THE Pl'Kl.lSHEk. [May. 

Ke\ I'.itrick J. Ky.m, Archbishop of Philadelphia, has .i-sumed 
the chief o!itori.il direction of the American Catholic Quarterly 
AY :/<.-. .W.TKtted with the archbishop in the editorial man 
HK-nt are the Rev. I^iiatm- I-'. Horstmann, I). I)., the Rev. Luke 
V. M ml Mr. tlenr^e I). \Volf. Under sin h management 

a renewed career of usefulness and prosperity is assured to the 
which we extend a t'ratein -;il^. 



Among the publishers the Mewn. Hen/.i^er have shown the 
greatest activity during the past month. They have just 
published : 

Vol. XVI. of the Centenary edition of St. Alpltonsiis Works. 

This volume contains sermons for all the Sundays of the 

year. 
The Life of Father Charles Sire, S.J. Translated from the 

fifth French edition, and approved by His Kminence 

Cardinal Gibbons and many other eminent ecclesiastics. 
.Marriage. A series of Conferences delivered by i 

Monsabre at Notre Dame, Paris. 
Getltscmani, Jerusalem, and Golgotha. A new prayer-book 

for Lent. 
The Twelve Virtues of a Good Teacher. From the French 

of Rev. H. Pettier. 

The same firm announce : 

A fourth revised edition of Vol. II. of Dr. Smith's Elements 

of Ecclesiastical Law. 
Golden Sands. Fifth Series. 
Counsels for the Sanctification and Happiness of Daily Life. 

Translated from the French by Miss Ella McMahon. 
Catholic Youth of the Present Day. From the German of 

Rt. Rev. Augustus Egger, D.D., Bishop of St. Gall. 
Vol. XVII. of the Centenary edition of St. Alfhonsiis' 

Works. 
Month of the Sacred Heart for the Young Christian. From 

the French of Brother Philippe. 

Macmillan & Co. announce for early publication : 

The Growth of the Intellectual Faculty. Hy Dr. Francis 

Warner. 
Notes on A mcrican Schools . and Training Colleges. By Dr. 

J. G. Fitch, the author of the well-known Lectures on 

Teaching. 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 283 

Longmans, Green & Co. announce a new Irish novel by Mr. 
William O'Brien, entitled When \\'e were Boys. 

The Corporation of Harvard University has authorized the 
publication of two monographs which may form the beginning 
of a series. The first number will be : 

No. i. A History of the Veto Power in the United States. 
By Edward Campbell Mason, A.B., Instructor in Poli- 
tical Economy. 

Mr. Mason's work will include a chapter on English and 
Colonial vetoes, and a chapter on State vetoes. The body of 
the work is a systematic discussion of all the Presidential vetoes, 
arranged by subject and based on a study of the records of 
Congress. Price $i, net. 

The second number of the series will be : 

No. 2. An Introduction to the Study of Federal Governments. 
By Albert Bushnell Hart, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of 
History. 

This monograph will contain an Historical Introduction, with 
brief sketches of the rise and institutions of the principal federal 
governments which have existed from the establishment of the 
Greek federations to the present day. To each sketch will be 
appended a brief critical bibliography. Then will follow a 
parallel arrangement of the texts, in English, of the four most 
important federal constitutions those of Canada, Germany, 
Switzerland, and the United States. Price, 50 cents, net. 

These works will be published by Ginn & Co. 

The same publishers also announce : 

The Nine Worlds. Stories from Norse Mythology. By 

Mary E. Litchfield. 
Reference Handbook of English History, for Readers, 

Students, and Teachers. By W. H. Gurney. To be 

published in May. 



2 g 4 BOOKS Kf.cxti'ED. [May, 1890. 



BOOK- K! CUV1 

,/t*> /* /^' * "<" > w/ "<" "**'"' """" '" '"'"*""' """*'"' 

N. E. : being letter. from .he Vatican In .889. By William T. 
Stea , Pans. New York, ami Mel 

"W-S-JTS 

CIVIUM CHRISTIANORUM OFFlcns. (Latme et German.ce.) 
' 



BROWN'S IOW, ..h graded exercises I, I '^ ng ' ""^Hcn^ 

Position. An In,, Goold Brown, sene, of Knghsh Gramma^ By Henry 

Kiddle. A.M.. late Superintendent <>t 1 "' rk ' 



TH* TRCN , -ing a problem in Geometry that ha, baffled die efforts 

oT ma^naticians up to the present day ; now solved for the firs, ,me. By John A. Lam- 
Ban B A M D. Hyde I'arlc. Mass.: Randall & Langley. 

: ,:--"'":=. rr jffj 

Doctor of the Church. Edited by Rev. Eugene Gnmin. C.SS.K. 






: Second e-Htion. revised. Price 50 cents. San 

, s oT HUA , < : OF THE C ATH ^, r 

, noMAL UNION, held at Providence, k. !.. September 3 and 4. .889. 1 

^TuT^rCH.tDKEN: The Blessed State of .11 who die . Childhood proved and 
taught a, a pan of the Gospel of Christ. By Henry Van Dyke. New York : An* 

THING IN THE WORLD. By Henry Drummond, F.R 



THWoKK.sPRPOF POUTICAL ECONOMY ,N A NF.W AID I'RA, xr 

Ab^okfor beglnler,. By S M. M.cvane. McLean Professor , ta Harvard 

Collen. New YJTk : Effingham Maynard & Co. A-V^.II 

GOSPKL AND EFISTI.F. HVMSS FOR THE . YKAR. By the Rev. John Anketcll. 

A M New York The C/iurck Ktcord Co. 

LIFE OF FATHER CHARLES SIRE. ..K THE S,,,:IKTV OF JKSVS. A simple biography com- 
piled from hi, writings and the testimony of those who have known h,n, , hu 

heVRev Vital Sire. Professor Theology at the Theolopcal Se,.. 

T^ouse Tranllated from the French. With the approbation of His Emmence Car- 
dinal Gibbons. New York. Cincinnati. Chicago : Bennger Bros. 

CONFERFNCES OF A<;..,T.SO ' ' " r . delivered in Rome during Lent, 188, 

Translate^ from (he Italian by Chad, wO. Wttfc m ' ' he 

a ,or bv his Eminence the .hbislmp ,,l W.-stnunHer. 

London : Thomas Baker; New York, 'Cincinnati, ami Chicago: B,-, . 

UKITE " U-STRAUA. Public opinion in England a, expressed in the leadmg journals of the 

..ngdom. By authority. Sydney : Charles Potter. 

roMV PHWoZoOT. AN,. H :'h spcaal reference to the effects ,fM,nm ants 

^^ For e in primary and intermediate schools. By Charl,-, M. ...y. M.I. 

visiting oculist and aurist to the Randall's Man.1 Hospitals. Ne, York; .nstruclo ,n 
ophthalmolo^. Vanderbil, Clinic. College of \', r \ 

Ass slant Surgeon New York Ophthalmic and Aural 1 How of the New York 

Academy of Medicine, etc. New York : William Wood & Co. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. JUNE, 1890. No. 303. 



INTRODUCTION TO THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 

LIFE is action, and so long as there is action there is life. That 
life is worth living whose action puts forth noble aspirations and 
good deeds. The man's influence for truth and virtue persever- 
ing in activity, his life has not ceased, though earth has clasped 
his body in its embrace. It is well that it is so. The 
years of usefulness between the cradle and the grave are few. 
The shortness of a life restricted to them is sufficient to discourage 
many from making strong efforts toward impressing the workings 
of their souls upon their fellows. The number to whose minds 
we have immediate access is small, and they do not remain, 
s the good we might do worth the labor ? We cannot at times 
refuse a hearing to the question. Fortunately, it is easily made 
clear to us that the area over which influence travels is vastly 
more extensive than at first sight appears. The eye will not 
always discern the undulations of its spreading waves ; but on- 
ward it goes, from one soul to another, far beyond our immediate 
ranks, and as each soul touched by it becomes a new motive 
power, it rolls forward, often with energy a hundred times 
intensified, long after the shadows of death have settled around 
its point of departure. 

Isaac Thomas Hecker lives to-day, and with added years he 

live more fully than he does to-day. His influence for good 

:ma.ns, and with a better understanding of his plans and ideals, 

which is sure to come, his influence will widen and deepen 

among laymen and priests of the Church in America. The 

writing of his biography is a tribute to his memory which the 

J and esteem of his spiritual children could not refuse ; it is, 

also, a most important service to generations present and un- 

Copyright. REV. A. F. HEWIT. 1890. 



286 /.VT-AV; TO THE LIFE OF PATHS* HECKBX, [June, 

born, in whose deeds will be seen the fruits of inspirations 
gathered from it. \Ve arc thankful th.it this biography is being 
written by one who from closed converse and most intimate 
friendship knew Father Hecker so thoroughly. He will give us 
in his book what we need to know of Father Hecker. \\V care 
very little, except so far as details may accentuate the 
lines of a life and make them sensible to our obtuse touch, 
where or when a man was born, what places he happened to 
\ isit. what houses he built, or in what circumstances of malady 
or in what surroundings he died. These things can be said of 
the ten thousand. We want to know the thoughts and the 
resolves of the soul which made him a marked man above his 
fellows and which begot strong influences for good and 
works, and if none, such can be unfolded then drop the man 
out of sight, with a " Rajnicscat in pace " engraven upon his 
tombstone. Few deserve a biography, and to the undeserving 
none should be given. 

If it be permitted to speak of self, I might say that to 
Father Hecker I am indebted for most salutary impressions which, 
I sorrowfully confess, have not had in me their due effect ; the 
remembrance of them, however, is a proof to me of the useful- 
ness of his life, and its power for good in others. I am glad to 
have the opportunity to profess publicly my gratitude to him. 
He. was in the prime of life and work when I was for the first 
time brought to observe him. I was quite young in the ministry, 
and very naturally I was casting my eye around in search of 
ideal men, whose footsteps were treading the path I could f< 
too, ought to travel. I never afterwards wholly lost sight of 
Father Hecker, watching him as well as I could from a distance 
of two thousand miles. I am not to-day without some experience 
of men and things, won from years and toils, and I do not alter 
one tittle my estimate of him, except to make it higher. To the 
priests of the future I recommend a serious study of Father 
Hecker's life. To them I would have his biography dedicated 
Older men, like myself, are fixed in their ways, and they will not 
receive from it so much benefit. 

Father Hecker was the typical American priest ; his were the 
gifts of mind and heart that go to do great work for God and 
for souls in America at the present time. Those qualities, assur- 
edly, were not lacking in him which are the necessary elements 
of character of the good priest and the great man in any time 
and place. Those are the subsoil of priestly culture, and with 
the absence of them no one will succeed in America any more 



1890.] L\'rA'o/JL'C7vo.\- TO THE LIFE OF FATHER HECK ER. 287 

than elsewhere. But suffice they do not. There must be added, 
over and above, the practical intelligence and the pliability of will 
to understand one's surroundings, the ground upon which he is 
to deploy his forces, and to adapt himself to circumstances and 
opportunities as Providence appoints. I do not expect that my 
words, as I am here writing, will receive universal approval, and 
I am not at all sure that their expression would have been 
countenanced by the priest whose memory brings them to my 
lips. I write as I think, and the responsibility must be all my 
own. It is as clear to me as noon-day light that countries and 
peoples have each their peculiar needs and aspirations as they 
have their peculiar environments, and that, if we would enter 
into souls and control them, we must deal with them according to 
their conditions. The ideal line of conduct for the priest in 
Assyria will be out of all measure in Mexico or Minnesota, and 
I doubt not that one doing fairly well in Minnesota would by 
similar methods set things sadly astray in Leinster or Bavaria. 
The Saviour prescribed timeliness in pastoral caring. The master 
of a house, He said, " bringeth forth out of his treasury new 
things and old," as there is demand for one kind or the other. 
The apostles of nations, from Paul before the Areopagus to 
Patrick upon the summit of Tara, followed no different principle. 
The circumstances of Catholics have been peculiar in the 
United States, and we have unavoidably suffered on this account. 
Catholics in largest numbers were Europeans, and so were their 
priests, many of whom by no means all remained in heart and 
mind and mode of action as alien to America as if they had 
never been removed from the Shannon, the Loire, or the Rhine. 
No one need remind me that immigration has brought us inesti- 
mable blessings, or that without it the Church in America would 
be of small stature. The remembrance of a precious fact is not 
put aside, if I recall an accidental evil attaching to it. Priests 
foreign in disposition and work were not fitted to make favor- 
able impressions upon the non-Catholic American population, 
and the American-born children of Catholic immigrants were 
likely to escape their action. And, lest I be misunderstood, I 
assert all this is as true of priests coming from Ireland as from 
any other foreign country. Even priests of American ancestry,- 
ministering to immigrants, not unfrequently fell into the lines of 
those around them, and did but little to make the Church in 
America throb with American life. Not so Isaac Thomas 
Hecker. Whether consciously or unconsciously I do not know, 
and it matters not, he looked on America as the fairest con- 

VOL. Ll. 19 



288 /\ ///A/., MIIKHUl.^KEK. [June. 

qiu-t lor .livine triitli, .mil he girded himself with anus shaped 
anil tempered t<> the Ami-ric.m pattern. I think that it may be 

th.it the American current, sn plain for the last quarter of a 
century in the flow of Catholic affairs, is, largely at least, 1 

<! hack to Father Hecker and his early co-\\ orkers. h 
to be said of them in reproach that they were the " Yankee " 

lie Church; the reproach was their praise. 
Father Hecker understood and loved the country and its 
institutions, lie -aw nothing in them to be depn 
changed ; he had no longing for the flesh-pots and bread-stuffs 
of empires and monarchies. His favorite topic in book and 
lecture was, that the Constitution of the United States requires, 
iry h.i-is, the truths of Catholic teaching regarding 
man's natural state, as opposed to the errors of Luther and 
vin. The republic, he taught, presupposes the Church's doc- 
trine, and the Church ought to love a polity which is the 

ring of her own spirit. He understood and loved the people 
of America. Hie recognized in them splendid natural qualities. 
Was he not right? Not minimizing in the least the dreadful 
evil of the absence of the supernatural, I am not afraid to give 
as my belief that there is among Americans as high an appre- 
ciation and as lively a realization of natural truth and goodness 
as has been seen in any people, and it seems as if Almighty 
God. intending a great age and a great people, has put here in 
America a singular development of nature's powers and gift-, 
both in man and out of man with the further will, I have the 
faith, of crowning all with the glory of the supernatural. Father 
Hecker perceived this, and his mission was to hold in his hands 
the natural, which Americans extolled and cherished and trusted 
in, and by properly directing its legitimate tendencies and 
growth to lead it to the term of its own instincts and aspira- 
tions Catholic truth and Catholic grace. Protestantism is no 
longer more than a name, a memory. The American has fallen 
back upon himself, scorning the negations and the doctrinal 
cruelties of Protestantism as utterly contrary to himself, as utterly- 
unnatural ; and now comes the opportunity of the Catholic Church 
to show that she is from the God who created nature, by open- 
ing before this people her treasures, amid which the soul n 
in rational liberty and intelligence, and enjoys the gratilk.. 
i.f its best and purest moral instincts. These convictions are the 
keynote of Father Hecker's controversial discourses and \\rit- 
uotably of two books, Aspirations of .\\itnrc and Questions 
of the .S>//. He assumed that the American people are naturally 



1890.] INTRODUCTION TO THE LIFE 01- FATHER HECKER. 289 

Catholic, and he labored with this proposition constantly before 
his mind. It is the assumption upon which all must labor who 
sincerely desire to make America Catholic. 

He laid stress on the natural and social virtues. The Amer- 
ican people hold these in highest esteem. They are the virtues 
that are most apparent, and arc seemingly the most needed for 
the building up and the preservation of an earthly commonwealth. 
Truthfulness, honesty in business dealings, loyalty to law and 
social order, .temperance, respect for the rights of others, and 
the like virtues are prescribed by reason before the voice of 
revelation is heard, and the absence of specifically supernatural 
virtues has led the non-Catholic to place paramount importance 
upon them. It will be a difficult task to persuade the American 
that a church which will not enforce those primary virtues can 
enforce others which she herself declares to be higher and more 
arduous, and as he has implicit C9nfidence in the destiny of his 
country to produce a high order of social existence, his first test 
of a religion will be its powers in this direction. This is ac- 
cording to Catholic teaching. Christ came not to destroy, but 
to perfect what was in man, and the graces and truths of reve- 
lation lead most securely to the elevation of the life that is, no 
less than to the gaining of the life to come. It is a fact, how- 
ever, that in other times and other countries the Church has 
been impeded in her social work, atid certain things or customs 
of those times and countries, transplanted upon American soil 
and allowed to grow here under a Catholic name, will do her 
no honor among Americans. The human mind, among the best 
of us, inclines to narrow limitations, and certain Catholics, aware 
of the comparatively greater importance of the supernatural, 
partially overlook the natural. 

Then, too, casuists have incidentally done us harm. They 
will quote as our rule of social conduct in America what may 
have been tolerated in France or Germany during the seven- 
teenth century, and their hair-splitting distinctions in the realm 
of abstract right and wrong are taken by some of us as prac- 
tical decisions, without due reference to local circumstances. The 
American people pay slight attention to the abstract ; they look 
only to the concrete in morals, and we must keep account of 
their manner of judging things. The Church is nowadays called 
upon to emphasize her power in the natural order. God forbid 
that I entertain, as some may be tempted to suspect me of 
doing, the slightest notion that vigilance may be turned off one 
single moment from the guard of the supernatural. For the 



290 /, tormHMen*. [June. 

..h, M.pernatural 1 speak. And natural virtues. prac- 

in thi: proper frame of mind and heart, become .uper- 
ltural eJ cemurv calls for it. type of Christian perfectio^ 

T ..nctim, i, wa< martyrcl-m ; at another it . the hum.hty 
I,,- th , cM.t To-day * Deed the Christum ,ent eman . 
the Christian citi/cn. An boOCSt ballot and Mdd decom 
iln,, Catholics will domOT. for God's ,l,,ry and the sah 
I,, ..uls than midnight flagellations or Compostel.an ^>'- 
, , n a line with his principles. M I have *, far dehneated tun, 
Father Heckcr believed that if he odd cceed ,n h,s wo, 
souls, he should ,* in it all the natural energy that God 
given him. and he acted up to his belief. I once heard a good 
Sd priest, who sah] his beads well and made , dert around ,, 

lit by miserable preaching, criticise Father Hccker who h 
imagined, put too much reliance in man. and not enough b God 
Father Hccker's piety, his assiduUy in prayer, Ins personal hab, 
of self-denial, repel the aspersion that he failed m rehance up,,, 
God But my old priest-and he has in the church to-day, both 
in America and Europe, tens of thousands of counterpart- 
more than half willing to see in all outputtings of human ene, 

lack of confidence in God. We sometimes rely far more upon 
God than God desires us to do. and there are occasions wh 
novena is the refuge of laziness or cowardice. God has endo, ,d 

s with natural talents, and not one of them shall be, w.th 1 
permission, enshrouded in a napkin. He will not work a m.rac 
or supply grace, to make up for our deficienc.es. \\ ,- must work 
if all depended on us, and pray as if all depended God. 
God never proposed to do by His direct action all that m.gh 
be done in and through the Church. He invites human co-ope 
tion and abandons to it a wide field. The ages of most act 
human industry in religious enterprises were the ages 
remarkable spiritual conquests. The tendency to overlook 
fact shows itself among us. Newman writes that where the 
shines bright in the warm climate of the South, the native* . 
the place know little of safeguards against cold and wet 
have their cold days, but only now and then, and they . 
deem it worth their while to provide against them : the 
of calefaction is reserved for the north. And BO, 1'roU-tunt-, c 
pending on human means solely, are led to make the mosi 
them their sole resource is to use what they have : they ; 
he anxious cultivators of a rugged soil. Catholics, on the con- 
trary feel that God will protect the Church, and. as V-wmar 
adds' "we sometimes for-et that we shall please Him t 



i8 9 o.] INTRODUCTION TO THK LtP of I-ATUEK HECKER. 29 i 



get most from Him, when, according to the fable, we put our 
ulder to the wheel, when we use what we -have by nature to 
J utmost, at the same time that we look out for what is beyond 
nature m the confidence of faith and hope." Lately a Witty 
French writer pictures to us the pious friends of the leading 
thohc layman of France, De Mun, kneeling in spiritual retreat 
their presence is required in front of the enemy The 
Catholic of the nineteenth century all over the world is too quiet 
easily resigned to " the will of God," attributing to God the 
Sects of his own timidity and indolence. Father Hecker rolled 
up h,s sleeves and "pitched in" with desperate resolve He 
ought as for very life. Meet him anywhere or at any time he 
i at work or he was planning to work. He was ever lookin^ 
>und to see what might be done. He did with a rush the 
labor of a missionary and of a pastor, and he went beyond 
nto untrodden pathways. He hated routine. He minded not 
rtiat others had been doing, seeking only what he himself might 
is efforts for the diffusion of Catholic literature, THE CATH 
Lie WORLD, his several books, the Catholic tracts, tell his zeal 
I energy. A Catholic daily paper was a favorite design to 

he gave no small measure of time and labor He anti 
cipated by many years the battlings of our temperance apostles. 
The Pauhst pulpit opened death-dealing batteries upon the saloon 
when the saloon-keeper was the hero in state and church The 
Catholic University of America found in him one of its warmest 
/ocates His zeal was as broad as St. Paul's, and whoever did 
1 was his friend and received his support. The walls of his 
ish, or .his order, did not circumscribe for him God's Church 
choice of a patron saint-St. Paul-reveals the fire burning 
ithin his soul. He would not, he could not be idle On his 
-bed, where he lay the greater part of his latter years, he was 
t mact.ve. He wrote valuable articles and books, and when 
unable to write, he dictated. 

He was enthusiastic in his work, as all are who put their 

whole soul into what they are doing. Such people have no time 

to count the dark linings of the silvery clouds ; they realize that 

God and man together do not fail. Enthusiasm begets enthu- 

fits a man to be a leader; it secures a following A 

ishop who was present at the Second Plenary Council of Balti- 

more has told me that when Father Hecker appeared before the 

assembled prelates and theologians in advocacy of Catholic litera 

urc as a missionary force, the picture was inspiring, and that 

bearers, receiving a Pentecostal fire within their bosoms felt 



/ / '.I Tlll-K ///('A-/ A'. [June, 

as if America \\ be .it once com ertcd. So would it have 

if then- had lu-i-n in Ameriia .1 sufficient number of 
Hecker- IK- had liis critics. \\'li<> ever trie- t d something 
onts'idc routine lines against whom hands are not rai>ed ami 
wlio-e motives and acts are not misconstrued ? A venerable 
clergyman one clay thought lie had scored a i;reat point against 
Father Hecker by jocosely sn^esting to him as the mtt<> "' his 
new order the word " I'aulatim." The same one, no doubt, 
would have made a like suggestion to the Apostle of the den- 
tiles. Advocates of "I'aulatim" methods have t :i left the 
wheels of Christ's chariot fast in the mire. \Ye rejoice, for its 
sake, that enthusiasts sometimes appear on the scene. The mis- 
sions of the early Paulists, into which went Father 1 lecker's 
entire heart, aroused the country. To-day, after a lapse of thirty 
or thirty-five years, they are remembered as events wherever they 
were preached. 

His was the profound conviction that, in the present age at 
any rate, the order of the day should be individual action every 
man doing his full duty, and waiting for no one else to prompt 
him. This, I take it, was largely the meaning of Father Hecker's 
oft-repeated teaching on the work of the Holy Ghost in souls. 
There have been epochs in history where the Church, sacrificing 
her outposts and the ranks of her skirmishers to the preservation 
of her central and vital fortresses, put the brakes, through n 
sity, from the nature of the warfare waged against her, upon 
individual activity, and moved her soldiers in serried masses ; and 
then it was the part and the glory of each one to move with the 
column. The need of repression has passed away. The authority 
of the Church and of her Supreme Head is beyond danger of 
being denied or obscured, and each- Christian soldier may take to 
the field, obeying the breathings of the Spirit of truth and piety 
within him, feeling that what he may do he should do. There is 
work for individual priests, and for individual laymen, and so soon 
as it is discovered let it be done. The responsibility is upon 
each one ; the indifference of others is no excuse. Said Father 
Hecker one day to a friend : " There is too much waiting upon 
the action of others. The layman waits for the priest, the ] 
for the bishop, and the bishop for the pope, while the l|..ly (ihost 
sends down to all the reproof that He is prompting each one, and 
no one moves for Him." Father Hecker was original in his ideas, 
as well as in his methods ; there was no routine in him, mental 
or practical. 

I cannot but allude, wheiher I understand or not the true 



1890.] Av/Wtwr/mv TO THE LtFE OF FATHER HECKER. 293 

intent of it, to what appears to have been a leading fact in his 
life : his leaving an old-established religious community for the 
purpose of instituting that of the Paulists. I will speak so far 
of this as I have formed an estimate of it. To me, this fact seems 
to have been a Providential circumstance' in keeping with all else 
in his life. I myself have at this moment such thoughts as I 
imagine must have been running through his mind during that 
memorable sojourn in Rome, which resulted in freeing him from 
his old allegiance. The work of evangelizing America demands 
new methods. It is time to draw forth from our treasury the 
" new things " of the Gospel ; we have been long enough offer- 
ing "old things." Those new methods call for newly-equipped 
men. The parochial clergy will readily confess that they cannot 
of themselves do all that God now demands from His Church in 
this country. They are too heavily burdened with the ordinary 
duties of the ministry : instructing those already within the fold, 
administering the sacraments, building temples, schools, and asy- 
lums duties which must be attended to and which leave slight 
leisure for special studies or special labors. Father Hecker or- 
ganized the Paulist community, and did in his way a great work 
for the conversion of the country. He made no mistake when 
he planned for a body of priests, more disciplined than usually 
are the parochial clergy, and more supple in the character of 
their institute than the existing religious orders. 

We shall always distinguish Isaac Thomas Hecker as the 
ornament, the flower of our American priesthood the type that 
we wish to see reproduced among us in widest proportions. 
Ameliorations may be sought for in details, and the more of them 
the better for religion ; but the great lines of Father Hecker's 
personality we should guard with jealous love in the formation 
of the future priestly characters of America. 

JOHN IRELAND. 

St. Pan!, Min,,. 



SXA- /.r/.v i\>. [June, 



SAN I.l-'IS POTOSI, 

A~ a well known, this N one "I the leading cities of M 
,iul lias been so for centuries It takes its name from !>"ii 
l.ei.xa, who founded it in 1576. In this he was materi- 
ally assisted by a Franciscan friar, for then church and state 
:mt at (lasers drawn, a-, now, but worked hand-in-hand 
to further the spiritual -and material interests of New Spain 
(though three centuries ago such a distinction would have been 
unintelligible), and the gray-robed disciples of the Mystic of 
Assisi kept well to the fore in the work of building up the 
new dependency of old Iberia. The name Potosi was added 
(borrowed from the celebrated mining-place in South America) 
when the extraordinary wealth of the mines .it" San 1'edro \\as 
fully revealed. It is of little use naming the yield of the mines 
or the vast sums derived therefrom in royalties by the Spanish 
crown. One' lump of gold in particular, that went to Spain, \\a-> 
unique in size and value, and in exchange for it the monarch 
very graciously presented the city with a bell ! However, in 
course of time some wooden pillars in the mines were removed, 
when the roof very, naturally " caved in "; then water got into 
the mines, and, in fact, the business was ruined. Not that mining 
is entirely abandoned ; much work is yet done, and attempts 
have been made from time to time to reach the old workings, 
resulting, however, in failure from want of funds ; but there is 
little doubt that the old glories ot this mining district, so rich 
in the precious metals, will be revived and even surpassed. 

When mining failed them the inhabitants devoted themselves 
to agriculture, and in spite of the dearth of water managed to 
achieve some success. It is a poor spot indeed where nothing 
will grow; and if there be not water for irrigation the nex 1 . 
thing is to sow wheat and corn should rain happen to fall. 
However, a number of valuable Mexican plants are seemingly 
independent of water, and these, singularly enough, are most 
succulent and juicy growths. Around the fields near San l.uis 
one finds stout fences of lofty organ cactus and various tn 
the acacia family; within flourishes nopal or prickly pear, valuable 
as harboring the cochineal insect, and when singed of its thorns 
serving as feed for stock; moreover, the shoots when boiled 
afford an edible vegetable for the table, and the fruit, the tuna, 



1890.] SA.V Luis POTOSJ. 295 

is cooling and delicious. The maguey, or aloe, is another plant 
much grown hereabouts ; at five or six years old it matures and 
sends up a prodigious column or flower from the centre that is, 
if it is allowed to. In maguey plantations this is prevented, the 
centre of the plant being scooped out and occasionally rasped 
with an iron spoon. The sap destined for the nutriment of the 
flower agtia mid, or honey water, as it is called is for several 
months drawn off three times a day by means of a pipette, con- 
veyed into a goat-skin bag which the workman bears on his back, 
and then carried to the storeroom, where it is placed in vessels 
and allowed to ferment. It then appears a muddy-white fluid 
having a disagreeable odor, and the taste of sour cider and soda- 
water mixed. It is a cheap, intoxicating beverage, the beer of 
the lower orders, and is largely consumed. Mescal, an inferior 
hollands, is also distilled from the maguey; and the leaves oi 
the plant, which now dies, ' produce ixtle, a long, tough fibre, 
stronger than hemp, and a staple article of export. 

Philip III. raised San Luis to the rank of a city in 1658, 
and its population at present cannot be less than 70,000. 
Though in the tropics (latitude 22 9' 8" north), its elevation of 
1,932 metres secures it from extreme heat, and a finer climate 
dry, bright, and uniform could not readily be named. Since 
October, 1888, San Luis has been in direct communication by 
means of the Mexican National Railway with New York and the 
City of Mexico, from which latter it is distant three hundred and 
sixty-two miles. When the Central Railway's branch from 
Aguas Calientes to Tampico is completed, passing through San 
Luis, the latter city hopes to rival the capital. Saltillo, about 
two hundred and forty-seven miles off, is the nearest town 
of any importance to the north on the line of rail, and 
most of the intervening country is dry and desolate. One gets 
a tolerable meal for a dollar at Catorce (called after fourteen 
robbers who used to haunt the locality, and celebrated for its 
mines). The repast is served in some railway trucks on a side 
track, which have been thrown into one and now form a long 
room. Very creditable stations and houses for employees of the 
line are being built along the road ; they are of granite, the leading 
product of the district, seemingly. For twelve dollars, and three 
more for the sleeper, one now travels from Saltillo to San Luis 
in ease and comfort in twelve hours or so. But one shudders 
to think of the hardships of the travellers in ante-railway days, 
bumping painfully during long days and nights through these 
dusty solitudes, the rare and brief stoppages for refreshments 



/. r/A . [June. 

(t judge fnnii the nam< me <>f tin- ranches) more 

trying rviii tlian the jolting <////>, //,;'<? it-> It. For instance, 
uhat ill' 'I misery than the name of one such 

ram h, " Mata pulgas " kill the fle.i- that is <>f course, unless 
the fleas kill you, or destroy your chance of rep.ise ? The first 
question you hear people ask on stopping at a Mexican ranch 

'Arc there many (leas here?" And they are not likely to 
be disappointed if they desire company. 

Hut to return to San Luis. The present station is a fine 
granite edifice recently constructed. The Tiillman porter deposits 
the traveller's effects on the platform, but it is some little way to 
the cabs, and now the luckless wight must needs simple man- 
fully, Pickwick-tike, for the possession of his " good- and 
chattels," disputing with a swarm of gamins and strcet-aiabs. 
Finally he and his mails are safely ensconced in the fly, the ob- 
trusive porters following, and he duly reaches the hotel, and then, 
mine host being appealed to, distributes a few coppers to the 
human gadflies and chases them from the premises. There is a 
good choice of hotels in San Luis, and they are fairly well served. 
The " Hotel de las Diligencias " is on the main plaza, cr Square 
of Hidalgo ; the " Continental " is a palatial old residence recently 
opened ; " San Carlos " is a cheerful-looking house, with cool, 
green garden in the central court, but it provides rooms alone, 
and has no restaurant ; the " Hotel de San Fernando " is a com- 
fortable two-story building centrally situated, where you get good 
butter, eggs and milk, gravy-soup, fresh fish from distant Corpus 
Christi, kidneys, good steaks, and all one should require, for two 
dollars a day. In addition there are some second-class houses, 
as the " Hotel de Hidalgo" (adjoining that of " Las Diligenci 
where the sacred monogram appears over one door, and a fine 
display of whiskey bottles within the other. 

San Luis is a town of narrow, straight, cobble-stoned str 
with granite sidewalks, and pleasing houses of stone and plas- 
tered adobe or sun-dried clay, more often of one than two stories. 
\\ ithin the entrance doorway one often catches a refreshing 
glimpse of the cool, shady patio or court, round which the house 
is ranged, with its trees, roses, and flowering shrubs. There 
good service of street-cars, first and second class, charging six and 
three cents respectively, and one often sees half a dozen running 
along together, each drawn by two mules, arranged tandemwise. 
There are plenty of plazas, comfortable lounges, with their seats, 
walks, and fountains, and well-kept gardens with trees, oleandi r-, 
roses, giant geraniums, orange-trees, and ariety ot plants. 



1890.] SA.V Lufs Porosr. 297 

The one thing that is not understood or appreciated is grass ; it 
is a mere weed, apparently. The only place we saw an attempt 
at any was in the calzada, or promenade ; tufts of grass had evi- 
dently been planted in rows at regular intervals of a few inches, 
but from lack of water they had not spread, but withered to a 
sickly brown, by no means beautifying the garden. 

On the west side of the main plaza is the Municipal Palace,' 
a fine stone edifice of two stories, nearly a century old. In the 
porch is a guard of gendarmes in their cool white uniforms, and 
a sentry paces before the entrance with sword-bayonet fixed to 
his carbine. On the wall is a black-board with the latest tele- 
grams, domestic and foreign, clearly inscribed for public informa- 
tion ; within are various courts for legal tribunals, the offices of 
the different state departments, and the assembly hall for the 
twenty-one state deputies. In the alameda is a bronze statue 
of Hidalgo, the. Mexican Washington, standing on 'a fine pedestal 
of red and white marble, and erected in 1875. The old man 
is represented with his right hand stretched out, whilst with the 
left he holds a roll and gathers up the folds of a vast 
cloak which envelopes his form and trails on the ground. He 
appears to a carping critic to have just stepped from a Turkish 
bath, and, swathed in a blanket and holding a towel, to be 
beckoning the attendant to come and shampoo him ; but really 
and altogether it is a creditable work. Mexico cannot be accused 
of ingratitude to the memory of her patriots. Hard by the plaza 
is the English banking house of Pitman & Co., agents of the 
Mexican National Bank, the leading financial establishment in the 
Republic. The London Bank of Mexico and South America has 
also a branch here. 

There is a considerable foreign colony in San Luis Potosi ; 
Americans, of course, preponderating in the railway departments, 
and Germans in commerce. There are a number of foreign con- 
sulates, the American one being presided over by a well-looking 
individual with a wealth of chestnut beard and flowing, curly locks, 
a sort of Olympian Jove. He makes the most of both worlds, 
serving the Stars and Stripes politically and the Presbyterian mis- 
sions spiritually, and the consular office is bedizened, with maps 
of the world in various colors, representing the " fields ". of the 
different Protestant missionary bodies the Catholic Church, with 
its history of nigh on two thousand years and its two hundred 
million adherents, being ignored. It is regrettable that these 
Mexican Protestant missionaries should not enjoy the respect and 
confidence of their compatriots and co-religionists resident in 



.S.-f .' [June, 

the country. They irreverently opine that were the missionary'- 
substantial salary withdrawn hi- l.i!>rs would forthwith t 
supporting their assertion by the tact that though then 
plenty of foreign l'n>ti--tants in the country, not as a class much 
addicted to church-going, the missionary never troubles his head 
about them, but lets them " gang their ain gaits," because he is 

paid to minister to them. As to the natives, they ar 
t\M> classes, the "faithful" and the " free -thinkers." A lawyer 
of the first class once said to the writer: "These interloper- are 
: of rascals (coqitins) ; they come here for high salaries, but 
we don't want them ; why can't they cultivate the soil or do 
something useful in their own country ? The first teachers of 
Christianity in this land, Las Casas and his like, were devoted, 
self-sacrificing men, who cared as little for money as for the 
gravel under their feet ; but these people I wish the government 
would bundle them all out; I have no patience with a pack of 
humbugs ! " Thus reasons the one class ; there is another, com- 
posed of infidels who seem to favor Protestantism becau 
\ exes the Catholics. What do these men want of Protestantism ? 
They call it a half-way house, and find it as impossible to accept 
the Translation of Elijah as the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, 
and find at least equal intellectual difficulty in the doctrine of 
the Trinity as in that of Transubstantiation. This may possibly 
be all very wrong and very deplorable, but these are facts which 
a residence in the country demonstrates, and the real effect of 
the missions has been to stimulate the church to greater activity. 

In fact, no picture of Mexican life is complete which <1 
not devote space, and much space, to the subject of religion. 
In spite of the indifference of the government, of the non- 
religious public schools, and ot the confiscation of church prop- 
erty and abolition of the religious orders by the Juarez govern- 
ment, the people as a whole are deeply religious, and nothing 
can change this state of things. On your very match-box, in- 
stead of a Parisian opera-bouffe dancer, you often have the pa- 
tr ness of the country, " Xuestra Senora dc Guadalupe " ; on the 
window-shutters is the cross or sacred monogram, and " there is 
written on the bells of the horses, ' Holiness to the Lord,' " or 
would be if they had any bells. Now, San Luis is celebrated 
for the number and beauty of its churches, with their charming 
proportions, their porticoes richly carved in ornate stone- work, 
their lace-like towers and noble domes, and their cheerful, home- 
like, cool interiors. Some of the picture- and images are doubt- 
less grotesque and barbaric enough it examined in detail, but the 



1890.-] SAJV Luis Porosf. 299 

effect of the whole is imposing and cannot be equalled by the 
moderns. As a proof of this, take two pretentious stone churches 
erected, doubtless at considerable cost, within the last few years. 
One is that of St. Joseph, in the alameda, or park (which stretches 
from the railway to near the main plaza). It is a pile of stone 
with a dome and square shot-tower, and a huge blank wall, im- 
pressive from its vasty superficies and from nothing else. In- 
side are two choice little pictures of Christ and the Virgin, 
entirely obscured by acres of gaudy canvas covered with maud- 
lin-looking figures of saints of hysterical imbecility. From 
several horizontal bars studded with pegs depend waxen arms, 
legs, and heads, the offerings of votaries healed of their infirmi- 
ties. On all sides are pictures and statues of the husband of 
Mary, and the legend: " Ite ad Joseph et quidqnid ipse vobis 
dixcrit facite." The other modern church we alluded to is " El 
Santuario de Nuestra Sefwra dc Guadalupe." It is at the end 
of the 'calzada or promenade, a paved causeway a mile long and 
of ample breadth, bordered by trees.. The position is fine, the 
temple being elevated, and the two towers most graceful. With- 
in the pretentious paintings are far superior to those at St. Jo- 
seph's, and some indeed possess a certain merit. But, however 
humiliating it may be to modern vanity, these fanes cannot com- 
pare with the cathedral and the old churches of the Carmelites, 
the Franciscans, and of St. Augustine, not to mention many 
others. However, it is only fair to say that we saw some very 
good work by a young native artist ; several were paintings in 
oil after old masters (probably copied and enlarged from engrav- 
ings), which we found in the apartments of a young English 
priest who resides in the bishop's palace, and others were in the 
examination hall of the ecclesiastical college, a fine establishment 
of recent date and now in process of extension. As to the 
bishop, Monsignor Montes de Oca, he is a man of great intelli- 
gence, educated at Oscott, and speaking seven languages. 

The Potosienses are very proud of their theatre, named after 
Alarcon, a local poet. It is a shabby affair, with nearly two 
hundred chairs on the ground floor, and four galleries ; prices 
range from a dollar to a real (twelve cents), and the house would 
possibly accommodate five hundred. The roof has a central 
ventilator and is flat, so much so that the authorities at first 
hesitated to allow it to stand, fearing that it would cave in. 
The architect hereupon asked the authorities to let six pieces of 
artillery be placed on the roof and simultaneously discharged, 
which was done, he the while smoking a cigar seated in the 



300 



/. r/.x /' [June. 



building below. This experiment n a-.>ured the timorous, and 
the rm it" li.i-> n>t .is yet shown .my intention of tailing. The 
Mint is another remarkable establishment, and the po^se-Mop of 
wealth in this country is not unattended with trouble silver 
dollars, now uorth, unhappily, but seventy-two cents American 
e.uli, being cumbersome when they in-come numerous, and gold 
being but rarely seen. Then there is the Public Library and 
Hific Institute; at the latter free education in the liberal 
arts is given by the >tate. The library has a good collection 
of books, Spanish, French, and Knglish. There are a number 
of legal and medical works, and the mass of theological matters 
universally found in Mexican public libraries is not attributable 
to any ecclesiastical leanings on the part of the authorities, but 
to the spoliation of the old religious houses. 

Some singular types are to be met in the streets, though one 
remarks a deplorable Japanese-like tendency to abolish the grace- 
ful native mantilla and sombrero for the flaunting bonnet and 
stove-pipe hat of Paris and London. However, look at these 
little tots, in white frocks, veils, and wreaths ; they are not infant 
brides-maids, nor have they made their First Communion ; they 
have been to the church, officiating in the offering of the flowers, 
for this is May, the month of Mary. These soldiers now march- 
ing down the streets are a slouching, badly drilled set, and you 
notice that the officers are white and the privates brown ; they 
are of different races. The men are said to enlist voluntarily 
for four years, and to be fed and clothed and paid two and a 
half reals, or thirty cents, a day. We should much doubt this 
they don't look well enough nourished. The Indian race must 
be degenerating, for the government has recently been compelled 
to lower the standard for recruits. The cavalry horses are tough 
little animals of fourteen hands, costing forty dollars, though it 
is doubtful whether the breeder gets much more than half the 
money. If the superior class of Mexicans ever wished it they 
could form, as effective a corps of mounted infantry as there is 
in the world. The men can shoot straight, and horse and man 
can live on little or nothing and accomplish their thirty leagues 
in a day. Now look at this solemn individual, with tall silk- 
hat and vast Spanish cloak. Doesn't he find it hot and cumber- 
some in this summer weather ? Well, yes ; but he is an eccle- 
siastic ; the government has inhibited him from wearing his sou- 
tane in the street, at any rate visibly, so he gathers it up when 
he goes abroad and covers himself with a cloth cloak, regardless 
of the sun, and as hardly any one else will do the like, his appear- 



SA.Y LUIS /'o/v.v/. 301 

ance is distinctive enough. But to see the original denizen of 
the land somewhat as he was before the Castilian reduced him 
to a condition of peonage you must go to the market and see 
the display of fruits, vegetables, and sweetmeats, placed in little 
half- penny piles on the ground beneath an awning like the sail 
of an Arab dhow. Or go to a fiesta, and in tents and booths 
you see the laborer in his white clothes and huge, mushroom- 
like straw hat seated silently on a bench, quaffing pulque, which 
is served him in a rough earthen basin, replenished from time 
to time from one of the huge tubs in which the " licor divino " 
is stored ; now you see a man dancing, a tumbler half-filled with 
pulque balanced on his head; now a man and woman waltz round 
the limited space, which can only accommodate one couple at a 
time ; or, better 'still, they perform the jarabe, an Irish jig, in 
which they keep perfect time to the weird strains of the harp, 
never tiring apparently, and continuing the fun " till morning 
doth appear." Well, we can excuse them for taking their fill of 
pulque, or of San Luis beer at six cents a bottle, for most 
of the water is impure, drain-tainted surface water, capable of 
begetting any malady you please. We will drop in for a moment 
at this tent where Juan is parting with his hardly-earned reals 
at the gaming-table. And does not his master do the same to 
the tune of thousands, and mortgage his estates up to the hilt ? 
For the love of play is a passion and affects every class. And in 
the darkness without a beggar accosts us: "Give me. an alms, 
kind sir, for the love of the most holy Mother of God ; bestow a 
trifle on me in honor of the Most Holy Trinity." It is curious 
how saints and sinners, bankers and mumpers, the dude and the 
destitute, jostle each other here, presenting a perfect microcosm, 
a human kaleidoscope, a kingdom in a nutshell. And interesting 
and amusing it is, for it takes many sorts to make a world, 
and to an observant man nothing human is lacking in attraction. 

CHARLES E. HODSON. 



30.: -' '' 



A LEG] M) OF CUBA 

\i.AR to the northern shore of the beautiful 1'earl of the Antillo, 
Where the broad Mexican Gulf breathes forth its health-giving 

brei 

The Hospice i/as Luzaros stands. The lofty walls which sur- 
round it 

Shut out from curious eyes its beauties of courts and <>f g.u- 
Waving ceiba-trees, and fountains and flo.svrs without number. 
Shut out as well the living death of the lepers, 
Kxiles from home and friends till Azrael release them from 

fring. 

As if in the glare of noon each festering corpse in the grave-yard. 
Quickened to sudden life, should awake, and come forth in the 

sunlight, 

Hating its horrid self, and the loathsome shapes cowering arounu it, 
So these, forsaken of men, crushed to earth by the burden of 

being, 
Stung by the thought of the past, and shut out from all hope 

in the future, 
Curse God in pitiless life, when death is the boon which they 

pray for ! 

Here had Martina come, in the first great anguish of sorrow ; 
Many the scourges of sinners, but matchless her woful affliction. 
Passing one sunny day through the high-walled streets of the 

city, 

Hope and love in her heart, and a radiant joy in her being, 
Her happy eyes in their roving fell on the unveiled face 
Of one of a group of lepers, sunning their loathsome forms on 

the marble steps of the chapel. 
A shudder, a thrill of disgust, as if Death had breathed on her 

coldly ; 
Then something went out of her life which lapse of time could 

restore not ; 
In its stead entered dread fear, and a grave and a gloomy i'n-- 

boding. 

Many years ago, a wealthy merchant of Havana, becoming ji victim of lepros. 
lire<l to the suburban plains, bidding his family an eternal farewell, "\Vhil,- :iwaiiin K il 
possible release from his sufferings Heath he determined to build an. for fu- 

ture sufferers in his native land, to whu.h th.-y could retire upon nice of those sign* 

which for ever doom a person to a living death. 



1890.] A LEGEND OF CUBA. 303 

Stricken in springtide of youth ! Was there then no other 

atonement ? 

No reparation but this, for loving, and loving too fondly? 
For casting aside the ties of religion, of home, and of kinship ? 
Many and grievous her sins. But the penalty ! What of God's 

justice ? 
A marriage of state, not ot church ; a father's mad curses and 

anger, 

Coldness and hatred ot kin all these for the words of a stranger, 
Whose passionate love won her heart to his own, 
Making sin and all sacrifice easy. Yet the penalty ! Had God 

no mercy ? 

Was it for this, then, that Fate had accursed her with fulness 

of being, 

Moving her tender heart with a womanly woman's ambitions 
For common household joys, for love, and the faces of children ? 
For one brief madding foretaste ot Heaven must Hell through 

eternity follow ? 

Day followed day, and week followed week, confirming her 

dread apprehension. 
Then came a fateful hour, when th' twilight shadows were 

stealing 

Softly through aisle and nave of the lofty, gloomy cathedral. 
And her sentence was passed and accepted. 

Through the high windows floated the glad, mellow laughter 
of children, 

Happy sounds of life, and the hum of the great city's tumult 

Subdued and softened by distance. 

At times from the shadowy choir 

Faint, faltering melody floated. " For all his commandments are 
faithful, 

Confirmed for aye and for ever," the burden borne down on the 
music. 

Pale nuns told their beads in the aisle, and a penitent prayed at 
the altar. 

Peace, holy peace, filled the place, with an almost perceptible 
presence, 

Aura of Love Divine from the Heart in dread splendor re- 
posing 

Under the sacred veils. 
VOL. LI. 20 



304 -' / ' "''''> <>/ [June, 

A: the feet of the pitying priest tin- penitent lqx.T W.LS kneeling. 
I'ltickin;^ out one }>y mu- wild hopes which like delicate blossoms 
till in the heart so blackened .uul Beared by 
affliction. 

.uul low spoke the priest as, with pitying, implacable justice. 
He uttered the words of doom, in a voice of divine inspiration: 
"Daughter, <i .ivs are not man's w.iys. The hand which lies 

heavy upon thee 
Smites not in meaningless wrath, but in mercy and loving com 

passion. 

Metier thy years of affliction, in desolate exile and sorrow, 
Than exile from love of God through the years of an endless 
hereafter. 

r renouncement of him who with specious, resistless per- 
suasion 
Won thce from home and friends and the holy faith ot thy 

fathers, 
Than wilful desertion of Christ, who has suffered and died for 

thy ransom. 

Grievous thy manifold sins ; and when Infinite Justice resents 
them 

to the heavenly will in meek patience, and trustful sub- 
mission. 

l-'e.irful it is to fall into the hands of the living God, and in dan. 
To dwell as the dead were of old ; yet when sorrow 
Bruises the wounded heart, when the soul is as earth without 

water, 
When the spirit hath fainted away, even then Heav.-n's angels are 

nearest, 

Leading the soul out of trouble. So shall it be with thee 
If the cross which God places upon thee 
Me borne with a cheerful submission, not dragged in obdurate 

morosen 
Sacrifice grave Heaven demands ! Let this hour see its quick 

consummation ! 
\\..ver nor falter not! Rend in twain the strong fetters which 

bind thee. 

Am! He who of one such as thou hast said with benignant com- 
passion, 
4 Lo, many the sins now forgiv'n her, because- she hath 1. 

and loved deeply ! ' 

Will blot out thy sins in His blood, and encompass thy soul with 
! I:s mercv." 



1890.] A LEGEND OF CUKA. 305 

Forth from the silent church she crept through the gloom of 

its portal 
Into the noisy street, which the bright mellow moonlight was 

flooding, 
Bowed, and stricken, and faint, as one from whom hope had 

departed ; 

Yet in her secret heart a lofty and resolute purpose 
Fierce in its new-born strength, as is ever contrition in woman. 
Back, back for one hour to the home which to-night she must 

leave, ahd for ever ! 
For one sad, hopeless touch of the lips which had won her from 

faith and from kindred ! 
For one silent, eternal farewell to the scenes of her life's brief, 

mad Eden ! 
Then flight 'neath the pitying stars to the living tomb of the 

lepers, 
Till a merciful death bring oblivion ! 

A space, 

And with trembling limbs she silently stood on the threshold, 
Stilling the cry on her lips, and the sound of her heart in its 

beating. 
Strained and hot were the eyes which mirrored the objects before 

her ; 

Nerveless the icy hands tensely clasped in an anguish de- 
spairing 
At sight of the silent room which the soft, mellow moonlight 

was gilding. 
One swift glance, and with stifled cry she sank in the shade of 

the door- way 
Writhing in torturing anguish. For there, in the Lethe of 

slumber 
He lay, who had been her soul's heaven, dearer than love of 

God ! 

Softly on eyes and lips the rays of the moonlight were falling ; 
On the clustering waves of his hair ; on the tender hands whose 

caresses 
Had made up the sum of her gladness ! 

One word, and the strong, loving arms 
Would receive her with welcoming fondness ; 
The throbbing heart pillow her head ; and the eyes in their glad 
recognition 



306 -' nA - [Juno, 

Ansvrr lui- with a lon^, lin^'ring look of keen joy, and imp.is. 

-i"iu-(l at'k'Ction ; 
Fc-rviil lips haste to prison her nwn in the fierce clinging rap 

ture of ki-- 
One such hour snatched from pitiless Fate, then would exile 

rurnal prove easy ! 

But the hazard ! O God ! and to him ! Oh ! stab of that 

thought. To endanger 
His future, his life ! Him whose safety was dearer than hope 

of God's pardon ! 

When her touch in its nature was taint, and the breath of her 
life was defilement ! 

As prone on the threshold she lay, in the throes of her direst 

temptation, 
The voice of God spake in her heart, in the tones ol the 

ghostly commandment : 
" Daughter, sacrifice grave Heav'n demands ! Let this hom 

its quick consummation ! 
Waver nor falter not ! Rend in twain the strong fetters which 

bind thee, 
And He who of one such as thou hast said with benignant 

compassion, 
' Lo, many the sins now forgiv'n her, because she hath loved, 

and loved deeply,' 
Will blot out thy sins in His blood, and encompass thy soul with 

His mercy ! " 

With a fortitude born of contrition she rose from the shade ot 
the doorway, 

Spurred to a sudden strength by the fervor and faith of renounce- 
ment. 

Then kneeling, her arms wide outstretched, she gazed towards 
the couch of the dreamer 

With sad, wishful eyes in whose depths a fiercest heart-hi: 
was striving. 

Such looks of despair and of longing she turned on the face in 
the moonlight 

As the damned cast on high when Hcav'n's gates for one mad 
dening instant are opened, 

And the radiance streams forth in the darkness. 



1890.] A LEGEND OF CUBA. 307 

Then softly, with infinite yearning, 
She murmured her farewell of sorrow, " Nevermore, dear my 

love ! Nevermore ! nevermore ! " 
As, stooping, she pressed on the threshold one passionate kiss ; 

then uprising, 
With long lingering look ot farewell in the eyes which hot tears 

were half blinding, 
She went forth for ever and aye, from her home, and her love, 

and her husband, 

Exiled, despairing, alone ; accursed, unclean, and unholy, 
Into the glare of the street ; her face toward the home ot the 

lepers. 
O way of the cross ! Journey drear for feet tender-shod ! 

With passionate sweetness and joy on the soft, balmy breezes 

of evening 
Came surge upon surge of glad music ; loud strains of the 

merry war 
From drum, and from trumpet and cymbal. In the smile ol 

the marble queen * 

The thoughtless throng circled in gladness. 
Laughter and light and joy filled all the earth ; and the leper, 
The one thing accursed and taint, crept past in the populous 

desert, 
Sole blot on the perfect night. 

At times through the barriers slender 
She gazed on the faces of children, and cried out to Heav'n in 

her anguish, 
Smitten and bowed to the earth in a faintness of prescient 

horror. 
Now hastening forth from the shadows, she startled two lovers 

so blissful ; 
Now gazed through hot, envious tears where the flickering light 

of the tapers 

Touched the calm face of the dead.f Thus laboring wearily on, 
Forsaking the walls of the city, she compassed the silent plains, 
And gained the home of the lepers. 



*The Plaza de Isabella II., a favorite promenade in Havana. 

t The long windows in Habanese houses are protected only by light Moorish tracery ol 
iron, leaving the interior visible to passers-by. 



3oS .-' /./<//. \/> Of C(.'/iA. [Juno, 

Here, when the August moon had rounded to radiant com- 
plete!!. 

Entered another life; and Martina, pulseless and white and 
still. 

Held to her stricken heart a weak, tiny form with closed eve- 
lids 

Whence ceaseless tears -ilently fell. is her sin and her 

vrow incarnate, 

Assuming the burden of life ; on the threshold of wm,m's ex- 
istence 

To love, and to sin, and to suffer. And crying -aloud in her 
anguish 

She marvelled if God were still God; if a Virgin with heart ot 
a mother 

Once bent o'er a Babe in a manger ; 

If a Christ of benignant compassion had said, " Lo, thy sins arc- 
forgiven thee ! " 

That anguish like hers still could be ! 

Then the weary eyes closed on earth's sorrow 

And, dreaming, deceit mocked her slumber. 



Twas night. And in fancy she lay on her couch in the home 

of her husband, 

Her newly-born -babe on her breast. 
Soft shadows were leisurely swaying on wall, and on floor, and 

on ceiling ; 
While borne on the air of the evening came perfume of faint. 

clinging sweetness, 
Like that which encircles a shrine. 

At her side, kneeling low, in the hush ot reverent wonder and 

gladness, 

Was he who had been her heart's rapture. 
O hour gained from Heaven! Blest fruition of woman's nv>>t 

pure aspirations ! 

Happy mother and wife, cherished, honored ! Proud queen of 
a heart and a hearth-stone ! 

Then darkness enshrouded her soul. 
And a merciful Heaven sent oblivion. 



1890.] A LEGE.VD o/-' CUBA. 309 

Dreary the spirit's wanderings down through the valley of 
shadows. 

Sad the unwilling awak'ning to life and its harassing sorrows, 

To vacant, eager arms freed by pitying Death from their bur- 
den. 

When, after weeks of pain, she toilsomely crept through the 
garden, 

Led by a calm-faced nun, the rank tropic grasses were waving 

Over the grave of her child. 

Sweet was the evening air with fragrance ot rose and of jas- 
mine ; 

Odorous of mignonette, and the spicy breath of pimento ; 

Gay-plumaged, twittering birds through the tufted palm-trees 
were flashing ; 

Insects of rainbow-hued wings hummed merrily past to the 
fountain. 

Outside the sheltering gates was heard the gay prattle of chil- 
dren ; 

Tinkling of passing bells, and glad, noisy voices of travellers, 

Careless in happy life. 

Within, where the pinon's blooms and the pendant leaves ot 
the coral 

Shaded the flowery turf, two black-garbed figures were kneeling 

Close to a tiny grave. 

Tranquil and fair of mien was she who with tapering fingers 

Numbered the well-worn beads, companions of many a sorrow 

Buried long since 'neath the waves of a peace passing all un- 
derstanding. 

Troubled her gentle heart for the sins and the sorrows of others, 

Wayward and wandering souls, rejecting the feast of the Bride- 
groom ; 

Blinded by passions of earth to the woes of an exile eternal. 

Calmly she prayed for the one who, stricken and crushed in 
her anguish, 

Swayed to and fro in the throes of a maddening, delirious sor- 
row ; 

Now kissing the flower-sprinkled turf; entreating the God of 
Compassion 

For death ;. for a grave by her child ; for speedy release of the 
spirit 

From torturing bonds of the flesh. 



3 , A /.A. CUHA. [June, 

.. turn by conflicting c '!'.- M ' ttu ' r "' 

Sorrow! 

To comfort with heavenly patience the de-i.late heart of her lover. 

the joy of his life; deserted; alone in his sorrow, 
prone on the hillock of earth, in baffled and impotent 
tag, 

With hot, tearless eyes, clenched Innds, in passionate, quivering 

anguish, 
Accursing the pitiless God who had doomed her to hell of e.x- 

istence! 
Thus anger, thus grief, thus contrition, till, drooping, the garlan 

de HOC he* 

Reopened its white-tippcd blooms, in odorous joy of the star- 
light 

Where the frail love-vine twined, in amorous embrace ot the 

almond, 

Rested a homely shrine to Her of Perpetual Succor, 
Mary, Health of the Weak and pitying Refuge of Sinn. 
Coarse and rude-fashioned the form of the Virgin Queen of the 

Heavens 

Clasping the Babe divine. 
Darkened by ruthless time, discolored by dews and by sunshine, 

ting-place for birds, and haunt of the gauzy-winged insect; 
Token withal of the faith of some pious and penitent leper, 
Seeking the Way of Life through Mary, the Gateway of Heaven. 

Here through long, dreary days Martina numbered her sorrows, 
Silent, dejected, alone. Time with its sluggish tide seemed to stand 

still 
To her, in her wearisome waiting for Death, the Benign, the 

Deliverer. 

Daily her beauty waned in loathsome and lazarly yielding 
To foulest disease. 
Thickened the once arched brows; the puffed and misshapen 

eyelids 

Hung on the scaly cheeks; 
Nodous the shell-like ears; the. proud lips, 
Once a king might have sued for ungranted, 

Grew withered and blanched. Through the tresses of jetty hair 
Gleamed tendrils of sorrow-spun silver. Dread numbness o'cr- 
powered the limbs. 

A tropical plant which blooms at night, and i- fiMnr.ini ""ly l>y moon and surlighi. 



1890.] A LEGEND OF Can A. 311 

And the joints, grown fest'ring and foul, fell taint from their pu- 

trescent sockets. 
Only the heart was unchanged in the loathsome and festering 

body, 
And mem'ry, bewailing the past, and dismayed by the fear of 

the future. 

So bore she her living death, until in its lingering circuit 

Passed the third weary year. 

Again summer's zephyrs were sporting 
/Mid crimsoning cupid's tears, and hedges of blossoming aloe, 

O'er campanile's white-belled blooms, and the flaming tufts ot 
hibiscus, 

When, musing in tearless grief 'neath the shade of the vine- 
circled almond, 

There woke in her darkened soul an echo ot long-silenced rap- 
ture, 

A tone like the voice of God in the morning hour of creation, 

Flooding her gloom with gladness. 

While yet her quivering heart fluttered wildly, and thrilled with 
emotion, 

There entered with lightest tones, with jesting, and mellow laughter, 

A gracile and gentle group. 

Screened by vincas' scarlet blooms, in silence she marked their 
coming: 

The kindly physician benign ; his friend, worldly, arrogant, 
pompous ; 

A maiden of youthful grace, with such mien as men dream of 
in angels ; 

Then sudden tears blinded the eyes that fell on the face of her 
lover, 

The noble and kingly 'mong men, forsaken, bereft, and deserted, 

Yet loving her still in her shame, and seeking her, outcast and 
exile, 

Disfigured, defiled, and revolting, yet shrined in his soul's inmost 
recess. 

O tender and faithful of heart ! O love for all sadness atoning ! 

And prone on the tiny grave she wept out her joyous thanks- 
giving 

To Him who, in plenteous compassion, had heeded the voice of 
her weeping, 

Had hearkened her sad supplication, regarding the cry of the 
lowly. 



J '.'/I. [June, 

In j)r;iycr by the grave of their child <h<- would wait for his 

rapturous coming. 

Stilling tin- cry on lu-r lips and the s-nind ( lu-r heart in its 
beating, 

As patience -tm^-lcd with pride in its vain and regretful re- 
pining, 

aiming of beauty marred, of a form whence all grace had 
departed. 

With infinite effort and anguish she crept through the Ion;; lis- 
some grasses 

Seeking the fountain's ed^e. 

Long, long in the calm of its silver she studied the picture re- 
volting 

With low, bitter moans of despair, with eyes which hot tears were 
half blinding. 

O sting keener far than swift death! Once loved for her love- 
liness solely, 

Crushed now was her woman's heart for that loveliness lost, and 
for ever ! 

Slowly the long day waned. The fiery car of the Sun-god 
Sunk in the tremulous waves. 

Still kept she her vigil lone, in heart-sick and impotent longing. 
Till fair in the azure heav'ns was blushing the first star of even. 
Then dallying footsteps were heard ; and low-murmured ton 

endearment 

Fell faint on her strained ear in the voice of all voices familiar. 
As crouched in the dewy grass she cowered in new-flaming anger 
Nearer and more near they came ; the fair, gentle northern 

maiden 
Encompassed in love's fond embraces. Whose kisses burned full 

on her lips, 
Whose words echoed sweet in her soul, Martina's heart told all 

too plainly. 
As madly her hot pulses leaped in their flaming to passion tin 

holy 
Low, tender, and clear came the word which hurled her to hell 

of despairing : 

"Ah, fair among women, and blessed art thou, dear my love! 

my heart's heaven ! 

When first the pure light of thine eyes, as tender and searching 
as star-beams, 



1890.] A LEGEND OF CUBA. 313 

Fell full on my sin-darkened soul, lone, rudderless, tempest- 
tossed, veering, 

Debased by unworthy ot women, despoiled by false-hearted of 
men, 

Stilled were the fierce swayings ot passion ; thsn out of the 
wreck of my manhood 

The Spirit of Worship arising, breathed ever thy tenderest name. 
O holiest and best ! 

As to-day, 'mid the ranks of the leprous, in silence I followed 
thy footsteps, 

I bowed me in spirit before thee, as one who does homage to 
angels ! 

Would to God that all women were like thee, 
Violante, my angel, my wife!" 



What boots it to break the uprooted reed ; 
To crush the marred bloom of the lily ; 

To rend from the bleeding heart the quivering threads of the 
heart-strings? 



Day followed weary day ; and week unto week succeeding 

Brought to the lepers' home Violante in sweet ministrations. 

Cooling her gentle touch on the feverish lids of the dying; 

Fervent her heav'n-inspired prayers in ears growing deaf to earth s 
clamor ; 

Tender her counsels of patience, of meekness, and cheerful sub- 
mission, 

To those who looked forward to death as the tempest-tossed 
sailor to rescue. 

"Angel of Mercy," they called her; and wept in the joy of her 
presence. 

Only Martina, aloof, sat sullen and stern in her anger, 

Wrapped in the mantle of silence, her heart turned to stone in 
her bosom. 

Circled three weary years. And while yet the curtain of rain- 
clouds 

Draped darkly the door ol the sunlight, shutting out heaven 
and hope, 

Violante faded and died. 



./ /./-.<//..v, HA. [June, 

:i to the i|uiet shore, 
Where far from the turbulent current <>f life with its strifes ami 

.tmbitions 

The lepers awaited Death's siimm; 
C'aine \vhi>pers of import dread, and fir-reaching ripples ot 

rumor ; 
Whispers of cruel neglect; of a lovr ^navin^ cold in p<> 

sion ; 
"Died of a broken heart!" sad eyes spake to eyes dim and 

tearful. 
Silent Martina heard ; and the edged sword of grief pierced the 

deeper, 
The half-healed, throbbing wound which quivered and burned 

in her bosom. 



Earth was ever the same. The flowers blossomed and faded, 

Winged seeds, floating aloft, went fluttering aimlessly south- 
ward. 

Still to the palm-fringed shores the sea in its murmurs in- 
cessant 

Told the same tale of unrest, of freedom, and changeful do- 
minion. 

Still in the high-walled courts were color and fragrance and sun- 
shine, 

Mocking the halting steps, and the veiled faces of lepers. 



Nature smiled on -and on, unheeding the woes of her children, 

Counting two decades of years on the slow-rolling beads of the 
seasons. 

Still 'neath Our Lady's shrine Martina kept her sad vigil ; 

Still by the tiny grave she waited for Death, the Deliverer. 

Time, which had marred the last trace of her youth and her 
radiant beauty, 

Left in their stead meek patience, and silence, and trustful sub- 
mission. 

Humble and contrite the heart once rebellious in petulant 
anger ; 

Mute the complaining lips; and cleansed from all tract 
sion, 

The soul in its loathsome abode w.is whiter than snow, tin 
repentance. 






1890.] A LEGEND OF CUBA. 315 

Dimmer and still more dim grew the flickering light of the 
spirit ; 

Daily the lessening strength gave token of near dissolution ; 

At length in the darkened hall, shut out from the sunshine for 
ever, 

Kept she her bed of pain, disfigured, and limbless,* and loath- 
some, 

Counting the lingering days, and the dreary lapse of the star- 
time, 

Still with unquestioning faith, with hope, and with patience ex- 
haustless. 

Thus passed a lingering year. At length, in that time of re- 
joicing 

When angels on earth reappear to renew the glad pledge of 
redemption, 

The troubled heart fluttered its last. 

Tender and rev'rent the care of the holy women about her ; 

Emulous each but to touch her robe in its snowy enshrouding ; 

" Angel ! " and " Martyr ! " they whispered, and mused on her 
long expiation 

Through lonely and piteous years, in silence and meek resigna- 
tion. 

" Ah, she hath looked upon God ! " they murmured in envious 
fervor ; 

" Radiant, glorified soul ! Pure saint through sincerest repent- 
ance ! " 

Under the time-darkened shrine they laid her to rest ; where, 
. declining, 
The Southern Cross marks her grave. 

E. A. FANNING, 

Norwich, Conn. 

* One poor woman had lost both arms and legs, and lay upon the ground a helpless head 
and trunk. Sandwich Island Sketches. 



316 Tilt. I.//-1: OF l-'ATHF.H Ht-CKEK. [J uno . 



1II1-; I. IKK OF K.V1HKK HKCKKK.' 

(II A I' IKK IV. (Coil till:: 
r.v i UK 



Concerning Isaac Hecker's residence at Brook Farm, which 
was begun about the middle ot the following January, we -hall 
have more to say hereafter. At present our concern is chiefly 
with those explanations of his conduct and motives which the 
anxieties of his family continually forced him to attempt. There 
is, however, among the papers belonging to this period one 
which, although found with the letters, was evidently so included 
by mistake, and at some later date. It i<5 an outpouring still 
more intimate than he was able to make for the enlightenment of 
others, and is the first vestige of a diary which has been found. 
But it seems plain that his longing for what he continually calls 
"communion," and the effort to divine the will of Providence in his 
regard, must 'frequently have urged him to that introspective self- 
contemplation so .common to natures like his before their time for 
action has arrived. We make some brief extracts from this docu- 
ment which illustrates, still more plainly than any of the letters, 
the fact that the interior pressure to which he was subjected had 
for its uniform tendency and result his vivid realization of the 
Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. It is written in a fine, close 
hand on a sheet ot letter-paper, which it entirely covers, and 
bears date, January 10, 1843: 

" Could I but reveal myself unto myself! What shall I say? 
Is life dear to me ? No. Are my friends dear to me ? I could 
suffer and die for them, if need were, but yet I have none ol 
the old attachment for them. I would clasp all to my heart, 
love all for their humanity, but not as relatives or individuals. 
. . . Lord, if I am to be anything, I am, of all, most unfit 
tor the task. What shall I do? Whom shall I cry to but Him 
who has given me life and planted this spirit in me ? Unto 
Thee, then, do I cry from the depths of my soul for light to 
suffer. If there is anything for me to do, why this darkne- 
around me ? I ask not to be happy. I will forego, .is I always 
had a presentiment I must do, all hopes which young men ot 
my age are prone to picture in their minus. If only I could 1 

"pyright. 1890, Rc\. V !'. Ilcwit. All rights rcscr\ 



1890.] Tin-: LIFE OF FATHER HECKEK. 317 

a ray of light on my present condition ! O Lord ! open my 
eyes to see the path Thou wouldst have me walk in. ... 

"Jan. u. True life is one continuous prayer, one unceasing 
aspiration after the holy. I have no conception of a life insen- 
sible to that which is not above itself, lofty. I would not take 
it on myself to say I have been ' born again,' but I know that 
I have passed from death to life. Things below have no hold 
upon me further than as they lead to things above. It is not a 
moral restraint that I have over myself, but it is such a change, 
a conversion of my whole being,- that I have no need ol restraint. 
Temptations still beset me not sensual, but of a kind which 
seek to make me untrue to my life. If I am not on my guard 
I become cold. May I always be humble, meek, prayerful, open 
to all men. Light, love, and life God is always giving, but we 
turn our backs and will not receive. 

" Who can measure the depths of Christ's suffering alone in 
the world, having that which would give life everlasting, a heaven, 
to those who would receive it, and yet despised, spit upon, re- 
jected of men ! Oh ! how sweet must it have been to His soul 
when He found even one who would accept a portion of that 
precious gift which He came to the world to bestow ! Well 
could He say, ' Father, forgive them ; they know not what they 
do.' He would give them life, but they would not receive. He 
would save them, but they rejected Him. He loved them, and 
they despised Him. Alas ! who has measured even in a small 
degree the love of Christ and yet denied His superiority over 
man ! His love, goodness, mercy, are unbounded. O Lord ! may 
I daily come into closer communion with Thy Son, Jesus Christ." 

On the 22d of February he addresses both of his parents in 
reply to a letter sent by his brother John, detailing some of 
their troubles on this head. He writes : 

" It is as great a difficulty for me to reconcile my being 
here with my sense of duty towards you, . . . Since I must 
speak, let me tell you that I have at present no disposition to 
return. Neither are the circumstances that surround me now 
those which will give me contentment ; but I feel that I am 
here as a temporary place, and that by' spring something will 
turn up which I hope will be for the happiness of us all. What 
it will be I have not the least idea of now. It is as impossible 
for me to give you an explanation of that which has led me of 
late as it would be for a stranger. All before me is dark, even 
as that is which Isads mj now and has led me before. One 
sentiment I have which I feel I cannot impart to you. It is that 



3 i8 THE 1. lit: ot I-ATHF.K // UUIK-. 

I am controlled. I-'ormerly I could act from int i>ut now 

I have IM future to design, nothing in prospect, .mil :n\ f> 

'ii ii fri:\int I.//OY, not troin .my past Hence it is 
that while my acMnn may appear t> others as designed, to me 
it is unlooked-for and unaccountable. 1 do not expect that 
others can feel this as I do. I am tossed about in a sea without 
a rudder. What drives me onward, and where 1 shall be driven, 
me unknown. My past lit'. to me like that of an- 

other pirs, ui, and my present is like a dream, \\here am I? 
I know not. I have no power over my present, I do not 
know what it is. Whom can I find like mysdf, whom can I 
speak to that will understand me ? 

"This makes me still, lonely; and I cannot wish myselt out 
of this state. I have no will to do that not that 1 have any 
desire to. All I can say is that I am in it. What would be the 
effect of necessity on me, I know not. whether it would lead me 
back or lead me on. My feeling of duty tow. mis you is a con- 
tinual weight upon me which I cannot throw off it 
perhaps, that I cannot. All appears to me .is a seeming, not a 
reality. Nothing touches that life in me which is seeking that 
which I know not." 

TO GEORGE HECKER. "Brook I-'arm, March 6, 1 84V What 
was the reason of my going, or what made me go ? The re 
I am not able to tell. But what I felt was a dark, irresistible 
influence upon me that led me away from home. What it w.is 
I know not. What keeps me here I cannot tell. It is only 
when I struggle against it that a spell comes over me. If I 
give up to it, nothing is the matter with me. But when I look- 
to my past, my duty toward you all, and con.-ider what this 
may lead me to, and then attempt to return, I get into a st.ite 
which I cannot speak of. ... 

" By attempt to return I mean an attempt to return to my 
old life, for 'so I have to call it that is, to get clear of this 
influence. And yet 1 have no will to will against it. I do not 
desire it, or its mode of living, and I am opposed to its tend 

" What bearing this has upon the question of my aiming 
home you will perceive. As soon as I can come, I will. If I 
should do so now, it would throw me back to the place from 
which I started. Is this fancy on my part ? All I can - 
that if so the last nine or ten months of my life have been a 
fancy which is too deep for me to control." 

After paying his family a visit in April, he writes to them 
on his return : 



THE Li I-'/-: (>i- FATHER HECKER. 319 

" Brook Farm, April 14, 1843. Here I am alone in my room 
once more. I feel settled, and begin to live again, separated 
from everything but my studies and thoughts, and the feeling of 
gratitude toward you all for treating me so much better than I 
am aware of ever having treated you. May I ever keep this 
sense of obligation and indebtedness. My prayer is, that the life 
I have been led to live these few months back may prove to 
the advantage of us all in the end. I sometimes feel guilty 
because I did not attempt again to try and labor with you. 
But the power that kept me back, its hold upon me, its strength 
over me., all that I am unable to communicate, makes my situa- 
tion appear strange to others, and to myself irreconcilable with 
my former state. Still, I trust that, in a short period, all things 
will take their peaceful and orderly course." 

To GEORGE HECKER. "Brook Farm, May 12, 1843. How 
much nearer to you I feel on account of your good letter you 
cannot estimate nearer than when we slept in the same bed. 
Nearness of body is no evidence of the distance between souls, 
for I imagine Christ loved His mother very tenderly when He 
said, ' Woman, what have I to do with thee ? ' 

" I have felt, time and again, that either I would have to 
give up the life that was struggling in me, or withdraw from 
business in the way that we pursue it. This I had long felt, 
before the period came which suddenly threw me involuntarily 
out of it. Here I am, living in the present, without a why or 
a wherefore, trusting that something will shape my course intelli- 
gibly. I am completely without object. And when occasionally 
I emerge, if I may so speak, into actual life, I feel that I have 
dissipated time. A sense of guilt accompanies that of pleasure, 
and I return inwardly into a deeper, intenser life, breaking those 
tender roots which held me fast for a short period to the out- 
ward. In study only do I enter with wholeness ; nothing else 
appears to take hold of my life." . . . "I am staying here, 
intentionally, for a short period. When the time arrives " (for 
leaving) " heaven knows what I may do. I am now perfectly 
dumb before it. Perhaps I may return and enter into business 
with more perseverance and industry than before ; perhaps I may 
stay here ; it may be that I shall be led elsewhere. But there 
is no utility in speculating on the future. If we lived as we 
should, we would feel that we lived in the presence of God, 
without past or future, having a full consciousness of existence, 
living the ' eternal life.' 

" George, do not get too engrossed with outward business. 

VOL. I.I. 21 



32O ?V/ A /.//A Of 1-A11II:K II: [June. 

Katlu-r neglect a part of it f'>r that which is immortal in its life, 
incomparable in its fulness. It i- .1 <li cp, important truth: ' 
fir-t the kingdom of (lod. and then all things will be added.' 
In having nothing we have all." 

].. MK>. It i 1-iUiit, May I'., 184;,. In \i; 

Miiiini;: You \vill not take it unkind, my not writing to you 
before? I am sure you will not, for you know what I am. 
I). lily I feel more and more indebted to you tor my lift. 
cially when I feel happy and good. How can I repay you ? As 
you, no doubt, would wi-.li me to by becoming better ami living 
as you have desire 1 and prayed that I should, which I trust, by- 
Divine assistance, I may. 

Mother, I cannot express the depth of gratitude 1 feel 
toward you for the tender care and loving discipline with which 
you brought me up to manhood. Without it, oh ! what might 1 
not have been ? The good that I have, tinder God, I am 
scious that I am greatly indebted to thee for ; at times I feel that 
it is thou acting in me, and that there is nothing that can 
separate us. A bond which is as eternal as our immortality, our 
life, binds us together and cannot be broken 

Mother, that J should be away from home at present 

. 

doubt makes you sorrowful often, and you wish me back. Let me 
tell you how it' is with me. The life which surrounds me in New 
York oppresses me, contracts my feelings, and abridges my liberty. 
Business, as it is now pursued, is a burden upon my spiritual lite. 
and all its influence hurtful to the growth of a better life. This I 
have felt for a long time, and feel it now more intensely than 
before. And the society I had there was not such as benefited 
me. My life was not increased by theirs, and I was gradually 
ceasing to be. I was lonely, friendless, and without object in this 
world, while at the same time I was conscious of a greater degree 
of activity of mind in another direction. These causes stil! 
remain. . . . 

"... I feel fully conscious of the importance of making 
any change in my life at my present age giving up those ad- 
vantages which so many desire ; as well as the necessity of 
being considerate, prudent, and slow to decide. I am aware that 
my future state here, and hence hereafter, will greatly depend 
upon the steps I now take, and therefore I would do nothing 
unadvised or hastily. I would not sacrifice eternal for worldly life. 
At present I wish to live a true life, desiring nothing external, 
seeing that things external cannot procure those things for and in 
which I live. I do not renounce things, but feel no inclination .or 



1890.] THE LIFE or FATHER HECKEK. 321 

them. All is indifferent to me poverty or riches, life or cL-ath. 
1 am loosed. J5ut do not on this account think I am sorrowful ; 
nay, for 1 have nothing to sorrow for. Is there no bright hop 
a distance which cheers me onward and beckons me to speed ? 
I dare not say. Sometimes I' feel so it is the unutterable. Yet I 
remain contented to be without spring or autumn, youth or age. 
One tie has been loosened after another; the dreams of my youth 
have passed away silently, and the visions of the future I then 
beheld have vanished. I feel awakened as from a dream, and 
like a shadow has my past gone by. With the verse at the bot- 
tom of the picture you gave me, I can say : 

" ' Oh ! days that once I used to prize, 

Are ye for ever gone ? 
The veil is taken from my eyes, 
And now I stand alone.' 

" But I would not recall those by-gone days, nor do I stand 
alone. No ! Out from this life will spring a higher world, of 
which the past was but a weak, faint shadow." 




CHAPTER V. 

AT BROOK FARM. 

THE famous though short-lived community at West Roxbury, 
Massachusetts, where Isaac Hecker made his first trial of the 
common life, was started in the spring of 1841 by George Ripley 
and his wife, Nathaniel Hawthorne, John S. Dwight, George P. 
Bradford, Sarah Sterns, a niece of George Ripley's, Marianne 
Ripley, his sister, and four or five others whose names we do 
not know. In September of the same year they were joined by 
Charles A. Dana, now of the New York Sun. Hawthorne's 
residence at the Farm, commemorated in the Blithedale Ro- 
mance, had terminated before Mr. Dana's began. The Curtis 
brothers, Burrill and George William, were there when Isaac 
Hecker came. Emerson was an occasional visitor; so was Mar- 
garet Fuller. Bronson Olcott, then cogitating his own ephem- 
eral experiment at Fruitlands, sometimes descended on the gay 
community and was doubtless " Orphic " at his leisure. 

The association was the outcome of many discussions which 
had taken place at Mr. Ripley's house in Boston during the 
winter of 1840-41. Among the prominent Bostonians who took 



Till. I .'///A' ///.< 'AY. A 1 . (J un< -'- 

p.irt ill thcsr infonn.il talks were 11 I'.irkcr, . \ilin Ballon. 

S.imiK-1 Kobbins. John S. Dwight, \Vam-n Burton, .mil < >i 

: of these iiu-ii, .mil, if we do not mistake, 

presided at the time over some religious 

Mr. Hallou, wlv \\as .1 I 'in-, realist minister of much 

local renown, was, perhaps, the only exception to the prevailing 

L'nit.in.m complexion of the assembly. 

The >t their discussions seems to have been, in a 

al way, the necessity for some social reform which should 
. the root of tile commercial spirit and the contempt for 
certain kinds of labor so widely prevalent ; and, in a sp 

. -iliility of establishing at once, on how ..ill a 

co-ope-Mtive experiment in family life, having for its 
ulterior aim the -:i/ation of society on a less selfish ! 

They probably considered that, a beginning once made by 
le of their stamp, the influence of their example w 
. as a quickening leaven. They hoped to be the mustard- 
which, planted in a congenial soil, \\otild grow into a tree- 
in whose branches all the birds of the air might dwell. It 
the initial misfortune of the Brook- Farmers to establish them- 
s on a picturesque but gravelly and uncongenial soil, whose 
rty went very far toward compassing the collapse of their 
undertaking. 

Not all of the ministers whose names have just been men- 
tioned were of one mind, either as to the special evils to be 
counteracted or the remedies which might be tentatively applied. 
Three different associations took their rise from among this hand- 
ful of earnest seekers after better social methods. Mr. Ballon, 
who headed one of these, believed that unit}- and cohesion could 
lie most surely obtained by a frank avowal of beliefs, aims, and 
practices, to which all present and future associates would be 
expected to conform. Mrs. Kirby, whose interesting volume 
we have already quoted, says that the platform of this party 
bound them to abolitionism, anti-orthodoxy, women's rights, 
abstinence, and opposition to war. They established them- 
selves at Ilopedale, Massachusetts, where, so far as our know h 

ge of them may still remain, though the analo- 
and probabilities are all against such a survival 
band'."'- .rople used to be called in that day 

and region, when they abandoned the common road for re. 
not obviously compulsory, went to Northampton in the same 
d from there into corporate obscurity. 
* ' . 1887. 



I.SQO.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKI-.K. 323 

Mr. Ripley's scheme was more elastic, and if the- money 
basis of the association had been more solid, there seems no 
reason on the face of things why this community at Brook 
Farm might not have enjoyed a much longer lease of life. It 
seems to have left a most pleasant memory in the minds , it 
all who were ever members of it. In matters of i> 
and of opinion no hard-and-fast lines were drawn at any 
point. In matters of conduct, the morality of self-respecting 
New-Englanders who were at a farther remove from Puritanic 
creeds than from Puritanic discipline, was regarded as a sufficient 
guarantee of social decorum. Of the earliest additions to the 
co-operative household, a sprinkling were already Catholic ; 
others, including the wife and the niece of the founder, after- 
wards became so. Some attended orthodox Protestant churches : 
the majority were probably Unitarians. Discussion on all sub- 
jects appears to have been free, frank, and good-tempered. 

There was no attempt made at any communism except that 
of intellectual and social gifts and privileges. There was a com- 
mon table, and Mrs. Kirby has given us some attractive 
glimpses of the good feeling, and kindly gayety and practical 
observance of the precept to " bear one another's burdens " 
which came into play around it. For many months, as no one 
could endure to have his equal serve him, and all were equals, 
there was a constant getting up and down at table so that each 
might help himself. Afterwards, when decline had already set 
in, so far as the material basis of the undertaking was con- 
cerned, and those who had its success most at heart had begun 
to study Fourier for fruitful suggestions, the first practical hint 
from that quarter resulted in Mr. Dana's organizing " a group 
of servitors." These, writes Mrs. Kirby, * comprised " four 
of the most elegant youths .at the community the son 
of a Louisiana planter, a young Spanish hidalgo, a rudimen- 
tary Free-Soiler from Hingham, and, if I remember rightly, 
Kdward Barlow (the brother of Francis). These, with one 
accord, elected as chief their handsome and beloved teacher. It 
is hardly necessary to observe that the business was henceforth 
attended to with such courtly grace and such promptness that 
the new regime was applauded by every one, although it did 
appear at first as if we were all engaged in acting a play. The 
group, with their admired chief, took dinner, which had been 
kept warm for them, afterwards, and were themselves waited 
upon with the utmost consideration, but I confess I never could 
get accustomed to the new regulation." 

* \'e.irs of Experience, pp. 178, 179. 



\ 



Till 1.1U-. Of- b'AlllEK 11. [June, 

The watchword of tin- place v. as fraternity, n>t coinmuni -:n. 

People took up residence at Brook Farm on different terms. 

;id a stipulated hoard, ami thus freed tin i :ro:n any 

iti-ry sli. uc in either domestic <>r out-dour labor. Others 

mailer sums and worked out the balance. Some 

.v.is the case with Mrs. Kirby, then (icor^i- 

aiia :i F.nglish ^'irl IL; character. She says sin: 

agree.: t wrk eight hours a day for her board and instruction 
in any branches of study which she elected to pursue. As an 
illustration of the actual to \\hich the community were 

soon reduced, and, moreover, of the low money value they set on 
domestic labor, we give another characteristic passage from her 
book. The price of full board, as we learn from a bill sent by 
Mr. Kipley to Isaac Hecker after the hitter's final departure from 
the Kami, was five dollars and fifty cents a week : 

" \Yhcn a year had elapsed I found my pur.-e empty and my 
wardrobe much the worse for wear. As I was known to be 
heartily interested in the new movement, my case was taken 
under consideration, and, with the understanding that I \\ 
add two more hours to my working day, I was admitted a> 
bona-fidc member of the association (which included only a do/en), 
and was allowed to draw on the treasury for my very mod 
nece- Forty dollars a year would cover these, writing- 

paper and postage included. The last item was no unimportant 
one, as each letter cost from ten to fifty cents, and money 
counted for more then than now. 

" I should explain that for the whole of one winter th 
remained but two bonnets fit for city eyes among six of us. 
But the best of these was forced on whomever was goin 
town. As for best dresses, a twenty-five cent delaine was held 
to be gorgeous apparel. The gentlemen had found it desirable 
to adopt a tunic in place of the more expensive, old-world co 

The income of the association was derived from various 
sources other than the prices paid for board. There was a school 
for young children, presided over by Mrs. Kipley, assisted by 
various pupil- teachers, who thus partially recompensed the com- 
munity for their own support. Fruit, milk, and vegetables, when 
there were any to spare, were sent to the Boston markets. Now 
and then some benevolent philanthropist with means would make 
a donation. No one who entered was expected to contribute his 
whole income to the general purse, unless such income would not 
more than cover the actual expense im:urred for him. When 

* Yean . 132. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 325 

Isaac Hcckcr went to West Roxbury the establishment included 
seventy inmates, who were distributed in several buildings bear- 
ing such poetical names as the Hive, the Eyrie, the Nest, and 
so on. The number rose to ninety or a hundred before he left 
them, but the additions seem occasionally to have been in the 
nature of subtractions also, taking away more- of the cultivation, 
refinement, and general good feeling which had been the distin- 
guishing character of the place, than they added by their money 
or their labor. 

Isaac Hecker was never an actual member ot that inner com- 
munity of whose aspirations and convictions the Farm was in- 
tended as an embodiment. He entered at first as a partial 
boarder, paying four dollars a week, and undertaking also the 
bread-making, which until then had been very badly done, as he 
writes to his mother. It should be understood that whatever was 
received from any inmate, either in money or labor, was accepted 
not as a mere return for food and shelter, but as an equivalent 
for such instruction as could be imparted by any other member 
of the collective family. And there were many competent and 
brilliant men and women there, whose attainments not only quali- 
fied them amply for the tasks they then assumed, but have since 
made them prominent in American letters and journalism. Mr. 
Ripley lectured on modern philosophy to all who desired an 
acquaintance with Spinoza, Kant, Cousin, and their compeers. 
George P. Bradford was a thorough classical scholar. Charles A. 
Dana, then fresh from Harvard, was an enthusiast for German 
literature, and successful in imparting both knowledge and en- 
thusiasm to his pupils. There were classes in almost everything 
that any one cared to study. French and music, as we learn 
from one of Isaac's letters home, were what he set himself to at 
the first. The latter was taught by so accomplished a master as 
John S. Dwight, who conducted weekly singing schools for both 
children and adults. 

To what other studies Isaac may have applied himself we 
hardly know. It will be noticed that Mr. George William Curtis, 
in the kindly reminiscences which he permits us to embody in 
this chapter, says that he does not remember him as " especially 
studious." The remark tallies with the impression we have 
gathered from the journal kept while he was there. His mind 
was introverted. Philosophical questions, then as always, interested 
him profoundly, but only in so far as they led to practical results. 
It might be truer to say that philosophy was at no time more 
than the handmaid of theology to him. At this period he was 



326 TV/A I. in. of FA TURK UI.CKI-K. [June. 

in the thick <>f his struck- to attain certainty with regard to th- 
nature and extent of the Christian revelation. anl what he sought 
at B< the leisure and quiet and opportunit\ 

solitude which could n>t be his at home. "Lead me into Un- 
holy Church, which I now am -eekin^," he \viite- as the final 
petition of the prayer with which the lir>t bulky volume of his 
diary opens. With the burden of th.it search upon him, it 
not possible for such a nature as his to plunge with the 111 
which is the condition of success into any study which had no 
direct reference to it. \Ve find him complaining at frequent in- 
tervals that he cannot give his studies the attention they demand. 

.vere his labors as the community baker of lon^ continu 
They left him too little time at hi- own disposal, and in a short 
time he became a full boarder, and occupied himself only as his 
inclinations directed. 

It may occur to some ot our readers to wonder why 
a man like Brownson, who was then fast ncaring the certainty 
he afterwards attained, should have sent a youth like 1 
Hecker to Brook Farm. It must be remembered that Brown- 
son's road to the Church was not so direct as that of his y. 
disciple, nor so entirely free in all its stages from self-crippling 
considerations. As we shall presently see, by an abstract of one 
of his sermons, preached in the spring of 1843, which was made 
by Isaac Hecker at the time, Brownson thought it possible to 
hold all Catholic truth and yet defer entering the Chur:h until 
she should so far abate her claims as to form a friendly alliance 
with orthodox Protestantism on terms not too distasteful to the 
latter. He was not yet willing to depart alone, and hoped by wait 
ing to take others with him, and he was neither ready to renounce 
wholly his private views, nor to counsel such a step to young 
Hecker. He was in harmony, moreover, with the tolerant and 
liberal tendency which influenced the leading spirits at Brook 
Farm. Although he never became one of the community, he 
had sent his son Orestes there as a pupil, and was a frequent 
visitor himself. Their aims, as expressed in a passage which we 
subjoin from The Dial of January, 1X42, were assuredly such as 
would approve themselves to persons who fully accepted what 
they believed to be the social teaching of our Lord, but who 
had not attained to any true conception of the Divine authority 
which clothes that teaching : 

"Whoever is satisfied with so. it is ; who-. 

justice is not wounded by its common action, institutions, -pirit 
of commerce, has no bn . ith this community; neither -has 



is<p.] T/fK LIFE of FATHER HECKEK. ;_; 

any one who is willing to have other men (needing more time 
for intellectual cultivation than himself) give their best hours and 
strength to bodily labor to secure himself immunity therefrom. 
. . . Everything can bo said of it, in a degree, which Christ 
said of His kingdom, and therefore it is believed that in some 
measure it docs embody His idea. For its Gate of Entrance is 
strait and narrow. It is, literally, a pearl hidden in a field. 
Those only who are willing to lose their life for its sake shall 
find it. ... Those who have not the faith that the princi- 
ples of Christ's kingdom are applicable to this world, will smile 
at it as a visionary attempt." 

Brook Farm has an interest for Catholics because, in the 
order of guileless nature, it was the preamble of that common 
life which Isaac Hecker afterwards enjoyed in its supernatural 
realization in the Church. It was a protest against that selfish- 
ness of the individual which is highly accentuated in a large 
class of New-Englanders, and prodigiously developed in the 
economical conditions of modern society. Against these Isaac 
had revolted in New York ; at Brook Farm he hoped to find 
their remedy. And in fact the gentle reformers, as we may 
call these West Roxbury adventurers into the unexplored 
regions of the common life, were worthy of their task though 
not equal to it. There is no doubt that in small numbers and 
.with a partial surrender of individual prerogatives, well-meaning 
men and women may taste many of the good things and be 
able to bear some of the hardships of the common life. But -to 
compass in permanent form its aspirations in this direction, as 
in many others, nature is incompetent. The terrible if wonderful 
success of Sparta is what can be attained, and tells at what cost. 
The economy of the bee-hive, which kills or drives away its 
superfluous members, and the polity of Sparta, which put the 
cripples and the aged to death, are essential to permanent suc- 
cess in the venture of communism in the natural order. " Sweet- 
ness and light " are enjoyed by the few only at the sacrifice of 
the unwholesome and burdensome members of the hive. 

Brook Farm, however, was not conceived in any spirit ot 
cruelty or of contempt of the weaker members of humanity ; the 
very contrary was the case. Sin and feebleness were capable, 
thought its founders, of elimination by the force of natural virtue. 
The men and women who gathered there in its first years were 
noble of their kind ; and their kind, now much less frequently 
met with, was the finest product of natural manhood. Of the 
channels of information which reach us from Brook Farm, and 



'///A A//'/: 01- I-ATilt-.K Hi [June, 



'el'eve ue have had acces- t" them all, none contains the 

evidence of sensuality, the least trace <( the selfishm 

of the world. en even .my sign of the extra. of spiritual 

["hen is, on the other iiand, a full acknowledgment of 

the ordinary failings of unpretentious good people. Nor do \ve 

t" --ay that they were purely in the natural order who 

'DC said to be that? They were the descendants of the 

1'tiritans whose religious fervor had hern for genera- 

tions at white h-at. They had, indeed, cut the root, but the 

sap of Christian principle still lingered in the trunk and branches 

and brought forth fruit which was supernatural, though destined 

r to ripen. 

Christ was the model of the Brook- Fanners, a^ He had 
become that of Isaac Meeker. They did not know Him as 
as they knew His doctrine. They knew better what Me 
than why Me said it, and that defect obscured His meaning 
mystified their understandings. That all men were brethren wa> 
the result of their study of humanity under what they cono 
to be His leadership ; that all labor is honorable, and entitli 
equal remuneration, was their solution of the social problem. 
While any man was superfluously rich, they maintained, no man 
should be miserably poor. They were reaching after what the 
best spirits of the human race were then and now longing for, 
and they succeeded as well as any can who employ only the 
selvage of the Christian garment to protect themselves against 
the rigors of nature. Saint-Simon was a far less worthy man than 
George Ripley, but he failed no more signally. Frederic Oza- 
nam, whose ambition was limited in its scope by his appre- 
ciation of both nature and the supernatural, succeeded in estab- 
lishing a measure of true fraternity between rich and poor 
throughout the Catholic world. 

There can be no manner of doubt that although Father 
Hecker in after life could good-naturedly smile at the singu- 
larities of Brook Farm, what he saw and was taught there had 
a strong and permanent effect on his character. It is little to 
say that the influence was refining to him, for he was refined 
by nature. But he gained what was to him a constant corrective 
of any tendency to man-hatred in all its degrees, not needed by 
himself, to be sure, but always needed in his dealing with others. 

ive to a naturally trustful disposition the vim and vigor of 
an apostolate for -a cheerful view of human nature. It was a 
characteristic trait of his to expect good n-ult- from reliance 
on human virtue, and his whole success as a persuader of 'men 



1890.] Tin-: LIFE OF FATHER HI-.LKEK. 329 

was largely to be explained by the subtle flattery of this trust- 
ful attitude towards them. At Brook Farm the mind of Isaac 
Meeker was eagerly .looking for instruction. It failed to get even 
a little clear light on the more perplexing problems of life, but 
it got something better the object-lesson of good men and 
women struggling nobly and unselfishly for laudable ends. Brook 
Farm was an attempt to remove obstructions from the pathway of 
human progress, taking that word in the natural sense. 

Even afterwards, when he had known human destiny in its 
perfect supernatural and natural forms, and when the means to 
compass it were in his possession and plainly competent for suc- 
cess, his memory reproduced the scenes and persons of Brook 
Farm in an atmosphere of affection and admiration, though not 
unmingled with amusement. He used not infrequently to quote 
words heard there, and cite examples of things done there, as 
lessons of wisdom not only for the philosopher but also for the 
ascetic. He was there equipped with the necessary external 
guarantee of his inner consciousness that man is good, because 
made so by his Creator inclined indeed to evil, but yet a good 
being, even so inclined. Nothing is more necessary for one who 
is to be a teacher among a population whose Catholicity is ot 
blood and family tradition as well as of grace, than to know that 
there is virtue, true and high in its own order, outside the visible 
pale of the Church. Especially is this necessary if Catholics in 
any age or country are to be fitted for a missionary vocation. 
That this is the vocation of the Church of his day was Isaac 
Hecker's passionate conviction. He was able to communicate 
this to Catholics of the o!d stock as well as to influence non- 
Catholics in favor of the Church ; perhaps even more so. More 
than anything else, indeed, Brook Farm taught him the defect 
of human nature on its highest plane ; but it taught him also the 
worthiness of the men and women of America of the apostle's toil 
and blood. The gentle natures whom he there knew and learned 
to love, their spirit of self-sacrifice for the common good, their 
minds at once innocent and cultivated, their devotion to their 
high ideal, the absence of meanness, coarseness, vulgarity, the 
sinking of private ambitions, the patience with the defects of others, 
their desire to establish the communism of at least intellectual 
gifts all this and much more of the kind fixed his views and affec- 
tions in a mould which eminently fitted him as a vessel of election 
for apostolic uses. 

Before passing to the study of Isaac Hecker's own interior 
during the period of his residence at Brook Farm, it is our pleasant 



Till: Lll-E Oh l-'M'lll-.K //ATA'AA'. [Jr 

privilege TII coniniiinic.itr t" "in reader-, the subj. .ined charming 
remi: "t" his personality at the tinv. fr. .in one -who was liis 

there : 

" . Y /, Fihnian JS, i So/i. I)| \k SIR: I 

fear that my dons of Father He.-ker will !>< of litt! 

ii. for they are vi-ry -.cant. But the impression of the young 
man whom I knew at Brook Farm is still vivid. It must : 

in the \ that he came to the Farm in \\ .ury, 

Boston. II. youth of twenty-three, of (ierma:- 

"id I think his face v .med with small-pox. But his 

.iiui candid expression, his gentle and affectionate manner. 

very winning. He had an air of singular refinement and 

self-reliance combined with a half-eager inquisiti-, Mid upon 

ning acquainted with him, 1 told him that he w... 
the Seeker, which was the title of a story of mental unrest which 
William Henry Channing was then publishing in the Dial. 

"Decker, or. as I always called him and think of him, [sa 
had apparently come to Brook Farm because it was a result of 
the intellectual agitation of the time which had reached 
touched him in New York. He had been bred a baker, he 
me, and I remember with what satisfaction he said to me, ' I 
am sure of my livelihood because I can make good bread.' His. 
powers in this way were most satisfactorily tested at the Farm, 
or, as it was generally called, 'the Community,' although it 
in no other sense a community than an uion of friendly 

workers in common. He was drawn to Brook Farm by the 
belief that its life would be at least agreeable to his convict 
tastes, and offer him the society of those who might answer 9 
of his questions, even if they could not satisfy his longir 

"By what influences his mind was first affected by the moral 
movement known in New Kngland as transcendentalism, I do 
know. Probably he may have heard Mr. Kmerson lecture in New 
York, or he may have read Brownson's CkarL ,/, which 

dealt with the questions that engaged his mind and coiisci 
But among the many interesting figures at Brook Farm I r 
none more sincerely absorbed than Isaac Hecker in 
tions. The merely aesthetic aspects of its life, ty and a 

pleasures, he regarded good-naturedly, with the air of a spectator 
who tolerated rather than needed or enjoyed them. Then 
nothing ascetic or severe in him, but I have often thought 
that his feeling was probably what he might have aftei 
described as a consciousness that he must be about his 
busin 

"I do not remember him as especially studious. Mr. Kipley 

classes in German philosophy and metaphysics in Kant 

Spinoza, and Isaac used to look in, as he turned wherever he 

thought he might find ans\\er- to his questions. He went to hear 

Theodore Parker preach in the Unitarian Church in the neigh- 

llage of \Yi-t Koxbury. He went into Boston, . 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. . 331 

ten miles distant, to talk with Brownson, and to Concord to see 
Kmerson. He entered into the working life at the Farm, but 
always, as it seemed to me, with the same reserve and attitude 
<.f observation. He was the dove floating in the air, not yet 
finding the spot on which his foot might rest. 

" The impression that I gathered from my intercourse with 
him, which was boyishly intimate and affectionate, was that of 
all ' the apostles of the newness,' as they were gayly called, whose 
counsel he sought, Brownson was the most satisfactory to him. 
I thought then that this was due to the authority of Brownson's 
masterful tone, the definiteness of his views, the force of his 
' understanding,' as the word was then philosophically used in 
distinction from the reason. Brownson's mental vigor and posi- 
tiveness were very agreeable to a candid mind which was specu- 
lativcly adrift and experimenting, and, as it seemed to me, which 
was more emotional than logical. Brownson, after his life of varied 
theological and controversial activity, was drawing toward the 
Catholic Church, and his virile force fascinated the more delicate 
and sensitive temper of the young man, and, I have always sup- 
posed, was the chief influence which at that time affected Hecker's 
views, although he did not then enter the Catholic Church. 

" He was a general favorite at Brook Farm, always equable 
and playful, wholly simple and frank in manner. He talked 
readily and easily, but not controversially. His smile was singu- 
larly attractive and sympathetic, and the earnestness of which I 
have spoken gave him an unconscious personal dignity. His 
temperament was sanguine. The whole air of the youth was that 
of goodness. I do not think that the impression made by him 
forecast his career, or, in any degree, the leadership which he 
afterwards held in his Church. But everybody who knew him at 
that time must recall his charming amiability. 

" I think that he did not remain at Brook Farm for a whole 
year, and when later he went to Belgium to study theology at 
tlie seminary of Mons he wrote me many letters, which I am 
sorry to say have disappeared. I remember that he labored with 
friendly zeal to draw me to his Church, and at his request I read 
the life and some writing of St. Alphonse of Liguori. Gradually 
our correspondence declined when I was in Europe, and was never 
resumed ; nor do I remember seeing him again more than once, 
many years ago. There was still in the clerical figure, which was 
very strange to me, the old sweetness of smile and address ; 
there was some talk of the idyllic days, some warm words of 
hearty good will, but our interests were very different, and, parting, 
we went our separate ways. For a generation we lived in the 
same city, yet we never met. But I do not lose the bright recol- 
lection of Ernest the Seeker, nor forget the frank, ardent, gener- 
ous, manly youth, Isaac Hecker. 

" Very truly yours, 

" GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS." 

(TO BE CONTINUED.) 



TllhAXOCi: | June. 



I HEANOGUEN. 

Ii you r in the Adirondack- do not " i ;it " in 

n yu "come out" like .1 i/,tnit<inti- and " go in" like 
odchuck, instead of ^"inu; anil coming as in other : 
until you have rowed on Lake Placid. There is one poir. 
the lake where, if your guide has an eve for etteci, or think* 
that you have, he will rest on his oars while he points out the 
distant mountains, Marcy and Mclntyre. and in the opposit 
rection Whiteface rising sheer from the fair water. You will 
not soon forget those views of mountain lines and w- 
shores and lonely water the cone of Marcy rightly called 
hawus, the cloud-splitter the huge, amorphous bulk of Mclntyre 
and the double peaks of its neighbor. Kvelyn Carter M 
that she saw them first alone on the water with her sjlt-nt .-.uide. 
The gay chattering crowd on the hotel piazza had been unu- 
sually tiresome that morning the old ladies crocheting or r 
ing novels; the girls, with flannel skirts and big hats or trim 
Tarns; the very young men in knickerbockers, tramping up and 
down telling them stories of the trail and explaining an; 
photography, and saying patronizingly how well Old \Vh: 
came out to-day, with a familiarity which she felt like resenting 
they were all out of harmony with the solemn, broad-br. . 
mountain, whose feet seemed planted in the lake and whose 
scarred and stony head gave him his rarely heard Indian n.ime. 
Theanoguen. 

When Mrs. Armistead had discovered that a dear friend 
of hers was at the West Shore, six miles down the lake, and 
that the best way to go there was by boat, Evelyn proposed 
to go with her that far, and when she landed, to continue 
around the lake, intending to return home by the "carry and 
Mirror Lake. It suited her better to be " here where, never a 
boat had been," as she felt like misquoting; for once out of 
sight of the hotel the tourists have left no more trace of their 
presence in the great woods than the boat's sharp keel upon the 
water, and you feel as if you were the first and only per.-.m in 
those great silences and shadows. On this morning, hov. 
the lake was neither silent nor shadowy. A brilliant sun shone 
from a cloudless sky and was reflected in .1 myriad point 
light like polished steel on the bosom of the water, and since 



1 890. ] TIWA NOG UEN. 333 

Mrs. Armistead landed a sudden wind had come down from some 
cleft of the hills and was tossing up the white caps on every 
side, and as the boat came nearer the shore to get under the 
lee the wind was loud and shrill in the trees. 

"Don't you think it is getting rather rough?" she asked 
the guide. 

" Oh ! I've seen it rougher than this," was his rather unsatis- 
factory answer. 

She did not wish to feel afraid ; and, in fact, she did not 
know whether they were in danger then, though she felt sure 
they soon would be if the waves ran much higher, and they 
seemed to grow larger every minute, so she tried to reassure 
herself by saying : 

"Of course, you would turn back if there was any danger?" 

"No, marm, I an't one of the kind to turn back. If I say 
I am going to row around the lake, I keep on an' do it. I 
don't mind no wind." 

While this statement was highly creditable to his honest re- 
solve that his passengers should have their money's worth, it 
was not very encouraging to a girl who could not swim, and who 
had never before been in so narrow a boat on so broad a sheet 
of water. He may have thought so himself, for he added : 

" You don't want to feel afraid, miss." 

Evelyn laughed, and was just about to say, " I don't want 
to, but I do," when a specially big wave Mr. Lowell's " foam- 
ing decumane," perhaps broke full against the guide's shoulder 
and sent a shower of spray into her face. They had passed 
from the lee of the island and to reach the "carry" had to 
change their course, and could no longer keep the boat's head 
to the waves. The sun was still shining, mockingly now, it 
seemed to Evelyn, and the dark yet dazzling waves were leap- 
ing around them, a little hell of waters, and grim Theanoguen 
seemed to say, " You came into my awful solitudes with your 
light laughter and petty cares a race of summer flies that perish 
in an hour; leave me alone again with the wind and the sky." 
She was not too much frightened to watch with admiration the 
guide's skill and strength and patience as inch by inch he made 
his way across the lake, though each time he tried to make 
good his course the water dashed in until she was wet through. 
From her position she saw every wave which ones they 
would ride as the guide let his boat face them, and which 
would break against her as he tried to make headway. Inch 
by inch they had nearly won their way to the carry, when a 



Til [June, 

:'.ed to rise Maidenly and struck them b: 
n. 1 In guide pulleil one mighty stroke to bring the boat 
rmmd, F.velyn lu-.ird a sound of splintering \voxl above the 
. .f the u.Uer and the shrieking wind, and found herself half 
blinded in the lake, but so near the shore that an ovcrhang- 
.. ithin her reach by which she pulleil herself to 
the land, and looking back saw the boat floating quietly in up- 
down beside the guide, who had an ugly cut on the : 
and the handle of his broken oar still in his hand. She 
waded out and dragged him to the shore before he recovered 
const -. tor he had been stunned and cut by his own 

h broke against that weight of water. He soon revived and 
:p like a wounded hero, with his forehead bound up with 
'.yn'> wet handkerchief. 
" Well," said she, " you see I was right to feel afraid." 

Xo, miss. There warn't no danger. You didn't want to 
afraid." 

" Why, we were upset and came near drowning ! " 
" There warn't no real danger, if only that durned oar hadn't 
broke." 

She did not argue the point, for she was glad enough to 
off with nothing worse than a wetting, and now was anxio-,. 
get back to the hotel and to dry clothes. 

' 1 there any way of getting through the woods to the carry ? " 
she asked. 

No, miss. There an't no road except by water." 
" Why, how do the people who cam]) out get away ? " 
' By boats. We'll have to get to one of the camps and 
borrow a boat. There's one not far from here that beloti. 
a man that paints. You just stay here and I'll borrow his 
boat." 

But when he started to walk, the guide staggered and turned 
so white that Evelyn saw he was unfit to make his way thr< 
the thick woods and over the slippery stones and fallen 
v.hich surrounded them on every side except the lake. He 
her some general directions, and she set off in good >pirits, 
rather exhilarated by her adventure, and walking .1 the 

ground permitted. Consequently not many minutes later Win- 
throp Crowninshicld, painting quietly in front of his camp, heard 
a noise of breaking twigs and boughs behind him, and then a 
: that sounded very swret and a little familiar saying : 
" We have had an accident and the guide is rather hurt. 
Would you " 



1 890.] THEA \oc c -EX. 335 

The sentence was not finished, for as he rose and turned 
towards her he exclaimed: 

" Evelyn ! you here ? Are you hurt ? " And his hand grasped 
hers warmly and did not at once release it. 

He seemed perfectly unconscious of a subtle change in her 
manner as he asked a dozen questions, and gave her orders with 
an air of taking command of her and of the situation that, in 
spite of her mental protest, was still a relief. " Sit here with 
your feet to the fire ; your dress is wringing wet. Do you feel 
at all chilly ? " He took her hand again, this time in such a 
matter-of-course manner that she did not attempt to draw it 
away. 

" Not in the least. I ran part of the way and I am only 
out of breath." 

" That is well, but you had better drink this." And he handed 
her a little silver cup half-full of brandy and water. 

" Indeed I am perfectly well.- The guide " 

" I'll see about him later. You are in danger now not 
of drowning, but of rheumatism. So you had a guide ? I was 
afraid you had been rash enough to go on the lake with an 
amateur. Accidents don't happen with the guides generally. 
Who was yours ? Campbell ? Why he is the safest man on the 
lake. How did it happen ? " 

She told him briefly, while he was filling a flask with 
brandy and getting a tight little roll of bandages and a piece 
of oil silk from a rough wooden "locker" which stood inside his 
camp. A camp, I may say to those who have not seen one, is 
an untrimmed log house on three sides, the fourth or front being 
open to the big fire which is kept up at night always and very 
often during the day. The comfort-lovers who occupy them 
several weeks have a cot and a table, but the correct thing 
is to sleep on a blanket spread over a bed of hemlock and 
balsam firs. 

" My guide is off for the day, I am sorry to say, and I 
shall have to leave you until I look after Campbell ; but then 
I'll row you across as soon as possible. You had better keep 
moving while your clothes are wet. If you could only row as 
well as you can ride I would give you an oar, and then there 
would be no danger of taking cold. If you feel the least chill 
take the rest of the brandy. I won't be an instant longer than 
I can help." 

By this time he had run out a little canoe from a shed built 
under the trees, and with a few rapid strokes was soon out of 

VOL. LI. 22 



336 TV// [June, 

>ight beyond the rocky point \vhicli jutted nit between Ills 
camp and the scene of their " shipwreck." And uhen Kvclyn 

alone her tir<t thought was not of her own escape, nor the 

chance of their meeting after so many years they met 

last a- betrothed l.-vers. and >he had -.lid at parting, " I will 

never willingly >ee you again " She only thought again and 

:i, so persistently that she could almost hear the word- 

it theniM-he-. " He h.i- forgotUn that he ever cared for 
me." In vain she tried to believe that slu- was pleased at his 
indifference, and then to turn her ideas into some other channel ; 
she could not escape that haunting reflection which even the 
physical surroundings seemed to shut in with her, for then 
only a short path from the camp to the landing on which she 
could walk. She stopped finally in front of the camp and tried 
to divert her attention by looking at its arrangement. By the 
side of the cot tlure was a rough tab'e of wood with the bark 
left on it, used apparently as a writing-desk, for she saw pens 
and inkstand, and with a shelf for a few books ingeniously 
fitted up beneath it and a small crayon on an easel of balsam 
fir a woman's head whose features she could not distinguish at 
that distance. Of course it was his wife's, the lovely Northern 
cousin whom he had married two years after their engagement 
was broken. At- once she was possessed with a violent desire 
to see it, and restrained by a feeling of delicacy from looking 
at it in his absence. The little room was sacred by its frank 
defencelessness ; to cross the threshold seemed like reading an 
open letter. She remembered his last injunction, to drink the 
brandy if she felt cold, and the little silver cup stood b< 
the portrait. She was beginning to feel cold, at least she 
thought she Was ; nonsense ! she was perfectly well ; that was a 
dishonest excuse to gratify her curiosity. But she ought to do 
everything that would prevent her taking cold, and moreover 
he would like her to see his beautiful wife. \Vhy must she be 
such a fool ? Why couldn't she go and look at it simply .and 
naturally. He was no more to her now than any other str.i 
who had done her a kindness. Any one could look at a picture. 
She walked up to it, and as she looked her eyes filled slowly. 
It was a lovely face that she saw, a girl of eighteen with soft, 
waving hair brushed back from a low, poetical brow, tlu lip- and 
cheeks wearing the sweet curves of early youth, and the beauti- 
ful .clear eyes looking from under long lashes with a fresh 
interest and a touching confidence in life that pathetic 

t<> the woman of twenty-eight, for it was her own likeness th.it 



1890.] THE A. \-oGn-..\-. 337 

Evelyn sa\v, and she felt so sorry, so sorry for the foolish, happy 
child who had no existence now except upon that fragile 
paper ! , 

Crowninshield's returning step brought a blush to her cheek 
so deep that it pained her. Apparently he did not observe it, 
for he only said. " I am glad you took the rest of the brandy." 

" I didn't," she answered, for, though she might attempt to 
deceive herself, she would not be base enough to deceive him. 
" I wanted to see this picture"; and then hated herself for hav- 
ing to make the admission. 

" It was done just after I left Virginia," he said quietly. 

" I supposed that it was your wife," she said, determined 
that he should not think that she ' was vain enough to fancy 
he still remembered that old love affair. 

He looked at her a little curiously. 

" I am not married. If you will finish that brandy we will 
start at once. The wind has gone down and you need not be 
afraid to trust yourself to me ; I am so much on the lake that 
I consider myself nearly as safe as a guide. Put this shawl 
around you and give me your hand, please." 

She obeyed without a word, and he placed her in the bow 
of the boat facing him, a position which embarrassed her greatly 
and him not at all. She was more than ever provoked that she 
could not appear as much at ease as he did, if not exactly with 
his intimate air of taking everything for granted. She would 
like to behave with the most courteous indifference and forget- 
fulness of the past, so she talked about her travels- and Mrs. 
Armistead and the amusing people they had met, and was very 
glad when they reached the "carry." He listened politely, but 
with an apparent lack of interest which soon checked the con- 
versation, and then he said most irrelevantly: 

" I hope you do not object to my having your picture. No 
one sees it." 

" Not at all," she answered instantly. " No one would ever 
recognize it." 

"Thank you." 

" I mean that I have changed so much since then," she said 
quickly. " I could not help feeling sorry for that poor child " ; 
and then blushed at the thought of the misinterpretation he 
might put on her words, and went on awkwardly : " she was 
so young so much trouble was before her " 

He did not pay much attention to her words and made no 
immediate reply, but just before they reached the shore he said 



338 7//A/.v.'i/r/:.\-. [June, 

as indifferently as if he were making a statement about the 

wt.itlur, "You .ire far more beautiful than you wore then." 

I.velyn could not feel affronted by a compliment which 

.1 so little meant for one, and by which she certainly was 

not complimented, for she only thought, " He doe-* not care. 

That girl" -he wa-> jealous of her MOW "she is only the 

memory of a romance in which I, as I am now, have no part." 



II. 

The next morning Evelyn found, much to her annoyance, 
that her exposure had given her a bad sore throat, which 
obliged her to keep her room and receive a great deal of pet- 
ting and sympathy. 

As the lake was so rough Mrs. Armistead had driven home 
from the West Shore, alarmed by Evelyn's prolonged absence, 
and ready to welcome her as one just rescued from a watery- 
grave. Moreover, she insisted on treating Crowninshield as the 
rescuer and hero of the occasion; and in spite of Evelyn's or 
to represent the upset as the most trivial accident, she found 
Crowninshield and herself regarded as the hero and heroine of 
a thrilling and hairbreadth escape, to be congratulated and 
talked over by every one at the hotel. In the afternoon Crown- 
inshield rowed over to inquire after Evelyn, and Mrs. Armi 
said she must see him herself and thank him for saving " our 
darling Evelyn." The thanking took a long time, but when 
she returned to Evelyn her radiant face showed the satisfac- 
tion of what her husband called her "family connection soul." 

"My dear, he is charming, and I know all about him. His 
sister-in-law was at Nice the winter our squadron was, and I 
used to chaperone her. I knew she had married a Crownin- 
shield the winter after, and it seems it is his brother. Same 
initials, too. So stupid of them ! but with their Boston pride 
they think the whole world ought to understand about them 
One of them is William Saltonstall and the other \\inthrop 
Sargent, but they call his brother Jack. So nice to know who 
people are ! Why didn't you tell me you had met him before ? 
He says your father was the most perfect gentleman he ever 
knew, and I beg your pardon, dear, I didn't know you would 
mind. What was I saying about Nina ? Oh, yes ! they are in 
England this summer. You know she has money as well as he, 
and our Mr. Crowninshield has been coming here for years but 



1890.] THEAKOGUEX. 339 

they want him to join them this fall and go around the world 
with them." 

So this was the secret of her mistake. He had often talked 
of his brother Jack, and when she saw the account of the mar- 
riage of the great Boston heiress to her cousin, W. S. Crownin- 
shield, she was certain that her old lover had married the little 
cousin of whom he had seemed fond. And then a thick letter 
came from him, which she returned with the seal unbroken. 
She would not let him suppose that she cared enough for him 
to read his explanation or justification, or whatever it was, his 
Puritan conscience demanded to complete his happiness. He 
was married, and she did not care perhaps, in truth, could not 
bear to know how or why. That Evelyn Carter whose picture 
she saw yesterday was a quick-tempered, impulsive girl, spoiled, 
perhaps, as her father's only child and motherless girl could 
hardly. help being. Theirs was a passionate love affair and a 
tempestuous engagement. In her Virginia home she was a 
little queen, and his cool, matter-of-course air of superiority ir- 
ritated while it attracted her. Not his superiority to herself per- 
sonally, her generous nature exaggerated that; but to her 'coun- 
try, her State, all her traditions and prejudices, the stories and 
heroes of the war, all the romance of which was symbolized to 
her in her father's empty sleeve and failing fortunes. With all 
his culture and foreign education he was as narrow and preju- 
diced in his way as the fiery little rebel in hers. They were 
both too young and happy to have learned wisdom and conces- 
sion, and in addition to every other promising source of trouble 
had come the question of religion. It was bad enough for a 
Crowninshield to marry a Southerner; for the descendant of the 
old Puritan governor to marry a Catholic was worse. He prided 
himself upon his liberality and assured General Carter that no 
gentleman would wish to interfere with his wife's religion, which 
sounded well enough until it appeared that her practice of it 
was to go only as far as he* thought fit. Something was said 
on the subject of confession in conversation, and he said qu etly 
that was the one thing he could never permit to his wife. 
There was a hot discussion. Crowninshield appealed to General 

Carter, who, to his intense amazement, agreed with his daughter 

a man of the world abetting an enthusiastic girl in throwing off 
a lover for a fantastic scruple and the engagement was broken. 
Crowninshield returned North full of rage and scorn for all Catho- 
lics and Southerners, and grew more furious when he found that 
all his female relatives looked upon him as one saved by a spe- 



340 TV/. [Juno, 

cial providence from designing rebels who li:id let fall the ma-k 
just in time. In two years (ieiieral Carter died, anil the credi- 

who were willing enough t let him keep hi* ni 
lands in the hope that he mi^ht work himself out of debt, I 
closed at once, and Hvelyn found herself homeles-. Many .1 
home still open on the same precarious tenure was cheerfully 
offered her. but she had determined to be independent, and. 
with the double sorrow of her father's death and her lost lover, 
she longed for work which would leave no idle ninnu-nt-- tor 
regret. She came to Washington and got an appointment in 
one of the departments, and a new chapter in her life b 
A very monotonous one, but peaceful and free from care, for 
the little daily annoyances were to her only surface wornc-. 1mm 
which she shielded herself in an armor of cold reserve. She 
did her duty faithfully and ably, and when she saw schemers 
and shirkers promoted as they sometimes were, it seemed .1 
little thing to one who felt she could never have paid the price 
of fawning and flattering and lying which it had cost. The 
haughty air for which she was no more responsible than for the 
color of her eyes, for both were an inheritance, made her un- 
popular with some, who revenged themselves by sneering allu- 
sions to rebels and starving aristocrats. Once only did she no- 
tice them, when a woman in the room with her said: "These 
Southerners are so used to being proud that when they have 
nothing else left they are proud of their poverty." 

"They are," said Evelyn. "When they think of the men 
who gave their lives for the South, they would despise them- 
selves if they had held back anything." Her angry eyes quelled 
the speaker, who from that time left her in peace. For the 
most part, however, she met with only kindness and considera- 
tion from those around her, who respected and even pitied her 
for the past to which she never alluded. The hours and days 
that passed so slowly were very short to look back on, so th.it 
Kvelyn could hardly believe that "eight years had gone. She 
told herself that her youth and beauty had gone with them, 
that her feelings and emotions were exhausted, while in reality 
they were gathering strength in unused repose instead of being 
fritteied away piecemeal. The face she saw in her mirror w.i> 
always grave and unsmiling and had lost the bloom and round- 
of early youth, and she had no idea of its beauty of in- 
ward illumination and quick sympathy. If Greuze could have 
done justice to her peach-bloom youth, the artist who painted 
her aright now must show the soul and the mind in her face. If 



1890.] THEAXOGCEX. 341 

her pleasures were fewer, her enjoyment of them was keener 
than ever, so that few in all the Adirondacks felt the passionate 
delight in them of this worker unchained from her desk for 
thirty days. 

As they drove slowly through the country from one point 
of interest to another each day brought a fresh delight. 

The cold that followed her accident lasted a few days, during 
which she was glad of the excuse to keep her room and avoid 
any chance of meeting Crowninshield, who rowed across from his 
camp every day. In avoiding that danger she had not thought 
of another the growing intimacy with Mrs. Armistead and was 
disagreeably surprised when the evening before they started for 
Adirondack Lodge her friend announced that she had invited 
him to join their party. 

" You know, dear, he has been so attentive while you were 
sick, and it must be frightfully lonely for him in that camp with 
no one but a guide." 

" Wasn't that what he came here for ? To get away from 
people and enjoy himself?" 

" You don't know him, Evelyn ; he is not at all that kind of 
person. Why, he was perfectly delighted when I asked him. 
It will be much pleasanter for us, too. I must confess I like' to 
have a man about. I was always used to it as a girl, and since 
my marriage there have always been some of the officers one 
could call on." 

Evelyn said nothing. She could make no objection without 
the explanation which she did not choose to give her talkative 
friend, and though she felt as if she had been trapped, she knew 
the trappy was innocent of any such design, and as for Crownin- 
shield, if he had so entirely forgotten the past, her pride might 
at least teach her to act as if she too had forgotten. The next 
morning they started a cold and brilliant day that brought out 
ulsters and wraps, and touched the scarlet and gold of maple 
and birch into splendid vivid bloom, not in the least like the 
sign of decay and death. Evelyn sat in front with the driver, 
and only occasionally joined the gay conversation of the two be- 
hind her, for Mrs. Armistead's spirits had risen markedly since 
the masculine accession to their numbers. But in the face of so 
much beauty, and with the mere physical excitement of their 
rapid drive through the keen and exhilarating air, it was im- 
possible that she should not feel happier than she had expected- 
Crowninshield knew the country perfectly, and told them stories 
about the different places which gave them special interest. He 



7V/A.-/.V [Juno, 

showed them tin- l)i > field \vlii" : red and solitary 

boulder niarki-d Julin Hrown'-. gr.ue. Ni-xt came tin- place 
where lie had killed his first deer a spot too lovely tor such a 
deed, with the clear brown MI Sable here daiu - 

uid shimmering over its pebbled floor, there hushed and still 
to reflect the doubled hillside and dark trees They saw a wide 
field where the harve-u-ts \\ere getting in grain from the hi. 
cultivated land in the State, and then turned away from the 
main road and faced the great unfolding mountains and Indian 
The air was penetrated with the sweet and subtle perfume 
of the balsam firs instinct with that fine purity of fragrance pe- 
culiar to cold, and for miles they drove by a winding road 
through an uncut wilderness. The occasional openings mad. In- 
fine or windfalls were blazing with golden-rod, swaying in the 
steady bree/e ; lightly settling or wavering above the gold were 
myriads of brilliant butterflies, and on each side of the road the 
late wild raspberries gave out their own delicious perfume. 
Evelyn's spirits grew higher in a reaction from their long re- 
pression and she joined more frequently in the conversation. 
Mrx Armistead persisted in regarding Crowninshield's camp-life 
as something for which he was to be commiserated. Shi 
mitted that in fine weather it might be endurable, but asked 
triumphantly : 

"What do you do when it rains?" 

" He does what the little imitation fitches do," Kvelyn >aid 
with a laugh, and then remembered the beginning of that old 
joke. 

"\Vlio?" asked Mrs. Armistead. 

Crowninshield answered (or Evelyn : 

" Don't you remember a charming picture in an old Punch ' 
A shopman saying he could not warrant his cheap furs a_;ain-t 
rain they were imitation fitches and one of those lovely lan- 
guid Dumaurier women asking: ' Why, what do the little imita- 
tion fitches do when it rains?' I remember a comical littlt 
ored girl heard us laughing over it and said, ' We don't have 
any of them kind in Virginia, does we, Mis~ Kvelyn ?' and Mi-. 
Carter's loyal answer, 'We don't have any imitation thin. 
Virginia.' ' 

Was that the funny child you told us about. Kvelyn ? Tell 
Mr. Crowninshield about her visit to Baltimore?" 

"My cousin took her there once for a few days to an 
the baby when the nurse was sick, and as they drove through 
the city Sarah, whose eyes kept turning from one side of the 



1890.] T//KA.\'OGC/-:.\: 343 

street to the other, exclaimed : ' Lordy ! an't the town big ! ' 
and the baby, who admired and imitated everything Sarah did, 
repeated ' Lordy ! an't the town big ! ' That night Page said 
she found Sarah with her face flattened against the window, and 
when she asked her what she was looking at, she said : 

" Dey an't got as many stars here as dey has in Virginia, 
Miss Page.' 

" When I was in Virginia," said Crowninshield, " I was very 
much impressed by the negroes' State pride. They were as 
proud as the white people of being Virginians, and I was re- 
minded of it the other day reading poor Irwin Russell's poems : 

" So you thought 'twas Souf Ca'lina, sah, whar I was born an' raised ? 
No, I'm from ole Virginny, an' fur dat de Lord be praised. 
Yirginny niggers always wuz de best dat you could buy : 
Poor white trash couldn't git 'em, ca'se de prices wuz so high." 

They were still talking of Irwin Russell, of whom Mrs. 
Armistead had never heard, when the road turned suddenly to 
the right and before them was a long building of beautifully 
squared logs; with galleries whose pillars and balustrades were 
untrimmed young trees. In the broad fireplaces bright wood 
fires were burning and antlered heads projected from the wall, 
and a frieze of sweet-smelling cedar around the dining-room 
carried still further the suggestion of the woods. The master of 
the house advanced to meet them a picturesque figure with 
high boots and deer-skin coat and breeches, which were in 
thorough harmony with the 1 scene. Looking away from the 
house they saw directly in front beyond the high-growing pines 
Clear Lake set like a gem in its ring of wooded hills. They 
were fortunate enough to get rooms in a little cottage annex 
with bark-covered walls, and, though supper was nearly ready 
and their appetites entirely so, they stopped a few minutes in 
the charming library, with its broad gallery looking over the 
lake and its tempting array of new books and magazines. After 
supper they wrapped themselves up warmly and watched the 
great camp-fire with its veering columns and waves of flame, 
and showers of sparks, and long hemlock slivers which the wind 
carried high overhead, above the solemn, darkening trees. A 
little distance from their party some boys and girls sang college 
songs, not very wise but . gay and light-hearted as suited their 
years. There was no light but that of the fire, which, as it 
flickered and veered, revealed the smooth trunks of the tall pines 
like sudden ghosts. After the long day's drive the rest was 



',44 7// - [June. 

delicious the fr.igr.uue of the trees the flickering flanu-. and 
.. ..img v .,11 part- of .,iu- charm of peace and 

t",,r a night. 

.nip-tire burned lower the tOflgfl grew gradually 

softer. After the glee- and choruses they f the 

to sing alone. They could not see her face, but a few 

chords brought out the- latent pathos of th.- banjo and then a 

soft voice 



" Could you come back to me, Douglas ! I 

How often Kvelyn had sung it to Crowninshicld in the old 
days in Virginia. Now, in this strange place, the unseen singer's 
pathetic voice sounded like her own appeal to a lost love, and 
her face burned hot in the darkness. 

" Oh, to call back the days that are not ! 

Mine eyes were blinded, your words were few. 
Do you know the truth now up in heaven, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ? 

I never was worthy of you, Douglas, 
Never half worthy the like of you. 
Now all men beside seem to me like shad-. 
I love you, Douglas, tender and true." 

The charm was over; no more peace and forgetftilnos, but 
instead memory and regret. Some one said, " Why, it is nearly 
twelve o'clock," and there was a general movement and de- 
parture. 

The fire was out and it was very chilly, and in place of it> 
warm, inconstant, human companionship a few high stars, cold 
and unpitying, looked down : 

Where the black fir-wood shut its teeth." 

A- they went to their rooms Mrs Armistead said : 
11 It is strange you had forgotten Mr. Crowninshield, when 
he seems to remember every thing about his visit to Virginu 
I suppose the novelty of it all made an impression on him. 
You were so young it must all seem like a dream." 

Mrs Armistead's habit of answering her own questions and 
explaining her own difficulties made a reply unnecessary. I.. mi 
Evelyn smiled a little sadly to herself as she repeated "'A 
dream ? ' Who was it who wrote 

" Life and the world, and mine own hoart, are cha: 
Knr a dream's sake 



1890.] TlIEAXOGUEN. 345 



III. 

During the next few delightful days our travellers saw much 
more of the beautiful country in their drives from place to 
place. One day the broadening Lower Saranac with its wooded 
islands and the last of the mountains Amperzand in the far 
distance, and another the narrowing walls of Wilmington Notch 
and the rushing river shivered into smokelike spray as it leaps 
down the rocky ledges a glimpse of Norway and the Linns of 
Scotland. The end of the week found them again at Lake 
Placid, where they intended to spend Sunday, driving over on 
Monday to Keene Valley to see the mountain views which 
Matthew Arnold pronounced the most beautiful he has ever 
seen except Pontresina. They found a different lake from the 
smiling, sunny one they left. It had rained all day, but now at 
evening the dying sun had conquered the legions of the clouds, 
and all the west was a broad band of flame reflected in fainter 
pink on the opposite shore. Before the strong wind dark gray 
clouds rolled away heavily to the south, shutting out Marcy and 
Mclntyre, but the near hills gained majesty and a touch of 
mystery from the mist-wreaths that veiled their summits and 
the strange light, like dulled steel, close above them. Only the 
field of waving rye which clothed the downs to the threshold of 
the hotel and masked the road was bright in its beautiful golden 
undulations. There was a feeling of triumph and successful 
achievement about them in which they shared. 

' We have seen so much that it seems as if we had been 
gone a month," said Mrs. Armistead, "and I am sure we feel 
as if we were all old friends." 

To Evelyn it was the end of her holiday. Not only that, 
but alas ! she knew now that the feeling whith she had hoped 
was fading into a memory of her youth had been only sleeping 
and had waked into stronger and more imperious life. She had 
tried to deny it to her own self ; she had- called pride and self- 
respect and pique to her aid in vain. 

As for Crowninshield, after his first startled " Evelyn ! " he 
had never addressed her by name ; he never made the slightest 
allusion to their engagement, but in a hundred different ways 
he showed that his recollection of the most trivial incidents of 
that time was as vivid as her own. Even if he still cared for 
her, and of that she had no assurance, she repeated to herself, 



TV// A'.V. [June, 

he w.i~ \\i>.-r not to betray it, for the same obstacle, her reli- 
i;ion. rein. lined. 

Sunday morning at breakfast Mrs. Armistead announced that 
a- there was no Episcopal Church in the village her conscience 
\\.i- -.itisfied, and she intended to -lay in her room and 
Now that the journey was over she confessed to a little fatigue. 
There is a little Catholic chapel not very far oft,' said 
.vninshicld, "and I took the liberty of ordering a buckboard, 
if M r wishes to hear Mass." 

Kvelyn could do nothing but murmur some words of a-sent 
and thanks, though she would have preferred not to take a long 
drive with him, and the knowledge that he was waiting would 
not add to the comfort of her prayers. After the unavoidable 
intimacy of the last week she could not decline to drive with 
him, and, half grateful for his trouble, half provoked with him 
for taking it, she went. It was practically the first time they 
had been alone since he rowed her across Lake Placid, and now 
the same feeling of shy constraint took possession of her. It 
seemed a very long time before they saw the little white church 
whose cross proclaimed it Catholic. 

" I hardly thought there would be a Catholic Church up 
here." 

" You will find quite a large congregation. Many Canadians 
have come down across the border, and among the charcoal- 
burners there are always some Irishmen. Besides, where won't 
you find a Catholic church ? There certainly should be one in 
this State, for many martyrs have died in it. Have you never 
read Parkman's Jesuits in North America ? It is a chapter of 
martyrology as well as full of romance. Not very far from hi 
between the Mohawk and Lake George, is the place wh 
Father Jogues was killed the first white man who ever -aw 
the lake and his Indian converts were burned to death. Think 
of the extremes in his life ! After his first torture and escape 
he returned to France, where Anne of Austria kissed the scar 
hands which the Iroquois hatchets had mutilated, and then he 
came back to be killed by an Indian hatchet in these wilder- 
nesses. 

" Even in Massachusetts you will come across traces of the 
Jesuits. I hardly recognized Cape Ann as Kepane in an ac- 
count of his travels written by Father Druillettes in 1650. It 
w.i> interesting to see how much better men were than their 
laws or their creed, for if a Jesuit entered the colony a - 
time the law condemned him to be hanged ; yet he writes that 



1890.] TlIEAXOGl-EX. 347 

Gibbons, of Merry Mount, gave him the key of a room in his 
house in Boston, where he might 'pray after his own fashion' 
where in all probability he said Mass. Dudley and . Governor 
Bradford both asked him to dinner, and the latter gave him a 
fish dinner on Friday. Eliot begged him to spend the winter 
with him at Rogsbray (Roxbury) ; Endicott spoke French with 
him, and, finding he had no money, paid all his charges gene- 
rously enough for the man who cut St. George's cross from the 
English flag because it was a Popish emblem ! " 

Evelyn listened to him a little bewildered by his changed 
tone in speaking of her church, but her amazement was as 
nothing to the surprise with which she saw him enter the chapel 
with her and, kneeling beside her, make the sign of the cross. 



That evening they rowed once more to the foot of Theano- 
guen. This time, fortunately for them, the lake well deserved 
its name, for they were so absorbed in conversation and ex- 
planation that the boat got only a mechanical attention. 

" And that was the reason you would not read my letter ? 
I told you every step of the way which led me to Rome. You 
might at least have had curiosity enough to break the seal." 

" Yes, I was so certain that your imperative need of always 
being right would not be satisfied without being justified in my 
eyes. I could not bear it, and I think I vowed that I would 
never speak to you again. And the very first time we met I 
had to ask your help ! " 

" It shall be the last time you have to ask it," said Crown- 
inshield, and as he helped her to the shore he kissed the hand 
which for the second time wore his seal ring, the blood-red 
shield and carven crown which to her symbolized the defence 
and happiness of her future life. 

M. B. M. 



CATHOUC AM> A.v*KfCA\ I : .rtncs. [June, 

CATHOLIC AM) AM1.KICAN l.THICS. 
SECOND AKTI- 

Tin: contention against Catholic education discussed in a fi inner 
article is summed up in the plea that it is dangerous becau- 

hical character. The Catholic Church is an ethical society, 
ami the American state is an. ethical society. If they arc ethical 
contraries, they cannot co-exist in the same territory without 
opposition and a conflict, in which each one strives to vanquish 
and subdue its antagonist. Our opponents impute to us, and 
particularly to our hierarchy and its supreme chief, this irr 
cilable hostility and purpose of subjugation in respect to the 
American state. 

They appear to dread its success in some at least of our 
States, by means of our numerical increase to a majority, unless 
they can by prompt and efficacious measures counteract the 
ethical influence of ecclesiastical authority over the conscience 
of the Catholic laity, thereby rendering their increase harnile . 
Our friends would be much relieved if, since we cannot be con- 
verted all at once to Protestantism, we would be satisfied to be 
Gallicans, or "old-fashioned" Catholics, by which, pcrhap 
meant a kind of " Old Catholics," after the fashion of the late 
Dr. Dollinger, and not remain " papists." A sort of diluted 
Catholicism would be tolerable, and one might enjoy the privi- 
lege of building fine churches, celebrating our rites with all the 
splendor at our command, and glorying in the past grandeur of 
the church, if we would only keep our religion for Sundax 
christenings and confirmations, for the hour of death and funer- 
als. Though not so good as Protestants, we could be recognized 
as a kind of imperfect Christians, capable of bein^ good citi 
respectable neighbors, and even sometimes admissible into tli< 
society. Probably in time we might become blended with other 
Christians, and coalesce with them at last in the happy union 
hoped for, of the universal Christianity and Church of the Future 

Our friends know very well, however, that this diluted Catholi- 
cism is not genuine, consistent Roman Catholicism. In spite of 
the praises they bsstow upon it, and upon those who call forth 
their sympathy as being "liberal," or "enlightened" in a com- 
parative d^ree, th^y perceive vjry clearly the true bearings 



1890.] CATHOLIC AND AMERICAN ETHICS. 349 

and proportions of the principles involved in the great conten- 
tion. Although they adopt the policy of drawing a line of de- 
nnrk.ition separating "Vaticanism," "Jesuitism," etc., from essen- 
tial Catholicism as special objects of polemical attack ; yet, when 
the}- speak their meaning clearly, they show that the Roman 
Catholic religion, as such, is their ultimate object, in their plan 
of campaign. Mr. Jay says : " As an American author who has 
studied -the question well remarks : ' Roman Catholicism and 
modern civilization stand apart as the representatives of two dis- 
tinct epochs in the world's history ; not only are they unlike, 
they are absolutely antagonistic and irreconcilable ; . . . what 
is life to the one is death to t ne other.' "* Evidently, such 
clear-sighted opponents in their distinction of certain Catholics 
and their utterances from certain others, as worthy of their com- 
mendation, look upon them as inconsistent .and at heart more or 
less belonging to what they call " modern civilization," as in op- 
position to that "Roman Catholicism" which is said to be its 
irreconcilable enemy. 

There is small comfort to be gained from this source. The 
bishops, clergy, and the laity who are Catholics in reality 
as well as in name, throughout the whole world, are closely 
united with each other and with the Holy See in Roman Catholi- 
cism pure and simple. All hold the definitions in faith of the 
Vatican Council as equally sacred with those of the Council of 
Nicxa. All believe that the Pop? is the Vicar of Christ, Su- 
preme Bishop of the Catholic Church, and infallible in his sol- 
emn definitions, ex cathedra Pctri, in matters of faith and morals. 
Whatever differences of opinion divide distinct schools of theol- 
ogy or philosophy, or are matters of discussion and controversy 
among Catholic authors, are, or at least are supposed to be, in 
regard to open questions. Many Catholics, imperfectly instructed, 
or not strictly conscientious, miy, in goad or bad faith, err in 
their opinions or their conduct. But they do not give tone to 
the sound Catholic body. The discords which they make are 
drowned in the clear and harmonious response which arises in a 
chorus from all parts of the world answering to the voice of the 
Pope calling the faithful to rally around the sacred banner of the 
cross. For the Catholics of the United States the late Con- 
gress of Baltimore bears witness. 

The contention is, therefore, concerning the Roman Catholic 
religion, and nothing less or more. The question is, whether it 

* Dciiomttiationil Schools, etc., p. 59. The quotation is from Roman Catholicism in the 
,1 States, 1878, p. 83. 



350 



A7///C.V. [June, 



.illy the irp bk em my of our national ci\ ili/ation. 

anil whether the eth: a l incompatible with the 

principle- .md I.IA- on which the American a .m < thical 

founded? In s-tch a discussion v.i. :i.-ralitir- 

It is necessary . . What is it which i 

from Catholic influence in our w - What kind of a- 

ilency is it ^upp"-ed that Catholics .ire aiming at, and what are 
the change- which that ascendency would bring with it ? Mr 
lay quotes from an article entitled " The Catholics o| the 
Nineteenth Century," in Till CATHOUC W<>HII> i Vol XI 
64), what he calls " an interesting sketch of the nu-.m-. by 
which the ascendency is expected to be accomplished." I 
his quotation in full : 

11 An offer and promise areas distinctly made to the Catholics of th 
thev were to the chosen people when they wen- ri-k-asvd fro-: 
A land of promise, a land flowing with milk and honey, is spread out before 
them, and offered for their acceptance. The means placed at their (i 
securing this rich possession are not the sword or wars of extermination . 
against the enemies of their religion, but in-.tt.-ad the mild and peaceful influence 
of tht ballet, directed by instructed Catholic conscience and enlightened Cath- 
olic intelligence. ... He has been furnished with an omnipotent 
with which to accomplish this great work, and he is provided with an \merring 
guide to direct him in the administration of this important tru^. '.'. 

. affirm that in performing our duties as citizens, electors, and public o- 
we should always and under all circumstances act simply as Catholi' , I'll it 
we should be governed by the immutable principles of our religion, and should 
take dogmatic faith and the conclusions drawn from it, as expressed and defined 
in Catholic philosophy, theology, and morality, as the only rule of our |>i 
public, and official conduct. . . . The finger of the Pope, like the needle 
of the compass, always points to the pole of eternal truth. . . . The will of 
God is expressed as plainly through the church as it was through 
the tables of the law. . . . The supremacy asserted for the church in mat- 
ters of education implies the additional and cognate function of the censorship 
of ideas, and the right to examine or disapprove all books, publications, writ- 
ings, and utterances intended for public instruction, enlightenment, or enter- 
tainment, and the supervision of places of amusement." 

These sentences are not a continuous quotation, but selec- 
tions put together in a mosaic. I wish that every one who is 
interested in this discussion might read the whole brilliant and 
eloquent article from which they are extracted. Taken out of 
their connection, one who is looking through the medium ol a 
preconceived idea that the authorities of the Catlu.lic Church 
cherish a deep-laid plan for the subjugation of this country, may 
easily put into them a meaning which they had not in the mind 
of the writer, by reading between the line- A candid i 
of the whole article will perceive that it is pervaded by a glowing 



i s<,o. ] CA TIIOLIC A.\n A .ME RICA .v E ruics. 3 5 1 

religious and patriotic fervor. The author was a trusted staff- 
officer and intimate friend of General Grant during the civil war. 
The editorial responsibility is exclusively mine. This does not 
imply the adoption of all the writer's views and anticipations 
without qualification, but only that the article was considered 
to be worthy of publication. 

It is obvious, at first sight, that the writer cast the roseate 
hue of imagination over his vision of the future of Catholicism 
in the United States. It is in view of an ideal condition in 
which the Catholic religion is so predominant throughout the re- 
public, that the voting power is represented as an " omnipotent 
weapon " to be employed according to the dictates of Catholic 
conscience. This is a soldier's metaphor, which may alarm the 
timid as if it were a sword flashing before their eyes. But what 
was in the writer's mind as the real use to be made of this 
weapon ? Let us hear him explain : 

" The Catholic armed with his vote becomes the champion of faith, law, 
order, social and political morality, and Christian civilization. . . . He 
goes forth furnished with this weapon, which, faithfully and honorably employed, 
must become invincible, arrest the swollen current of corruption, crime, and law- 
lessness which threatens to sweep away religion, morality, and liberty, insure 
the pre-eminence of law, order, and republican institutions, preserve and perfect 
the results of material and natural science, put an end to poverty in its abject 
and hopeless forms, and banish suffering from unrelieved want, and develop and 
complete a system of jurisprudence which shall sustain what the world has not 
yet seen, a pure republic of equal rights, exact justice, and assured temporal 
prosperity, presided over, influenced, and informed by true religion." 

Evidently, this vision is not going to be fulfilled in the nine- 
teenth century, now near its close. Its fulfilment presupposes 
that the Catholic religion should become, if not the exclusive, at 
least the dominant religion of the citizens of 'the republic. Evi- 
dently, therefore, Mr. Jay is wide of the mark in representing as 
" the means by which the ascendency is expected to be accom- 
plished" an exercise of the voting power directed by Catholic 
conscience, which is only possible on the hypothesis that the 
ascendency has already been gained. 

Undoubtedly, all sincere and zealous Catholics desire to have 
all the people of the United States gathered into the fold of the 
church, chiefly for the sake of their spiritual good, and also for 
the sake of the temporal .good which would follow if they were 
to become practical and virtuous Christians. We are bound to 
labor for this end. But by what means ? The Catholic popula- 
tipn, according to what I think to be the most correct estimate 
is about one-eighth of the whole population. It grows by natural 

VOL. LI. 23 



C A Tlh V /:////< [I: 

increase and immigration. Hut the DOB- Catholic 

population. If the whole population, a-, Mr. (il.idsti.ne | 1;ls pre- 
dicted, should increase l >ix hundred millions in a century, 
there is no probability that the number \ Catholics will ex 
eighty millions, unless a movement of converMon should set in, 
uii a -I.HU! -oak !> ur friends anticipate and tear this ? What 
ily produce such an effect? \\'hat means can 
mploy for the conversion of non-Catholics, on any -i ale 
whatever, large or small? None whatever, except reasoning and 
persuasion, relying on the intelligence and uprightness of hearer?. 
and readers, and on the grace of God, to give efficacy to these 
means No one can be compelled to be convinced or converted. 
against his own judgment and choice. Those who fear that we 
may gain an intellectual and moral ascendency by these means, 
must ascribe a wonderful power to the Catholic religion. They 
had best set themselves to counteract it by developing a greater 
power in their own, by uniting their divided communions, by 
setting forth a presentation of Christianity more rational and 
more persuasive than ours, and by proving themselves competent 
to the arduous work of converting that great half of our popula- 
tion which is without any religion. Have they any reason to 
fear from us any diminution of their liberty of religious expan- 
sion and growth ? Why, then, should they not be satisfied to 
possess this liberty themselves, and to leave us the full posses- 
sion of the same liberty, calmly leaving the issue to be decided 
in favor of the cause which proves to have the greatest intel- 
lectual and moral force ? Why can they not see that the most 
efficacious instrument they can employ for the application and 
increase of what intellectual and moral force they have, is the 
religious education 'of youth, and take sides with us on this 
question, to our mutual advantage ? 

What reason have they to fear the influence which the 
moral force of the Catholic religion can at present exercise, or 
may probably become capable of exercising on the common 
welfare of the republic and its citizens ? In a general way, the 
reason of their apprehensions is to be tound in that practical 
rule of the consciences of Catholics which makes obedience to 
the instruction of the Teaching Church and its Supreme Head 
imperative. The real issue is, therefore, as a practical matter, 
dependent upon a comparison between the ethics of the Catholic 
religion as taught and enforced by the authority of the church, 
and the principles and laws of the republic as an ethical society. 
Arc they mutually hostile, and tending, each one to overthrow 



1890.] CATHOLIC AND AMERICAN ETHICS. 353 

the other ? Our opponents say yes, they are. The Catholic 
ascendency which they dread as a Brocken-spectre, alarming to 
their imagination, means for them a revolution backwards, a 
ivturn to the civilization of long past ages, subjection of the 
civil and political state to ecclesiastical domination, a reversion 
of progressive movement on the line of intellectual, moral, and 
social development upon a course in a totally retrograde direction. 
There is no branch of science so open to sophistry and mis- 
representation as the philosophy of history, which in respect to 
Christendom is equivalent to the history of civilization. The 
Catholic Church was the creator of Christian civilization, and 
her work was interrupted by the disorders working partly within 
her own bosom, and partly causing schisms which separated 
some nations from her communion. The work has gone on, 
nevertheless, in all these portions of the once undivided Chris- 
tendom, though marred and impeded by the disruption. Reunion, 
correction, genuine and universal reformation, improvement, and 
further development, are what every enlightened man must 
desire ; not a return to the status quo ante helium. The Roman 
Catholic Religion is not to be identified with its environment at 
any period. It consists in principles, doctrines, precepts, and 
essential organic laws, capable of existing in unity, universality 
and continuity, amid many diversities of environment. It is also 
not only capable of, but by its nature determined to a certain 
kind of development without alteration. To wish for a res- 
toration of the mediaeval environment in other words, a return 
to a past phase of civilization is as absurd as to wish for a 
return of the sun to the region of space and the place among 
the constellations which it occupied a thousand years ago. It is 
to wish for an impossibility. To go back to manuscripts in lieu 
of printed books, to the armor of the age of chivalry and the 
cross-bows of the men-at-arms (the art of drawing the long 
bow unfortunately still survives), to the old-fashioned musket, 
the stone fort and the wooden war-ship, the Ptolemaic astro- 
nomy, the Aristotelian physics, stage-coaches and packet sloops, 
the use of torture, slavery, blood-letting and starvation as a cure 
for consumption, and a hundred other obsolete theories and 
customs, would be a ludicrous procedure in the eyes of the most 
extravagant laudator tcmporis acti. Equally so, we may hope 
and believe that the old maxim, Cnjus regio illius est religio, has 
been once for all abandoned. That the employment of force by 
the civil power to impose any kind of religion upon those whose 
convictions and consciences are opposed to it, will never a^ain 



354 CATHOLIC A.\D A.MF.KICAX l ; .rin< [June, 

be advocated by ecclesiastics or statesmen. I am sure that all 
Catholics in the Tutted States will agree with Cardinal de 
Kichelieu that per-ua-imi and prayer are the i.nly mean- fir 
bringing back dissidents t<> Catholic unity. There would b 
reason to tear that Catholics would use political power, even it 
they were a large majority of -the citizens of the republi 
deprive their fellow-citizens of civil and religious liberty. The 
supposition that they would make such an attempt in particular 
Static is still more chimerical. Such imaginary issues must be 
put aside altogether, if the question of the moral influent 
the Catholic religion in this country or in any of its portions, 
as things now are or are likely to be in the future, is to be 
fairly and reasonably discussed. 

Moreover, the accidental aspects which the discussion ] 
sents, when party politics and sectarian polemics are brought 
into it, should not be allowed to distract our attention and con- 
fuse our view. The influence of the Catholic religion upon the 
welfare of the country through its authoritative moral teaching, 
in so far as this affects the social and political relations ot 
Catholic citizens, is the one, sole topic to be considered That 
these relations are within the moral order, and must therefore be 
regulated by the dictates of conscience, will scarcly be questioiu<l 
by any one who believes that the commonwealth is founded 
upon morality and religion, that it is not a merely mechanical 
contrivance like a steam-engine, but an Ethical Society. That 
its ethics are sound and good, that they arc derived from the 
natural and eternal law through the Christian tradition, our reli- 
gious and honorable opponents will assuredly affirm. This is 
also our thesis. The same ethics have been received and pre- 
served, and are sacredly transmitted, with greater clearness and 
perfection, under a higher sanction of divine authority, by the 
Catholic Church. Catholic and American Ethics are not e 
tially opposed to each other, but within their common limits are 
parallel. All natural theology and natural ethics are pre- 
supposed by the system of truth and law derived from divine 
revelation which the Catholic Church promulgates as the rule 
of faith and conduct obligatory on the conscience of all her 
children. This rule does not supersede natural reason and con- 
science, it confirms and enlightens both. All the rights and all 
the duties of persons, of citizens, of states, recognized by the 
light of natural reason and sanctioned by just human laws, are- 
proclaimed and sanctioned by this supreme rule, as being the 
rights of God, or duties toward God, and therefore inviolable. 



CATHOLIC AND AMERICAN ETHICS. 355 

Let us sec, then, what will be the attitude and conduct, as 
citizens of the republic, of those who obey the dictates of an 
enlightened and instructed Catholic conscience. 

In the first place, Catholic ethics will teach them to regard 
the commonwealth as having a right given by God to their 
loyal allegiance in the civil and political orders, as a perfect, in- 
dependent and sovereign state. In the case of a dispute, like 
that which resulted in civil war between the United States and par- 
ticular States, concerning paramount allegiance, the decision is 
outside of the competence of the spiritual authority. Conscience 
dictates that allegiance must be given where it is due. But if 
there are two claimants, the choice between the two must be 
determined by reason, and, as experience proves, intelligent and 
upright men often arrive at very different conclusions by the use 
of their reason. Hence arises a conflict, which often becomes a 
war, as in the case above referred to. In our civil war, as Pres- 
byterians, Episcopalians, and Methodists took opposite sides, so 
also did Catholics. Religion did not furnish a criterion for de- 
termining which side was in the right and which was in the wrong. 

So, also, in the divisions and contentions of parties, in the 
struggles of opposite candidates for election, in disputes concern- 
ing various laws and measures, in contentions before judicial tri- 
bunals, in all matters pertaining to the purely civil and temporal 
order, the Catholic conscience does not take its practical rule of 
conduct from the spiritual authority. In these purely civil mat- 
ters no allegiance is due to bishops or to the pope. Those who 
have political power as voters are independent in its exercise. Those 
who have legislative, executive, or judicial power lawfully entrusted 
to them, and all their laws, decisions, acts of legitimate authority, 
have a right to allegiance and obedience which is perfect in its 
own nature and not dependent on any higher authority for sanc- 
tion. There is no place, therefore, for any clashing of allegiance, 
or any paramount claim on the conscience founded on the duty 
of religious obedience to the spiritual authority. The spheres of 
civil and spiritual authority are distinct. It is only in the do- 
main of morals that the conscience can assert its right to follow 
a higher and paramount law, and to obey or disobey civil rulers 
and enactments, according to the supreme rule of right and wrong 
The American Constitution is based on the axiom of the in- 
competency of the state in spirituals. Therefore it leaves reli- 
gion free, and hence the conscience has no question to decide 
as to obedience in religious matters, in respect to which it makes 
no mandates or prohibitions. Its ethical principles are derived 



356 CATHOUC A.\n AMERICA* l : .i ni ["June. 

from Christianity and arc not contrary to Catholic ethics, hut in 
agreement with them; not indeed perfectly in all respects, hut t<> 
such a decree that we can fairly and <trongly affirm the har- 
mony of Catholic and American ethics. 

On this ethical ground, where, if at all, allegiance- to the 
spiritual power of the hierarchy, concentrated in the Papacy, can 
appear to interfere with the allegiance due to the commonwealth, 
the entire influence of this spiritual power over the Catholic con- 
science goes to strengthen all the moral bonds which hold . 
gether in compact unity the social and political body of the 
commonwealth. It tightens the hold of the commonwealth on 
the allegiance of its citizens, and intensifies the vital force which 
is the. soul of the body politic, the principle of the civic virt 
which 'give it health and vigor. 

First in order, there is the proclamation of the rights of the 
state and its sovereign authority, as given by God and invio- 
lable, which is the strongest safeguard against anarchism, rebel- 
lion, and ochlocracy. 

Next, there is the proclamation of the rights of property as 
derived from the natural law, a protection of the rich against 
unjust invasion and spoliation by an abuse of the power of ma- 
jority fallen into the hands of a discontented multitude. On the 
other hand, there is an equally emphatic proclamation of the 
rights of men as persons, of the worth of labor, and the claims 
of the poor and suffering members of the human brotherhood on 
Christian philanthropy. 

Then again, there is the proclamation of the law of justice, 
honesty, fidelity, truthfulness, obligation to all duties in all kinds 
of human relations, under responsibility to God and to all di- 
vinely-delegated human authority. 

Not the least among several specifications which might be 
made under this generic head, is the doctrine and law of the 
Catholic Church respecting the unity, sanctity, and indissolubility 
of marriage, together with her strict moral code respecting all 
cognate matters. 

It is true of all nations, but especially of republics, that they 
live by the moral virtue of the people. To change the metaphor. 
this is the water on which the ship of state floats. It must be 
broad and deep for safe navigation, and therefore continually 
replenished by inflowing streams. All good moral forces and in- 
fluences which preserve and increase the mass and volume of 
virtue in the commonwealth are of inestimable value, consid< 
merely in respect to the political and social welfare of the people. 



i8;jo.] CATHOLIC A. YD A.MI-.KICAX ETHICS. 357 

Among the most powerful of these forces must be reckoned all 
tin ise great religious societies organized under the name of Chris- 
tian churches. Widely as they differ in their specific doctrines, 
all agree in professing and teaching certain fundamental principles 
as pertaining to the essence of natural and revealed religion, 
which principles are the basis of rational and Christian ethics. I 
do not see how any one, though a disbeliever in Christianity 
under any positive form, or even an agnostic, if he recognizes 
the excellence and necessity of that higher ethical law implied 
and practically enforced in our American sociology, can fail to 
acknowledge the strong support given to it by these great 
societies. It is a fact which does not admit of question, that 
their general effect is to produce moral virtue, and besides other 
virtues, that of patriotism. It is not by assembling together in 
temples for worship only, or by the influence of a society upon 
individuals, or by the public preaching of the clergy, that the 
entire effect of such a great and widely-spread religious body 
upon public morals is produced. Colleges of different grades, 
schools of all kinds, by the moral education and discipline, ani- 
mated and controlled by a religious spirit, which they impart, 
are, equally with churches and pulpits, centres from which active 
moral force radiates in all directions within the sphere of public 
and social life. 

For all who regard the Christian religion as the 'object of 
paramount interest and importance, and the only sufficient basis 
of public and private morality, it ought to be a primary maxim 
that education should be religious. Not that religious education 
should be compulsory, or regulated by law, but that liberty of 
conscience should be untrammelled, and every possible effort made 
to resist all measures for applying compulsion in support of secu- 
lar education on' a system which is really a sectarian tyranny 
disguised as unsectarian. All the great Protestant denominations, 
if they would act wisely, ought, for the sake of our common in- 
terests, to make a common cause with the Catholic Church, that 
each may have the best opportunity for educating the children 
of its own members, according to their own convictions, and the 
dictates of conscience. 

Moreover, there are many .moral evils, especially in the great 
cities, and many corrupt influences in the sphere of politics, which 
are injurious in their present effect, and dangerous to our future 
welfare, which all men who have high and firm principles of mo- 
rality must desire to contend against and to abate as far as 
possible. Here is a common ground, on which we can co- 



/.///. AT THE CATHOLIC l'.\iri-.HMTY. [June, 

.ite .mil put forth a combined moral force, which will be 
:i\ increased if all parties will consent to act together in 
those matter in which they arc ~nbst.mti.illy agreed. * >r< 
the chief and most efficacious means of applying this moral force 
is tlu- education of children and y<>utli. It is to be hoped that 
the general good sense of the American people will brin^' about 
a settlement of present disputes and difficulties about this ques- 
tion, which will satisfy all just claims and rights, so that the 
benefits of a good common-school education may be secured to 
all children without any infringement upon liberty of conscience. 

A. !'. HI-.WII. 



STUDENT LIK1 AT NIK CATHOLIC UNIVKKSITY. 

Tin questions most frequently asked by the legion of friends 
and of strangers who come to visit the Catholic University are 
these : What is the nature of your daily life ? of your religious 
exercises? of your studies and your recreations? Perhaps many 
of the clerical students throughout the United States, as well as 
others, may feel like making the same inquiries, and in this arti- 
cle an attempt will be made to answer them. 

At the present time there are enrolled among the students of 
the University twenty-eight priests, seven clerics, and also nine 
Paulist students. As something equivalent to a seminary course 
is necessary for admission to the Divinity department, the only 
one as yet in operation, the students are all young men of ma- 
tured character and familiar with the rudiments of the sacred 
sciences. 

For the sake of simplicity, let me begin by describing the 
routine duties of an ordinary day at the Catholic University. At 
5:30 A.M. the electric lights are suddenly turned on throughout the 
house and the rising- bell is rung vigorously. Halt an hour is 
allowed for the matutinal toilet. At six o'clock, after a briet 
visit to the Blessed Sacrament, the students assemble in the 
Prayer Hall for meditation, and at 6:30 the Masses begin in the 
chapel. To the eyes of faith Mass is always a thrilling s, 
but in the chaste and beautiful chapel of the University the 
Great Sacrifice is the spectacle of a life-time. For there are 
thirteen altars, and at each altar is a priest, assisted by a fel- 
low-priest officiating as acolyte, and who in turn gays Mass 
at the same altar, assisted by the previous celebrant ; thus in 



1890.] STCDENT LIFE AT THE CATHOLIC UXH-EKSITY. 359 

a single hour twenty- six Masses are said in the University 
chapel daily throughout the scholastic year. The effect upon 
the worshipper is extraordinary. Six altars upon each side, and 
the high altar, all occupied, and the thirteen Masses begun 
almost at the same moment where in this young republic will 
you find anything to be compared with it? During the re- 
sponses and until the " Sanctus " the voices mingle in subdued 
harmony ; anon a breathless silence precedes the climax of the 
mighty mystery, "the evocation of the Eternal." Thrice blessed 
chapel ! within whose walls is realized the description of St. John 
in the Apocalypse : "I heard a great voice from the throne 
saying : Behold the tabernacle of God with men." The stu- 
dents' Masses are all over in about two hours ; meanwhile the 
right reverend rector and the reverend professors have said Mass 
in the other chapels of the University. Breakfast follows ; after 
this meal there is a short recreation, and then begin the lectures 
of the day, each being allotted an hour. It may be well to say 
here that the several courses of the University lectures are elective. 

They are not a mere review of theology. The principal and 
living issues of this sacred science are alone discussed, the in- 
tention being to stimulate intellectual life, shed new light on 
old doctrines, and make the hearers not only collectors of theo- 
retical data, but above all accurate, and, as far as may be, 
original thinkers. They tend to realize the ideal expressed by 
Bishop Spalding in his address delivered at the laying of the 
University corner-stone : " To create an intellectual atmosphere 
in which the love of excellence shall become contagious, which 
whosoever breathes shall, like the sibyl, feel the inspiration of 
divine thoughts." 

The first lecture, that on dogmatic theology, is delivered at 
8:30 A.M., by Very Rev. Monsignor Schroeder, D.D. During the 
year the principal subjects which have occupied his attention 
are as follows : The Syllabus, its nature and authority ; The 
Immaculate Conception in Tradition ; The Organ of preserving 
and propagating revealed truth ; The true meaning and extent 
of Inspiration. Although Dr. Schroeder sounds the very depths 
of higher dogma, there is nothing dry or uninteresting in his 
discourses. His eminent teaching ability received an immediate 
recognition by the students, and his lectures are always at- 
tended by large numbers. 

At 9:45 Dr. Pohle takes the chair ot Christian Apologetics. 
During the year the Existence of God and the Spirituality of 
the Soul have been exhaustively treated. Professor Pohle is 



r nth. CAT/I"/. !< l'\n-/-;Kstrv. [June. 

a distinguished scientist, and < indent t-> state 

clearly and answer conclusively the leading objections of modern 

free-thin! 

At ii Dr. Boquillon lectures on Mor.il ,11 has 

led his students through I thfl naA and varied fields 

of the literature of that boundless study. By considering mor- 
als in relation with the other practical - he enables his 
hearers to sustain an unabating interest in truths often in them- 
- abstract and uninviting. During the next scholastic year 
he is expected to dwell on s,, m , ,,f the great social ; 
this century. 

Dr. Hyvernat is the lecturer on Scriptural Archaeology and 
the Oriental Languages. At the beginning of the year it was 
the prevailing impression that such subjects would be intangible 
and impracticable for Americans, but from the first day his lec- 
tures became popular. The students have learned to appreciate 
the influence of Assyriology on Scriptural studies, and th 
sential connection between Dr. Hyvernat's course and a thorough 
mastery of the Bible. 

At the end of each class there is an intermission ot fit: 
minutes, during which time the professor replies to any c|ucs- 
tions which, in the progress of the lecture, may have remained 
unanswered or may have occurred to the student's mind. 

\Ve will now describe a most unique feature of the L'ni- 
versity the course of Sacred Eloquence. We have always been 
tcrld that a preacher, as well as other public speakers, must 
first have something to say, and then know how to say it. In 
the homiletic course arranged by our right reverend rector 
there is an admirable blending of matter and manner, and if it 
does not produce useful and persuasive exponents of God's 
word, the fault will not be due to any lack of interest on the 
part of the University faculty. There are, in reality, four pro- 
fessors in this special department. Mr. Charles Warren Stoddard, 
in his charming lectures on English Literature, opens to the stu- 
dents the treasure-house of the noblest thoughts of English wri- 
ters. Dr. Hogan, in his conferences on Ascetic Theology, which 
are given three times a week, explains in a popular way tin- 
theological and moral virtues. His profound knowledge of 
human nature and original methods of unfolding and proving 
his theses have made his course attractive as well as instructive. 
The systematic study of the art of elocution is now consid- 
ered so necessary that no corps of professors in a university 
would be complete without a teacher of voice culture, emphasis. 



1890.] Src/)/-:\/' /.///; AT THE CATHOLIC rxirr.RsiTY. 361 

grace, and gesture. The directors of this institution have rec- 
ognized the importance of this branch, and have secured the 
services of Prof. Webster Edgerly. His methods, based on sci- 
entific principles, have given unbounded satisfaction. The lec- 
turer on homilctics is the Rector of the University. All who 
have ever listened to his burning words in the pulpit will at 
once acknowledge his eminent fitness for the professorial chair 
of Sacred Oratory. His lectures are abundantly and happily 
illustrated from his own long experience. The following titles 
will indicate in a general way the line of instruction he has 
been pursuing : The great end of preaching God's Word and 
man's conduct ; Earnestness in the pulpit ; The Preacher's Library 
and use of books ; The Preacher's ideal ; The collection of ser- 
mon material ;. Formation of sermon plans ; The analytic and syn- 
thetic methods of presenting a subject. The students are obliged to 
embody the teaching of these lectures in practical sermon sketches. 
In addition to the regular University course, another one, 
open to the general public, has been given during the session 
The success of this public lecture course has been most gratify- 
ing. These lectures are given on Wednesday and Friday after- 
noons of each week ; the subjects are published in the press of 
Washington, and large numbers of the citizens, many of them 
of high political and social standing, come out regularly and as- 
sist at the course. The students attend in a body, and the 
usual tranquillity of life at Divinity Hall is interrupted by the 
influx of guests, who are, on these occasions, made heartily wel- 
come. Of these lectures it may be said that Bishop Keane's 
masterly refutation of Herbert Spencer's "First Principles " made 
a profound impression, and attracted hither a large number of 
the disciples of this modern philosopher. Father Hewit's course 
on " The Church in Holy Scripture and the Tradition of the 
first four centuries," as well as Dr. Chapelle's lectures on "The 
Doctors and Fathers of the Church," furnished some of the 
most instructive and entertaining hours of the present year. 
Once a week during the entire year Father Searle, C.S.P., de- 
livered a course of popular lectures on Astronomy, to which an 
additional charm was given by the use of stereopticon views. 
Drs. Schroeder, Boquillon, and Pohle also delivered notable public 
lectures during the winter. Besides the regular curriculum of 
studies, there are. private classes in natural science and modern 
languages. Next year the courses of Exegesis of the Old and 
New Testaments, Canon Law, and Church History will be inau- 
gurated. 



362 Sr LIFE AT THE CATHOLIC UXU'EKS/TV. [June, 

1 lu- students, when not present .it ;i lecture, spend their time 
in study either in their rooms or in the University library. The 
latter already contains over 7,000 judiciously selected volumes, 
and its use is not restricted with any unnecessary rules. 

At 12:45 the students proceed to the chapel for spiritual 
n. Dinner is served at I o'clock. At this meal, as well 
as at supper, the Scriptures are read for a short time in Knglish, 
followed by some interesting matter, generally selected from some 
recent magazine article, or work of current interest, after which 
the students are allowed conversation. At the end of dinner the 
martyrology of the succeeding day is read, and all withdraw to 
make a short visit to the Blessed Sacrament. The next hour 
and a half are given to recreation. The entire afternoon is taken 
up by the different lectures, and by private study. Twice each 
week there is spiritual reading in community ; at all other times 
this exercise is a part of the private devotions of each individual. 
Supper is at 6:30, followed by an hour of recreation. From 8 
until 9:30 P.M. the students are engaged in study, and at the 
last mentioned hour night prayers are recited in common, a 
short visit is made to the chapel, and at 10 o'clock all retire. 

On Sunday we have solemn Mass and Vespers, and on the 
greater feasts the Rector pontificates. The services are carried 
out with every possible liturgical accuracy, and with all the dig- 
nity of the sacred functions. The music, and the teaching of 
music and of the Gregorian chant, is under the direction of Rev. 
Dr. Graff. 

It may give our readers some idea of the interest taken by 
the public in the University when they learn that each pleasant 
Sunday afternoon an average of five thousand persons visit the 
grounds, and the Vesper service is attended by as many as can 
find seats in the chapel or crowd about its doors. 

Twice each month " The Catholic University Library Society " 
holds its regular meetings. All the students are members. One 
evening is devoted exclusively to readings and essays, the other 
to declamation and debate. The members of the Faculty are 
deeply interested in the society, and by their habitual presence 
encourage and promote the enthusiasm of the students. 

Thursday is our day of rest. On this day, and on other days 
during hours of relaxation, the student priests, hailing as they do 
from all parts of the United States, and the professors, coming from 
Germany, France, Belgium, and America, are thrown much to- 
gether. This has a familiarizing as well as harmonizing influence, 
and tends in no small measure to the special development which is 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE AT THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY. 363 

looked for in a course of studies in this University. It has often 
been remarked by guests passing a few days among us that a 
spirit of kindliness and fraternal charity pervades Divinity Hall. 
As for the students, their rooms, their books and notes, their 
very hearts, are always open to one another, and they share that 
which is especially precious, and which no gold can purchase : 
genuine sympathy with each other. They are indeed all brothers, 
bound together by the triple bonds of Faith, Hope, and 
Love. 

For our ordinary hours of relaxation the University authorities 
have provided in the most liberal fashion. Beneath the chapel 
is a commodious reading-room, where fifty magazines are regu- 
larly received ; they include not only the American but also the 
most famous foreign periodicals of the different European lan- 
guages. On the filth floor there is a large gymnasium, equipped 
with the most recent inventions for the perfect development ot 
the physical man. But it is not within the walls that the students 
for the most part recreate except on unpleasant days. The 
University grounds are rich in possibilities, and already, under an 
experienced horticulturist, are beginning to be worthy of the 
magnificent building which adorns them. While -our own sur- 
roundings have been in a state of rapid evolution, we have had 
within reach one of the handsomest parks in the United States 
Directly opposite the University lie the extensive grounds of the 
Soldiers' Home. Many hundreds of acres of hill and vale, ot 
grassy lawn, of copse and grove and thicket invite the eye and 
allure the feet of the pedestrian ; while miles of admirable walks 
and roads form an almost inextricable maze from which a 
stranger not unfrequently appeals for rescue. This magnificent 
park is open to the public, for the Home is government property, 
the retreat of superannuated and disabled veterans of the regular 
army. No one enjoys this sylvan retreat more heartily or oftener 
avails himself of its privileges than the student of the Catholic 
University. There he may find the sweet consolations of solitude ; 
there he meets the disabled veteran ending his days in the most 
peaceful of camps, and who is ever ready to regale the willing ear 
with memories of the battle-field. 

From the University, standing as it does on an eminence, the 
prospect is most inviting, especially that looking westward over the 
Soldiers' Home Park, whose grounds we are as free to enjoy as 
ii they were our own. The student will always have the satis- 
faction of knowing that in years to come, no matter how the 
country may develop or the city outgrow itself, nothing can ever 



[June, 



between his alma iniittf .nul the Soklien' linn. >t the 

uie running between tile park md the University ^rii:-. 

The Capitol building is frequently the objective point tor 
Thursday outing. The wisdom -in- \V.i>hin I tin- 

site for the University is now plainly manifest. Hesides being 
the se.it of the p. rnment, and justly renowned for the 

magnificent architecture of its public building, it abounds with 
institutions of intere>t and instruction which are in themselv- 
inexhaustible storehouse of information for those engaged in the 
pursuit of knowledge. There are now eight hundred and eighty- 
nine thousand volumes in the various government libi 

:es hundreds of thousands of pamphlets and engravings which 
represent the progress of American art, science, and literature. 
During the greater part of the year the Senate and Con 
are in session, and the student can see and hear the leadir. 
men and jurists of the country in Congress and in the Supreme 
Court, and thus at the same time acquire some practical know! 

tnerican law. and politics. As a matter of fact, hours of leisure- 
extended over many years may be spent in Washington without 
exhausting the interest and novelty of its vast and various in- 
stitutions. The University students are constantly recommended 
to pass their holidays in the art galleries and museums, rich in 
intellectual and ;tsthetic treasures, and not a week passes that 
they do not bring back from their excursions a freight of what 
are destined to become life-long recollections. 

Such is the life of the pioneer students of. the Divinity School 
of the Catholic University. Truly God has blessed this crowning 
monument of Catholicity in the United States! 'Its work, however, 
is but begun ; only the first seeds have been sown, but they are 
the pledge of a future harvest. Many years will not have p.. 
away before the departments of science, art, law, and medicine 
shall open their doors to the Catholic youth of America. Within 
the walls of this noble University Catholic priest and Catholic lay- 
man, united together in the pursuit of everlasting truth, shall, by 
their faith, their manhood, their scholarship, and their loyalty to 
church and nation, proclaim to all the earth that in the new 
world as well as in the old the Catholic Church, " ever ancient, 
ever new," the mother of religion, art, science, and civilization, 
still holds aloft " the lamp of learning, that spark from the altars 
of heaven, and hands it on from age to age a beacon-light to 
the feet of the nations." 

THOMAS C. MCGOI.HKICK. 

CalMU University. Wotkmgton. D. C\ 



CAKDIXAI. M ANNJNG' S SILVER J UB1L&&. 365 



CARDINAL MANXINC.'S SILVER JUBILEE.* 

THE practice of devout persons called " making Novenas," 
for obtaining special graces from Almighty God, has become 
quite common, and has proved a source of many graces to the 
faithful. Tracing, however, the history of this form of practical 
piety, we go back to those blessed Nine Days that elapsed 
between the ascent of our Lord into heaven and the descent 
of the Holy Ghost on Pentecftst day. These days were spent 
by Christ's apostles in prayer and anxious, expectant meditation, 

* We print the following correspondence between Cardinal Gibbons and Cardinal 
Manning as apropos of the present article. EDITOK. 

" BALTIMORE, March 18. 

"Mv LOKD CARDINAL: During the recent Centennial celebration in Baltimore it was 
suggested in a conference of the archbishops of the United States, held at my residence, that 
in their name I would convey to your Eminence the cordial congratulations of the American 
episcopate on the occasion of your approaching silver jubilee. It is seldom that a more grate- 
ful duty was ever assigned to me than to be chosen medium for conveying to your Eminence 
this message of brotherly esteem and affection. 

" I am certainly unconscious of any disposition to bestow undue praise on any one, still less 
on one to whom flattery would be odious ; and I hope I am not offending your Eminence's 
innate modesty when I say the American episcopate holds you in the highest admiration. Your 
private virtues and apostolic life, your public discourses, delivered in season and out of season ; 
your prolific writings in defence of religion and sound morals; your untiring zeal in behalf ot 
the sons and daughters of toil, of the suffering poor, and in the cause of temperance ; your 
iv.-'diiiess, at the sacrifice of personal comforts, and even of health, to co-operate in every 
measure affecting the interests of humanity are a source of constant edification to us all and 
an inrentive to emulate so bright an example. 

" May your Eminence continue for some years yet to exercise your pastoral solicitude 
over the church in England, ' and when the Prince of Pastors shall appear, may you receive 
a never-fading crown of glory.' 

" I am ever, my lord cardinal, your Eminence's faithful and devoted Iriend, 

11 JAMES CARDINAL GIBBONS, 

" Archbishop of Baltimore. 

" P. S. I beg to forward herewith a testimonial from a few of the prelates, whose names 
I enclose, as well as from myself." 

" ARCHBISHOP'S HOUSE, > 

WESTMINSTER, S. W., March 31. \ 

" Mv LORD CARDINAL : Your Eminence's letter, with the address of the bishops of 
America, and also the fraternal offering to the jubilee memorial, reached me this morning. I 
have placed them in proper custody, and my formal thanks will hereafter be made public. 
Nevertheless, 1 cannot let a day pass before I tender to you and to all my brethren in America 
my heartfelt and grateful thanks lor the great consolation of your affectionate words. They 
are only too kind, but they come at the end of a long and eventful life as a witness tnat I have 
not altogether failed in my desite to please our patient Master. Such a testimony from your 
great episcopate will cheer me now that the day is far spent and my slender work is nearly 
done. 

" I will ask you, my lord cardinal, to assure my brethren in the United States that my 
prayers shall always be offered for them and for your ever-expanding unity. Believe me 
always, my lord cardinal, your Eminence's devoted servant, 

11 HLNKY EDWARD CARD. MANNING, 

" Anhtlskop of Westminster 



366 :-I)!\AI ..\lA\.\r rr.K J CRII . [June. 

in the " upper room" .it Jc.Tti-.ilcm with il.sed <ln. .r-. I'his 

!i.i uas the first, tin- ni.-t -<>lemn. tlic mo-t eventful no 
vena ev nude in the Church of <.-! ; n.iy, it was tin- type of 
all subsequent ones, having had our I.i.nl himself for it- author, 
for he had commanded his apostle- : " And I send the |>i 
of my Father upon you ; but -t.iy you in the city til 
endued with power from on hiijh" (Luke xxiv. 49). Accord- 
ingly "they were per-evering with one mind in prayer, with the 
n, and Mary the mother of Je-u-, and his brethren " 

"4)- 
The Paraclete came with the plenitu.l oi "heavenly -ins. The 

Spirit of life was breathed in'.o 'the organism of the church,, 
making it in truth and reality the mystical body of Christ, the 
organ of God's manifestations on earth, and the abiding pla. 
the Divine Spirit of truth. That Spirit has not departed, and 
r will. The Upper Room has widejied into the circum- 
ference of the Universal Church, but it is equally illumined by 
the heavenly fire of Pentecost day. The organism of the Church 
of God has developed into the full perfection of manhood, quick- 
ened by the self- same Spirit as of yore. That Spirit doe- not 
confine his operations exclusively to the visible Church of 
on earth, yet only there is he manifest and conspicuous in the 
plenitude of his power. 

Amongst the Fathers of the divine family of the Church of 
God in our day there is none who so often and so emphatically 
points to 'this great "fact of Pentecost" as Henry Kduanl 
Cardinal Manning, whose Episcopal Silver Jubilee the English- 
speaking' nations celebrate during this month of June. He is 
the greatest prelate of the English-speaking races, and one of 
the most precious gifts of Providence to the church of our day ; 
and he is a foremost exponent of the mission of the Holy Spirit 
to men. The Fact, the Revelation, the Day of Pentecost, 
abiding in the Church of God and made permanent through her, 
continually recurs in his powerful writings. He is worthy the 
name of Basilius Redivivus. The Spirit of God has plainly 
guided him as it did Basil the Great, on whose shoulder St. 
Ephrem of Syria saw resting a snow-white dove, its plumage 
fringed with gold. To how many souls nay, whole common- 
wealths has not Cardinal Manning been a " light that shincth 
in a dark place until the day-dawn and the day-star arise " ! 
(ii. Peter i. 19). How extremely suggestive of the will of God, 
as to the characteristic trait of modern devotion, it is that this 
man in his various works and essays should dwell so often and 



1890.] CARDINAL MANNING'S SILVER JUBILEE. 367 

with such singular predilection on the manifold operations of 
the Holy Ghost in our day, both in the church as such and in 
the individual soul of the man and the Christian ! A man who 
speaks with such an abundance of spiritual unction of the Holy 
Spirit's agency cannot but be filled with the Holy Ghost in more 
than an ordinary measure. In considering the gifts and achieve- 
ments of a convert like Manning, the mind reverts instinc- 
tively to the typa of all who are " born out of time," the 
Apostle of the Gentiles. We hope that as we proceed the reader 
will see as clearly as we do something in our great Englishman 
which reminds him of the great Hebrew apostle, of whom the 
church says that he was the preacher of Christ to the whole 
world. Then the word of God, proceeding from the mouth ot 
St. Paul, proved in fact " the sword of the Spirit " (Ephes. vL 
17), and a two-edged sword reaching unto the division of " the 
soul and the spirit " (Heb. iv. 12) it was, because St. Paul was 
the most conspicuous organ of the Holy Ghost. He dwelt in 
him, and worked in him in ever-increasing power. At the 
moment of his sudden conversion Ananias had spoken the word: 
" Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus hath sent m;, he that appeared 
to thee in the way as thou earnest : that thou mayest receive thy 
sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost" (Acts ix. 17). The 
illustrious prince of God's holy church of whom we are speaking 
has indeed throughout all his life, even before his conversion to 
the true fold, in his own place and degree, been like the Apostle 
of the Gentiles. In examining the life-marks of this Apostle 
of England we are not less struck by the signal and increasing 
manifestation of this same Spirit in him, from the day that the 
first glimpses of supernatural illumination dawned upon his soul 
until now, when the word of the Spirit proceeds from his mouth 
as a two-edged sword to conquer the heart of Albion. 

"The path of the just man," says Holy Scripture (Prov. iv. 
1 8), "is a shining light, and goeth forward and increaseth even 
unto perfect day." Turning over the leaves of Cardinal Man- 
ning's various works and distinguishing in his remarkable life 
the three periods alluded to in the above-quoted text namely, 
the period of twilight, sunrise, and noonday we believe that the 
wonderful combination of a good will with an .extraordinary 
guidance of the Holy Spirit is the keynote to the explanation 
of his providential mission. 



VOL LI. 24 



|68 CAKI>/\.II. MANNINGS SlLVRX JUBIU. [Jinn . 



rWILIGHT. 

In speaking of the period of twilight in Cardinal Manning's 
life \VL- refer to the years previous to his conversion. Hi- was 
living outside of the true visible church ; but even then, as it is 
plain from all his sayings and doings, he was, like St. Paul be- 
fore his conversion, "taught according to the truth of the law 
of the fathers, zealous for the law (the church established by 
law)." A staunch supporter of the Anglican Church as long 
"as he knew the revelation of the day of I\-nt,;<>st only in a 
broken and fragmentary way," "he obtained mercy, that in 
him Christ might show forth all patience for the information of 
them that should believe in him unto life everlasting" (i. Tim. 
i. 1 6). The lines in which the cardinal, speaking of the guid- 
ance of grace in others, depicts so appropriately his own 
of mind before his conversion, are too beautiful and too much 
to our purpose that we should not quote them : 

" I have no deeper conviction." the cardinal wrote in his book, KnglanJ 
and Christendom, p. 91, "than that the grace of the Holy Spirit was with me 
from my earliest consciousness. Though at the time, perhaps, I knew it i 
I know it now, yet I can clearly perceive the order and chain of grace by which 
Cod mercifully led me onward from childhood to the age of twenty years. From 
that time the interior workings of his light and grace, which continued through 
all my life, till the hour when that light and grace had its perfect work, to 
which all its operations had been converging, in submission to the fulness of 
truth and of the Spirit in the church of God, is a reality as profoundly certain, 
intimate, and sensible to me now as that I live. Never have I by the lightest 
word breathed a doubt of this fact in the divine order of grace. Never have 1 
allowed any one who has come to me for guidance or instruction to harbor a 
doubt of the past workings of grace in them. It would be not only a sin of in- 
gratitude, but a sin against truth. The working of the Holy Spirit in individ- 
ual souls, as I have said, is as old as the fall of man, and as wide as the human 
race. It is not we who ever breathe or harbor a doubt of this. It is rather the 
Protestants who accuse us of it." 

Thus Newman's " Kindly Light " had led Manning also near 
to the truth. 

Of the successive attractions of divine grace, and of the un- 
broken continuity of the sway of the Holy Ghost over his soul, 
he says: 

"The sacredness and sovereignty of divine faith makes it a duty to use 
words as the sincere medium of thoughts, and to use the lowest and the simplest 
that will convey our meaning. In such words I endeavored for many \IMTS to 
say all that I knew of truth to thos; who then would listen to me. 1 have had 
no other motive than a perpetual and ardent desire to give to others the truth as 



1890.] CARDINAL MANNING'S SILVER JUBILEE. 369 

God has given it to me. ... Of the books I then wrote I will say nothing 
but that even in their great imperfections they h.-vc a unity, that is of progress, 
and a directness of movement, always affirming positively and definitely such 
truths of the perfect revelation of God as successively arose upon me. I was as 
one manu t,-iitans, meridie cacutiens, but a divine guide, as yet unknown to me. 
always led me on." 

SUNRISE. 

When the light of heaven had first prostrated Saul on the 
road to Damascus and he fell to the ground, he heard a voice, 
his eyes were opened but he saw nothing, and though having 
perceived a divine illumination, he was without sight for three 
days. Until Ananias laid his hand upon him and said, " Re- 
ceive thy sight and be filled with the Holy Ghost," he was in 
darkness, or rather in the dim twilight of earliest dawn. Sun- 
rise followed the obscurity of this mysterious .twilight. Saul 
"received his sight, and arose and was baptized," or, being 
now incorporated by the baptismal rite into the mystical body 
of Christ and the Lord's visible church, he was at once made 
a partaker of the fulness of truth and the effulgence of the 
risen sun. From this moment forward the great apostle's life 
and work was but a continual walk in the light of Pentecost. 
He speaks to the Galatians of his former behavior in the re- 
ligion of his forefathers : " I made progress in the Jews' re- 
ligion above many of my equals in my own nation, being more 
abundantly zealous for the traditions of my fathers. But when 
it pleased Him who separated me from my mother's womb, and 
called me by his grace, to reveal his Son in me, that I might 
preach him among the Gentiles, immediately I condescended 
not to flesh and blood." May we not believe that the Son of 
God in the fulness of a very perfect revelation was also re- 
vealed to the future cardinal on that memorable Passion Sun- 
day, 1851, when the ex- Archdeacon of Chichester made his last 
step, entered the true fold, joined the universal church, and be- 
came a Catholic ? The cross of Christ, which on that Sunday 
is symbolically veiled before the eyes of the faithful, was in 
reality unveiled before the spiritual sight of a man who, to 
his own salvation and that of many others, understood the 
words : " I am set for the fall and the resurrection of many 
in Israel, and for a sign which shall be contradicted." The 
sun of Pentecost had risen and shed its full splendor upon a 
privileged soul which, reviewing its past and rejoicing in the 
light of the present, could testify : 

" The works I formerly published, even without the private records I have 



3;o CAKIIIXAI. MA\\I\G' s Su rt.x JCHU . pune, 

by me, are enough to mark the progressive but slow, and never receding ad- 
vance nl" im convictions, from the tirst conception "I .1 visible church, its suc- 
n and witness for Christ, to the full perception and manifestation of its 
divine organization of Head and members of its supernatural prerogatiM-s of in- 
defcitible life, indissoluble unity, infallible discernment and enunciation of 
Faith. . . . But it was many years before I perceived that a Christian tra- 
dition which was no more than human, was therefore fallible. 1 had reached 
the last point to which human history could guide me towards the church of 
God. There remained one point more, to know that the church is not only a 
human witness in the order of history, but a divine witness in the order of su- 
pernatural facts " (Oldcastle, Cardinal Manning, p. 12). 

The consciousness of this is what \ve call the Sunlight of 
Pentecost, and this light " God had commanded to shine out of 
darkness," to become ever afterwards the mystical sun of his 
life, directing to his own words, in another connection, " all 
thoughtful and purer minds to gaze one way." 

The seven propositions to which, with his phenomenal lucid- 
ity, the cardinal is incessantly recurring, in pointing out the sta- 
tions of the way to truth, might be well called the seven 
refractions of this light into its prismatic colors. The mind once 
penetrated by this dazzling light cannot but shed this reflex 
upon all that the great man says, and writes, and thinks. They 
are : i . When our Lord ascended to the Father the Holy Ghost 
personally came as another Paraclete in his stead. 2. The mis- 
sion of the Son visibly in the world ended at his ascension, 
but that personal presence of the Holy Ghost in his stead abides 
for ever. 3. The Paraclete came, according to the Son's promise, 
upon the apostles and upon the church they founded throughout 
the world. 4. The Paraclete, the Spirit of Truth, still abides in 
this church of all nations, which alone is spread throughout all 
the world. 5. Hence the authority of the church is divine, and 
from it there is no appeal in matters of faith and morals. 6. 
This one church, an organic body, was from the beginning in 
communion with its centre in Rome. 7. The church is, therefore, 
both Catholic and Roman, or the " Catholic Church " and the 
" Roman Church " are coincident " titles and realities " (Letter 
of November 3, 1875). 

M>ONDAY. 

When the sun of a perfect revelation had risen upon the soul 
of St. Paul, he forthwith stood up and " preached Jesus in the 
synagogues, that he is the Son of God." And though from this 
day forward the full revelation of the Son of God as he is 






1890.] CARDINAL MANNING* s SILVER JUBILEE. 371 

" full of grace and truth " was communicated to St. Paul, the 
brightness of this shining light intensified as time went on, and 
went forward and increased even to perfect day, so that when 
the end of his earthly career had drawn near faith had almost 
melted into vision, and he could exclaim to Timothy : " I know 
whom I have believed, and I am certain that he is able to keep 
what I have committed unto him." And from the day of Car- 
dinal Manning's conversion till the present moment his life can 
be most fittingly compared to a prolonged noonday when the 
sun has reached the zenith, and the warmth and brightness of 
summer makes the whole created world rejoice. He had no 
sooner been made a member of the church than he went " to see 
Peter," and he tarried in the city of Rome four years to be 
imbued with the solid doctrine of this mother of all churches ; 
and here, we learn, it was that while staying in the Accade- 
mia Ecclesiastica the acquaintance with Pius IX., already begun, 
ripened into an intimacy which years made only more tender 
and more profound. He returned home the perfect type of a 
Roman, a ruler, a champion of this faith which had conquered 
him, and now through him should endeavor to conquer his 
native land and nation according to the word," " having the 
same spirit of faith, as it is written : I believed, for which cause 
I have spoken ; we also believe, for which cause we speak also" 
(ii. Cor. iv. 13). In his own words he tells us how the serenity 
of his illumined mind had now become like a cloudless sky, and 
the dreams of various branches of the true church had vanished 
away like the mists before the noonday sun. In a letter of 
February 24, 1 886 (Oldcastle, p. 85), we have testimony cover- 
ing what we say : " It gives me opportunity to say that from 
the hour I saw the full light of the Catholic faith, no shade of 
doubt has ever passed over my reason or my conscience. I 
could as soon believe that a part is equal to the whole as that 
Protestantism in any shape, from Lutheranism to Anglicanism, 
is the revelation of the day. of Pentecost. As to my friends, the 
priests here and in many lands, they have been to me my help 
and consolation ; and as to the conversion of others, my last five- 
and-thirty years have been spent in receiving them into the 
church." Here we have the faith that was given to him now 
active unto the salvation of others, as the sun marching across 
the heavens gives life and growth and strength to everything. 
Of this noonday period of life the biographer of our cardinal is 
speaking when giving his little book the motto : " But, to those 
men that loved him, sweet as summer." The wonderful activ- 



372 CAKDI.\AI. MANNING S SlLVXK JUBtl* [Juiu-. 

ity, however, of this life has never been more graphically 
depicteil than by the pen of Lord Hracoii-tk-ld in his I.olliatr, 
-ay ing : 

" Instead uf that anxious and moody look which formerly marred the 
refined beauty of his countenance, his glance w.i> ralm and yet radiant. He 

dinner, it might almost be said emaciated, which seemed t" add height 
to his tall figure. All he spoke of was the magnitude of his task, the immense 
but inspiring labors which awaited him, and liii <: of his responsibility. 

.\,>lhing but the divine principle </ the church could sustain hint. There wa> 
nothing exclusive in his social habits ; all classes and all creeds and all con- 
ditions of men were alike interesting to him ; they were part of the community, 
with all whose pursuits, and passions, and interests, and occupations he seemed 
to sympathize ; but respecting which he had only one object to bring them l>.u:k 
once more to that imperial fold from which, in an hour of darkness and distrac- 
tion, they .had miserably wandered. The conversion of England was deeply en- 
graven on his heart; it was his constant purpose and his daily and nightly 
prayer." 

Methinks that the operation of the Spirit in this one man 
might well be called typical of this Spirit's merciful work in the 
individual soul that sets no obstacle to the inspirations of gt 
As God the Creator is not less wonderful in the creation and 
conservation of the smallest insect than in the direction of the 
heavenly spheres, so is God the Sanctifier both great in the 
preservation of the indefectible church and merciful in the direc- 
tion and guidance of each individual soul. And as the word 
that was spoken by Jeremias the prophet is true : " The Lord 
is good to them that hope in him, to the soul that seeketh 
him " (Lam. iii. 25), so it will always hold good : " The path 
of the just is a shining light, and goeth forwards and increaseth 
even to perfect day." 

OTTO ZARDETTI. 

St. Cloud, .lfi*. 



1890,] A CATHOLIC CENTENNIAL IN THE U. S. 



373 



A CATHOLIC CENTENNIAL IN THE UNITED STATES. 

BY THE VISCOUNT C. DE MEAUX. 
TRANSLATED BY MADELEINE VINTON DAHLGRKN. 

WE trust that the observations of so just a thinker and ac- 
complished writer as the Viscount de Meaux, which have just 
appeared in Le Correspondent, will be of interest in America. 
M. de Meaux came to us in order to study the effect of re- 
ligious freedom on the Catholic Church in this country, and 
with this end in view he carefully noted everything. Apart 
from the personal merit of M. de Meaux, and his talent as .a 
clear analyst, the illustrious name of Montalembert, with which 
he is so closely connected, being his son-in-law, must engage 
our attention. This translation has been made at his request. 

M. V. D. 

Washington, D. C. 

The first bishop of Baltimore, John Carroll, was consecrated 
on the 1 5th of August, 1790, in the private chapel of an Eng- 
ish manor, where Catholic worship, although proscribed by Eng- 
lish laws, continued to be quietly held. A Bull issued by His 
Holiness Pope Pius VI., on the 6th of November, 1789, created 
this bishopric, whose diocese was to be the United States of 
America, wfiich had been recently freed from the yoke of 
Great Britain. This country, whose child and principal mission- 
ary Carroll was, had heretofore been under' the jurisdiction of 
the vicar-apostolic residing in London. 

And thus arose the Church in America, contemporaneous 
with the birth of a new people. 

The bishop of the United States returned to his post soon 
after his consecration. He had collected, as assistants in his 
ministry, thirty priests belonging to seven or eight different na- 
tions, unacquainted with each other, and nearly all of them 
strangers to the country they were to evangelize. 

His flock was composed of about forty thousand Catholics, 
dispersed among three or four million of Protestants ;* and finally, 
as place of worship, a poor and bare church, erected by his 
efforts, the possession of which he acquired with difficulty. It 
is related that the Protestant builder who had charge of its 

* Pastoral letter of Cardinal Gibbons on the celebration of the one-hundredth anniversa j 
of the establishment of the Catholic hierarchy in the United States. 



' CATHOLIC CK\TK. \.\IAI. /.v THE ('. S. [June, 

construction had held the church closed for sonic time, alleging 
that it was not entirely paid for. It happened that French sol- 
diers who had fought in the War of Independence passed 
through Baltimore previous to embarking after their victory, and 
inquired for a church where they could hear Mass. Being 
shown a closed door, they at once cried out that keys were not 
needed in order to enter, and broke open the door with the 
butt-ends of their muskets. Since then this door has never been 
closed against Catholics. 

This church is now a school of Christian Brothers, and 
the altar of painted wood is still shown where Carroll con- 
tinued to say Mass until the day of his death.* It was thus 
that the Catholic hierarchy was established in the new republic. 
The hundredth anniversary of this institution was celebrated at 
Baltimore on the loth of November, 1889. The cardinal-arch- 
bishop, the eighth successor of Carroll, had convened all the 
bishops of the United States. They were eighty-four in number. 
Hundreds of American priests, various orders of religious with 
white, black, or brown habits, sisters with their black veils on 
white cornets, were assembled, and assisting at this solemnity 
was another cardinal, other bishops from other countries of 
America, and an envoy of the Holy See. The cathedral com- 
menced by Carroll, deeming his first church insufficient, but never 
finished by him for lack of means this cathedral, which sixty 
years ago was considered the finest Catholic edifice in the United 
States, but which is now comparatively one of th'e least pre- 
tentious, could not contain the faithful. 

On this day the Roman liturgy displayed its magnificence, 
and the church militant of the United States was triumphant.f 
The bishops have announced this triumph from the pulpit. At 
the Pontifical Mass of the Centennial the Archbishop of Phila- 
delphia, the Most Rev. Patrick John Ryan, reviewing the past 
century, considering the means employed, proclaimed the pro- 
gress that rejoiced all souls as due first to God and his minis- 
ters, and likewise to the free institutions of the United Skit<-s. 
He showed that Catholicism had above all other religious bodies 
been benefited by religious liberty, and he claimed for Catholics 
the honor of having inaugurated this freedom in Maryland, while 

* This anecdote was related to me by the superior of this school, who told me that Car- 
dinal Gibbons narrated it to him. 

t Although present at the felts given, and at the Centennial Congress. I have availed 
myself in retracing these events of the full accounts by the Baltimore Sum and Baltimore 
Daily \rws of these proceedings. The official reports have not yet reached me. 






1890.] A CATHOLIC CEKTENXIAI. IN THE U. S. 375 

he thanked the Quakers for having established and defended it 
in Pennsylvania. 

Nor did he fail to recognize that in other times and in other 
countries a union of church and state had been both salutary 
and legitimate ; but he declared that there exists no provision 
more beneficent in the Constitution of the United States than that 
which separates the two. Under this provision the church is 
enabled to enlist all the virtues and natural faculties of man in 
the defence of supernatural truths; and if, said the archbishop, it 
happens that occasionally in the conflict, amidst the contradic- 
tions of doctrines, the faithful exceed proscribed limits, are 
not these mistakes incident to liberty better after all than re- 
pression ? In his patriotism he went so far as to point out a 
mysterious affinity between the cosmopolitan democracy of the 
United States, destined to weld together the most diverse races 
in order to emancipate them, with the mission of the Catholic 
Church, calling all men without distinction of origin to liberty 
and equality as children of God. Nevertheless, he was not mis- 
led by patriotism, for he recognized that this great republic, which 
has been so liberal towards European races, has mortally op- 
pressed the inferior races of America and Africa the Indian and 
the negro ; and he closed his discourse by indicating the present 
duty of expiation and reparation imposed by past generations. 

At the evening service the Archbishop of Saint Paul, the 
Most Rev. John Ireland, considered the future. " Let us," he 
said " love our own age and prepare for the coming time. Let us 
love the present, because it is the period given us by God for our 
work. In the midst of its excitements let us discern its tendencies. 
It aspires to light, to liberty, to fraternity among men. But when 
in- pursuance of its ends it has been led astray in its means, the 
church has 'condemned its errors. Yet it is likewise the province 
of the church to assist it to fulfil its destiay. It is for the 
church to conduct the people, and teach to capital its duty 
towards labor. It is she alone who can give true satisfaction to 
popular needs and sentiments. She has a wider field to cover in 
the future than she has hitherto had, more souls to gain than 
she has gained ; the greater number are not as yet hers. The 
mission of the nineteenth century was to establish trie Catholic 
Church in the United States; its mission in the twentieth cen- 
tury will be to evangelize the American people. Let the Cath- 
olics and the church go ahead!" 

On the morrow a meeting of the laity succeeded to the assem- 
bly of the bishops. For the first time in the new world a Cath- 



376 ./ C~.-f 7VA'/./t- ( \'IA1. l.\ THE ('. S. [June, 

olic congre-^ met, similar to those of Belgium or Gcnn;iny. For 
tlie first time the iaity deliberated among themselves concerning 
their religious intei -i fulfil until then solely to the bishop 

Fifteen hundred delegate-- from different States, particularly from 
the distant and vigorous West, marshalled in due order under 
the banner of their respective jsteiied to and applauded 

the orators. 

The president of this Congress was John Lee Carroll, former 
governor of Maryland, a distant relative of the first Bishop "t 
Baltimore, and grandson of the signer of the Declaration of In- 
dependence. In order to emphasize the nature of this Congr 
Governor Carroll said in his opening remarks : 

" It may be that the question will be asked : liy what authority is thi:> Con- 
gress held, and under what law does it assemble?' In reply to thi^ we.' wouM 
suggest, by the sanction of his Eminence the Cardinal-Archbishop of Baltim 
and the distinguished prelates who now surround us, and by virtue of the au- 
thority of the Constitution of the United States." 

The Congress thus formed had in view to inquire into and to 
claim -all the advantages resulting to Catholics from the prin- 
ciple of religious freedom adopted as the fundamental law. Since 
its birth in this country the Roman Church had expanded 
under the ajgis of the common law, but neither thi church, so 
long looked upon as a stranger, nor her children, who for the 
most part came over to America poor, to this day occupy in 
the civil or political world a place commensurate with their 
growth. Thus was heard in their speeches, succeeding each other, 
the contrasting accents of bold confidence inspired by constant 
progress, with an echo of the lament of St. Paul, so often re- 
peated from age to age, since the early Christians saw them- 
selves treated in the Greek and Roman world " as unknown, 
and yet kriown ; as dying, and behold we live; as needy, ><t 
enriching many." * 

If, indeed, Catholics are perfectly free in the United States, 
notwithstanding in this country, where the elections regulate 
everything, scarcely any of their number have seats in Con^r 
nor fill the great offices of state. No Catholic, for instan e, 
has been elected to the presidency of the republic, and, wli.tt 
is of more moment to them, religious instruction is forbidden in 
schools that are kept up at great expense by the state. They 
claim that these schools are illy adapted to their children, and 
that, nevertheless, they are forced to contribute to their support. 

Second Epistle of Si. l'al to the Corinthians, vi. 9. 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CENTENNIAL IN THE V. S. 377 

They, then, have important grievances that resemble our own. 
With them, as with us, the souls of the future generations are 
at stake. The full possession of liberty does not exempt them 
from the combat only, it arms and emboldens them to sustain 
it. This struggle is destined to increase in proportion to their 
expansion. Left at peace so long as they appeared feeble, they 
will doubtless excite animosity as they show their strength and 
claim their just place. 

But it is a characteristic of this vigorous and hardy people 
not to anticipate perils and misfortunes, but to confront and sur- 
mount them as they arise. If, then, a foreigner, taught by the 
vicissitudes and disappointments of Europe, should announce to 
American Catholics that their very progress may provoke against 
them offensive measures, they would not believe, nor much less 
fear it; for they are confident in themselves and of the ground 
they occupy. That freedom common to all religious bodies, hav- 
ing as its corollary the absolute incompetence of the state in re- 
ligious matters, has permitted the church a more rapid extension 
in this country than elsewhere. They depend on this liberty, 
and on it solely, for a greater extension, and inasmuch as this 
law is the common good, the safeguard of each conscience, the 
property of each citizen, as they are themselves determined to 
respect it for others, to defend it for the advantage of all, they 
are thus sure that it cannot be taken from them. Their church 
has expanded with their country, and the growth of the one and 
the other appears to them marvellous. 

It is thus, as Christians and citizens, alike in the name of 
their faith and patriotism, they proclaim the institutions of the 
United States the best that exist. In this regard there exists 
no shade of difference between the clergy and the laity, for 
neither have forgotten the old Protestant accusation that the 
" papists " are subjects of a foreign power ; and they even parti- 
cularly insist, with a sort of affectation, that their sentiments are 
most sincere and their allegiance due the republic. Outside of 
this, they have at heart the independence of the Holy See, and 
are distressed and indignant that it is not guaranteed in Europe. 
But they declare, with great satisfaction, the freedom of the 
church at home. If this church is still, in their eyes, far dis- 
tant from the goal she should reach, there is no barrier to 
arrest her onward march ; she must advance and her children 
with her. 

Until now Catholics have remained, we were told, as a rule 
within the limits of private life ; but perhaps the Baltimore 



378 .1 CATHOLIC Cr.\TH\\!.4i. /.v THE ('. S. [June, 

ress will mark their entrance into public life. Not that 
they desire to form a distinct and compact body, like the 
Catholic party in Belgium or Central Germany. The promo- 
ters of the Congress are opposed to such an idea : they know 
that it would be contrary to the spirit of the Constitution, and 
that by so doing they would unite against the church all that 
is outside of it. For although they are more numerous than 
any one Protestant communion, yet the Protestant body 
whole would greatly outnumber them, and thus they would 
lose everything and gain nothing in an unequal struggle. The two 
parties who contest the control of the government have not held 
religious questions in view in their organization. The Republican 
party was formed to uphold the prerogatives of the federal govern- 
ment, and the Democratic to restrain them. Catholics, far from 
attempting to break these party lines, enroll themselves in their 
ranks, and in proportion as they increase and multiply they 
become less unequally divided between the two. Formerly, 
when they were feeble and scattered in thinly populated S- 
they (eared the central power and were almost all Democrats 
But since they have grown stronger, and spread everywhere, 
they have lost this distrust, and one finds Republicans more fre- 
quently among them. 

Such is the attitude of the laity. As to the clergy, the 
bishops, who are ever ready to intervene in the interests of jus- 
tice and social peace, or for the amelioration of the condition 
of the laboring classes, hold themselves and their priests remov- 
ed from purely political discussions or electioneering contests. 
Under these circumstances, if it is true that the time approaches 
when by the natural friction of parties, and either as Democrats 
or Republicans, Catholics will take a more leading part in the 
government ; if in the future they will find a political career 
open to them, with its labors, its duties, and its perils, what 
will the church who has cared for and formed them have to 
expect in their new career ? What demands will she have to 
make upon them ? In the first place, that they will honor them- 
selves by honoring her, and will signalize her training in public 
life by the exercise of virtues transcending those of public men 
in general. Then that they will defend her interests if need be, 
and that, although divided on governmental questions, they sh.ill 
be ready to unite whenever their religion may be tlm-.iti-m-d. 
Thus, in creating a balance of power between rival parties, they 
shall preserve her freedom intact. 

The Baltimore Congress has prepared this line of legitimate 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CENTENNIAL IN THE U. S. 379 

defence. It has also, removed from the arena of party conflict, 
signalized the variety, fecundity, and efficiency of Catholic charity. 
It has shown that men of different views, races, and conditions 
were brought together by a common faith ; they have traversed 
immense distances to meet fraternally ; they have come from the 
North and the South, the East and the West, the Atlantic and 
the Pacific coasts ; from the shores of the great lakes ; from the 
base of the great mountains ; from the frozen frontier of Canada, 
and the tropical embouchure of the Mississippi. During their two 
days' session their agreement was so entire, such was the force 
evidenced by their acts and revealed by their words, that one 
not of their faith, a correspondent of the New York Herald, 
wrote the following day : " If this Congress were a fair average 
of the Catholic laity, I should expect to see the whole country 
Catholicized within the next half century." This journalist, perhaps 
without being aware of it, repeated the prophecy of the Arch- 
bishop of St. Paul. The Protestant press, in its note of warning, 
but echoed the triumphant voice of the Catholic pulpit. The 
laity had yet another act of respect to render to their church. 

The deliberative assembly was succeeded by a popular pro- 
cession. These processions of the people are very customary in 
the United States, when the partisans of a cause, or of some 
man, wish to show their strength, or to make it known to their 
friends and enemies. But up to this time it was said that Cath- 
olics, as such, had not made a manifestation of such extent. For 
the first time, on the evening of November 12, through the 
streets of Baltimore, illuminated and decorated with the flags of 
the United States and the Holy See, in the midst of a peaceful 
and joyful throng, thirty thousand of the faithful marched past 
the cardinal and the bishops. Bands of men, afoot and on horse- 
back, in carriages, landaus, omnibuses, and wagons filled with 
people and decorated with flowers, uniforms and insignia of 
every form and color, myriads of torches, Venetian and Chinese 
lanterns, Bengal lights, and transparencies, banners, devices, and 
emblems. The bands played patriotic airs, principally the Mary- 
land March, and shouts resounded on every side. The portraits 
of Archbishop Carroll and of Cardinal Gibbons were carried 
aloft, the parishes floated the banners of their patrons, the sons 
of Ireland surrounded St. Patrick, and the Germans St. Boniface. 
The Christian Brothers and members of other teaching orders led 
in serried ranks the children of the parish schools, those col- 
lected from the orphan asylums, or taken from the industrial 
schools. The colleges that prepare students for the liberal pro 



380 A CM ///<>/. K\\/.4I. !\ THE U. S. (Juno, 

n-~ s<-nt tlu-ir deputations. Mature age alternated with youth. 
|)i\i-r- a-"i'iatiuii-, compiled the procession : associations of char- 
its, of mutual aid, and others purely devotional; societies of 
Saint Vincent de Paul, of temp .-ran. , and that life insurance 
society. "The Catholic Henevolent I.CLM >n," that is spread through- 
out the various States of the Union as a sort of Catholic free- 
mt-'.nry. Under the images displayed nloft of the Sacred Heart 
and of our Lady of Lourdes advanced the League of the Sacred 
Heart, of the Apostleship of Prayer, and the Confraternities of 
the Hle^sed Virgin. 

Nor had the negroes been neglected. They marched with a 
proud niiirctc under the direction of their apostle, St. Peter 
Claver, gayly attired, with beating of drums, while the clergy 
gave them their heartiest commendation, as if to express their 
sympathy with the words of the Archbishop of Philadelphia, and 
to show that they had at heart the recognition of the heavy 
debt of America towards this poor race. 

Meantime the night advanced, and the procession still con- 
tinued. The bishops gradually retired from the stand where they 
were assembled ; the cardinal, who had for a length of time 
M" H! on the front steps of his residence, went within ; but he 
remained at the window, reviewing their onward march, and 
back of the glass illumined by the reflection of the torch-lights 
his red mantle could be perceived from afar by the battalions 
of the faithful, who, as they came nearer, rejoiced to see his 
pale, thin face inclined towards them. Nor did his hands grow 
weary in saluting and applauding them. Not even the last ban- 
ner Jowered before him, nor the last child that cheered him with 
uplifted head, escaped his quick, ardent, and clear regard. The 
centenary fetes had not closed. The church was not satisfied 
to display its resources, drawn from the institutions and the 
capacity of the American people within the past century. Hence- 
forth, more powerful, she proposes to acquire herself and pro- 
cure for this people that which they still need. 

A new enterprise was to inaugurate anew age. On the I3th 
of November the Catholic University of America was solemnly 
opened at Washington. During the past the people of the 
United States, placed upon a vast, wild, and uncultivated conti- 
nent, were busy in taking possession of the country. It was 
necessary to construct, furnish, and supply their abode, and to 
expend every energy in the battle for existence ; and this hard 
work, which has so wonderfully developed its genius, has neither 
permitted the time nor cultivated a taste for a disinterested pur- 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CENTENNIAL IN THE U. S. 381 

suit of knowledge, that supreme honor of the human mind and 
crown of civilization. Amidst this continuous activity the Catholic 
clergy, on its side, was called upon to found dioceses and parishes, 
to build churches and schools, to daily distribute the bread of 
life to a flock each day increasing, to preach the Gospel and 
give the Sacraments, to do the work of apostolic times, for as 
yet the period for its doctors had not come. The clergy have 
received the instruction needed for the mission of the greater 
number ; but the learning requisite to raise some amongst them to 
the heights of the sacred science, to that summit from whence 
formerly in Europe descended light upon its darkness, from whence 
light may yet be thrown upon the contradictions, doubts, and per- 
plexities of the modern world. 

In the middle ages universities were founded and endowed 
by kings ; in the American republic citizens have acquired regal 
wealth " gold kings " they are called and are disposed to acts 
of royal generosity. They have not inherited a slowly amassed 
patrimony ; they know that in the conditions that surround them 
fortunes cannot permanently remain in families ; they do not count 
upon their posterity preserving for a length of time that which 
they have so rapidly gained, and thus they look to public bene- 
factions. They found hospitals, libraries, and colleges, for in a 
democracy one thus perpetuates a name. Nevertheless, until 
now the example of Peabody, Hopkins, and Astor had not been 
followed by Catholics, for among their number were no " gold 
kings," and, besides, incessantly occupied in supplying that which 
was absolutely necessary for their church, they did not think of 
furnishing it with that which appeared superfluous. They con- 
sequently made but few foundations. The foundress of the Cath- 
olic University of America is a young orphan girl, Miss Mary 
Gwendolen Byrd Caldwell, an heiress to an unexpectedly im- 
mense fortune. Her sister, other young girls, some women and 
men, have followed her example, and brought their offerings. 
Wealth has thus rendered a magnificent homage to religion and 
science. 

Surrounded by the fields and forests that form a peaceful 
environment to Washington a noble edifice has arisen, professor- 
ships have been created, and the new University has commenced 
its career. Not that it is complete at its birth. It has as yet 
but one faculty, Theology, and is only open to ecclesiastical 
students. The teaching of letters and philosophy will next fol- 
low, and in the third place the sciences God, man, nature such 
is, according to the masters at the University, the normal order 



382 .-I CAT//OI: -;IAL /.v rut: ( [June. 

of the pursuit of iiiun.in knowledge. It will be tin .-in- they 
propose to follow, and if the applied sciences, law and medicine, 
shall at sonic future day be there taught, they will come in the 
ribed order. Practice imi-t -uccced theory. It i> towards 
the region ..|~ abstract idea- and pure wisdom that tticy pr 
to direct the American mind a singularly meritoriou- under 
taking ! For it ,iiin- to r,n-< -till higher .1 young and virile 
to run counter t its habit- anil inclination-, and to -werve it in 
a direction where it is not inclined to go. 

Thus, in order to establish such a mode of in-truction, it ha- 
had recourse to foreign professors; it has brought them from 
France, Belgium, Fngland. and Germany, while it h.i.- 
others from America to train them at Berlin, Leipzig, Paris and 
Rome. 

But the tie that knits them closely together, the soul of the 
institution, is the Rt. Rev. Rector, Bishop K .n American 

of Irish extraction. His cla--ical studies were not comm< 
early, as he did not think of becoming a piiest until he was 
twenty-five years of age. He was an assistant priest at Wash- 
ington when he was made Bishop of Richmond, a diocese ruined 
by the civil war, where he found but few Catholics and many 
negroes. At the end of ten years he has been taken from the-e 
poor people in order to raise up and mould learned men. It 
was understood that he had the needed capacity to grasp the 
situation and to take the initiative. His expansive brow, the 
brilliant glance that his wearied eyes still preserve, his mobile 
and expressive features, his frank smile and limpid and fervid 
words, all manifest a mind and heart widely enlarged. He has 
bold conceptions that astonish one and an animating enthusi.i-m. 
He has no fears for the future of either the church or the country, 
and Pope Leo XIII. doubtless thought of him, and his projects 
and hopes had inspired his Holiness with confidence, when, wish- 
ing to encourage the promoters of this difficult enterprise, he- 
said : "Americans find nothing impossible." 

As a matter of fact two years after the foundation-stone of 
the edifice had been laid, on the I3th of November, 1889, the 
University was ready to receive professors and students, and to 
extend its hospitality to a concourse of gue-<t- and friend- All 
the bishops assembled for the centenary, the superiors of religious 
orders, of congregations, seminaries and colleges, six him 
ecclesiastics, and several thousands of the Laity, were pre-ent at its 
dedication. In order to -ati-fy all two sermon.- at a time were 
given, for the number was too large to be collected in one hall, 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CEXTEXXIAL ix THE U. S. 383 

and every one wished to* hear a discourse, as Americans cannot 
hold a festival without an oration. 

Succeeding the religious ceremony, two hundred and fifty 
guests were seated at the banquet in the refectory, and fourteen 
hundred were .entertained in another room. The administration 
was present at the banquet ; the Secretary of State, Mr. Blaine, 
was seated at the table of the cardinals, and towards the close 
of the repast the band played the national air, " Hail to the 
chief," announcing the arrival of President Harrison and of other 
members of the cabinet. Mr. Cleveland, his predecessor and 
antagonist, who it was understood was favorable to Catholics, 
had assisted at the laying of the foundation-stone. Although a 
descendant of the old Puritans and sharing their prejudice, Mr. 
Harrison had not declined the invitation of the cardinal ; of so 
much consequence is it that all parties should henceforth con- 
ciliate a communion which formerly every one despised. He 
came then among Catholics, without appearing to be at his ease 
in their midst, and addressed them some courteous and formal 
words, which were received with redoubled and unanimous 
applause, as his very presence testified to the importance of 
the occasion. 

After the banquet, in a room where the portrait of Leo XIII. 
is placed between those of Archbishop Carroll and Washington, 
the new University received the congratulations of the old world. 
The English and Americans residing in Rome presented a bust 
of St. Thomas Aquinas. Cablegrams and letters were received 
from Canada, Ireland, England, Belgium, France, and Italy. Her 
elder sisters, born as she has been under the protection of a 
common law and liberty, the Universities of Laval and Ottawa, 
of Louvain, Paris, and Lyons, celebrated her birth. How fortunate 
could all have remained, as she will be, untrammelled ! 

In considering this institution, the monument of a faith that 
seeks light, and labors for the progress of human reason in the 
midst of this multitude of the faithful, who are constantly in- 
creasing in numbers ; in the presence of these bishops, who have 
multiplied with greater rapidity than in any country or in any 
age, before this Roman hierarchy expanding under other skies, 
and rejuvenating, as it were, in contact with a young nation, 
the Christian soul is transported with the radiant vista of an 
ideal future ! One beholds the dawn of a glorious and blessed 
era when clouds shall no longer obscure the horizon, and 
when the revivifying light of a newly arisen sun shall be 
spread over the world. A popular preacher thus intoned a 

VOL. LI. 25 



384 -' (.-)///<'//( O..V/A.V.VA-//. AV ///A r. .V [June, 

canticle 't victory." He saiil : " What think you of Christ's 
Church? Look upon her, and tell me, Wlm-M.- -pou>e is she? 
: nn bent and her forehead wrinkled? Are her sandals 

worn <>r her garments moth-eaten? Is her gait halting and 
feeble, and doe-, she walk with trembling steps? Think you. 
th, that she is afraid to trust herself to our new civilization? 
That she clings reluctant to the moldcring fashions of an 
that has ' The w ( .rk which the Catholic Church has 

iplishcd in this country during the century which we are 
here bringing to a close is the -ame \\hich she has done in other 
and in other lands, but she has done it in a new way, and 
in her own way. She has taken hold of new conditions of things 
and adapted herself to them ; and the result of her work- 
structure distinctive and typical of the age and country in which 
we live, and differing from anything that has preceded it, as truly 
as the church of the middle ages differed from the church of the 
fathers ; and mind you for this is the point of all my discourse 
she has done this not by any prudence of human forethought, 
not by any cunning adaptation of policy, but simply because she 
is a living force, capable of acting in all times and in all pi 
so that she has become American without ceasing for an instant 
to be Catholic ; and, on the other hand, in endowing us with all 
that is truly hers, she has not thwarted or crippled, but rather 
appropriated and vivified, all that is best and noblest in our na- 
tional character." And with a continued use of Biblical imagery 
the reverend orator said : " We have been brought out of a land 
of bondage. Our fathers passed over the Red Se.i of obstruction 
which girdled them round as with despair. They were led 
through the weary wilderness of trial and patient waiting. And 
now we, their children, have come into a goodly land, into this 
land of promise, into a plenteous inheritance. Here we may sit 
at ease, each under his vine and fig-tree, with none to make 
us afraid, whilst round about on every side the old walled cities 
of antique prejudice are silently crumbling, as at the touch of 
a i unseen hand. The days of darkness are over ; the long 
winter of poverty and struggle is ended. A brighter era has 
dawned at last. ' Arise, shine, O Jerusalem ! for thy light has 
come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon tlv "Ai 

be enlightened, O Jerusalem ! " repeated Cardinal Gibbons, making 
use, in his turn, of the prophecy of Isaias, "for thy light is 
come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee ; lift up thy 
I round about, and see ; all these are gathered together, they 

* Father i the grandson of th* distinguished jurist, James K 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CENTEX xi A i. ix THE U. S. 385 

are come to thec : thy sons shall come from afar, and kings shall 
walk in the brightness of thy rising"; the sons of the sove- 
reign people shall come to learn from thee science and wis- 
dom. 

The Centenary festivities were at an end, but there was an 
epilogue. Most of the bishops went back to their dioceses, re- 
turning after these days of rejoicing and thanksgiving to their 
laborious ministry. Some among them, however, and notably the 
Archbishop of St. Paul, the Most Rev. John Ireland, remained 
for a time in Baltimore ; not to praise the virtues of the Ameri- 
can people, but to declare war against their capital vice drunken- 
ness. 

Inebriety is a sin common to the Anglo-Saxon and the Irish 
races. In London prisons, out of every ten convicts nine have 
been led to commit crime through intemperance. In the United 
States it is the Irish emigrant who most frequently yields to this 
ignoble propensity, and consequently it is the especial province of 
the Catholic clergy to oppose it. The combat, however, should not 
be confined to the churches, as the scourge is equally fatal to 
body and soul, to the family and the community. The civil 
law, therefore, should aid the religious conscience in this matter, 
and Christians of all denominations should unite. There are 
remedies, moreover, that have been tried. On the one side the 
apostle Father Mathew has established temperance societies; the 
faithful who join take, before God and at the hands of the priest, 
cither a perpetual or a temporary pledge to abstain from all 
fermented liquors. On the other hand, the legislators have pro- 
posed to prohibit the public sale of these drinks, with the double 
view to regulate and to restrain the traffic, and to diminish the 
number of dealers by imposing a high license. They would exact 
conditions calculated to prevent all excesses, and if these were vio- 
lated, deprive these shops of their license and interdict the sale. 
The first system, adopted by several Protestant congregations, and 
tried in several towns and counties, appears to be excessive and dan- 
gerous to the majority of Catholics ; excessive, because in order to 
prevent an abuse it refuses the just demands of legitimate wants ; 
dangerous, because it incites fraud and increases a secret indul- 
gence. They deem that abstinence from intoxicating drinks 
should be voluntary and not enforced. But the restrictive system 
of high license finds among them many advocates. They deem 
the most effective means of overcoming this great enemy of the 
American people to be the extension of free temperance societies 
aided by a legal system of high license. Such is the double ob- 



386 ./ CATHOLIC LF..\ IE. \.\IAI. i\ TV/A f. S. [June, 

ject of the crusade of which the Archbishop of St. Paul is a i 
the Hermit. 

This crusade \vas preached at Haltimore, the Catholic me- 
tropolis of the United States, on the Sunday following the Cen- 
tennial celebration, at the opera house, which w.is tilled from pit 
to dome with men anil women. Catholics and Protestants. Car- 
dinal Gibbons presided over this meeting, and sni.l that he came 
amongst them not only as a prelate of the church, but .1 
citizen interested in the welfare and prosperity of his native city 
and his hmne, and likewise as a friend of the poor and laboring 
classes. Father Nugent, an Knglish priest, successor to Father 
Mathew, made the opening address, and the closing speech was 
made by a 1'resbyterian journalist ; but the orator whom all were 
anxious to hear was Archbishop Ireland. With his noble 
tures, broad shoulders, and large stature, his powerful and flexible 
voice, thrilling words, and at times impetuous gestures, and his 
ardent soul, he is an orator of the people. They understand him 
and love him; they cheer him before he has uttered a sound; 
they applaud during his entire discourse. Father Nugent < 
cially recommended individual and voluntary temperance ; the 
archbishop demanded the aid of the police. He took exception 
to the liquor-dealers, who in a land of universal suffrage are a 
power to be feared. He accused them of keeping their saloons 
open on Sunday, in spite of the law forbidding it, and of thus 
eluding and violating the Sunday law. He perfectly understood 
that Americans would consider this a very grave charge, lie 
said he would continue to stigmatize and denounce this corrupt 
traffic, from town to town, so long as it existed. He would ex- 
cite a public opinion against it, which would sooner or later be 
felt in the vote of legislatures to-day in Maryland, to-morrow 
elsewhere. Thus are reforms brought about in this country, 
where, when a wrong is made known, it is always opposed!* 

The Catholic Church of the United States, clergy and laity, 
had in the course of eight days shown herself under every 
aspect. She had displayed her consecrated hierarchy, organized 
a deliberative assembly of laics and a popular demonstration, 
dedicated an institution of learning, and, finally, pointed out a 
social evil and undertaken its cure ; but, not restricted by her 
own efforts, she had appealed to the public sentiment and dis- 
senting communions. She appeared conforming to the genius 
of American society, appropriating its progress, forcing herself to 
meet its wants and repair its defects Within a century, 
The Baltimore Sun contained a full and accurate report of this meeting, which I at ended. 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CEXTEKNIAL IK THE U. S. 387 

transplanted upon a new and fertile soil, this immortal church 
had taken root' and flourished. 

A Catholic just from Europe, and unaccustomed to such 
pleasing impressions, naturally inquires, on beholding this spec- 
tacle, if it is not illusive ? if his American co-religionists do not 
deceive themselves by these lively demonstrations, and if their 
faith really holds in the United States the place they imagine ? 
He is at once answered by facts and figures. He opens an 
annual, he examines statistics, he casually visits some parishes. 
He finds the church and the school rilled, the sacraments fre- 
quented, and most of the congregation assiduous in the practice 
of their religion. Having thus seen that those who profess it 
have a living faith, he learns the extent of their increase during 
a century. In 1789, as we have said, there were forty thousand ; 
in 1889 there are ten millions. They have multiplied at the 
same time as the entire population of the United States, but 
proportionally with much greater rapidity. Relatively to this 
population one in a hundred were counted a century ago, but at 
present this proportion is one to six. As we have stated, in 1789 
there were one bishop and thirty priests; in 1889 there are 
eighty-four bishops, eight thousand priests ; and these eight 
thousand priests have to serve more than ten thousand churches 
or chapels. In a single year, the Centennial one, four bishoprics 
were created, and two hundred and fifty-eight churches com- 
menced or finished within the territory of the Union.* May a 
foreigner be allowed, in making so summary an investigation, to 
pass from religion to charity, from faith to good works ? It 
suffices to disembark at New York. Hitherto the scum ot 
European emigration has been deposited at the Atlantic ports, 
with all its attendant misery. 

In proportion as one penetrates the interior of the conti- 
nent, traversing towns that have sprung into sudden existence, 
or across stretches of country more slowly populated, one meets 
many workingmen and few paupers ; but New York, the com- 
mercial capital, where the human cargoes drawn from Ireland, 
Germany, and Italy are unloaded, is at once the centre of indi- 
gence and the principal theatre of Catholic charity in the United 
States. There forty-nine f conferences of Saint Vincent de Paul, 
affiliated to ours and modelled in accordance with ours, visit each 
year more than five thousand poor families. There, amid several 
hospitals and asylums of various kinds, are four establishments 

* Pastoral letter, already cited, and Sadlitr's Catholic Directory, 1890. 

t Report of the Superior Council of New York to the General of Paris for the year 1888. 



lAt. l\ Til [June, 

which perhaps arc not equalled, anil certainly arc not nil 
:iy in Christend'im : 

An Industrial />'<r//X-, founded thirty y by .in 

archbishop and directed by ( '.rthi 'lie-, in i>n!' . e the small 

earnings of Irish emigrants, received in iSS6 thirty-two million 
dollar- ir.'iti sixty thousand dep> nul distributed aboi 

million of francs in interest. * 

A Foundling Asylum is at the same time an infant asylum, 
a lying-in hospital, and >r unfortunate mothers who 

go there, either to nurse their own children or other aband 
infants. It is estimated that in the past twenty years, when this 
hospital was commenced without resources, although since then 
magnificently endowed, it has saved twenty thousand children 
and more than live thousand poor moth 

Farther on the AVt.' York Catholic Protectory gathers in little 
waifs, the young criminals that police and magistrates confide to 
them, and in her vast and varied workshops transforms them 
into model workmen. Thus placed in two adjoining ru 
surrounded by beautiful grounds, and breathing a salubrious air, 
are growing up fifteen hundred boys and seven hundred and 
thirty-five girls, under the care of Brothers and Sisters. t Finally, 
the Mission of tlic Immaculate \ 'irgin for tlu Pic~tectii.ni of 
Homeless and Destitute Children who are picked up in the sti 
or found abandoned, not victims of vice but of poverty. These 
it shelters, first sending them to an island home, where body 
and soul are fortified ; then places them as apprentice 
charge of them, and offers them a home in the centre of 
York, where they occasionally live or can always return. An 
Irish priest, Father John Drumgoole, has opened this asylum, 
and another Irish priest, Father Dougherty, at present directs it, 
depending entirely on daily donations, and h iving under his 
protecting care thirteen hundred and sixty-three pupils. \ 

Among these different works of charity several receive appro- 
priations from the city or the State of New York. Yet it is 
estimated that the faithful, who have also to provide for the 

The schedule of 1886 is the latest I have seen. The exact figures given In it are: 
Depositors. 59.525 ; sum total of deposits, $31.952.573; interest paid to depositors. $990.021. 
In 1851. the second year of its foundation, the number of depositors was 1,098, and the <1 
amounted to $189,473. and interest paid out, $4,271. Hv-lawi, 1887. 

ie president of the Protectory and of the Savings-Bank is Mr. Hoguel, a gentl< 
of Irish extraction but, through several family alliances, closely connected in France, 
one in New V'ork knows of his financial capacity and active charity. 

I One of the principal resources of the establishment is a magazine, an illustrated journ.il, 
published once a year and costing twenty-five cents. It is sent to every part of it. 
published in several languages, notably in French, under this title The Hamilcii Chi 
Tkt MesstKfer of tht Union of Saint- Jasefh . 



1890.] A CATHOLIC Ci-:.\"n-:. \-.\i At. i.\ THE ('. $. 389 

churches, the clergy, the support of religion and the schools, 
have voluntarily contributed to the value of five millions per- 
sonal property, and annually eight hundred thousand dollars. 
Sin h is the catalogue of Catholic charities in New York.* And 
in order to spread throughout the Union this' Christian and 
charitable life religious vocations increase. Kvery order or con- 

..ition established in Europe has been introduced into the 
United States. 

The institutions of the middle ages, those of modern times, 
as well as those of the present day, are to be found. Here and 
there arc Benedictines, Trappists, Dominicans, and Franciscans ; 
everywhere are Jesuits ; the Sulpitians have some seminaries, and 
in German parishes are Redemptorists of St. Alphonsus de Li- 
guori. In the midst of this busy and stirring society are the 
mortified, contemplative, and cloistered Carmelites. The Ursu- 
lines, Visitandines, and Ladies of the Sacred Heart educate 
young girls. The Little Sisters of the Poor care for the aged, 
and the Sisters of the Good Shepherd devote themselves to 
penitents. The most numerous and active bodies have had their 
cradle and still have their mother-house in France, such as the 
Brothers of the Christian Schools and the Sisters of Saint Vincent 
de Paul. Canada has furnished her Gray Nuns, and Ireland 
her Sisters of Mercy, the emulators of our French Sisters ot 
Charity. 

But wherever these communities may have originated, the 
greater number are now recruited in the United States, and they 
arc almost entirely composed of native-born members. Some 
congregations even have had their rise in this country, in order 
to meet with particular wants. Such are the missionaries of St. 
Paul the Apostle the Paulists established by Father Hecker for 
apostolic work. 

Ik-hold, then, the offspring of the Catholic Church in the 
United States, in the vigor and beauty of youth ! Nevertheless, 
some are apprehensive of the difficulties she may have to en- 
counter in the future, and claim that her growth verges towards 
its limit, and that, come what may, she can never attain ultimate 
success in the heart of the great republic. The striking facts 
that we have indicated are admitted, but their significance is 
denied. It is said that the considerable progress of Catholicism 

* Most of this information has been taken from a long article in the New York Evening 
Pmt, November 27, 1889. headed "Roman Catholic Charity." The facts were furnished the 
p<litc ir by the secretary of the archbishop's chancellor, and the archbishop assured me they were 
correct. 



390 4 CATOOLK CfffrsfrnriAL /.\- TV/A r. s. [June, 

i> not to be attributed to convci -.:]-. but rather to the terri- 
! aggrandizement of the L'nion, to the European emigration 
ami the fecundity of emigrant families. It is asserted that in 
considering the numbers of children in these families, that the 
increase of Catholics should be mucli greater tlian it now is, and 
that many Catholic parents have Protestant descendants, so that, 
in -pile of appearances, the Roman Church has lost more ground 
than she has gained in the past century. They foresee the day 
when American territory, already closed against the Ch;; 
will place restrictions upon the influx of Europeans ; when the 
United States, sufficiently populated, will attempt to set aside 
foreign hand labor as well as foreign merchandise, and with the 
ition of emigration Catholicism will be at a stand-still. It 
is also recollected that Protestantism underlies American society, 
which owes its native vigor and independence t ) the Puri' 
and besides, they regard the destiny of the Roman Church as 
likely to become more and more closely connected with the Irish 
race, who are incapable of self-government, and consequently for 
the practice of free institutions. The church may render useful 
service in a subordinate position, but she is not destined to a 
preponderating power in a democracy which must for its 1 
and safety avoid anarchy and servitude. 

These objections, wherein fact and conjecture, more or i 
gratuitous, find place, should be closely investigated, for they in- 
volve grave problems. 

If it is true that European emigration is not destined to a 
prolonged continuance, have not the United States countries 
within reach which they will sooner or later annex? and these 
countries, Cuba, Mexico, Canada, are they not Catholic ? Will 
they not augment the proportion of Catholics in the Union ? Hut 
without taking into account the chances of an uncertain and ex- 
terior aggrandizement, the champions of the Roman Church 
to discover to what cause must be imputed the sudden 1 
which the church has sustained among the descendants of emi- 
grants, and she attributes these losses to the want of priests in 
the beginning of the emigration. They find that the faith has 
been lost where religion was not practised, that the lambs have 
strayed from the fold where there were no shepherds. They con- 
clude that, the United States meanwhile possessing a native clergy 
which increases from year to year, the flock will henceforth pre- 
serve all that by right of birth belongs to her, and that she will 
extend beyond these bounds that the church, in place of being 
deprived of her children, will gain others who are not of her 



1 8 QO.] A CATHOLIC CENTE.VXIAI. i.\ 7 THE U. S. 391 

communion ; as a proof of which are conversions, as yet infre- 
quent but significant. 

As to those moral qualities that are the honor and the sup- 
port of American society, as to the civic virtues transmitted by 
the founders to their posterity, although far from attempting to 
undervalue them, they would inquire as to their source. Were 
they based upon the Christian spirit of the first colonists ? Or 
did they proceed from their sectarian spirit ? Their sectarian 
spirit inclined them to mistrust liberty, but their Christian spirit 
rendered them capable of its practice. Now, this Christian spirit, 
so essential to American democracy, is found, according to Cath- 
olics, enlarged and completed in the church. 

Finally, they deny the pretended inferiority of the Irish race. 
Oppressed, ruined, persecuted for centuries in their native land, 
what opportunity has this people had to acquire the manners or 
display the qualities of a free nation ? At last, placed under 
more favorable conditions, they commenced by first finding means 
of subsistence, then they became industrious and laborious, and 
with acquired fortune their intelligence expanded, their will 
strengthened with the amelioration of their situation, and the 
benefits of freedom taught them to practise its duties. In view 
of these contradictory opinions, it is not irrelevant to institute 
an inquiry as to the progress of Catholicity in the United 
States. The question is important. Even to one not a Catho- 
lic it is a curious fact, an astonishing phenomenon, worthy ot 
notice. 

How is it that the oldest form of Christian worship has be- 
come acclimated to the youngest of civilized nations ? How 
has the Roman Church escaped the real or pretended deca- 
dence of the Latin race, to renew its life beyond seas, in an 
Anglo-Saxon society ? How has this church, contemporaneous 
with the Roman Empire, associated with feudal forms and abso- 
lute monarchy in Europe, succeeded in identifying itself with the 
democracy of free America ? And what is the outlook for Chris- 
tians, for Catholics ? Is it true that a new era will open to 
their faith in a new world, which will expand with its growth, 
even as there is a decline with the decrepitude of the old world, 
so that her future for mankind will equal her past ? Whilst in 
Europe many weep at the tomb of Christ, shall we behold him 
arisen in America ? Are we destined to witness upon earth this 
new manifestation of Divine power ? 

From Tocqueville to the Duke de Noailles the French writers 
have often observed, and well defined, the political institutions 



392 -i' LATIIOI '/.-/ i\ TUI-. I . S, U UIU - 

an<l social conditions of the \nu-rican republic/ and her 

industrial life has hern examined 'into wit .:nl precision 

by M. Claude Jannet. It is my wish t'> examine its religious 
-t.ite. My former studies have in a nvasiire prepared me for 
this investigation, and an ineffaceable remembranc has determine.' 
me to undertake it. 

I have, for a long time, ma<le it a subject of research how 
the Catholic Church in France and Kurope lias been able 1 
sist the onset of i'n>t ^t.intism, survr diversities of relig- 

ious bel: .'iied and overcome the ordeal of freedom of 

conscience and creeds. Now, then, she has had to encounter 
from the beginning in America this variety of belief, and this 
liberty of conscience and of religious bodies, which, thwarted and 
opposed, misconstrued and misrepresented in Europe, has at tin- 
same time developed with her development across the Atlantic ; 
there, where she has never pros;>- r 1 un L-r any other system. 
It is, then, there that the results can be I understood of a 
new state of things; the investigation commenced upnn our con- 
tinent can, and must be, continued in the United S- 

It is now three centuries since th<- nil dev.-. 

of the Reformation were succeeded by a great Catholic re 
sance, that had a. special revival in France. I have attempted to 
describe it. Another religious reawakening was hoped for after 
the French revolution, which would have purified, ennobled, and 
strengthened modern society. More than once in France the 
breath of liberty has seemed, between the storms, to re-enkindle 
this renewal. 

But it is in the United States that it has found its full 
pansion. Consequently, notwithstanding th distance that 
rates us, in spite of that difference of traditions and origin, from 
whence flows the true difference of institutions, those Catholics 
who are unwilling to despair in this world of their faith r "t 
their age, must look to the United States 

So thought M. de Montalcmbcrt twenty-fu ago. li 

ing devoted his life to the attempt of establishing in Europe 
a union of religion and freedom, he was desirous 0< 

There still remained something to be said in France on i 
lions were worthy of the examination of a man who, to the extensive views of a pu 

ilge of the science of jurisprudence, and the experience of the legist ; of a mar 
theories have been enforced by practice, as he hn 

tutions he writes. This work has been done by the Miuqu .run. whn V. 

time practised law in tt I think 1 am at i 

which he has already published the first portion, en' 

ry remiss not to acknowledge fro-i 
.il obligali irning and '.run. 



1890.] A CATHOLIC CEXTEXXIAI. r.v THE U. S. 393 

the effect of this alliance in America. He was about to sail for 
the United States when he was suddenly arrested by the illness 
that proved fatal. Henceforth, condemned for four years to en- 
dure the pangs of this relentless malady, I saw him suffer still 
more cruelly for the cause that was, in his eyes, so dear and 
sacred. I saw him, so long as this supreme trial lasted, more 
than ever penetrated and impressed by the action of grace on 
the souls of the faithful-, but at the same time more disquieted 
as regards the public action of the church and her authority over 
the world. He knew well, however, that she was not destined 
to perish with the crumbling forms of Europe. He expected, 
foresaw, and claimed for her a place in the heart of modern 
society, and this place, in the countries that he knew, in his own 
country, among old Catholic nations, she did not occupy or pos- 
sess. With sorrowing and baffled search he did not find around 
him that which he sought, and this unavailing regret he carried 
with him to the grave : in noi'issima luce, aliquid occuli ' sui de- 
sideravere.* 

I have just made the voyage that M. de Montalembert wished 
to make. I have beheld that which he desired to behold. When 
he was about to make the journey he had chosen a young com- 
panion who shared his sentiments. Although deprived of such 
guidance, M. de Chabral nevertheless started, and he had the in- 
telligence to discern that which was most important to make 
known. But soon after the disasters of France, the labors of a 
public life, short and hurried, and, later on, fresh cares and sor- 
rows, diverted his attention from America. We have compared 
our impressions, and instructed by this friend, upon whose dis- 
cernment I would rely rather than upon my own, I have had 
presented to my view the Catholic Church such as she was 
twenty-five years ago, and I have myself seen her as she is to- 
day. I am thus enabled to note each point of the way gone 
over as it was traversed. 

I have met the men who direct or represent the church, 
assembled at the festivals of the Centenary, and I have conversed 
with a great number of them at Baltimore, and afterwards I 
visited several of them at their missions in their distant homes. 
In the name of M. de Montalembert they received me with 
warmth and hospitality, and anticipated my questions. Indeed, 
everywhere, among Protestants as well as Catholics, among poli- 
ticians and jurists as well as clergymen, I have met with atten- 
tion, courtesy, and liberality. Perhaps, in thus giving expression 

* Tacitus, Agrhola. 



394 -' CATHOI ic CE\TF.\XIAI. /.v TV/. [June. 

to my gratitude, my impartiality ma -pected, and I may 

be accused of being influenced by so generous a reception. 

This very trait, however, i- one to be noted among this j>ei>ple. 

.1 with themselves and tlu-ir condition, Americans are 

-ible to the foreigner who observes them with disinterested 
attention. They are glad to be understood, and make them- 
selves known with cordial and dignified simplicity. This dis- 
>n, common to the inhabitants of the United Sr par- 

ticularly to be remarked among Catholics, when one in |uire- 
concerning their religion and its future. At first, I deemed their 
optimism exaggerated, but as I examined the state of tl 
more closely I could better understand their sentiments. In- 
quiring as to the composition of Catholic congri the 
behavior of the clergy, the relations existing between the laity 
and the clergy, the good works they accomplish, the voluntary 
contributions of the people toward the support and development 
of religion ; in studying the system of schools, and the position 
occupied by the Roman Church among other Christian bodies ; 
finally, in seeking as to the aid received and difficulties to be 
met from the institutions and manners of this free democracy, 
I have the satisfaction experienced by our co-religionists of the 
new world to a still greater extent. 

Nor do I misunderstand, either, the deficiencies of American 
civilization they are apparent to every one nor the trials in 
reserve for the church in this country. She is far from the limit 
she aims to reach, she has not yet run half her course, and upon 
the remaining route there are serious perils and difficulties to be 
met. And yet, in the midst of a people who daily increase in 
numbers, wealth, and strength, she will not cease to augment. 
She knows what is lacking, and endeavors to acquire it ; she 
combats all the vices of the people, and avails herself of all their 
virtues. 

The church of the United States knows neither fatigue, dis- 
couragement, or fear. This is why I have confidence in her 
future, and wish to communicate my faith to others. When a 
weariness towards men and measures seizes noble souls, when 
doubt as to the future of the human race disquiets, afflicts, and 
desolates them, it is useful to discover and seize upon motives 
of hope, even if in so doing one has to cross the Atlantic. 



1890.] ENGLAND'S FOREMOST CJIKISTIAX. 395 



ENGLAND'S FOREMOST CHRISTIAN. 

WERE the average Briton of to-day, be he Protestant or 
Catholic, asked to designate the foremost ecclesiastical personage 
in the United Kingdom, the chances are that he would at once 
name Cardinal Manning of Westminster, the celebration of whose 
episcopal silver jubilee is attracting such wide-spread notice in the 
Catholic and English-speaking world. Occupying, as he does, the 
most exalted position in his own church in England, and ad- 
mittedly entitled thereto by his many virtues and great abilities, 
Cardinal Manning's pre-eminence in Catholic circles needs no 
explanation, and the superiority of his influence over that of the 
highest dignitaries of the Established Church was sufficiently de- 
monstrated last fall, when the government appealed, not in vain, 
to him, as the most potent churchman in London, to effect a 
settlement of those labor disputes which then menaced the peace 
of that metropolis. In that modest reply which he made to the 
letter that Cardinal Gibbons sent him last March, to congratulate 
him, in the name of the American hierarchy, on his approaching 
jubilee, Dr. Manning speaks of himself as one whose day is far 
spent and whose slender work is nearly done, but whoever 
reviews, even cursorily, his career from the time when, sixty 
years ago, he graduated from Oxford, will, assuredly admit that 
far different terms than those the cardinal employs are necessary 
to fitly describe his achievements whose life, already lengthened 
beyond the average span, has been one of constant, earnest, and 
fruitful toil, and whose activity even now excites the wonder and 
admiration of all who witness its results. 

Rising step by step so rapidly during the twenty years after 
his graduation that he remained in the Anglican Church that he 
had, in 1840, been appointed archdeacon of Chicester and be- 
come a trusted councillor on ecclesiastical affairs to his sovereign 
and her ministers, Dr. Manning, had not the event of 1851 fol- 
lowed, would in all probability in due course of time have 
reached the primacy. The publication of his first book, The 
Unity of the Church, in 1842, had, it is true, caused him to be 
classed among the Puseyites by some, but he was not regarded 
as a man of extreme opinions or controversial spirit, whose pro- 
motion would be fraught with danger. The idea that any church 



396 /:".v<;/.' 'V. LJ unc ' 

should submit to a definition of it- ci"< trim> by the civil authori- 
: hough, was abhorrent to a man of Manning'- deep religion- 
convictions, and when hi- protestations against tlie (lorham deci- 
sion, and his appeals for the reversion of that verdict, were un- 
heeded, lie at oiicv resigned all his ecclesiastical offices and pre- 
ferments, his conscience forbidding his remaining longer in the 
Anglican fold. Once he found himself outside of the Kstabl; 
Church, there was only one way left for him to walk in, and 
that he entered without a moment's hesitation or delay. That 
path led him to Rome, where he remained until 1X54. Three 
years later, his domestic affairs having been duly arran. 
dinal \Yiseman made him "a priest for ever," according to the 
order of Melchiscdech, and assigned him to St. Marys Church, 
Ha\ -water, one of the most populous and difficult of the n: 
politan parishes. While discharging his duties there, Rome sent 
him a doctor's cap and degrees, and the pope named him a 
prothonotary-apostolic. Cardinal Wiseman's death, in 1865, led to 
his appointment to the vacant see, of which he was consecrated 
archbishop June 15 of the same year, and in the consistory of 
March 15, 1875, Pius IX., who held Dr. Manning in the highest 
estimation on account of his energy, erudition, and piety, created 
him a cardinal priest, bestowing upon him the title of SS. Andrew 
and Gregory on the Cu:lian Hill. 

So well and so widely known are the accomplishments and 
achievements of Dr. Manning's quarter of a century in the pur- 
ple, that it would be supererogatory to detail them here. Charged 
though he has been all those years with the administration and 
supervision of the largest Catholic diocese in Kngland, and 
scicntious and indefatigable as he has ever been in the discharge 
of each and all of his official duties, there is probably no other 
man in the country Mr. Gladstone himself not excepted who 
has written and spoken as often on important questions of the 
day as Dr. Manning. His pen has, in fact, made his name a 
household word \\herever the English language is read, and it 
has left the impress of his ideas indelibly stamped on the 
thought of the age. Looking over the many and varied con- 
tributions he has made to modern Knglish literature, one is at 
a loss to know what to admire most, the wonderful versatility 
of the man, the masterly manner in which he handles his sub- 
jects, or the marvellous industry which has enabled him, despite 
all his other engrossing labors, to accomplish so much extraneous 
work. Controversial, civil, social, and industrial topics have in 






1890.] ENGLAND'S FOREMOST CHKISTIAX. 397 

turn been his themes, and on all he has written or spoken with a 
force and a charm peculiarly his own, the secret of which may, 
perhaps, be found in these words which he penned to a friend 
twenty-eight years ago : " God knows I have never written a 
syllable with the intent to leave a wound. I have erased, I have 
refrained from writing and speaking, many, lest I should give 
more pain than duty commanded me to give." But a perusal 
of his speeches will convince the reader that the cardinal has 
uniformly followed in speaking the same rule that he declares 
has always guided his written words. 

When Dr. Manning deserted the Anglican Church, so delicate 
were his sensibilities, he imagined he_ had forfeited thereby all 
rights to claim a continuance of the friendships of his former 
associates ; and it was not untjl quite a number of years after his 
conversion to Catholicity that, finding himself mistaken in one 
particular instance, he began to resume his Protestant acquain- 
tanceships to the great delight of many of his old .friends, who, on 
their side, seem to have labored under the erroneous idea that an 
insurmountable barrier had been erected between him and them. 
In a letter which he wrote to Dr. Pusey in 1862, taking advan- 
tage of frequent and kindly mention of his name in a pamphlet 
which the doctor published that year, Father Manning, then 
resident at St. Mary's, Bayswater, thus explains why he had 
hitherto refrained from addressing his former associate : 

" When I left you, in the full, calm, deliberate, and undoubting belief that 
the light of the only Truth led me from a fragmentary Christianity into the per- 
fect Revelation of the day of Pentecost, I believed it to be my duty to walk alone 
in the path in which it led me, leaving you all unmolested by any advance on 
my part. If an old friend has ever written to me, or signified to me his wish to 
renew our friendship, I believe he will bear witness to the happiness with 
which I have accepted the kindness offered to me. 

" But I felt that it was my act which had changed our relations, and that I 
had no warrant to assume that a friendship, founded upon agreement in our old 
convictions, would be continued when that foundation had been destroyed by 
myself, or restored upon a foundation altogether new." 

In the same letter from which this extract is taken Dr. 
Manning, protesting that his change of faith had effected no 
alteration or diminution of his civic allegiance, .had this, which, 
in view of certain senseless charges that are nowadays being 
made against Catholics, it may not be irrelevant to quote here, 
to say of the love and loyalty he entertained toward his native 
land : 



; ,s /' CHRISTIAN. [June, 

I ;mi no politician, and I patriot; but 1 ! 

Thorr. -, that l\e of countr> i- .1 p.ut of ih.uitx. .ind assured!) i 

England with a vc-ry filial lo\e. M\ l.>vi- for Kn-l.md begin-, with 

.gland of St. Bole. S.iv.n England, with all its tumults, seems to me 

saintly and beautiful. Norman England I have .dw.. . because, 

though more majestic, it bi-cainc continually less Catholic, until the evil 

of the world broke off the light yoke of faith at the so-called Reformation. Still 

1 the Christian England which survived, and all the lingering outlines 

.m<l p. in-hes. cathedrals and churches, with the names of 
upon them. It is this vision of the past which still hovers over England and 
makes it beautiful and full of memories of the kingdom of ' :>. I loved 

the parish church of my childhood, and the college chapel of my youth, and 
the little church under a green hillside, where the morning and evenii; 
and the music of the English Bible, for seventeen years, becaiu ( my 

soul. So long as I believed the- Church of England to be part of the Church 
of God I loved it, how well you know, and honored it with a filial reverence, 
and labored to serve it, with what fidelity .1 can affirm ; with what, or if with 
any, utility, it is not for me to say. And I love still those who are in it. and I 
would rather suffer anything than wrong them in word or deed, or pi.;, them 
without a good^cause." 

At the time of his conversion to Catholicity English I'rotes- 
tant opinion was, unquestionably, more or less embittered in Dr. 
Manning's regard. The loss to the Established Church of one 
whose abilities were universally admitted to be so great, whose 
influence was so potent, and whose future career in that church 
seemed so full of promise, was a severe deprivation for the Angli- 
cans, who can hardly be blamed, consequently, for the harsh 
criticisms and censures they then visited on him. But the feel- 
ings which were engendered at that time quickly yielded to juster 
and kindlier sentiments, and to-day, as for years past, no man 
stands in higher or friendlier repute with Englishmen than the 
former archdeacon of Chichester. Prime ministers and privy 
councillors, representatives of all classes, conditions, and denomi- 
nations, have been counted his friends, and even the sovereign 
of the realm and the head of the church whose doctrines he 
repudiated forty years ago has at different times paid him es- 
pecial honors. With all these changes occurring around and about 
him, Dr. Manning has remained the same self-recollected, high- 
purposed, and indefatigable worker he always showed himself, even 
in the days when his feet wandered " in the mazes of heresy and 
schism. 'V No matter where you find him, in the pulpit of his cathe- 
dral, in the seclusion of his study, on the public platform, he always 
seems the embodiment of zeal for the greater glory of God and tlu 
spiritual and temporal welfare of his fellow-men. Attempting a 



1890.] ENGLAND'S FOREMOST CHRISTIAN. 399 

pen-portraiture of him four years ago, a writer in one of the 
English journals thus described his appearance : 

" His face is^ more than gaunt; it is spectral in its thinness. The ridge of 
cheekbone from ear to ear stands out like a finger laid upon flesh. The hollows 
about the drawn, thin-lipped mouth are cavernous. The deep, weird eyes look 
out as from'caverns. The upper forehead bulges as if it would force apart 
the tightly-stretched skin. It is a face which the painter would seek for utmost 
impressiveness of effect in a death-bed scene. Yet this wonderful old man is 
the hardest-working clergyman, publicist, and administrator in Great Britain. 
He reads, writes, thinks, collects statistics, audits accounts, studies current 
utterances, schemes outlines of action, organizes societies, prepares articles, 
preaches sermons, superintends publications, watches politics, addresses social 
and temperance meetings, receives hosts of visitors, personally distributes great 
charities in a word, is the most terribly active man of his generation." 

Is it any wonder that Catholic England is proud of this de- 
voted and self-sacrificing prelate, who has worn so well the mantle 
that fell from a Wiseman's shoulders twenty- five years ago ; that 
Protestant England praises him who never swerved in his alle- 
giance to his country, and has ever cherished deep love for the 
poorest of her people ; that Catholic Ireland loves him who has 
always shown himself her friend, and that Catholic America, in 
the words of Cardinal Gibbons, wishes him years yet in which 
to exercise his pastoral solicitude over the Church of England ? 

WILLIAM D. KELLY. 



VOL LI. 26 



400 TALK ABOi'i Xi-. n [June, 



TALK A Bon MAY HOOKS. 

'1m anonymous author of <,W /// His World: An Inter- 
pretation i New York: Harper \- Brothers) i- an interesting, sug- 
gestive, and poetic writer. His book is full of sayings which 
arrest attention, provoke to thought, or incite to meditation on 
spiritual veiities. Nevertheless, it is not a book easy to write 
about, nor one which we should judge likely to be of much 
vice to the ordinary religiously-minded reader, whether Catholic 
or Protestant. Its general theme might be condensed into the 
truism .that God is the author both of nature and of grace, though 
no statement so bald, so trite, so exact, could probably be found 
between its covers. Its deepest spiritual doctrine is one that lies 
also at the root of Pere Caussade's beautiful little treatise, Abandon- 
ment, from the first chapter of whose second book we subjoin a 
more vital and penetrating expression of it than this new volume 
affords : 

" All creatures are living in the hand of God ; the senses perceive only the 
action of the creature, but faith sees the divine action in all things. l-'aith real- 
izes that Jesus Christ lives in all things and works through all ages : that the 
least moment and the smallest atom contain a portion of this hidden life, this 
mysterious action. The instrumentality of creatures is a veil which covers the 
profound mysteries of the divine action. The apparition of Jesus to His ap 
after His resurrection surprised them : He presented Himself to them under 
forms which disguised Him, and as soon as He manifested Himself He disappc 
This same Jesus, who is ever living and laboring tor us, still surprises souls 
whose faith is not sufficiently lively to discern Him. . . . If we lived an un- 
interrupted lite of faith, we should be in continual communion with God. c 
should speak with Him face to face. Just as the air transmits our words and 
thoughts, so would all that we are called to do and suffer transmit to us the . 
words and thoughts of God ; all that came to us would be but the embodiment 
of His word; it would be exteriorly manifested in all things; we should find 
everything holy and profitable. The glory of God makes this the state of the 
blessed in heaven, and faith would make it ours on earth ; there would be only 
the difference of means." 

It is the constant recurrence to this truth, familiar to all 
Christians but perhaps not sufficiently realized by most of us, 
which has given to God in His World the attraction we have 
found it to possess an attraction which has not only carried us 
entirely through it, but has made us recur to some of its , 
many time-. Yet it produces an unsatisfactory and imvital im- 
pression as a whole. It contains too many verbal paradoxes, 
which, even when resolvable, as they usually are, into propositions 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 401 

not to be gainsaid, yet lend to familiar and pleasant truths an 
air of more or less unfamiliar falsehood. Its style is elusive and 
vague, while at the same time its thought is over-elaborated. 
The writer's mind is plainly too subjective, having a native ten- 
dency to use terms in accordance with some purely personal 
measure of their values, without having received the philosophic 
training which alone can correct such a tendency. Hence, in deal- 
ing with subjects so deep as the immanence of the divine action 
in the world, and the Incarnation of the Eternal Word, he is sure 
to be inaccurate now and then, and pretty sure to utter an occa- 
sional absurdity. Among such we reckon his constant misuse or, 
at any rate, misapprehension of such words as " mystical," " mysti- 
cism," which he appears to confound with " unreal," " imagina- 
tive," or "visionary"; and, again, of "supernatural," which has 
apparently no meaning to him which is not repulsive and ab- 
horrent. Yet God is the only supernatural, by strict theologic 
definition. Theology, however, is another of this author's aver- 
sions. It is "notional," "arbitrary," "mechanical"; it substi- 
tutes ethical for spiritual conceptions of the relations between 
God and His rational creatures ; it is a hindrance to the divine 
life given through Christ. That there are false systems of theo- 
logy is true, as it is also true that there are apocryphal gospels 
in existence. But it will hardly do for a writer professing to 
accept the Incarnation of the Son of God in the womb of the 
Virgin Mary, to profess at the same time too lofty a scorn of 
theology, lest a scoffer should relegate him also to the limbo of the 
theologians. He might as safely discard history, and content 
himself with the mere affirmation, made more than once in these 
pages, but protected from too gross misapprehension by the 
general trend of his discourse, that what sufficiently certifies the 
divinity of Christ is the " immediate impression, the vital com- 
munication " which He makes upon those who believe. " How 
shall they believe Him, of whom they have not heard ? " asks St. 
Paul. " And how shall they hear without a preacher ? " And 
how, one must go on to ask, shall a preacher preach without 
a fact to 'impart and a doctrine to inculcate? without, in short, 
being a theologian of some sort ? The fact that Christianity is a 
life does not stand over in opposition to the fact that it is a 
strict doctrine, any more than the fact that bread is to be eaten 
interferes with the exact science of making it so that it shall be 
eatable. He who made the world and all things in it made 
them " by number, weight, and measure " ; He to whom time and 
space are not, made us in time and space ; He who is from 



402 TALK ABOCT XEW />V [Jum-. 

eternity, a-^umed "iir nature at a fixed day and hour or not at 
all. And if to us there could be no fixity if there were no 
flux, not less but more is that true of the \Vord made man, 
with all man's natural limitation-.. In Him. as St. Paul write-. 
11 there is not It i>, and It is not, but // is." It is the // is in 
Him which makes sound theology the only safe basis for devo- 
1 interpretations, and it is the chief weakness of the spiri- 
tually-minded and devout author of this interesting volume that 
he does not stand firm on that foundation. 

It is long since we have read a novel so good in many way- 
a- Mr. Harold Frederic's The I.aiston (,'irt < \i-\\ York: Charles 
Scribner's Sons). In the first place its local color is admirable, 
as one is sure to decide even before finishing the first chapter 
This is New York State America " all over," with no possibility left 
for confounding it with anywhere else. The people, too, are un- 
mistakable, though neither dialect nor other descriptive tricks are 
employed to make them so. One is at home with them be> 
they think and feel, and express their thoughts and feelings, not 
only in ways that are more than familiar, but in an atmosphere 
which is so. That hesitancy which is often felt by the read' r 
of Mr. Howells, even when most entertained, as to the comj 
ness of his knowledge of the types he represents, is not awakened 
by acquaintance with any of the Lawton girls, nor with " Hod" 
Boyce, Reuben Tracy, " Cal " Gedney, Tenney, Wendover, and 
the Minster family. It is not altogether that Mr. Frederic has 
taken a vital grasp upon his characters and stamped them on 
his pages with completeness. The reader, if an American of the 
same general class, is in sympathy with them mainly because 
of that inner identity. Yet we have somewhere seen Mr. Frederic 
described as an Irishman, how truly we have no means of know- 
ing. He is an admirable medium for direct impressions if the 
fact be so. 

The moral of the tale is very well managed also. The 
general attitude of the villagers of " Thessaly," male and female, 
toward a girl whose history is what they partly know and partly 
conjecture to have been that of Jessica Lawton, gives one the 
effect of an instantaneous mental photograph. The Lawton 
household after her return is capitally well done; so, to partic- 
ularize, is Jess's conversation with Lucinda on the subject of their 
setting up housekeeping together, in pursuit of Jess's plan to 
"live down" the shame of her past life. Lucinda's misapprehension, 
and the weak but sufficient expression of it conveyed in th< 
gestion that Samantha is " more in your line ; I an't on that 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 403 

lay myself," strikes one as an even brilliant specimen of Mr. 
Frederic's exact understanding and mastery of his material. And 
if recent American fiction has any study of the weak, boasting, 
bragging, lying type of native coxcomb to be compared with that 
of Horace Boyce, we can only say we have not seen it. Mr. 
Frederic seems to have gfeat possibilities of most excellent work 
in him. His ideals are honest and admirable, and his execution 
thoroughly well considered and satisfactory. 

Another extremely well-told story is Octave Thanet's Expia- 
tion, which comes from the same publishers as The Lawton Girl, 
and which, like Mr. Frederic's novel, made its first appearance 
in Scribner's Magazine. When " The Bishop's Vagabond " came 
out some three or four years ago, in the Atlantic if our memory 
is not at fault, it became plain to the observant that there were 
good things to be looked 'for from Octave Thanet. The present 
is, we suppose, this author's most important effort thus far. 
Nothing but the intrinsic slightness of its central motive hinders 
it from being truly described as a powerfully conceived as well 
as an admirably handled novel. But neither the purely phy- 
sical and constitutional weakness which made Fairfax Rutherford 
shrink under torture, but which would not have cowed him 
utterly, even if common sense had not convinced him of the 
folly of weighing mere money against life ; nor the mis- 
take which afterwards caused him to writhe under the belief that 
he had been forced into the real infamy of shooting the parson, 
is by itself a sufficient motive for a really great novel.* Neither 
his weakness nor the manner of its expiation lift the story to a 
spiritual level high enough for that. But what does entitle it to 
high praise is the close, continuous action of the story, from the 
night of Fair's ordeal to the hour when he sits on guard over 
Dick Barnabas, sinking in the swamp. There is something in 
the latter scene which strongly suggests, without too much 
resembling, the taking-off of Carver Doone in Blackmore's 
famous novel. The figures, too, from the Colonel and Parson 
Collins down to " Ma'y Jane " and " Betty Ward," are without 
exception vivid and constraining in their appeal to the reader's 
imagination. It is not ordinarily given to novelists to get so 
firm possession of all their personages as Octave Thanet has 
here taken. The style is limpid and flowing, and the glimpses 
of Arkansas landscape that now and then occur are sketched in 
with a light but admirably effective touch. 

From the Baltimore house of John Murphy & Co. we have 
Kathleen Ma-cournccn, by Clara Mulholland, a sister, we believe, 



404 TALK AHOIT .YAH- />' [June, 

( the better-known author of /'//< Wild ttirds of Killnry, 
Miirfflla t, >,i-, .ind ./ l-air Emigrant. Miss Cl.ir.t Mul- 
holland's story is pleasantly told, and agreeable in the impre-~ion 
tli.it it gives of the author's qualities. Kathleen is one of the 
"evicted"; the sp,,rt of the irresponsible power <f a landlord who 
is also her relative, but who wishes to get her out of the way 
lest his only son should be led into the temptation of marrying 
her. Incidentally there are descriptions of more lamentable 
results of the exercise of this arbitrary authority on the part of Mr. 
Norman Dean, and greater Briefs are shown than those of 
Kathleen and her mother. But in the end all comes right 
again, and after Kathleen has endured some mild hardships in 
her cousin's London house, she meets her lover once more and 
goes back with him to rule over the domain from which she 
had been once evicted. 

\Ve have been asked to call the attention of the directors 
of some of our parochial libraries to the general unsuitability to 
young Catholic readers of Mr. William Black's Sunrise. 'UK- 
book is two or three years old now. It has, in a general way, 
all of Mr. Black's well-known excellences power to int 
general decorum, and a brilliant, effective style. But to state 
the Kuropean social problems with secret, oath-bound, assassinat- 
ing conspirators as prominent and, on the whole, almost n 
sary factors in it, is not exactly the way to become eligible to 
the shelves of Catholic libraries. The Zaccatelli episode alone 
should haVe excluded Sunrise from these, and doubtless the 
present hint would never have been called for had the book 
been examined by competent and responsible readers before being 
admitted to them. 

Considered simply as literature, it seems to us that Jorge 
Isaacs' Maria (New York : Harper & Brothers) has been some- 
what overrated by its recent critics. With Mr. Janvier's remark, 
that the often,- repeated attempts to compare it with the Atala 
of Chateaubriand and the Paul ct I'irginie of Bernardin de 
Saint-Pierre, do Isaacs " injustice," we dissent altogether, so far, 
at least, as Atala is concerned. For although it is true 
enough that "Chateaubriand attempted to describe a region of 
which he had no personal knowledge, and, naturally, failed to 
impart to his work an air of reality," the " reality " of which 
this is true is one of local color only. Though he did not know, 
save by hearsay and imagination, the American forests through 
which Atala wanders with his hapless love, yet he knew In 
intense experience and the insight of genius what is far \\ 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 405 

essential to the verisimilitude of any attempt to paint the passions 
of the human soul. Atala etches itself into the reader's memory. 
It cuts deep and sure, and the impression remains permanent. 

Maria, however, though somewhat feeble, is nevertheless 
poetic and full of a mild charm. As a description of the pure, 
wholesome, religious home-life of our Spanish-American neigh- 
bors it is most attractive, and, says Mr. Janvier, who knows by 
experience whereof he writes in this particular, it is " absolutely 
truthful." An exquisite innocence veils this pair of youthful 
lovers. Their sentiment is too ethereal to come to fruitage in 
such a world as ours ; one sees at once that it is only intended 
to blossom here, and then to be transplanted. It is pleasant to 
know that books like this, so pure in sentiment, so naive and 
delicate in the treatment of domestic life, so reverent in attitude 
toward religion, are so popular with South American readers. 
The fact speaks volumes for their taste as well as for their morals. 

Effingham, Maynard & Co. (New York) send us No. 85 of 
their English Classic Series, containing " The Skylark," " Ado- 
nais, " and several of the minor poems of the greatly overrated 
Percy Bysshe Shelley. To say that he is ordinarily overrated 
is not to say that he has not enriched English literature with 
much fine verse. But to write about him as " the most poetical 
of poets since the days of Elizabeth " ; " the loftiest and most 
spontaneous poet in our language " ; to praise him as pre-emi- 
nent for " his eye for abstract beauty, the subtlety of his thought, 
the rush of his eager pursuing desire, the splendor of his ima- 
gery, his delicate rhythm, his matchless music," as is done by 
the authors quoted in the introduction prepared by Professor 
Abcrnethy, of the Brooklyn Adelphi Academy, is to overstate 
the case for his poetry. There are neither single lines nor com- 
plete poems of his whose music was not merely outmatched but 
left far out of sight in his own day and generation by John 
Keats in the " Ode to a Nightingale," the " Ode on a Grecian 
Urn," the sonnet on Chapman's Homer, and the lines written 
after visiting the birthplace of Robert Burns. Byron was better 
sustained and far less artificial ; Wordsworth incomparably more 
subtle and profound, as well as master at times of a fuller and 
more harmonious chord. And of the generation which followed 
him, Browning and Tennyson and Rossetti equal and not sel- 
dom outrank him when their shorter poems are compared with 
his, while Coventry Patmore, in his later odes, has touched heights 
and depths unknown to any of the poets we have just named, 
and produced a melody as unique and personal as Shakspere's own. 



40(5 TALK ABOI'T NEW BOOKS. pune, 

However, it was nut t<> draw comparisons, m>r even to utter 
heresies concerning Shelley, that we began t<i mention this little 
It is prepared for the use of schools, and for that pur- 
pose the poems .ire prefaced by a scrap of biography, and ac- 
companied by what strike us as in the main a curiously inept and 
perfunct' (critical n<>t : in the first we quote the state- 

ment th.it " soon after the death of his first wife, in i 
Shelley married Mary Godwin." which is as true, but also as 
euphemistic, as it would be to say of Henry VIII. that "soon 
after the death of his second wife, Anne Boleyn, Henry married 
Jane Seymour." Consider this, too, as an aid to compre- 
hending the half-dozen stanzas of " The Skylark " which follow 

the lines : 

11 What thou art we know not ; 
What is most like thci- " 

" The poet," explains Professor Abernethy, " unable to tell 
i'hat this ethereal creature is, whether ' sprite or bird,' now tells 
what is most like this ' blithe spirit ' in a series of similes of 
unapproachable beauty. A comparison of this lyric with James 
Hogg's 'Skylark' is interesting as showing the diffeience be- 
tween an inspired and an uninspired poet." The italics are iv>t 
ours. And here is another annotation on the first line of the 
fine "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty ": " 1 he awful shadow of 
some unseen Power." "Awful:" writes the professor. "This 
word, as used throughout the poem, in the sense of awe -inspir- 
ing, significantly expresses the intensity of Shelley's feeling." 
Just so. But is it not "perfectly awful," in the school-girl 
that the Brooklyn professor, aiming primarily at her improve- 
ment, should have felt it necessary to make such an explanation ? 
James Pott & Co., New York, have brought out in a very 
taking form Professor Drummond's beautiful address on love 
the chief among the virtues. The Greatest Tiling in the \\\>rld it 
is entitled. It is a pithy and striking conference whose text is 
St. Paul's praise of charity in the great thirteenth chapter of 
first Corinthians. It could do no one harm, and would be apt 
to do most of us great good, to read and think about it. 
Professor Drummond is a very clear and cogent writer when he 
does not get out of his doctrinal or philosophical depth. He did 
get out of it in certain portions of his otherwise admirable book 
on Natural Laiv in the Spiritual World, with the result of bring- 
ing the whole chain of his argument to a solution of continuity 
through its weakest link. In the present instance he had not to 
argue but to preach, and he is undoubtedly a persuasive preacher. 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 407 

The Feet of Love, by Anne Reeve Aldrich (New York : 
Worthington Co.), is a singular book to have been written by 
an American woman. It is more in the vein of Mr. Edgar 
Saltus than our feminine novels are apt to be, even when they 
profess, like this one, to have no other intent than " a loving 
and reverent study of 'poor human nature." ' Certainly, there 
is a good deal of rather poor human nature in it. An added 
touch of verisimilitude might possibly have been given by the 
expedient of letting Miss Alice Moir tell her story in the first 
person. 

For an American story the tone is curiously English. Per- 
haps it is not really English, but it is very like what some 
of England's minor novelists succeed in producing. What the 
author calls "the American equivalent of May Fair," the "swell" 
society of places like Tuxedo and Lenox, is described in a way 
that recalls Mr. Andrew Lang's recent confession that among the 
Americans whom he has known he has met no typical American. 
Is there one ? he asks. There is the American whom Mr. James 
describes, and another who poses for Mr. Howells, and still an- 
other who does the like service for Mr. Saltus. They are not 
like each other, and they are not like those whom Mr. Lang 
has met at his London club and elsewhere. Are they all typical, 
or is none of them so ? That is the question which also occurs 
to the reader of Miss Aldrich's story. Only the names of places 
would need be changed to make her novel almost as English as 
those of Rhoda Broughton. 

What chiefly characterizes it is the cynical regard which the 
author casts upon the social panorama, and the total absence of 
anything like spirituality. To most women who have written 
about it, not excepting the greatest of those who have notoriously 
compromised with their ideal, love means not only something 
more, but something almost infinitely different from that passion 
which Miss Aldrich describes in a way that succeeds in being 
offensive by suggestion, while remaining entirely decorous as to 
phrasing. In her brief preface she explains that in making Paul 
Wolfe a clergyman " high enough to have candles on his 
altar, . . . but not high enough to light them," she has had 
no intention to " uphold or attack beliefs and tenets." We sup- 
pose that to be entirely true. " Beliefs and tenets " are apt to be 
matters of slight importance to a certain class of students of 
human nature. The picturesqueness which could be produced by 
throwing up Wolfe's professional obligation to inculcate a spiritual 
view of life and duty against his actual cowardice, weakness, and 



408 TALK AKOTT A7. ;r />'. [June, 

sin was what she soughj. 'I'lu-n- are two clerical figures pn>mi- 
nent in the talc the Rev. Paul Wolfe, who is about to wed one 
young woman for lu-r money ami her commonplace pr< -nines-, 
aided and abetted in so doing by another, her " companion," the 
beautiful Alice Moir, with whom he sinned while pursuing his 
theological course, and who is still " deliriously " in love with him. 
The other is a priest, the Rev. Mar. Du Verne, who leads a de- 
: and ascetic life in the same Long Island village in which 
\Volfe ministers to the summer v si tors as rector of St. Jude's 
In his youth the priest had been " the gayest of a gay set in 
Paris." Hut one day a sweet voting girl, " fresh from a convent 
school," awoke in him a true and pure love. He sought and 
won her from her parents, but just before their marriage was to 
have taken place she ran away with an adventurer who ruined and 
betrayed her. Then Du Verne at once announced his intention 
to become a priest, and, in spite " of his father's commands and 
his mother's prayers," he entered a seminary. After his ordina- 
tion he wished to be sent to America, and " as ho spoke Hnglish 
almost as well as his native tongue, and possessed some influential 
clerical friends, he gained his wish, and took with him the child 
of Klise, who had meantime died, deserted by her betrayer, and 
had left a last faint line to the young priest, begging his for- 
giveness." 

Poor Father Du Verne ! He has some singular combats with 
himself under the piercing eye of the student of " poor human 
nature " who has embellished her pages with him. But, unlike 
Paul Wolfe, he comes off conqueror in them. His vocation, 
nevertheless, is, in Miss Aldrich's conception of it, plainly a pis 
alter. What he holds best and dearest is his crippled charge, 
the orphan of his lost love. There is a curious picture of him, 
holding up a crucifix beside Ernest's death-bed, while Alice 
Moir, for whom the boy has conceived a hopeless passion, lays 
her head against his cheek. " At the touch the tired eyes un- 
closed ; the numbed flesh and the wandering spirit awoke at the 
thrill. . . . The poor priest cast a look of almost jealous 
agony at this woman, toward whom his darling had turned his 
dying eyes with that glance of adoring love." 

But enough of this book. It is clever in many ways, and 
but for some curiously long, involved, and ungrammatical sen- 
tences would be well written. We wish Miss Aldrich a d- 
knowledge of other varieties of human nature than she has yet 
studied, and a more ennobling inspiration than that of Swin- 
burne, from whom she borrows the curious title of her novel. 

Joseph Victor von Scheffel's historical novel. EkkcliarJ, which 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 409 

has been greatly admired by his countrymen, has been put into 
very readable English by some unnamed translator, and is issued 
in two volume* by W. S. Gottsberger & Co. (New York). It 
is based on the tales of the Benedictine Monastery of St. Gall 
found in the .\foiniincnta Gcnitcuiue. They were begun by the 
monk Ratpert and continued till the end of the tenth century 
by the younger Ekkehard, so called to distinguish him from 
three others in the monastery who bore the same name. Von 
.Scheffel, while claiming to have embodied in his novel not very much 
that is not based on conscientious historical studies, yet admits 
that, as a poet, he has occasionally taken " liberties which would 
be most blameworthy if indulged in by the historian." Certain 
of these liberties are calculated to make the book do harm. It 
is a pity, for as a vivid, glowing representation of the life of the 
tenth century, when the Huns were devastating Europe, and 
even the monks armed and went out of their monasteries to repel 
the invaders, it is a great piece of literary workmanship. 

An extremely interesting biographical study is Imbert de 
Saint- Armand's Wife of the First Consul (New York: Charles 
Scribner's Sons), which has been translated by Mr. Thomas Ser- 
geant Perry. The title exactly describes its scope. It carries 
Josephine from her entrance of the Luxembourg, as the wife of 
the first of the three consuls, on the " twentieth Brumaire, year 
viii .," until she stood by the emperor's side at St. Cloud, on 
the 1 8th of May, 1804, to receive the homage of the senate. 
It is eminently readable throughout, as almost anything which 
concerns Napoleon must necessarily be, but there are special 
chapters which seem to us to have extraordinary merit. They 
are impartial, judicial ; they give the whole case, for and against, 
and permit the reader to draw his own conclusions. Such are 
the chapters of the second part, called respectively " The Con- 
sulate for Life," "Josephine in 1803," and the two which nar- 
rate the arrest and death of the Duke of Enghien, that deepest 
blot upon Napoleon's fame. The book is embellished by a. charm- 
ing portrait of Josephine, and is translated into very sound and 
smooth English. We should have specialized, also, the chapter 
devoted to Madame de Remusat,. with its just and discriminating 
estimate of the value to be placed on her famous Memoirs. Al-' 
together, the book is a notable contribution toward that final 
judgment which posterity will pass upon the most colossal figure 
of the century so near its close. For, although it is ostensibly 
devoted to Josephine, yet she was so eminently a good wife that 
she cannot be known apart from her husband not to say that 
she is known at all only because of her relation to him. 



410 WITH Ki.ii>! A s A\I> < [June, 



WITH KKADKKS AND O >KK1 -.SI 1 " 'M >1.M >. 



KH ! ! Ml M ... 

M. |o-| I'M'- S. I! 

NORf'lk. \ A.. Oniitma* Pay, 1889. 

DEAR REV KATHKK : It was only yesterday that I got hold of the right 
person to give me a subject for "the scraps" you want about the black po 
societies. Since our arrival in Norfolk we have occasionally hired an old 
negress to work for us, and this is the story she told us her name is Hem 
that is all we know : " It's about eighteen months ago sincr my daughter died 
and left me all her little -rhilern to provide for as well as my own. My hu 
was drowned over two years ago, and that was bad, but when my daughter died 
and left me the babies, Lor', honey ! it was mighty bad then. There was a 
right good number of us livin' down yonder ; we'd just moved in from the 
ties, and didn't belong to nobody : when a good kind brother come along one 
day a-speakin' to us 'bout de Lord, and we asked him to start up a 'I 
th.it we all could join, 'cause nobody warn't lookin' after us. He got us a 
house a little way from here and called it Mount Zion Church, and we holds 
meetin' every Tuesday eve. We calls ouroelves ' Pilgrims,' and ours is the 
cheapest Lodge any one can jine in Norfolk ! It's fifty cents to enter and 
twenty-five cents every month, and if a member is right sick dey gets - 
every Week, and when any. one dies dey gets well burie,d ! Yo. dat dey do, 
honey ! four or fi.e hacks and a good box. 'Fore we got our Lodge we u 
be afraid we'd a-been buried like dogs! but now, t'ank to good Master, we are 
pretty strong and gettin' stronger, and among the whole crowd there an't one 
sinner.' Every one has 'got religion,' been baptized and are made free! 
Meetin' takes in at 8 o'clock in the evening, and lets out at 10 o'clock. All de 
names is called out, and we begins and ends with prayer. The good brother 
speaks to us 'bout de Lord, and tells us what we must do to live good and to 
keep our religion. We sings a lot of hymns during meetin', too, and after 
prayer it is all over." 

The season for " getting religion " commences in August, and lasts two or 
three months. They call it the time of the " protracted meetings," or re\ 
and strange preachers come to assist, and exhort the people. Those who arc 
sinners sit on the ' mourners' bench " and ' mourn," sometimes for a whole 
week. When they get " the change of heart" they usually fall down in an in- 
sensible state and lie there for a long time, during which they descend to the 
lower regions, where they " peep in de gates," and sometimes sec their friends 
who died either as ' sinners," or who "lost their religion " by committing some 
sin. Oftentimes they tell how they scorched their hands and feet, or burned 
their clothes, while they were below. When consciousness returns they kneel 
before the pulpit and " relate their experience" of the past hour to the pr 
and the people. If they have had "a good experience" and tell it well, the 
preacher shakes hands with them and i m as members of the church ; 

and then, my dear father, if you could but hear their yells, as we did the first 
week we lived down here, you would not have wondered at us thinking that some 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 411 

lunatic ;isylum was being burned down ! It was dreadful to see them rushing 
through the streets with streaming eyes, and sometimes tearing their clothes, and 
yelling wildly, "Thank you, God! I'm free, I'm free! Thank you! thank 
you ! thank God ! Tlie Lord, he take me by de han' and say, ' Rise up, little 
one, rise up, go your way, and sin no more.' " All this is sung to a sort of weird 
Gregorian chant, which they compose to suit the experience they have to tell. 
They shake hands with every colored person they meet, and they shake each one 
about five minutes, so you may imagine how haggard and exhausted they are 
after this long excitement. At some convenient time they are baptized, and then 
they are safe unless they sometimes fall into the sin of dancing, or singing a 
song, or some other wicked deed, and if that should ever happen they are 
obliged to begin all over again, from the "mourners' bench" to the end of 
baptism. 

They have " class " every Sunday morning at 7 o'clock, and " meeting " on 
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, to which everyone is welcome. 
During the meeting on Friday evening there is a "close meeting," to which 
only the members are admitted, and that is called "the examination." The 
preacher sits there, with his deacon at his side, facing the members, who are 
ranged before him on benches. He asks: "Brother Brown, what have you 
done since our last meeting ? How have you been living, etc., etc." All the 
bi others and sisters thus accuse themselves and each other every week, in public, 
and it is done as a preparation to receive, on Sunday night, what they call " The 
Lord's Supper." 

Please, father, do not think I have " been to meetin'." They are very willing 
to tell and anxious to gain new members, so my questions were fully answered. 
They are all inclined to be pious, and want to go to church and love God, and 
their simplicity and trust are astonishing. Those of our own faith who have 
been steadfast and have clung to the true church are very edifying Catholics, 
and as firm as a rock in their belief. During the week-days oneof the first in 
the church for the 6:30 Mass is an old woman whose great-grandchildren are 
among our best scholars. SISTER MARY PAUL, O.S.F. 



THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION. 

ALL COMMUNICATIONS RELATING TO READING CIRCLES, LISTS OF BOOKS, ETC., SHOULD 
BE ADDRESSED TO THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION, NO. 415 WEST FIFTY-NINTH 
STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 

A brief synopsis of the work performed by the Columbian Reading Union 
will be acceptable to its members and well-wishers. The members have each 
sent one dollar to give substantial encouragement to the movement. Without 
the financial aid thus obtained the circulars and book-lists gratuitously prepared 
for the use of the members could not have been printed and circulated. Thus 
far every request for documents has been answered, even when the request was 
written on a postal card, although common politeness demands that those who 
write for information should enclose at least one postage stamp for a reply. 
About five-sixths of the total number of letters received by the Columbian 
Reading Union have contained ten cents in postage, which is less than the 
actual cost of the book-lists and circulars. 

To show the wide-reaching influence of the movement, a summary is here 
given indicating the number of letters and applications for documents, arranged 



WITH A'. A. YD 



[June, 



iliii^; in tin- alphabet 
: Territories: 

Al.ili.im.i. 
Ark. i 

ini.i, 

.ido, 

l"onnci-iu-ut, . 
Dakota. 
Del.iware. 

I iiMiict of Columbia. . 
Florul.i. 
Georgiii. . 

Inrt.l, 

Indiana, 

Indian Territory, 

Illinois. 

Kansas, 

Kenti; 

Louisiana, 

Maine. 

Maryland, 

Massachusetts. 

Mulligan, 

Canada, 
England, . 
Ireland, 







10 


M -M.iiri, 


1 


Minn' 


20 


M.-^i ippi. 




Mon; 


9 


New H.impsluir. 


i 


Nebraska. 


i 


Ni-w Jeisey. 




North Carolina. . 


i 


New York, . 


4 


Oregon, 


i: 


nhio. 


"9 


Pennsylvania. 



been rei-eived I'mni tli 







i 



1 Rhode Island. 
53 South Dakota. 

2 Tennessee. 
4 Virginia, 

29 Vermont, 
9 Washington, 

.msin, 
\Vvnming Territory. 



'4 
3 



The statement given above is sufficient to prove that the Columbian K 
ing Union's documents are in general demand, and contain infonnation not 
hitherto supplied from any other source. In estimating the extent of the work 
already accomplished, it is necessary to add that one member of the I'nion in 
New York agreed to pay the expense of sending the book-lists gratis to iho 
archbishops and bishops ; and a member residing in the city of Milwaukee will- 
ingly undertook the labor and expense of forwarding the list of historical novels 
to all the Catholic colleges, academies, and select schools of the United S 
Specific mention cannot be made of all who have given valuable tinu' an.l <-\ 
perience to the formation of Reading Circles, and the distribution of the book- 
lists among public libraries. Certainly, it is encouraging to author^ an.l pub- 
lishers to get positive assurance that, in answer to the appeal of the Columbian 
Reading Union, a large number of representative Catholics have volunteered to 
do service in various ways without the inducements of financial rewards for 
the diffusion of good literature. 



Before the end of the year 1890 it is*hoped that sufficient funds will have 
been secured to pay the expense of printing a complete list of books by Catholic 
writers published in the English language : much of the dat i for tin-, important 
list has been already collected by skilful hands. It now remain-, i 
whether the patrons and members, whose generosity lias thii^ lar siippli <! tin- 
' sinews of war," will exert their efforts t>i provide the fund necessary for this 



1890.] If/TV/ K.-IDXS A\D COKKESrO\D.\TS. .j I 5 

new enterprise. Every library and even- Reading Circle in the land will be 
glad to have a reliable list, such as the one now preparing, which will definitely 
show forth the influence Catholic thought has exerted on modern literature. 



Attention is again directed to the fact that the Columbian Reading Union 
is intended to be a useful auxilian, to the Catholic reading public. It will en- 
deavor to counteract, wherever prevalent, the indifference shown toward Catho- 
lic literature ; to suggest ways and means of acquiring a better knowledge of 
standard authors, and especially of our Catholic writers ; and to secure a larger 
representation of their works on the shelves of public libraries. It will aim to 
do this by practical methods of co-operation. Reading Circles may profit by 
the plans and suggestions printed for their use and benefit, but they are at 
liberty to make their own rules. The Union undertakes to co-of>trate with them 
in advancing the welfare of their members, and will not assume to dictate a 
compulsory course of reading on any particular subject. Each Reading Circle 
is requested to make whatever regulations may best serve the interests of its 

members. 

' * 

Mr. Philip J. Farley, president of the Catholic Union at Lowell, Mass., is 
described as one "ever on the alert for methods to advance the intellectual 
growth of the Catholic people. " After extended investigation he became con- 
vinced that there is a potent influence for good within easy reach of every one 
by the formation of Reading Circles. We congratulate him on the happy thought 
which prompted him to obtain letters from those who have had the opportunity 
to gain practical experience of the movement amid the most favorable surround- 
ings at Boston. Knowing that these 'letters will be attentively read by all having 
an interest in the work, we reproduce them here : 

fevm tkt Lowell Su*. 

- PHILIP J. FARLEY, ESQ. 

"DEAR SIR: You will find a good deal of information touching the Catholic 
Reading Circle in almost every number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD for the last 
year. What you desire, however, is, I suppose, that I should give you my own 
personal views with regard to the matter. This 1 shall do to the best of my 
ability. 

" First. In the first place we must define the meaning of ' literature.' By 
literature ' we mean the expression of thought in language. A painter has a 
thought in his mind, we may say, with regard to the crucifixion. This thought 
he tries to depict on the canvas. The sculptor conceives an idea in his mind. 
This idea he endeavors to place in marble. The statue is the impression of his 
thought. The architect plans in his mind a noble cathedral. The building we 
see with the eye is the expression of the thought in the mind of the architect. 
So with the literary man. He has a thought in his mind. This thought he ex- 
presses in language. 1 repeat, then, the meaning of literature, as I understand 
it, is the expression of thought in language. And as men think of many things, 
the expression of the thought must be manifold. One man will express his 
thought in the form of poetry and another in the form of prose. One man will 
convey his thoughts to us through the agency of a novel, while another will try 
to express his thoughts in the shape of a history. 

Whatever, then, may be written as the expression of thought may, in a 
broad sense, be regarded as literature. 

When we speak of 'Catholic literature' in particular we mean 'the ex- 



414 If//// A' /;.-</)/. A- .v A.YD CORRESPONDENTS. [Juno, 

prcssion of thought by Catholics as Catholics.' I mean that the man will write 
in accordance with the doctrines of faith and the rules of morality as expounded 
by the Catholic Church. He will not misrepresent a doctrine of the church. 
If, for instance, he has to speak of an 'indulgence,' he will not say that it means 
' the permission to commit sin." Nor will he say that ' the end justifies the 
means,' and that this is, in certain cases, a rule of morality maintained by the 
Catholic Church ; in other words, that the man may do anything that is bad 
provided the end he has in view is good. 

I do not mean to say, as some may suspect, that Catholic literatui 
simply religious literature. Catholic literature is a much broader term. Reli- 
gious literature is only a part of Catholic literature. Many Catholics have many 
thoughts. And as with literary men in general, so it is with the Catholic man 
of literature. He will express his thoughts in prose or in verse. It will be in the 
form of a novel, of a political essay, of a history, in many other ways that he will 
give forth in language the thoughts that are struggling for utterance. 

" It is plain, then, I think, that by Catholic literature I do not mean simply 
books of spiritual reading. Whatever is an expression of thought in language 
by Catholics as Catholics, may be regarded as Catholic literature. 

" Second. I now come to the question, ' Do Catholics read works of Cath- 
olic literature ' ? I am not going to say that there are not many of our Catholic 
men and women who do read works of Catholic literature. Hut we may as well 
be perfectly frank in this matter. We may set it down as a fact that many of 
our Catholics perhaps the greater number of our Catholics, taken in the mass 
do not read works of Catholic literature. 

"Years ago Sidney Smith said, with a sneer: 'Who reads an American 
book?' It is an exaggeration, of course, .if we apply the remark in its literal 
meaning, but to our shame may we not almost ask, ' Who reads a Catholic 
book ? ' I do not ask whether or not we read works of general literature. I 
confine my question to Catholic literature. Yet why should we not read Catholic 
literature ? Considered, if you will, simply as works of art, how many non- 
Catholics are there who have written novels superior to Callista, Fabwla, or 
Dion and tht Sibyls ? How many non-Catholics can we find whose style, even 
from the purely literary point of view, is equal I will not cay superior to that 
of Newman or Brownson ? 

" I will not put the question further. Let us frankly acknowledge the fact 
that many Catholics know little of Catholic literature. And shame on us if the 
same reproach be made in the years to come ! 

" Third. The object of the Catholic Reading Circle is to get Catholics to 
read works of Catholic literature. As to the way the Circle is to be formed as 
to the election of officers, the way In which you are to get the works, the manner 
in which the books are to be passed from one to another, and a number of other 
matters that pertain to the Circle I do not know that any general rule can be 
given. The common sense of the Circle must decide matters of this kind. You 
will find many suggestions if you will read the articles which have appeared in 
THE CATHOI.II \\<>RLD. 

" Let us suppose that the Circle is formed and that you have the books. 
Here I can speak only in general. I cartnot, of course, go into particular details. 
One general principle which should guide us in our reading is that we should 
read with intelligence. This remark may appear silly. I think, however, there 
are many persons who do not read with intelligence. They know very little 
more about the book after they have read it than they did before the book came 
into their hands. We must read not merely for recreation ; we must also read 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 415 

or instruction. I do not, of course, deny the utility of reading occasionally for 
recreation and for recreation only. Still, the great object of our reading is self- 
improvement. So that the greater part of our reading should be serious. 

" We must also discuss the book intelligently when we have the general 
meeting of the Circle. It will not do to talk at random. Hence you can easily 
see the need of a competent guide. 

"Fourth. From what 1 have said no one must infer that I would not have 
Catholics read books written by Protestants. Take the English language. The 
classics of our language with here and there an exception have been written 
by Protestants. I do not enter into the cause of this. I simply state what I 
believe to be a fact. As intelligent men and women, therefore, we must read 
books written by Protestants if we are to have a good knowledge of English 
literature. And Catholics, in this country especially, cannot afford to stand on 
an intellectual plane lower than that of Protestants. I repeat, then, I do not say- 
that Catholics are not to read books written by Protestants. They must read 
them if they are to read the classics of their language. 

" This, however, is not the object of the Catholic Reading Circle. It niust 
be the matter of private study. In truth, there is little danger that any Cath- 
olic who wishes to be regarded as an intelligent man will neglect the reading of 
the great authors of our language. There is danger, however, that some 
Catholics may think that there are no works of Catholic literature. The Cath- 
olic Reading Circle will teach them that there are works of Catholic literature, 
and that Catholics should read them. 

"Fifth. If I begin to speak of the possible advantages of the Catholic Read- 
ing Circle I may be carried too far. Is it no advantage, then, for the Catholic to 
realize that his church has had a Newman, a Brownson, or a Montalembert ? 
Will not the mere mention of these names prove to the non-Catholic what we 
are intellectually, and is this no advantage ? I know that many foreigners 
think that the American is only a slave of the dollar. But deep down in the 
heart of the American there is respect for intellectual ability. And if the 
Protestant American is compelled to regard the intellect of a Newman, is it im- 
possible to conceive that he will in time esteem that church which alone could 
satisfy the intellectual cravings of the great Oratorian ! 

"Then as to the Catholic himself. To speak of no other advantage for, 
after all, it is the one thing necessary may he not become a better Catholic if 
he will read works of Catholic literature ? Even through the agency of a novel 
may not many useful lessons be taught ? When Mrs. Humphrey Ward wished 
to teach the world that Christ is not God, and Christianity therefore not divine, 
she wrote Robert Elsrnere. When Mrs. Deland informs us that there is no eter- 
nity of punishment in hell, John Ward, Preacher, is the expression of her 
thought. Now, if the novel may be used for the spread of heresy or infidelity, 
why may it not also be used for the advancement of Catholicity ? So that even 
in a novel many a useful lesson may come to us. No one will imagine that it is 
only novels we are to read. I simply wish to bring out the idea that moral and 
religious lessons may be conveyed to us through the agency of the novel. 

" I repeat that the'Catholic Reading Circle has not for its object the read- 
ing of religious literature in the ordinary sense of the term. I believe, never- 
theless, that one of the indirect results of a well-managed Reading Circle will be 
that the members will be firmer in their faith and in the practical conduct of 
life ; they will be better Catholics than they will be if they read no works ot 
Catholic literature. JAMES B. TROY. 

" St. Joseph's Church, Roxbury, Boston, Mass." 
VOL. i.i. 27 



416 WITH RKAH/-KS .-i.v/> CoKKKs/-o\J>t-:\rs. [June, 

Di AK SIR : It is kind of you to ask my advice on the subject of Read- 
ing Circles ; but my experience has been extremely limited. You require prac- 
,t.ons. while as yet I have only theories to offer. The work of the 
Catholic Vmon Reading Circle here, of which I am a member, has so fa- 
confined wholly to the amusing of interest rather than study. A bool 
chosen from the first group of the list published last June in THE CATH"i i 
W.IKI.P. which I for the semi-monthly meetings. A sketch of the 

author's life is given by one member, an analysis or rfsumt oi each of the prin- 
cipal ehara.-ters l>y two or three others. These papers or remarks are quite 
short, never to exceed ten minutes in length. 

In the discussion which follows each member is encouraged to express 
her impression, and to have made choice of some special thoughts or 
graph which may have appealed to her fancy or judgment. These 
are read, with whatever comment one chooses to make upon them. From those 
who have more time at their disposal more reading is expected among books 
pertaining to kindred subjects, and comparison is invited among the different 
material found. It remains yet to be seen whether this plan will be sue. 
but the field is so large that probably no honest attempt at sowing seeds of 
thoughtful love for books can be entirely fruitless. You have my earnest 
wishes for the growth of your especial enterprise ; and I am sure the mem! 
of the Catholic Union Circle hire will watch with peculiar interest for the 
eood report which is sure to be made of their namesake. 

" MARY Ki I/AI:KTH BI.AKI " 

" DEAR SIR : In response to your kind note anent Catholic Reading 
Circles, I ought to say that the first Catholic lady to move in the matter in 
Boston' was Miss Ella A. McMahon, of South Boston. She, with her friend, 
Miss Kate Moore, also a realous worker in the movement, enlisted the aid of 
Rev. James B. Troy, of St. Joseph's Church, Roxbury, who helped them to or- 
ganize Boston's first Catholic Reading Circle. It was started in St. Joseph's 
Chapel, Roxbury, last October, and I was chosen its first president. We have 
since held our meetings tw'ce a month, on the evenings of the second and 
fourth Tuesdays, and always with a large attendance and evidence of real in- 
terest. 

" Before Christmas our membership had grown so large that we had 
vide into district circles. The nourishing circles at South Boston, Mrs. J. I>. 
Fallen, president ; at St. Mary's. North End, directed by the Rev. \Vm. J. Scan- 
Ion, S.J. ; at Brookline, Miss M. < >'Hearn, president, have all grown out of the 
Roxbury Circle, which still has a membership of over fifty. The aitcnd.t 
at ordinary meetings is about forty. We are reading the novels based on the 
history of the early Church Group A in the Columbian Reading I'nion ! 
Our exercises at regular meetings consist of the reading of two essays in some 
way related to the course of reading we are engaged on ; or a biograpl 
sketch of the author of some book in our course. This is followed by a discus- 
sion. Then we have interchange of books. Our books have been purchased 
out of a fund raised by small membership fees. Then we have had some 
donations to our library from the Rev. J. B. Troy and the /'//,,' 

My experience in the Reading Circle movement justifies me in saying that 
it promises to prove a most valuable aid to the intellectual and spiritual growth 
of our young Catholics. By making them acquainted with some i.f th. 
Catholic authors and by accustoming them to bring Catholic li^ht to 1.. 
gene -al literature, their pride in what they are will be stimulated. Practical 
and -ndurin- work is the natural outgrowth of a brave and enlightened faith. 






1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 417 

It is a great pleasure to us in Boston to know that Lowell is taking up the Read- 
ing Circles. In such a Catholic stronghold they cannot but flourish. 

" KATHERINE E. CONWAY." 
* * 

We have been favored with marked copies of many Catholic papers con- 
taining notices of Reading Circles, and words of praise for the Columbian Read- 
ing Union. The Golden State Catholic, published at San Francisco ; the Catho- 
lic Union and Times of Buffalo, and the Republic of Boston have given lately a 
very generous allowance of space to communications relating to Reading Circles. 
We have read with great interest the able editorials in the Republic, showing 
the advantages to be reasonably expected from the work of diffusing sound 
Catholic literature. 

From the Republic. 
READING CIRCLES. 

"On several occasions the Republic has called attention, by editorial com- 
mendation, to the plan devised by the Columbian Reading Union for the pro- 
motion of Catholic Reading Circles in various parts of the country. There 
can be no question in the mind of any one who will give careful consideration 
to the subject but that the Reading Circle, properly organized and carried out 
can be made an instrument of inestimable good to the young people of the 
Church. The lack of acquaintance with a subject breeds contempt for it quite 
as readily as does familiarity, and the want of acquaintance with the literary, 
historical, or controversial efforts of Catholic authors has bred such a profound 
contempt for them that their names are not even known in the land where 
they have labored. Newman is a Catholic, so also is the greatest of living 
historians in respect to truthfulness Sir Thomas Allies. The best one of 
our modern novelists, perhaps, F. Marion Crawford, is a Catholic, and their 
co-religionists need not be ashamed of such poets as Alfred Austin, Aubrey de 
Vere, or John Boyle O'Reilly. In the ranks of science, in art, in journalism, 
in every profession of life, we can find Catholics holding the highest positions! 
But they are not known to their brothers in the faith, nor are their contribu- 
tions read by them. 

"This is the evil at the root of which the Reading Circle is to strike. 
Good Catholic literature is to be studied, and studied intelligently, by the 
members of the various clubs. It will easily be seen that this will benefit both 
author and student ; the former by assuring him of an audience intelligently 
critical, the latter by developing those faculties of observation and introspection 
which have heretofore lain dormant. 

" It seems to us that the Reading Circle has come to stay if it is properly 
fostered and its growth conserved. To whom should this movement more 
strongly appeal than to the pastors of churches ? Though it is not a society 
which is to be considered religious, in the sense of a sodality or a confraternity 
yet the guiding hand of some one who is loved and respected by its members 
cannot fail to give it great aid. We hope that every pastor of a parish, where 
I is in any way feasible, will seek to interest the young men and women of his 

: in the formation of a branch of the Columbian Reading Union. The 
columns of the Republic will always be open to the circles for the publication 
of reports of their meetings and of other matter that may be useful and 
helpful. The work in Boston by the five circles already organized is something 
far beyond the expectation of the most sanguine. 



M'//y/ A'/:.-//)/A'\ .-f.v/> < [June, 

Ilii-. plan of the Columbian Reading t'nion is one which cannot but 
merit the heartiest approval of all who have the interest of the Catholic young 
men and women of our laml at heart. How man\ of these, when graduated 
from i-ollege or .uadcim. feel the need of a course of more ad\ tholic 

literature as a supplement to then idies ! In Urn they need a 

guidance that it is fouiul hard to obtain. 'I'" them the Columbian Reading 
I'nionwill appi-ai m tin I 'it will assure them the guidance 

tliev need, and at the same time will guarantee to them the extra adv.int.ige 
of facing able to hear within the circle .in intelligent dis, n-,-n>n of the works 
they have been stud) ing. thus broadening their mental hori/.on, and disabusing 
any false ideas they may have obtained or standards they may have lormed. 
It will unite more closely and harmoniously those of similar taste.-,, and will 
encourage them to display any literary talents they may po- 

" On the other side, the gain will be no less distinct. The Catholic \>. 
of this country has for years been bewailing the indifference of Catholics toward 
Catholic literature. The Catholic author and there are many good 
noting this indifference, has been compelled to turn his pen into other channels. 
The opening of these new fields, the providing a large and intelligent audience 
one thoroughly Catholic ready to applaud, if worthy, and to carefully 
criticise at all times, cannot but wield a salutary effect upon our literature." 



\Ve are indebted to the American Ecclesiastical Review for a lengthy 
article on " Reading Circles and the Clergy," in which the writer, whose name 
is not given, displays a keen appreciation of the leading ideas embodied in 
the Columb an Reading Union, and an accurate knowledge of the arguments 
put forth by many writers in THK CATHOLIC WORI.H. \Ve heartiK 
with the opinions expressed in the passages here given from the Rev: 

"The dictum of Aristotle, ' Omnes homines natura sua scire desiderant,' 
which Thomas a Kempis consecrated in higher sen-ice, expresses the first, 
highest, strongest tendency of man's rational nature. The school and the 
pulpit do much to satisfy the universal thirst for knowledge, but the influence 
of the one is limited to a brief period of life, that of the other reaches com- 
paratively few. The press, however, makes its power felt on persons of every 
age. The philosopher's truism might, with some qualification, be now made 
to run : Omnes homines legere desiderant every one the boy of budding 
reason, the man in waning life, maid and matron, the toiler and the idler, 
servant and master, unlearned and learned all. everywhere, at home, on 
the streets, in the public vehicle, show symptoms of the reading fever. If the 
appetite were always a normal one, well regulated as to degree and object, 
there could be no better sign of the mental health of society. Unfortunately 
we know too well how this, as many another human tendency, good in itself, 
is made to serve the basest passions. The question in these times j 
upon every priest, how he can influence the effects of the press in regard to 
souls committed to his care. The question is broad, and merits extended 
treatment. The priest's influence should be felt, 

I. IN A NEGATIVE WAV, 

by combating the spread of bad literature. Here a hint might be taken from 
one of the rules of a Belgian press league, whose members bind themselves 
' never to purchase liberal, anti-Catholic, <>r liifiitious journals, and in the 
railroad cars, at the news-stands and book-stores, to ask for Catholic books 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 419 

and papers, even when they are not actually needed." The latter half of the 
rule has a positive rather than a negative tendency. It suggests a similar 
clause in another foreign association, whose constituents agree ' to patronize 
when travelling only such hotels as have Catholic papers on file.' These rules 
might with advantage be made the theme of an occasional sermon or lecture. 

II. POSITIVE WAYS. 

" Libraries connected with the Sunday-school, sodalities, etc., occur at once as 
general means of putting good reading matter within reach of the people, and 
the establishment of a fund for the purchase of books to be circulated amongst 
Protestants. But these general methods largely depend for their success on the 
apt character, the timeliness especially, of the literature circulated. And here 
it is that difficulties arise. How is a priest, for instance, far away from central 
book-marts, to be guided in the selection of what is best? Experience has 
taught him how unsafe it is to trust to the captious catalogue of publishers' 
notices in choosing books for his own use, to say nothing of such as are to go 
with his endorsement into the hands of his people. To make personal examina-. 
tion requires a large outlay of time. 

" To find excellent organized aid in this important function of his ministry, the 
American priest has the Columbian Reading Union. This society accomplishes 
its end chiefly by the co-operation of Reading Circles affiliated to it from every 
quarter, preparing lists of suitable reading matter for the guidance of its indi- 
vidual or organized members. In the make-up of these lists it has an eye espe- 
cially, though not exclusively, to three classes of readers: r. Children at home 
and in school ; 2. Young men whose contact with the great tide of indifference 
and unbelief exposes them to so many dangers; 3. Young ladies who have been 
graduated from convent schools and academies, or other institutions, and require 
books especially adapted to their plans for self-improvement. That large and 
intelligent class, too, working in stores, factories, and in domestic service, have 
their claim duly recognized. 

" It is evident that a large amount of good can be accomplished in a parish by 
establishing Reading Circles and placing them in communication with this cen- 
tral Union. The circle may comprise a dozen persons. They meet at the 
home of one or the other member. A representative sends annually a dollar to 
the Columbian Reading Union and receives in return the periodically prepared 
list, which will guide the circle in its reading courses. An additional advantage 
is gained in the purchase of books, time, trouble, and expense (a liberal discount 
in proportion to the number and value of the books ordered is allowed). Of 
course, in the forming and conducting of these Reading Circles the priest's 
influence must be felt in some measure, chiefly in the selection of prudent asso- 
ciates and in striving to keep up enthusiasm, the essential of prolonged, vigor- 
ous life. But the interest he may take in these circles will be amply repaid by 
the educating influence they will exert in the parish and amongst those outside 
the church. For, as a correspondent remarks in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, 
' The Columbian Reading Union is a step in educating the people. 
Gentlemen will study your plan and read your books instead of asking their 
stableman or their cook what the Catholic Church teaches. The Catholic, too, 
will add information to faith, and be able to answer honest inquiry or refute 
ignorant assertion. He will do more thinking and less fighting for his church. 
The parish priest, too, will discover the necessity of assisting the congregation 
to become better informed, so that greater attention will be given to able dis 
courses.' The Union is steadily receiving flattering encomiums from men of 



420 WITH READF.KS A\I> C^KKi-.sro\i>E\TS. [June, 

sound judgment and of high literary authority. We trust the clergy will ex- 
tend to it the practical encouragement it so thoroughly dev 



The rector of a cathedra! in one of the large Eastern cities has kindly sent a 
letter containing these words : " I am very grateful for the information sent me 
concerning Reading Circles. I am much interested in the work, for I lVi-1 th.it 
it holds the germ of great good yet undone to our people. I have spoken to the 
alumnx of our cathedral high-school, and a Reading Circle will be formed at 
our next meeting. 

" Allow me to enter my name as a member of the Union. How regrettable 
that our Catholic publications are placed at so high a price as to be beyond the 
reach of our poor people. Anything that is devised to lower the price of stan- 
dard works or to place them in the hands of our large reading classes is the 
greatest aid to practical faith and to the strengthening of the character of our 

people." 

. 

More than a year ago the Reading Circle of St. Bridget's Church was formed 
at Rochester, N. Y. The first meeting was held March 17, 1889, when forty 
members were enrolled. In a letter received from the secretary. Mrs. Katharine 
J. Dowling, we are informed that the Reading Circle was named in honor of Car- 
dinal Newman, and the first purchase of eighty volumes included his books; that 
meetings have been held every fortnight for the profitable discussion of matters 
relating to Catholic literature. The members read THE CATHOLIC WORLD and 
" keep apace with the doings of other circles. Our zealous pastor, Rev. J. 
O'Connor, has by his presence at our Hirelings and his kind words from the 
pulpit given us every encouragement." M. C. M. 



1890.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 421 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

IMAGO CHRISTI : THE EXAMPLE OF JESUS CHRIST. By Rev. James Stalker, 
M.A. Introduction by Rev. Wm. M. Taylor, D.D. New York: A. C. 
Armstrong & Son. 

Nine thousand copies of this work have been sold in Great Britain since its 
publication in the autumn of last year. " Its author," Dr. Taylor informs us 
in his Preface to the American edition, " is one of the most eminent of the 
younger ministers of the Free Church of Scotland." The work, therefore, has 
an adventitious interest greater than that of the generality of the pietistic works 
of non-Catholics. It may be a means of learning the character of the teaching 
which meets with approbation in Scotland, that extremely Protestant portion of 
the Protestant world. The first chapter is on A Kempis's Imitation cf Christ. 
We cannot say that Mr. Stalker manifests any very intimate acquaintance with 
the religious literature of the period in which A Kempis lived. He seems, in 
fact, to be surprised that in the Catholic Church during the fifteenth century 
there should have been found even one solitary writer whose characteristic was 
an overflowing love for our Lord. Perhaps he would be still more surprised if 
he should learn that the Imitation was the book which, of all others, St. Ignatius 
Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits, valued the most a book which he took the 
greatest pains to circulate, ana a portion of which no Jesuit fails to read each 
day up to the present time. And he might, perhaps, be quite overwhelmed 
with astonishment were he to be told that the very idea of his own work (which 
grew out of an attempt to supply a most urgent desideratum) is the central 
idea of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, and that volume after volume has 
been written since St. Ignatius' time to elaborate that idea. The main interest, 
consequently, to Catholics in Mr. Stalker's work, is to compare his method of 
elaboration with those already familiar to them. 

"The plan of this book is to divide the circle of human life into segments, 
each of which represents an extensive sphere of experience and duty, and then 
to follow our Lord through them one after another in order to see how he con- 
ducted himself in each, and therefore learn how to conduct ourselves in the same. 
It is a kind of Christian Ethics with a practical and devotional aim." In pur- 
suance of this plan we have sixteen chapters, headed,to cite a few, " Christ in the 
Home," " Christ in the State," " Christ as a Student of Scripture," " Christ as a 
Philanthropist," "Christ as a Man of Feeling." The titles of some of these 
chapters would seem to be an indication of the imperfect apprehension which 
so many of the best-intentioned Protestants have of our Lord's true nature as 
God and man. And we regret to say that what is contained in these chapters 
does not remove this first impression. That our Lord had to exert himself in 
order to work miracles ; that it was only by degrees that he learned his mission 
and work ; that he had to study out the meaning of the Old Testament, appear 
quite possible to Mr. Stalker. The element of necessity, in which men by their 
very birth are involved, enchained our Lord also ; and the author does not 
shrink from affirming that our Lord had brothers and sisters. This is sufficient 
to show the inadequate realization (to use a mild expression) of the incarnation 
to which Mr. Stalker has attained ; and Catholics may be tempted to ask what 
good there can be in a work marred by such blots. In answer to this, we may 



n- PUBLICATIOXX. [June, 

sa\ th.it it is. .it all events, interesting to Catholics to see a Protestant working 
in a tii-ld >o familiar to themselves. A^.un, any work which places our Lord 
and his life as a pram, al model lor dail\ and hourly imitation, is a work for 
l atliolic truth in opposition to the old Protestant error of justification by emo- 
tion and feeling ; and is so far a work for the truth and for the church. And 
it may he a hold thing to say, but it would seem that even the exceedingly in- 
adequate idea which Mr. Stalker has of our Lord's true nature may contribute to 
the bringing home to the minds of Protestants of one portion at least of Catholic 
doctrine which they generally reject that is to say, the honor due to the Rlesscd 
Virgin, and her place in thewoik of man's restoration. Many saints have dwelt 
upon the thought of Mary being the teacher of the apn.stles after our Loni 
cension, and a recent Protestant writer has written a work to show that it is to 
her that the Kvangelists were indebted for their knowledge of the life of our Lord. 
But Mr. Stalker has gone farther: "That his mother e\. n influence 

upon his growing mind cannot be doubted. ... It may be noted as one signi- 
ficant fact, that Mary's hymn, the so-called Magnificat,' . . . embodies thoughts 
which are echoed again and again in the preaching of Jesus." According to 
Mr. Stalker, the Blessed Virgin is the teacher not, as Catholics have affirmed, 
merely of the apostles, but of our Lord himself. Does she receive among them 
the honor which is therefore her due ? 

The theological is, however, Mr. Stalker's weak point ; his strength lies in 
moral insight and in his bringing out the principle that it is in our Lord's ex- 
ample and teaching thatman's moral nature in our own day must find its suppmt 
and inspiration. Here he deserves praise, and to this is due the success with 
which his work has met, and to this extent we do not hesitate, notwithstanding 
the grave defects which we have pointed out, and others as grave which might 
be pointed out, to give it our hearty commendation. 

RATIONAL RELIGION. By Rev. John Conway, Editor of AVr//ta-/.-r/i CA>,>- 
nicle, St. Paul, Minn. Milwaukee : Hoffman Bros. 

Father Conway has given us in this volume seventeen essays on the points 
ol controversy chiefly debated between Catholics and non-Catholics. Se\ 
them are devoted to the difficulties of atheists, sceptics, and infidels ; the otheis. 
excepting the last one in the book, which is on good and bad reading, are . 
sitions in a controversial spirit of the validity of the Catholic view of rev 
truth as against the Protestant. The author's style is clear and forcible, 
abounding in the adornments of good editorial writing ; and of course the doc- 
trine is sound. It seems to us that the book would be of use in preparin_ 
mons on the live topics of our time and country ; also as a brief and inten 
explanation of Catholic truth to be passed from hand to hand among inquiring 
friends both Catholic and non-Catholic. 

It is as singular as it is edifying that such men as Father Conway, whose 
whole time is called for in the daily routine of journalism, are often the very ones 
who make the most valuable contributions to Catholic literature. 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 423 



WITH THE PUBLISHER. 



THE letters received during the past month give evidence of 
the interest awakened in this department of the magazine. The 
appeal made in behalf of an increased subscription list has 
been generously responded to, and from all parts of the country 
we have received additional assurances that THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD is doing the work contemplated in its foundation, and 
that its excellence grows with its years. We like such letters ; 
and we would ask our readers to send us some words of com- 
ment now and then, for they have far greater value to us than 
reams of press notices such words are the spurs to energy and 
zeal. Send us suggestions, too, if you have any to make. We 
shall be thankful for them, and if they are feasible we will 
readily adopt them. 



* 
* * 



We wish to thank those of our readers who sent us, in re- 
sponse to our appeal last month, the names of some of their friends 
for sample copies of the magazine. They proved to be so nu- 
merous that the original intention of thanking by letter each one 
who sent us such names had to be abandoned for lack of 
time. They were not so many, however, as to cause us to 
withdraw our invitation. We are always grateful for such 
names, and thank, in anticipation, any and all of our readers 
who may send us a list of this kind. In some cases last month 
the good produced was immediate ; the return mail brought us 
a year's subscription and a new friend. 

* 
* 

The Catholic Publication Society Co. announce the following 
change in the management, consequent on the death of Mr. 
Lawrence Kehoe. Mr. K. W. Barry has assumed charge of the 
business management, Mr. Thomas Duane is the treasurer, and 
Mr. John Kehoe is the secretary of the Society. The work 
originated and sustained for so many years by the late Mr. 
Kehoe will be carried on as heretofore. The Society has just 
published : 

Letters of St. Augustine. Selected and translated by 



4^4 H'/TV/ Tilt. rrm.tSHEK. [June. 

Mary H. Alii.-. ' hiarterly Beriet Y-1. I. XXIII. Xet, 

$- ' 
Life of St. Justin Martyr. My Mrs. Charles Martin, 

author of the /.//( <>/ St. Jcnnn . A"< 7, 60 cents. 
7'Af History of the Sufferings of l : .iglttecn Carthusians in 

England. Translated from the Latin of Doni Maurice 

Chauncy. Net, 80 cents. 
I^oreto, the Xcic \'iizaretlt ; or, The History of the II 

House. By William Garratt, M.A. Net, 50 cents. 
Saints of the Order of St. Benedict. From the Latin <>t 

F. E. Ranbeck, O.S.B. Edited by John A. Morrall, 

O.S.B. Net, 90 cents. 
Manual of Catholic Theology. Based <>n Schecben'.- / 

matik. By Joseph Wilhelm, D.D., 1'h.I) . and Th..mas 

B. Scannell, B.D In two volumes. Vol. I. r< 

Net, $4. 
Search the Scriptures and find the Catholic Church. Xct. 

25 cents. 
The One Mediator; or, Sacrifice and Sacrament. By 

William Humphrey, S.J. Net, $i 30. 
The Church of My Baptism, and why I returned ti> it. 

By W. F. H. King. Net, 70 cents. 
Natural Religion. Being Vol. I. of Dr. Hettinger's /:,-/- 

dences of Christianity. Edited, with an Introduction on 

"Certainty," by the Rev. H. S. Bowden, of the Ora- 
tory, with the author's approval. Net, $2. 

And the following are announced by the same Society : 

The Life of St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland. By the Rev. 

W. B. Morris, of the Oratory. Fourth edition now 

ready. 
Catholic Jewels from Shakespeare. Selected by Percy 

Fitzgerald, author of Jewels of the Mass. 
Words for the Worldly ; or, Scriptural Jewels. My the 

same author. 
The Holy Rosary. By the venerable Januarius M. Sar- 

nelli, C.SS.R. Translated by the Rev. A. Marry, C.SS.K. 
The Life of (>nr Life. Introduction and Harmony of 

the Gospels, with the Introduction re-written by the 

Rev. H. J. Coleridge. Quarterly series. J voK. 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 425 

Macmillan & Co. announce : 

A new edition of Trelawny's Adventures of a Younger Son. 

A cheap edition of Tom Broiun's School Days. 

A folio volume on Scottish National Memorials, with three 
hundred illustrations, including thirty full-page plates. 

A series of small books under the general title, Science 
in Plain Language. The first volume, to be published 
immediately, includes the following subjects : Evolution, 
Antiquity of Man, Bacteria, etc. ; the object of the 
author being to give the general results of scientific 
investigation in plain, every-day language for the general 
reader. 



THE INDEX. 

IT is with much regret that we announce the suspension o 
the publication of the Index to the first fifty volumes of THE 
CATHOLIC WORLD. Though we made the announcement as far 
back as last October, and though we then solicited advance 
orders to enable us to form some estimate of the edition to be 
printed, we have not received orders sufficient to cover the cost 
of a single form of the book. As the largest item of expense 
is involved in composition, it was expected that by placing the 
price at a nominal figure orders sufficient at least to cover 
expenses would be received. This expectation has not been 
realized. To publish the book under present circumstances would 
entail a heavier loss than could reasonably be looked for, and 
would even then leave the labor of many months unrequited. 

We do not abandon the publication altogether, but we are 
compelled to defer it until such a time when we can at least 
bear the loss involved with greater ease. To those of our 
readers who have sent us remittances in advance we beg to 
express our thanks for their interest and for the patience with 
which they have borne this delay. All such remittances will be 
returned immediately. 



BOOA-S Rn LIVED. [June. 1890. 

BOOKS RF.CKIVi 
MiHlion f/tfati in Iku fltut dots not frtiluJt rxtrnJrJ Kjtirt in mtsrfur*! numttn. 

\ TION. A Review of Ihr Structure and Morphology of Plants by Written 

Mrih'"l A'l.ipn-'l I I brgimirrv With ii illu-.tr. Hum- Ity k 

A .inl, A M . MD . I k.M > . 1'r : . tech- 

vond edition, revised. Hovton t linn A 



i" J>Kfv\ii\i XM> it~ Nni.ininKiinoi.. Hy \Vi'i 
11 the French by Brother l.iexin <l< s> I . tesi,:. ilem. 

With map aod plans. New 'York: The Catholic Publication Society ..Ion: 

Burns ft Oates. 

Till. THUM Vikiitvov xi;. ' all charged 

with the I H> KI-. H I' tlir twrlfili : non. 

bv a Sister of M' - - :mger Br ; 

''. \KY IU tin- I itrector of ' 
Borromeo, Graratnont, Belgium. Under the patronage of the bishops and . 

i the Preset' ^ncem, Co. Kerry, Ireland, where orders 

!d be addressed. 1'ricc, 35 i 

M'lKlTi's ; with Devotions for the Novenn in prepara- 
tion for tl IVniri-ost us sources bv a Sister nf V 

Y..rk and Cincinnati : FT. Pustet .\ 
A MioKT AMI I'KV HI u M \v I IK \ < 1 1 ii IN. I 'iiinpiU-tl by ( 'Icmenlinus Dcymann, ' 

M| recommended by Rl. Kc\ 1 | H.^UI. I) I) 
York and Cincinnati: Kr. |'IIM<-I & Co. 
Tumi) ASM \i K.i'<iur <IK TIIK INII IN. December I, 

1889. Washington : Government Printing-Office. 
HANDCUFFS FOK AI.COIKH.ISM. By Rev. Geo /urcher. Published by the Author. Buffalo 

Plains, Erie County. N 
HF.ROIC B.M I.AI^, w i rii POEMS OF WAR AND PATRIOTISM. Edited, with notes, by D. H. 

M Boston : Ginn ft Co. 

THE ONK MEDIATOR; OK. - \MENTS. By William Humphrey. Priest 

of the Society of Jesus. London: Burns & Oates: New York : The Catholic Publii 
Society Co. 

Mv BAPTISM AND WHY I RvTVBNKD TO IT. By W. H K. King. 
London : Burns ft Oates ; New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 
BOSTON UNIVERSITY YKAR BOOK. Edited by the I'liivt-rsity Council. Vol. XVII. Boston : 

I'niversity offices. 
As IN. MEMOIR OF THE JAMESTOWN VOYAGE TO Ii Hy the late 

Capt. R. B. Forbes. Boston : James B. Cullen ft Co. 
WHAT DID IHK Amvi I.K p.\i i. MKAS ? By John F. Weir. New Haven: Office..! the 

New Engtaxder. 
PROCEEDIN(;S IJK TIIK NINETEENTH ASM \i MKKIIXI. <n IHK KAN.-, xv >IXIK i 

OF AI.RH t Mi'RE ; held at Topeka, Kansas, January 8 to II, 1890. Topeka : ClihVrd 
C. Baker, State Printer. 
THE HISTORY OK nu SIMKKINGS OF Ei> \KIIII vi\-. 

n-fusing to take part in schism and to separate themselves from the unity ..f ;' 

irch, were cruelly martyred. Translated from the Latin of DC. 

professed member of the London Charter-House. London : Burns ft Oates ; New York: 
The Catholic Publication Society Co. 

THE Cm KI u AND TIIK SKTTS. Ten Letters in defence and continuation of the pamphlet 

entitled " Which is the True Church?' First scries, five letters. London : Hums & 

Oates. (For sale by the Catholic Publication Society Co.. New York.i (Also second 

series of same, five letters.) 

ST. JUSTIN MARTYR. By Mrs. Charles Martin, author of the Lift of St. Jtrvme, etc 

London : Burns ft Oates ; New York : The Catholic Publication N 

MARRIACK. Conferences delivered at Notre Dame, Paris. lt\ Very R.-. nsabrt. 

O.P. Translated from the French, by M Hopper, with the author's special permit 
New York, Cincinnati, Chicago : Bcnzigcr Bros. 
CHORAL Li ""'>. t- A Psalm of Thanksgiving. Words by Margar. 

music by I. V. R. No. a. Hymns ,,f I lianksgiving Ip the Sacred HI Ii l>> 

Margaret E. Jordan and Angelique de Laude. Music adapted by J. V. k 
White-Smith Music Publishing Co. 
1791; A TALK m SAN DOMINGO. By I'. W. (ii'hi'n. M I). Baltimore: John Murphy 

ft Co. 
SECOND ASM \i RF.PORT OF THE IUKKXI 01 | CHICAGO, for the year 1880- 

90 Chicago: Hoen 

VENI ~ -liort Meditation^ from the Ascension to the Octave of Corpus 

Chnsti. H Richard F. Clarke innati, and Chicago: Bentiger 

SXINTS OFTHE ORDER OF ST. BKSI ; i ' O S.B. 

:ed by John A. Morrall. O S 

nth of Jain. :on: John Hodges, il 

Sixrivuixi ABSTtAI -fifth number I: 

coinage, commerce, immigration, shipping. ' liopul.itir. .ign- 

culture. etc. Prepared by the H 

the Treasury. Washington: Government Printing Office. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. 



JULY, 1890. 



No. 304. 



IS THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM PERFECT? 

IN the January number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD appeared an 
article touching upon the relations which exist between Church, 
State, and School. Its object was by an ad homincm argument 
to bring out the unreasonableness of the speculative views on 
these relations held by the Concord School of Philosophy de- 
fenders of the public schools. The paper, inasmuch as it bears 
on our immediate purpose, may be thus summed up : The 
object of education, in Professor Huxley's words, is the formation 
of character. Character is a matter of principle, of motive. Prin- 
ciple and motive are subjects of the spiritual order ; conse- 
quently they belong to this order's authoritative representative, 
organized religion. Therefore, education must be religious. Here, 
in a nutshell, we have a statement of the Catholic position. It 
is a secure one; reason, common sense, and the American Con- 
stitution are its impregnable bulwarks. 

The theory of the question being thus placed in tuto, let us 
tu^n our attention to its practical aspects. How materialize this 
theory ? by what particular means can it be put into best work- 
ing order ? In the application of a law, a principle, a ihypothe- 
sis, there is generally room for discussion, divergence of opinion. 
In this regard the School Question is no exception. At least 
in two statements, however, all may agree : 

First. A perfected school system is a necessity. An inferior 
grade of Catholic schools would be suicidal. Over and above 
this necessity, if we wish to live up to our church traditions in 
educational matters, we must excel. 

Secondly. Whether the present plan can be bettered or not, 
while it is constituted the working system, those interested in 

Copyright. REV. A. F. HEWIT. 1890. 



4-'S As ////. CA /-ffiu.fc San'Oi .S'J.-./AJ/ /V.v.. [July, 

the schools must make every effort to keep them up to the tidal 
mark of efficiency, although they may consider that, owii 
the lines they have to work on, they are handicapped from the 
start. 

These remarks lead up to the que-tion: Can the parochial 
school system be bettered ? Like everything else, inasmuch as 
a product of man's devising, why can it not ? But if there 
is to be an improvement, what detail of the scheme needs it ? 
In the writer's humble opinion, the radical defect is this: In 
the plan as it stands, unity of action between the different 
schools is wanting. This defect is at the bottom of not a few 
drawbacks. I unple, each school, in many localities, is free 

to choose its own text-books, marks out its own grades, fix. 
own work on its own lines. And these drawbacks be^ct other 
difficulties. It is hard to find a fair criterion of the general 
results ; pupils cannot pass from one school to another without 
confusion, maybe loss of time, etc., etc. 

The bishops who sat in the last Plenary Council realized the 
fundamental fault, and did not hesitate to lay hold of it. By 
the appointment of Diocesan Boards of Kxaminers, as well for 
teachers as for scholars, they hoped to organize the schools of 
each diocese into one compact, graded body. And. that indi- 
vidual lukewarmness or unfitncss on the part of a priest might 
not interfere with the result they aimed at obtaining, they 
made the priest's continued occupancy of his parish dependent 
upon the satisfactory standing of its schools. Nay, lest the 
priest should plead lack of proper training as a legitimate 
excuse for his want of success in school management, they or- 
dained that the seminary curriculum was thenceforth to include 
a course in pedagogy. These regulations evidently meant one 
thing, namely, the effective unification of the schools. The 
action of the bishops, all admitted, was a step in the ri<dit 
direction ; and, at the time, as long a one as could pru- 
dently be taken. But their action was not to be regarded as 
final; on the contrary, it was by way of an earnest <>f what 
would be enacted when opportunity called for advances. The 
principle, that education must be religious, could not be changed; 
outside of this, everything was of necessity experimental, tem- 
porary, controlled by probabilities the very contingency of 
which would be, and has proved, a chief factor in limiting the 
effect of the statutes. Indeed, to this last-mentioned cause it is 
chiefly due that, although the letter of the legislation has been 
acted up to, though the examining boards and committees have 



1890.] Is THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM PERFECT? 429 

been appointed, withal the looked-for results have not followed. 
The proof patent of the last assertion is this fact : in very many 
places matters go on just as they did before the decrees of the 
Baltimore Council were promulgated. 

It is an easy conclusion from what has been said that an- 
other remedy must be applied, and the experience of the last 
few years teaches that if the treatment is to be successful it 
must go to the very root of the trouble. Now, the trouble with 
the school-plan is, as already insisted on, the absence of unity, 
co-operation, between the different schools. Can this lack be sup- 
plied, a remedy containing cohesive forces strong enough to 
bind all into one be found ? Yes ; a tested modern means of 
reaching just such an outcome is the employment of the 
methods of complete corporate organization. Surely methods 
that have proved advantageous in a vast variety of complex 
undertakings demand consideration, when it is question of a 
work capable of such complex arrangement as a school system. 
However, in applying these methods to our purpose we would 
in no sense be innovators. The state has been before us, and 
to the adoption and development of them it owes what success 
as an instructor it has achieved. 

The remedy, then, being at hand, it remains but to apply 
it. The issue of such application may be thus stated in bor- 
rowed words: "Parish lines will be abandoned; towns and cities 
divided into school districts, not dependent upon parish boun- 
daries ; primary, secondary, grammar, and high schools will con- 
stitute one system, under one control ; parishes that have not 
schools must be assessed for the support of the system as well 
as those that have." 

The effects of this close, thorough organization would be felt 
throughout the whole educational body ; our colleges would tread 
again the higher plains of learning, and could no longer be 
sneered at as " Latin schools " ; seminaries could turn their at- 
tention to the ^seminary's own work, and not be obliged to cur- 
tail their scriptural, historical, and other proper courses, in order 
to fill in what has been left out of the students' earlier instruc- 
tion ; and our new-born University would be assured of a right 
queenly future in her every department. Besides, the indirect 
influence upon Catholic intellectual and social life could not be 
estimated. 

But such organization is not to be dreamed of without a 
school board of able and competent members, perfectly ac- 
quainted with the best methods of school government and super- 

VOL. LI. 28 



430 /.s THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM PEKU-.CT? [July, 



n. To demand of each parMi priest the experience and 
acumen a member of such a board should pos^< --,, and to put 
upon him the labor every member should be ready for, would 
be like adding the last straw to the burden of the too-hcavily 
laden camel. Furthermore, to expect that all candidates for the 
priesthood should show themselves possessed of the parts which 
go to make up the efficient school committeeman would be to 
do away with many vocations. These and other like reflections 
bear me out in holding that membership on this board should 
not be the result of previous " position or seniority, but of tried 
ability and fitness. 

Nor need eligibility to membership be restricted to the cle: 
The last Plenary Council, it is true, took into account only 
priests as the active agents in school- management, and with 
good reason. American Catholics have been proverbially willing 
to let their priests bear all responsibility in church affairs. To 
have put a share of this responsibility on their shoulders, without 
a previous manifestation of acceptance on their part, would be a 
rather uncertain venture, likely to turn out in nothing better than 
a hollow form, an honorary corporation-membership. However, 
late years have witnessed a wonderful change. While the giant 
had been taking things easy for he loved peace his enemies 
stole his belongings, made little of his rights, and taking for 
granted that his quietness was due to want of strength and 
vitality, they grew bolder, goading him into wakefulness. At 
last, then, with eyes wide opened, the Catholic laity awoke to 
its wrongs. The outcome was the late Congress at Haltimore. 

This Congress demonstrates the untold moral and working 
forces that are at command to be turned to account and utilized 
in school-directing. To deprive ourselves of these is to become 
our opponents' opportune allies. The American laity has shown 
itself possessed of a capacity, ability, and good-will which fit it 
for having a voice in the control of educational movements. Up 
to this, on public school boards North, South, East, and West 
Catholics have been banner committeemen, farseeing, progressive, 
practical. What they have compassed on such boards they will 
outdo .on others more nearly their own. They want but the 
chance. Their live interest in the question cannot be doubted ; 
the masses, as well as the better educated, are heart and soul 
in the movement. It is simply a question of how to make use 
of their earnestness. 

There are many ways to accomplish this utilization. One 
among others would be : The parishes being divided into school 



1890.] fs THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM PERFECT? 431 

districts, two, three, or more parishes in a district, let the bishop 
appoint from each the priest he knows to be a qualified com- 
mitteeman, and the laity elect its own lay representatives, sub- 
ject, of course, to fhe bishop's approval. 

As a consequence of such common responsibility and divided 
control what a magnificent front priests and people would pre- 
sent ! How efficient such corporations would be ! What little 
fear of their becoming effigies ! In this way, too, would be de- 
stroyed the last relic of disagreement among Catholics themselves. 
There can be no doubt but that in the localities where up to 
this lukewarmness and unfavorable sentiment has been marked 
on the part of individual Catholics, it has sprung not from any 
debating of the principle at stake, but fcom a fear that the 
present means and methods of work could not bring success 
Improve these ; show the possibility of the improvements, and 
the immense resources thereby placed at our command ; the very 
h'angers-back will push zealously to the front ! Assuredly, such 
a consummation as that outlined would be a startlingly grand 
first effect of our Catholic Congress. 

Over and above all this let it be added, that, with a system 
pf this kind in running order, we will have neared the solution 
of another present obstacle. The commonwealth whose interests 
would be advanced and guarded by such an institution could not 
long refuse to recognize and stand by its benefactor. As has 
already happened in the case of hospitals, asylums, and the 
like, our fellow-citizens would come forward in the case of 
the schools also, and say : You bear the burden and the heat ; 
we reap a goodly share of the harvest ; the spirit of the Con- 
stitution, which one of us loves as much as the other, whispers 
that accounts should be more evenly balanced. Now that we 
understand one another, let us come together with the one 
object in view to set matters right. This should have been 
done long ago ; but we did not know then as we do .now 
the essential justice and necessity of the principle you suffered 
persecution for. 

This, mayhap, has a Utopian ring to it. Stranger changes 
have come about, and frequently by means which seemed very 
insufficient. Given a just cause, and the men and occasions will 
not long be wanting when a few powerful, right-minded utter T 
ances will bring about a revolution in the status of the school 
question. 

A word for our own Catholic ears, with which to conclude, 
will not be out of place : Let us acknowledge wherein we have 



432 THE /: .V/'AAY/ .\ VA <>/ A \VoKKl\f,-\\\>MAN, [July, 

been \vc.ik, and even at the cost of recrimination supply tli.it 
in which we have failed, in order that our \\orkin. 
may Inmine, a< our theory is, flawle^ Nay, let us go farther: 
propo>.ils which ;;re put upon us as affronts let us accept as 

door to favors. Fur instance, the examination of our 
schools by State officials ; if submission in such a matter will 
win for us friendship, respect, and actual improvement in the 
schools, although it be half-meant as a slight, a suspicion, let 

ke it. We sacrifice nothing of Catholic principle by the 
concession. For that matter, also, if holding a t cer- 

tificate from a Normal School, or State Examining Board, will 
conciliate our fellow-citizens, and satisfy, say, unreasonable, 'in- 
just want of confidence, why should not every teaching nun 
and brother in the land have one ? 

\\e are in fair and square America, Justice's providential 
refuge, and persecution can no more endure long in its climate 
than the upas-tree can take lasting root on the prairies bf 

Minnesota. 

JOSEPH V. TRA< v 



THE EXPERIENCE OF A WORKING-WOMAN. 

MY father, a well to-do barrister in Ireland and the proprie- 
tor of a modest estate, had given my two brothers and myself 
a good education. My older brother entered the Royal College . 
of Maynooth, and in due time was crowned with the sublime 
dignity of the priesthood. My younger brother chose a commercial 
pursuit, while I, after graduation from a sisters' academy, find- 
ing that my father's circumstances had suddenly become reduced, 
left home and started out alone to earn my own living in the 
great metropolis of America. 

When I reached New York, about three years ago, I was then 
full of life and spirits, and with few misgivings as to my future 
success. Like most young and inexperienced persons, I had the 
habit of always looking on the bright side of things. Had I 
been given to foreboding, or had I foreseen all the difficulties 
that I have since encountered, my courage would perhaps have 
deserted me. 

1 first thought of trying to secure employment as teacher in 
the public schools, but soon found that this was impossible, as 



1 890.] THE EXPERIENCE OF A WORKING-WOMAN. 433 

only Normal School graduates would be accepted by the city* 
school board. I next advertised for a position as governess and 
received several answers, but in every case was found deficient 
because I did not understand anything about cutting and sewing 
cloth, a most desirable accomplishment for a poor woman to 
have. 

My next thought was to secure employment as a bookkeeper 
or saleswoman. I said to myself, " I must surely succeed in 
either one of these occupations"; and so I may say [ have. I 
fortunately answered an advertisemeat of a large wholesale dry- 
goods house on Broadway, and was immediately engaged at a 
salary of ten dollars per week. The only drawback about it 
was that the position was not to be a permanent one; my 
services, I was told, would be required only from May till 
September. It was very kind of my employer to inform me of 
this fact ; he was one of the most considerate and kind-hearted 
men that I have ever known. I often look back now and 
think what a pleasant time I had there. If other houses were 
only like this, how much happiness there would be in the 
world ! I never worked more faithfully nor did better service 
than when I was in his employ. He understood, probably, that 
he could advance his own interests by gaining the good will 
of his employees, but I am too charitable to think that this 
was his prime motive. The months quickly came and went 
until September was at hand, when I left his service with the 
deepest regret. . 

I was now compelled to search for another position. I visited 
and interviewed several superintendents of business houses, but 
without success. Sometimes I was told that I could not be 
accepted because I had not had sufficient experience, and among 
the more kindly disposed I often heard the well-known words, 
Call again." I once more studied the advertising columns of' 
the newspapers, and put in an advertisement of my own. To 
this an answer came from a large clothing house, owned by a 
Jew, and he offered me a position as bookkeeper at a salary of 
eight dollars per week, which I was glad to accept, hoping soon 
to obtain a higher remuneration. Let me describe my first ex- 
perience in this establishment. On the first morning I was in 
the store promptly at eight o'clock. The foreman, a cross, little 
Hebrew Frenchman, showed me into a large room illuminated 
with electric lights and occupied by about fifty men-cutters. 
The French are proverbially a polite nation, but this mm I 



434 TllK /:" V/'AAV/TA'C/-: OF A WOKKlXG-WOMAff. [July, 

f< in n< 1 to be an exception ; he was rude, tyrannical, and cruel. 
1 th'iu^ht at first that perhaps he was averse to me becau 

the only Christian in the house, but the manner in which 
he treated the men under his charge soon convinced me that I 
:nistakcn. If I was spared any abuse, it was only because 
I was a woman who could shed tears. I will mention some 
instances of his harsh treatment. Once or twice I was uninten- 
tionally five minutes late at my desk, and he reported me to 
the timekeeper as twenty minutes late; and when I showed him 
my watch to prove that he was wrong he made a grimace and 
said, "Your watch is no good it is Irisli." He often swore at 
me, threw books on my desk, and gave his instructions so ex- 
citedly and with such confusion that I could not understand 
what he wanted. However, I managed to learn by myself the 
work in most of its details, and in spite of him I kept my position. 
I once remember asking him where I could get some paper, and 
his manner of answering me was to go and get a new supply 
and throw it at me, remarking as he did so, " There ! don't 
snooze while you are making out my bills." I remained here 
nine months, but as I saw no prospect of increase of wages 
and was offered higher wages as a saleswoman in a cloak house, 
I left the establishment of my own accord. 

This time my occupation was in a fashionable Sixth Avenue 
store, and, as I was a beginner, my work was doubly hard. If 
I was not engaged in selling I was required to hang up stock, 
and, though this was most exhausting labor, if \ ventured to sit 
down for a moment, immediately a floor-walker's attention was 
called to the fact, and I would hear the order " Forward ! " ring 
out, or be sharply told that there was stock to be arranged. One 
morning I was feeling rather unwell and happened to be ten 
minutes late, for which I was fined twenty-five cents, although I 
had remained much later than usual on the previous evening. If 
I ventured to make known any grievance to the superintendent 
I got no hearing. "If you are not satisfied," he would say. " I 
can easily find one who will fill your place ; ' the woods are 
full of them.' ' If a customer with whom I had been talking 
went out of the store without making a purchase, I was sure to 
be blamed for it Now, any one who has had experience in a 
store knows very well that there is a class of persons who are 
notorious for going around to different stores without having 
any intention of buying. It was the invariable rule that a floor- 
walker's complaint against a saleswoman must never be inves- 



1890.] THE EXPERIENCE OF A WORKING-WOMAN. 435 

tigated by the superintendent. Such a case as the following 
happened in my department : The floor-walker reported that a 
certain saleswoman was fond of sitting, although we knew that 
she was most faithful ; and he complained also that she did not 
dress well enough, yet her clothes were always neat and respect- 
able. I noticed that the little cash-girls were compelled to work 
almost beyond endurance, .and if they happened to be a few 
minutes late they were fined out of their miserable pittance of 
two dollars per week. When this happened they would cry 
most bitterly. I know of an instance where a little cash-girl, 
whom the foreman was about to discharge, was compelled dur- 
ing the latter part of her time to climb up a ladder to dust 
shelves, and to take down heavy boxes, and to clean the mirrors, 
to save the expense of hiring a scrub- woman, and I heard the 
buyer say in reference to this girl, " I will get all I can out 
of her." In some instances I noticed that if a woman or girl 
was absent on account of sickness for three consecutive days 
she was discharged. I know of one saleswoman who has to take 
charge of stock and make alterations besides selling, or else lose 
her position, and she gets but ten dollars per week. 

The profits made by the sale of dry-goods at retail are enormous. 
I often assisted in marking goods with both the cost and selling 
prices, consequently I know the truth of what I say. As evi- 
dence of the truth of my statement, I may also instance the 
extravagant way in which the proprietors live. Frequently their 
wives and daughters came into the store wearing the costliest 
diamonds, and they told us of their immense outlays for new 
dresses and of the grand receptions which they had given. 
This was poor consolation for us saleswomen ; we thought of 
our great labor in selling goods at such large profits, and of 
our miserable pittances called salaries. Once I complained that 
my salary was insufficient for me to live and dress as I was 
required. " Well," said the superintendent, " you ought to in- 
crease your income by giving music lessons or doing some 
other extra work in the evening." 

Now, it must be remembered that according to proprietary 
ethics labor is considered simply a commodity which may be 
remorselessly utilized. Let me illustrate how this principle 
works in practice. I remember one rainy week last summer, 
when business was extremely dull, the buyer was pacing up 
and down completely out of sorts. As we could see nothing to 
be done in this department, for once we ventured to sit down, 



43 6 THE ExrKxiK\CE OF A M'OKK/.\ '/-"', MM. v. [July, 

though the dreaded Ike- was there. Hut our rest was of short 
duration We were ordered to go down to the basement and 
brush an,! arrange Stock; the cold air that struck us made 
driver. Some hastened back to get their cloaks, but I. not 
wishing to wear my new coat while doing such dirty work, f 
justified in putting on a cheap, shop-worn jacket which belong* 
to the firm. I could do this without fear of discovery, f 
basement was too cold for Ike's thick blood to stand 
managed to give satisfaction on account of my fairly well-filled 
sales-book, although I cannot say that I was over a favorite wit 
the buyer of this establishment, because he was a vulgar, coarse 
Jew whose attempts at familiarity I had frequently to re?< 

1 used to pity those applicants for positions who came 
this store unless they were introduced by some personal frie 
of the buyer. Lest he should be entertaining an a 
awares, the buyer would always be polite. He would frcquentl; 
write down the name and address of the applicant, inquire very 
particularly about the references given, and would say, "I will 
let you know when we have a vacancy." But his poor deceived 
victim would hardly be out of the door before he would laugh- 
ingly tear up the paper on which he had written her name and 
address, and say, Won't she be delighted when she gets an an- 
swer ? Hadn't she a beautiful hat ? She must have used it last 
night for a pillow. I believe that very many business men 
rarely use such tactics or mock at poverty in that way, but 
they often dismiss one whom they do not wish to employ with 
a blunt '"No vacancy," which is certainly honest and square. 
It is a mistake to suppose that saleswomen have easy em- 
ployment. The hours are long and the physical exertion of rapid 
walking, taking down, showing, trying on and replacing gar- 
ments is great; only a half-hour of remission is allowed for 
lunch. If we do not work evenings in the fashionable stores, it 
is only because our customers never shop at that time ; but the 
day is more busy on that account. Sunday is always welcomed. 
If the Lord instituted that day for worship, he did not forbid 
harmless recreation after this duty has been fulfilled; otherwise, 
I think, our lives would not be endurable. 

I have no disposition to complain ; my employers always 
said this; but I am obliged to express the opinion that the 
health of many saleswomen becomes impaired on account of the 
hardships which they have to suffer. The ventilation of the 
store is usually bad; during the hot days of summer tin air 



1890.] THE EXPERIENCE OF A WORKING-WOMAN. 43 7 

is suffocating because the stock has to be protected from the 
dust. But if we are weary and faint we have to work just the 
same, because the weak and sick ones among us are generally 
the first to receive the fatal note, " Your services are no longer 
required." About a year ago my health began to fail, but I 
succeeded in concealing this fact from my employer until last 
December, when I gave notice that I must be absent for a 
week ; but not being able to return at the end of that time I 
voluntarily forfeited my position. Four months elapsed before 
I again ventured to take a position in another store. Here I 
found the work harder than in my last position, and my salary 
was to be low. But my health did not permit me to remain 
acre over three days, and when, having expressed my regret at 
emg obliged to give up, I timidly hinted that I would accept 
whatever was my due, Aaron, the proprietor, following that pro- 
pensity which, no doubt, had caused him to lose thousands of 
dollars where he had saved one, but of which he never would 
2 cured, unblushingly told me that he owed me nothin^ as I 
engaged to work by the week and not by the day &> Upon 
bearing this I turned on my heel and walked out with no wish 
> ever see him again. I have not as yet found another posi- 
tion, but shall, I trust, get one soon. 

t have nothing more of interest to relate, but if any of my 
readers have derived useful information from what I have offered 
in these pages I am very thankful. 

A. T. O'B. 



g - />/($ TE GL'AKDE." U lll >'. 



DIGS TE GUARDE; 



GOD keep thee sate, my dear, 

From every harm, 
Close in the shelter of 

His mighty arm ! 
So, when thou must look out 
Over earth's noise and rout, 
May thy calm soul be free 

From all alarm. 

Or if He shall ordain 

He, the Most Wise- 
That woe shall come, that tears 

Shall dim thine eyes, 
May He still hold thee near, 
Dispelling doubt and fear, 
Giving thy prostrate heart 

Strength to arise. 

And when His night comes, love, 

And thou must go, 
May He still call to thee 

Tenderly, low. 
Cradled upon His breast, 
Sinking to sweetest rest, 
God have thee safe, my dear, 

And keep thee so ! 

JEANIE DRAM. 



1890.] INEZ. 439 



INEZ.* 

DOWN on the Pecos, in New Mexico, the adobe portal under 
the belfry of the ancient adobe church of San Miguel resounded 
with the harsh tones of a cracked bell beating out in un- 
rhythmic, listless accents the evening Angelus. For they were 
feeble hands, hands brown as their owner's robe, the sleeves of 
which falling back revealed skinny arms with knotted veins 
hands that tugged at the tangled, frayed rope. The hands of an 
old man with shaven poll, about which hung tufts of white hair 
like to silvery threads in the setting sun lighting up the 
earthen portal with a fictitious glory, bathing the palsied form 
till it stood out as do those holy friars in the pictures of the 
angel brother ; an old man whose upturned eyes shone and 
whose withered lips eagerly quivered in prayer. 

Presently there was a listless clatter of discordant notes, the 
rope fell loose from the old man's hands, and he turned to a 
girl standing leaning against the portal's entrance, gazing down 
into the dun- colored valley crowned by hills covered with purple- 
green pinons, their tops swaying in the south wind of summer. 

" Inez," he said softly and tremulously. 

She did not turn, making an impatient motion that she 
heard. 

" Inez," he repeated patiently, " will you turn your back on 
your old spiritual father?" 

She jerked herself about, the black shawl that covered her 
head falling back as she turned, revealing a sullen, handsome 
face, with black eye's that glowed with languid passion. "As 
you will ! " She might be said to exhale the soft Spanish words, 
her voice intoxicating as the odors of a subtle perfume. 

"Have you prayed to God and our Holy. Mother, as I did 
ask you ? " questioned the priest imploringly imploring that her 
answer be in the affirmative. 

Her eyes shifted uneasily under their long lashes, one bare 
foot tapped twice or thrice on the dirt floor. " No," she fal- 
tered ; suddenly crying out and pointing down the valley, " Why 
should I ? I go to him." 

" And leave Him f " rejoined the old priest, pointing into 

* The author vouches as an eye-witness for the actuality of the facts of this narrative 
except the final catastrophe, which was afterwards proven in court. 



440 I. \-F.7.. [Ju.y. 

the church, where could be seen tin- shabby tabernacle, warm 
in the sun that extinguished the dim taper alight before the 
t.il>rrnacle door. 

For a moment the girl answered nothing; then she said, 
breathing forth her words rapidly and passionately : " I love 
Manuel. I am his, he loves me ; it would take the life out of 
me to leave him. I had better die than that!" 

11 It were better that you die than that you lose your soul," 
said the priest with a certain stern solemnity ; proceeding in 
gentler tones: " Inez, I baptized you. I baptized, married, buried 
your father and your mother. They died holily, asking the old 
priest to watch over the little Inez. Will she break my heart ?" 

"I love Manuel"; she reiterated stubbornly what she thought 
to be unanswerable. " And shall I break his heart ? " she de- 
manded, a blast of triumph in the tone of her voice. 

The priest smiled in pity. " Break his heart!" he exclaimed 
in contempt ; continuing softly, " And Rosa, did she break his 
heart " 

" He ncrcr loved her," broke in the girl in a fury. 

" No, he never loved her," said the priest sadly. 

" You wrong him ; he has told me all. Manuel he has lands, 
and pesos too, and Rosa she wished to marry him for these, and 
Manuel would not, for he loves me." 

There was a charm in the girl's confiding simplicity that the 
old man was not slow to feel, but for the girl's good would not 
show he felt, assuming a severity he was not prone to as he 
said : " Manuel has land, he has pesos, as you say. How long 
before the Senor Drall will have them ? Manuel is a gambler ; 
he drinks too much aguardiente ; he is a Penitente, and who 
shall say his hands are free from blood ? Is Rosa asleep in the 
Campo Santo because of Manuel's lands?" He paused, continu- 
ing dreamily, "She died well, did Rosa; she died well!" 

The girl paled at the name of Senor Drall, but when the 
priest accused Manuel of being a Penitente her face crimsoned, 
her eyes flashed. " What if Manuel be a Penitente ? " she ques- 
tioned arbitrarily ; " they are good men, they do penance for 
their sins " 

" Stop ! " It was no longer an old palsied man who ad- 
dressed her. There was vigor still in the foundered war-!: 
His eyes flashed lightnings of scorn, and the pointed forefinger 
that back and forth cut the air, emphasizing his words, drove 
the girl crouching and shivering against the wall. 

" Speak not to me of the I'enitentes," lie thundered ; " for 



1890.] INEZ. 441 

years I have seen these men lead away my flock ; for years I 
have seen sin and crime increase because of them ; and because 
of them, my people who did prosper are become a race of 
peons, Simon Drall their master." He paused, exhausted. 

It was some time before the girl ventured to speak, and 
when she did, it was to say hesitatingly : " I shall save Manuel 
from the Sefior Drall." 

" You shall save him from nothing ; it is I, your old father, 
Inez, who tell you so. I speak no more ; go to him, if you 
will ; and when you will to come back to God, take care His 
justice bar not the way." 

She stared stupidly at the old man, the fires of whose 
youth her ill-timed defence of the Penitentes had rekindled ; 
then, from old custom, scarcely heeding what she did, she ad- 
vanced and bent her head for his blessing. He gazed with sad 
eyes at the bent, lithe form, and in a voice that wailed forth a 
very agony of grief, he cried : " You ask 'me to bless you go- 
ing to a life of sin and crime ? Such blessing would be a 
mockery. I go to pray for a poor dead soul that it rise again 
to life, but bless you I cannot." His emotion choked him, he 
could speak no more. 

The girl turned from him unmoved, like a shadow passed 
out the portal into the yellow haze of the sinking sun, the old 
priest following to lean against the portal's entrance and watch 
her speed away. Inez ran, her feet glancing. One would say 
they had eyes to see, the way in which they skipped the sharp 
flint stones glinting here and there on the path. Down the 
hill-side, in the full glare of the sunlight, under the umbrage of 
heavy pinon boughs, by herds of goats and kids cropping the 
sparse herbage, into the rambling street of a hamlet of widely- 
separated adobe cabins. Then she walked with measured tread, 
often hailed with a greeting from groups of cigarette-smoking 
men and women seated on the ground, their backs resting in 
every easy, graceful posture against the walls of the cabins. The 
rambling street meandered to a narrow path that led up the 
mountain side, the Espada, to a little group of huts now ob- 
scure in the heayy twilight that always precedes the brilliancy 
of a New Mexican night. Cautiously feeling her way, now 
swaying lightly to and fro before springing from rock to rock 
with the agility of one of those little animals the people of the 
Rio Pecos call muecas, a cross between a mountain rat and a 
chipmunk. As she went her way, suddenly the great white 
moon, brilliant as a comet, rose in the east, shot her rays up 



[July. 

into the heavens, beginning to sail majestically through the 
cloudless, dark- blue ether that shone with an infinity of stars 
scintillating like diamonds in a barbaric crown. Heedle- of .1 
be.iuty she had perhaps never perceived, she hurried on in the 
direction of the group of cabins. 

Across from the cabins, four in number, were great bould 
of earth and rock, and here the trail broadened into a road. 
Not following the road, Inez climbed the rocks, careful not to 
attract attention to herself by detaching any of the stones to 
go crashing down the slope of the mountain. Having reached 
her point of observation, a rock behind which she crouched, 
where she could view the one hut in which lights were burnit. 
she drew a sigh of relief and murmured passionately, " Manuel ! 

The hut had a low wooden gallery running before it, its 
supports unhewn logs, to one of them nailed a sign-board bear- 
ing the inscription, undecipherable at night, " Simon Drall, Gen- 
eral Merchant." If Simon Drall was a general merchant he kept 
his goods well hidden, for the interior of the cabin, seen through 
the open double door, showed nothing except a rough un- 
painted counter, a row of shelves behind it holding an odd ass >rt- 
ment of all sizes of bottles, jugs, and jars, and in a dark corner 
an array of barrels elevated on a primitive estrade of unhewn 
logs. Several tallow candles, stuck in the necks of bottles, to- 
gether with a dirty oil lamp swung from a beam, cast a sickly- 
glow on the figures of two men seated on the counter playing 
at a game of chance with a greasy pack of cards, and on a 
third man behind the counter watching the players, a sneering 
grin on his mottled, bloated countenance. 

Inez, too, watched the game, never taking her eyes off the 
man whose back was turned towards her; and when he gave 
a shout and swept from off the counter a little pile of silver 
she uttered a crow of delight, clapped her hands gently and 
whispered, " Manuel, he always wins." Something stirring at 
that moment on the roadside, she started in alarm, reassured 
when, peering through the moonlight, she saw a ht-r>e was 
tethered at the furthest end of the gallery. " Ah ! " she mur- 
mured, " it is Chipas. Chipas ! Chipas ! " she called under her 
breath, and the horse gave an answering whinny. In the mean- 
while the mottled-faced man had placed tin cups and a bottle on 
the counter, the gamblers had drunk of the aguardiente, and 
were now preparing to leave. Seeing this, Inez slipped from 
her perch, ran to where the road gave a sudden bend, there 
seating herself to wait the coming of Manuel. She could hear 



I89Q.J INEZ. 

him untether and mount his horse, Simon Brail's response in 
broken Spanish, his voice thick and husky, then the horse's hoofs 
moving slowly over the stony road. The horse shied at the 
figure seated on the rock; the rider uttered an oath, and was 
about to strike the beast, when Inez sprang forward, seized his 
hand and cried : "It is I, Manuel!" 

"You, my little Inez," he said dazedly, and stooped and 
pressed the upturned burning face to his, hot with the fever of 
drink. 

" I go to the Madre Anchieta, to-night, Manuel," she whis- 
pered in his ear. The Madre Anchieta was Manuel's mother. 

"And to-morrow?" 

" I will be yours," she faltered. 

He got him down from his horse, and, throwing the bridle 
across his arm, the two walked whispering in the direction 
of the dwelling of Manuel's mother. 

On the following day a little concourse of people were gath- 
ered together on the plaza or courtyard of the Senora Anchieta ; 
in their midst Manuel in his whitest shirt, coatless, a gay sash 
about his waist. At his side stood Inez in a white skirt, a shawl 
of faded yellow silk about her head, a red paper rose stuck be- 
hind her ear. The silence that pervaded the plaza was broken 
by the clashing of cymbals, followed by the appearance from a 
doorway of a party of mummers, masked, decked out in ribbons 
and feathered skirts, who advanced in stately dance towards the 
bride and groom. Still swaying to and fro in rhythmic motion 
the cymbals clashing, they formed a half-circle before Inez and 
Manuel. Now the dance grew in motion, the feet keeping time 
with the swaying bodies, the arms waving light and graceful in 
slow cadence. Louder and louder clashed the cymbals, faster and 
faster the feet twinkled under the feathered skirts of the dancers 
beating up clouds of dust that swirled in the light summer 
breeze, blinding the spectators, only serving to intoxicate the 
dancers to fresh efforts. 

Clash! Every foot was still, and, retiring backwards from 
the bride and groom, the mummers mingled with the onlookers 
At this juncture there arose from the west end of the plaza a 
frightful howl, in which all the people joined, and Inez, trem- 
bling with fear, laid her head on Manuel's shoulder, he whisper- 
ing, "Courage, little Inez, courage!" The cause of all this 
howling was a mottled-faced man, garmentless save for a short 
k ir t of black cloth about his loins, his body daubed with mud 
He was followed by two men, not daubed -with mud but clad 



444 /-VA/. [July, 

as he wit-;. be.iring two enormous brandies of the thorn cactus. 
The mud-daubing is the insignia of the Head Brother of a 
lodge of Peiiiu-ntes. The cactus, the thorns of which are 
none of tin-in less than an inch long, in body of the thic' 
of the little tinker, tapering to the sharpness of a needle-point, 
strong as iron, were cast before the bare feet of Inez and 
Manuel. In a loud voice the Head Brother invited the man 
and girl to walk hand- in-hand over the holy cactus, invoking 
everlasting torments if they refused, promising license in this 
life and perpetual felicity in the next if they obeyed. An 
awesome silence spread through the plaza, for young girls had 
been known to turn back at this part of the ceremony. To 
give courage to Inez, Manuel planted his foot firmly on the 
spidery-looking mass of thorns, and the dull, ugly green was 
reddened with his blood. Not a sign of feeling betrayed it^-lf 
on his sensuously handsome face. Inez gave a little cry at 
sight of his blood. Whispering eagerly, " Now, Manuel, now ! " 
she clutched his arm and sprang with him into the torment 
that cut like knives, burned as fire. He would have borne her 
through, but the Head Brother demurred ; the girl must walk. 
At this Manuel's face took on a black look indeed, and he 
muttered revenge on Simon Drall, for Drall it was who was 
Head Brother. 

A short, swift walk, and Inez, faint from pain and fright. 
sank into the arms of old crones who crowded about her, bath- 
ing her feet, plying her with liquor. The cymbals again began 
their abominable clashing, and a session of licentious revelry 
set in. 

So thus it was that at one and the same time Inez v. 
made a Penitente and married by Penitente rites to Manuel. 

Simon Drall was a New-Englander of the Legree type li- 
centious, cruel, a money-grasper. When but a youth in his 
teens he went out to New Mexico, determined at all hazards to 
acquire a fortune. At eighteen he was a small sheep-farmer, at 
twenty a money-lender, at thirty the richest man in all the Rio 
Pecos, the owner of nearly two hundred peons, whom, in de- 
fiance of the law, he kept in a subjection to which the subjec- 
tion of an Uncle Tom was happiness itself. Finding that the 
society of the Penitentes would aid him much in his endc.: 
to gain the little all of the poor Mexicans, he joined them ; 
and, as a majority of the members of the lodge to which he 
belonged were his own peons, he, in a little while, had himself 
elected Head Brother, ousting a man who had been his peon 



1890.] INEZ. 445 

for nearly ten years. It has been said that Drall kept his peons 
in subjection in defiance of the law ; rather because of the New 
Mexican's ignorance of all law. What could these poor people, 
ignorant, bewildered by sudden changes of masters Spanish, Mexi- 
can, American know of law ? Their law and gospel, at least that 
of those who had left the Catholic Church for the abominations 
of the sect of Penitentes, were the Simon Dralls of the various 
communities. Very well did this particular Drall know how to 
keep himself master. The Penitentes hated and feared him, espe- 
cially those who were his peons. 

And how did he make peons of them? He induced them 
to incur debts to him which they could not pay. After that 
they were to work for him, such as had farms, farming not for 
their own profit but for his. Brail's most effectual means for 
causing men to fall into his debt was his tendejonc, or drinking- 
booth, on the side of the Espada. Peons of King Aguardiente, 
it was a short cut to becoming peons of Simon Drall. 

Drall had succeeded in life, he was a rich man ; but he had 
not succeeded to the extent that was his dream. Ever before 
him had been a vision of a gold-mine that he was to discover, 
and of which he alone was to be the owner. He never tired 
of listening to the traditions of the gold-mines the Spaniards 
worked, and the surest way to gain Drall's ear was to have 
some such tale to tell. His vision was at last realized in part. 
He found gold, not on his land, on the land of a man whom 
he had not succeeded in making his peon. With many an in- 
ward groan at parting with his money, he resolved to buy this 
land. The owner, Manuel Anchieta, refused to sell. In vain 
Drall argued with him, forcing his sluggish brain to consider the 
fact of the sterility of the land. A sudden inspiration impelled 
Manuel to ask Drall what then did he want with the land. Taken 
aback, Drall stammered out something about wishing to benefit 
his good friend Manuel. Manuel laughed at him ; not altogether 
a fool, his suspicions were aroused, and in his lazy fashion he 
argued to . himself, over his perpetual cigarette, that if Simon 
Drall wanted his land there must be something of value in it 
He would hold on to it, and some day he would find out. 
Foolish Manuel ! did it depend on himself, were he to live to 
the crack of doom that some day would never come. From the 
day of Manuel's refusal to sell the land, the two wickedest men 
on the Pecos, Simon Drall and Manuel Anchieta, became the 
bitterest of foes. In a thousand spiteful ways Drall made Manuel 
feel his enmity (we have witnessed an instance on the wedding- 

VOL. Ll. 29 



..;. /.\. [July. 

day), buf Manuel, whose wickedness, if one may so say, took a 
nobler ran^e. could meditate but one sort of revenue, swift and 
speedy the pistol or the knife. 

The mating of Manuel and Inez, as any one knowing their 
deposition* could have predicted, did not prove a happy one. 
At first, between periods of semi-intoxication, Manuel was de- 
voted as even Inez, hungry and thirsty a> she was for admira- 
tion and worship, could desire. Ine/ was the liht of his heart, 
hi> soul; without her his house was a desolation. The girl never 
wearied of hearing her praises. Manuel, however, after awhile 
rew exceedingly weary of singing them, and he was not a man 
to continue the doing of what cost him trouble. Frequent and 
more frequent were the days he ostensibly spent on the hill- 
side with his goat-herders; in truth in drinking-booths not 
Brail's; he never went there now with companions Inez shud- 
dered at, though herself not particularly fastidious. Manuel 
lected her, but he was not faithless; not from any goodness that 
was in him, but because he was palled and indifferent. He even 
took a certain pride in boasting that his was the handsomest wife 
on the Pecos. Though Inez was aware of this, it did not pre- 
vent her being devoured by her jealous imagination. She paled, 
grew thin and thinner, and many and many a time in a day 
did she make moan to herself that the padre's predictions were 
being fulfilled ; sometimes on the point of going to him to seek 
for comfort and a reconciliation, always putting it off to another day. 

So the autumit passed away; the chill winds of winter came 
to shiver down the Espada side, to hold dark, whispered con- 
versation amongst the pinon . boughs, to drive the goats for 
shelter under the overhanging rocks, there to surprisedly bleat 
complainings of the chilly blast. Christmas has gone no time of 
religious joy for the Penitentes ; a time for them of unbridled 
license and it is near the hour when the Christian world com- 
memorates the Saviour's crowning work of love on Calvary. 

"There will be a crucifixion this year, Juana," said Simon 
Drall, standing in the roadway before his drinking-booth, star- 
ing gloomily down the mountain side where, far distant, could 
be seen the smoke from the chimney of Manuel's house curling 
up blue through the early morning air. The old woman he 
addressed, and who was resting on a stone smoothed out into 
a rough seat, withdrew her face from the folds of her black 
shawl. Holding it back with one withered hand, she mumbled 
with her ragged, toothless jaws: "Yes, senor; there has not 
been one since the year of the frost and snow." 



1890.] INEZ. 447 

" Twelve years ago," responded Drall, thoughtfully. " It was 
Jose Chavez, and he died, Juana ? " 

" Yes, senor, he died," answered Juana, gloomily. " He was 
a brave youth, and a handsome youth. His death did much to 
frighten the people, and there has been no holy crucifixion 
since." 

"The people are wrong!" exclaimed Drall, excitedly. "I, 
the Head Brother, say so. The crops fail, the small-pox kills 
us off. It is well that some one should, not die, but peril his 
life ; and if he do die," his eyes glowed with spiteful anger, 
"why, what is one life to many ?" 

"Yes, senor," agreed Juana, passively submissive. " We do as 
we will the long year, for all that; what is it to suffer one 
day. You say the truth the people die ; they die like the 
white lambs and sheep in a drought." 

" And whilst there are any padres they will die ; they will 
have no crops. The padres keep all down ; the Penitentes 
alone are free," whined Drall in the tone he used in addressing 
his lodge. 

The old woman heaved a sigh. " I mind the time," she 
said, tremulously, " when there were many padres of St. 
Francis, and we did prosper, and we did not die as the little 
birds swept away in the storm. The old padre up at San 
Miguel says we die because we do not live well. I know 
not" 

"Juana!" shouted Drall, "hold your peace." The old 
woman, shivering, made an abject motion of submission. " You 
wish your boy, Arturo, to be his own man again," Drall con- 
tinued ; " talk in that way and it shall never be. Go to the 
house and make the coffee." 

Without a word Juana slunk away, feebly wringing her 
hands under her shawl. She had scarcely entered the house 
when a white-haired man appeared toiling up the steep ascent 
Inez had climbed the summer b'efore. " Good morning, Pedro ; 
I have been looking for you," called Drall with feigned hearti- 
ness. The newcomer waved his hand in response, too much 
fatigued by his ascent to respond in words. Drall advanced to 
meet him, grasped his hand, and led him to the seat Juana had 
occupied. "Rest yourself, Pedro," he said, "rest yourself"; 
proceeding eagerly: "You have told the people; you have told 
them that to-morrow there shall be a crucifixion ; that the Head 
Brother wills it ? " 

Pedro nodded his head and said: "I have told them, all." 



/.\. LHy- 

Ami what do they say ?" 

-No one cares only Manuel," replied Pedr... his lips tight 
ening as he pronounced Manuel's name. 

"Manuel I What does he >' Drall. 

lh.it there i-, B chaiu-e ill this ..f his savin- a bullet. 
Sefi..r Drall may <lraw the red corn," returned watching 

the effect of his words from under h y brou-, 

-Did he say so?" cried Drall. ".Why. that is treasc 
against the lodge he threatens the Head Brother. Will VOW 
remember his words to-morrow, my Pedr.. < Forget them not, 
Pedro and corn, and coffee, and aguardiente, as you with 
yours.' Ah! Manuel. Manuel, you threaten me! Take care ' 
take care!" And he shook his fist angrily in the direction > 
Manuel's cabin, where Manuel now sat lazily smoking and 
sunning himself, unconscious of the wrath impending over him. 

"I want neither your corn, nor your cottee. nor yo 
aguardiente, Senor Drall. I remember Rosa; that is sufficient. 
I go to the Campo Santo to tell her that her old father has 
not forgotten her; that Manuel shall pay for breaking her heart 
He gathered himself together, and. unheeding Drall's repeate 
invitation to remain and take coffee, moved slowly and pain 
fully on his way to descend the mountain. 

The intense interest Simon Drall took in the preservati. 
of his mortal body led him to shun all deeds of violence 
that could be laid at his door directly. If a man stood 
Drall's way, and that man could be removed without 
appearing to have a hand in it, then would Drall act. 
til such time, however, as far as Drall was concerned, i 
obstruction would be safe safe as if he bore a charmec 
Drall wished Manuel out of the way that he might 
quire the gold-mine. Manuel dead, he argued, a few 
dollars would dazzle Inez into parting with what Manuel would 
by no means let go. That hi* hatred and desire for revei 
would be gratified was a matter for consideration as wel 
Simon was not of a forgiving disposition, and it cut him 
the quick to see* Manuel light of heart, the possessor of 
Drall coveted, useless as it was to its owner. As 
Friday the day on which the Penitente believes th; 
frightful self-torture he gains for a year the right to commit 
any sin or crime.-as this day drew near, Drall's head 
came full of a diabolical plan for the destruction of Manuel 
He looked about for a coadjutor, and found a willing one 
old half-witted Pedro Corlas, the father of the ill-fated 



890.] INEZ. 440, 

Rubbing his hands together in subdued ferocious glee at 
.the prospect before him, he moved towards his drinking-booth, 
where Juana in a cracked voice was calling him to take his 
coffee. 

The morning was cool, the sky clear, a laughing sun, the 
mountains* and valleys festive in a golden haze. The Pecos 
rippled and whirled in eddying pools between its red and yel- 
low stained banks ; ruddily glowed the cactus-flower in its nest 
of spikes ; down the valley the corn-fields were freshly green, 
the broad leaves rustling, the wind-flowers nodding their little 
heads to the coming spring. In an open space, surrounded on 
all sides by high, rugged, barren hills with but one opening, that 
in the west end ; in a place where nothing grew save great 
masses of the giant thorn-cactus, stood in a central position 
the Lodge of the Blood of the Brethren. It was a low, square 
building of sun-dried bricks, without windows or vent-holes, 
but one narrow door, a building dismal and disheartening as 
the place wherein it stood. No sign of human or animal life was 
there except a black buzzard that sailed slowly over the spot, 
as if it already scented the horrors about to be enacted. The 
sun went on its way, at mid-day giving a tinge of cheerfulness 
to even this most dolorous vale. 

It was five o'clock, and the sun was fast disappearing be- 
hind the western hills, when there appeared suddenly, standing 
on a high ledge of rock, the figure of Simon Drall, as at the 
wedding, without attire save the shprt black skirt. " Brothers, 
.are we all here ? " he called. Instantly from every crevice wide 
enough to admit a human body, from every little hiding-place 
the rocks afforded, appeared men, all wearing the black skirt ; 
women, their backs bared, their shawls tied about their waists. 
"" We are ! " was the shouted response. 

" And what seek ye ? " came from Drall, the evening wind 
playing with his voice, turning it into a piping yell. 

" Freedom for soul and body," rose the watchword of the 
Penitentes in one universal shout from the encircling hills. 

" And how shall that be found ? " Drall yelled. 

The response was given in a dull, labored monotone : " In 
the cleansing with our blood." 

The wind caught up the words, drove them reverberating 
against the walls of rock, and every cavern echoed, " Blood ! " 

Slowly, to the depressing turn-turn of a drum, the men and 
women filed down the hill-sides to the enclosed space below, 
where they formed a double circle about the lodge, the men in 



450 /.\ [July, 

front, the women behind, Ine/ excelled. She, the latent admit- 
ted member, was given a ])i>sitii>n <>f honor between Manuel 
and 1 >rall. and, as if to show how the pair were hemmed in 
and fated, lYdn> Corlas stood next to Manuel. Ine/ wa< sick- 
fro m hunger and exposure to the wind, sick at heart for all she 
had lost. Not a deep heart hers. To-day she regretted the old 
church of San Miguel, her old friend the padre, with a r< 
all the more saddening in that she felt it to be ho; Mow 

much of this sorrow came from the loneliness that had been born 
in her since yesterday, when, on upbraiding Manuel for his 
neglect, he had told her that on the day of b^ood -cleansing he 
intended to gain the right to leave her, it would be hard to 
say. It is true that afterward Manuel had been very kind, had 
even gone so far as to beg her pardon. Could the man have 
had a premonition of his coming fate ? Still he had threatened 
to leave her, and Inez feared, and with all her shallow heart 
hated, the loathsome spectacle in which she had so prominent a 
part. 

The circle of Penitentes having formed, they began in their 
labored monotone to chant the praises of their lodge, blas- 
phemously likening the sufferings they were about to endure 
to those of Christ. The chant ended, there was a momentary 
silence, followed by a scene of blood and horror. Men and 
women drew from their girdles leathern thongs studded with 
tacks, with which they beat their exposed persons; others rolled 
themselves amongst the cactus thorns, inflicting frightful wounds ; 
others but enough. Only a few old men and women stood 
aloof, Juana amongst them, and Inez and Manuel ami Simon 
Drall, the last dispensed by the position he held from all torture 
save that of crucifixion. Inez wondered that Manuel was not 
among the number of self-persecutors. Why did he stand apart ? 
Was he meditating some more brutal torment in order to gain 
that with which he had threatened her yesterday ? For herself 
she would have none of it. To-morrow she would go to the old 
padre, confess and make her Easter. Half- afraid, her eyes stole 
up to Manuel's face. He was looking down on her with a look 
in his eyes she had not seen for many, many days. His hand 
stole hers gently into his own. Uttering a cry of delight, the 
tears streaming from her eyes, she threw her arms about her 
husband's neck. 

On the day of blood-cleansing it was forbidden for husband 
and wife to as much as touch one another's hands, and when 
Drall saw Inez sobbing on Manuel's neck he vented a genuine 



1890.] INEZ. 451 

cry of horror horror that the traditions of the lodge should be 
thus violently and publicly broken, horror that his authority as 
Head Brother should be thus insulted. 

"Are you mad?" he cried, striding forward; and rudely 
dragging Inez from her husband's embrace, he thrust her aside. 
She submitted sullenly to this indignity ; Manuel superstitiously, 
in superstitious awe of the Head Brother that every Penitente 
feels at times. He obeyed Drall to-day, but to-morrow 

The monotonous turn-turn of the drum was renewed whilst 
Drall addressed Manuel and Inez, and the Penitentes, putting up 
their scourges and extricating themselves from their thorny beds, 
fell into two long files extending to the entrance of the en- 
closure, the men in one file, the women in the other, a hideous, 
blood-bathed crew ; the men with sulky, glowing eyes, the 
women wearing a hopeless look of woe, and not a cry or 
word of distress from this throng of worshippers of self. Ad- 
vancing with measured tread to the door of the lodge, Simon 
Drall struck three blows with a mallet on the ponderous pine 
panels, and a voice was heard from within demanding who it 
was that asked admittance. Drall responded that it was the 
Head Brother and the brethren of the Lodge of the Blood of 
the Brethren. The door swung back, and in single file the long 
procession passed in, the men taking precedence of the women, 
all marking on the door-posts a cross with their blood. This 
passage into the lodge took a considerable time, and by the 
time all were within and the door closed and barred it was 
night, the moon shining down on the dismal enclosure between 
the hills. 

The heavy darkness of the lodge-room, only lit up at one 
end by two pine torches sending forth clouds of resinous smoke 
and casting flickering shadows of light on an enormous cross 
that stood between them, was so intense that it was impossible 
to distinguish the features of the place or the people collected 
there, unless in that end where flared the torches. Inez had 
been separated in the procession from her husband, and huddled 
in a corner amongst the women, now a mass of bleeding wounds, 
she tried in vain to seek him out, her heart sinking within her 
as she remembered that the terrors of the day would not be 
over till midnight. 

Amidst an appalling silence, broken only by the sharp swish 
of the scourge wielded by savage hands, was renewed the blood- 
revel that had taken place in the enclosure, only here the ter- 
rors were all only felt ; nothing was seen. Occasionally Inez 



45- to U u 'y. 

would receive fn>m a whip ;in involuntary blow which ]>.. 
almost unheeded. She wa-> hu-y making promises t> (lod that 
she would ivturn to him if he would but lot her and Manuel 
be happy tog.-tlu-r. in 1'enitente fashion trying to buy (md. A - 

, the scourging as brought to a pause by the beuti" 
the drum, and Simon l)rall roe and took up a portion 1' 
the great cross, between the flaring torches. In a low, whining 
voice, the tones of which towards the end of his uddre^ grew 
strident, he told the people that this night there was to be a 
crucifixion. He reminded them of their blasted crops, their 
homes made desolate by pestilence, of their broken vow that 
e\ery third year, at least, a man from among them was to peril his 
life on a cross, and how many years it was >ince there had 
been a crucifixion. Not a sound from those who heard him 
greeted the period with which Drall ended h urse. 

Amidst a silence, in which was audible the sputter of the burn- 
ing pitch, a rude board table was placed before him; set on it 
a pottery jar and a little bag of corn. Removing the cover 
from the jar, he emptied the contents of the bag into it, and 
the jar being re-covered, was handed to an attendant, who 
gravely shook it, then handed it to a second, he to a third, 
each in turn shaking its contents. This ended, it was returned 
to its place on the table and covered with a black cloth. Alter 
a dismal chant recording the advantages that would accrue to 
the family from which the victim would be chosen, Drall an- 
nounced that at a. secret meeting of the Head Brother and his 
familiars the names of twenty young men best fitted to undergo 
the pains of crucifixion had been chosen, together with the 
names of the oldest and youngest female members of the lodge, 
Juana Perez and Inez Anchieta. The men would now advance 
as their names were called and draw a grain of corn. If a 
white one, he was to retire to his place; if a red one, he was to 
stand within the shadow of the cross. Should it so happen that 
no one of the men drew a red grain, then Juana IV rex would 
draw one of the two remaining grains, leaving the last for Ine/ 
Anchieta, and whichever of the two women drew the red grain 
her best beloved among the twenty men would take the place 
within the shadow of the cross. There were twenty- two to 
draw, and in the jar were grains to the number of twenty- 
one. 

An attendant began to call the names, Manuel's the first. 
For the first time since entering this ante-chamber of hell Ine/ 
saw her husband. She could scarcely restrain the cry that rose 



1890.] INEZ. 453 

to her lips as Manuel placed his hand within the jar. Leaning 
for support on the woman next her, she watched the result, 
l-'rom her place she could not see the color of the grain he 
chose, but when she saw him hand it to one of the attendants 
and move aside, that the next called might have his turn, she 
gave a gasp of relief relief to be -followed by a fright and 
foreboding that she felt were driving her mad. One after an- 
other of the chosen Penitentes drew a grain from the jar, and 
every man a white one. Whilst Juana, mumbling her ragged 
jaws, came forward, Inez fell back in an unconscious heap 
amongst the huddled group of women. Juana, too, drew a 
white grain. There should now be but one grain left in the 
jar, a red one. 

" Inez Anchieta y Diego," called the attendant. No re- 
sponse. " Inez Anchieta y Diego," was repeated. Then some 
one whispered Drall that she had fainted. " Her husband must 
draw for her," said Drall, and the attendant called on Manuel to 
come forward. 

Manuel, breathing hard, strode up to the table and had 
seized the jar, when Drall laid a hand on his arm and said, in 
a low tone of voice : " Patience, brother, patience ; let the fa- 
miliars hand the jar according to the ritual." 

" Unnecessary," said Manuel, curtly, and was about to thrust 
his hand into the jar when Drall tried to wrest it from his 
grasp. In the scuffle the jar fell to the earthen floor, where it 
broke to pieces, revealing that it was empty a fact quickly 
whispered throughout the assembly. Manuel stared suspiciously 
at Drall, and he saw that the Head Brother held one hand 
closed as if concealing something. The knowledge of the trap 
that had been laid for him stirred a tempest in Manuel's slug- 
gish brain. He turned sharply, snatched a scourge from a 
neighbor, gave one swift blow with its handle on the back of 
the closed hand of the Head Brother. Drall uttered the howl 
of an angry beast, but his hand unclenched, and something 
that in the uncertain light looked like a drop of blood fell 
to the ground it was the red corn. 

" Traitor ! traitor ! " screamed one of the attendants, Pedro 
Corlas. The assembly caught up the cry ; but it was Drall 
whom they called traitor, not Manuel. Men and women surged 
about the Head Brother, and one woman, bolder than the rest, 
plucked him by the hair. Years of accumulated hatred stimu- 
lated them, and in another moment they would have had him 
on the ground had he not drawn a pistol from a belt hidden 



454 /-\ [July. 

under his skirt and pointed it at them. They fell back, the 
torchlight casting fantastir shadow- of bluish-green and yellow 
i>ver their blood-stained bodies, their pallid, scowlin 
Manuel alone did not tall back. Showering a torrent of impre- 
cations on the head of Drall, he rushed forward to snatch the 
pistol from him, when^-click, a trigger drawn, a (lash, a sharp 
report, and Manuel fell shot through the brain. In an in- 
stant they had hustled Simon Drall out of the lodge; beating 
him frantically, they threw him among the cactus plants, 
rolling him among the sharp thorns, leaving him there to die. 

The setting moon sent silvery beams through the open 
door of the lodge to purify the red horror within. Lit by 
the flaring flame of one fast expiring torch, Inez knelt In- 
side the body of her husband. By her side, his bent form 
stooping over her, stood the old priest of San Miguel. She 
had called for him so repeatedly that one woman, more 
thoughtful than the rest, had fetched him to her. Looking 
up at the old man with tearless eyes, in the voice of one 
who agonizes, Inez said : " It is not yet one year, padre, 
since you refused to bless me." 

His feeble eyes looked pityingly on her, and he an- 
swered: "I bless you now, my little Inez, in your sorrow." 
The woman fell a-sobbing on her husband's bosom, and the 
old priest, uttering a prayer with tremulous lips, bent down 
and helped the women to remove her, speaking words of 
sympathy and of religious comfort to her broken heart. 

HAHOI.I. 



1890.] IN THE DESERT. 455. 



IN THE DESERT. 

SAD heart, that scarce can struggle more 

With sinful life's distress, 
I should not dare to write to thee 

If I had suffered less. 

Oh ! let me say thy fearful pain 
I have felt, too. Yea, more 

That every heart of human clay 
Claims kinship at thy door. 

But, list ! I ask, thee leave thy woe 

To gaze with me awhile 
Upon a desert, rocky, lone, 

Far-stretching mile on mile. 
No frost, no dew. One weary line 

Of rock and reddened sand 
Till stoops the blue, all-loving sky 

To kiss the hopeless land. 

Sad heart, look there and see 

The Man of Sorrows wrestling lone, 
Though sinless Christ is He. 



Well may we lose our woe in His ; 

Hushed, awed, we'll keep "the Fast." 
O Heart Divine ! vouchsafe to us 

With Thee to feast at last! 

LUCY AGNES HAYES. 

Maynard, Mass 



456 THE I-'A . -4rri/Ei) /.VA.-J.VT-.S. [July. 



TIII-: i ATI: m- I-\M.\ITIXKD INFANTS.- 

Tin: infallible Church of Koine n--ver adopted a more dicta- 
torial tone in laying down her do^ma- than is a-sumed by the 
author of these two M-rmons in pronouncing his irreversible judg- 
meiit u]>on a question which has always tortured theologians 
more than the severest thrologian e.er tortured a babe. " Hun- 
- anil e\vn thousands of learned and subtle doctors may 
ha\e taught the possible perdition of infan and 

small may have embalmed the doctrine in their verse, like a 
fly in amber or a toad in mud. Hut for all that // is false." 
I 'an Dyke locntus cst ; causa finita est. Fly away. Paul, with 
your antiquated Altitndo ! Fly away, Augustine, with your 
" gentle damnation " for imregenerate infants. Fly away, School- 
men, with your Limbus Puerorum. Fly away thou too, Blessed 
Father Calvin, with thy election and reprobation. You may all 
be " very giants of logic " ; but your " vain desire of logical 
consistency " can make no impression upon an orator who 
" falls back " upon his " moral instincts." Consistent in his 
contempt for " the logic of the schools," he tells us in one pas- 
sage (p. 31) that "the doctrine of the perdition of infants is 
false, because it is condemned by natural justice " ; and on an- 
other page (p. 54) that " justice alone does not demand the sal- 
vation of little children." 

It is also amusing to notice, in a book which professes to 
teach the pure " Word of God," how few words of God there 
are to be found in it from beginning to end, and how many 
words there are of Mr. Van Dyke. The only text of Holy 
\Vrit which he produces to sustain his first thesis, No children 
lost, is Matthew xviii. 14 : " Even so it is not the will of 
your Father, who is in heaven, that one of these little ones should 
perish." But who ever maintained (except possibly our author's 
master, John Calvin) that it was the will of God that any one 
should perish ? Is it not a profound mystery which has always 
perplexed Christians that the will of God is very often frus- 
trated ? It is, says St. Paul, the will of God that " all men " 
should " come to the knowledge of the truth " (i. Tim. ii. 4). 

God and Little Children : Tkt Bltsied State of all who die in Childhood fnmed and hufht 
as fart of Ike Gosfel of Christ. By Henry Van Dyke. New York: An-.. n 1). K. Randolph 
* Co. 



1890.] THE FATE or- UNHAPTIZED INFAXTS. 457- 

Yet " many children of the Turks and Indians," though ripe for 
the harvest, have not arrived at the knowledge of the truth 
through lack of human laborers in the vineyard. Moreover, if we 
must derive our faith from the study of Scripture alone, we 
ought to be careful not to intermingle our own speculations 
with the inspired text. Who are " these little ones " of whom 
our Lord is speaking ? He tells us himself they are " little ones 
who believe in him." And what kind of little ones ? Not infants, 
baptized or unbaptized : but little ones old enough to be " scan- 
dalized " ; to be led astray into sin. And how do they perish ? 
He tells us distinctly, it is by being seduced, like sheep away 
from the shepherd, into evil ways. What has all this to do 
with the state of unbaptized infants ? Whatever inferences we 
choose to draw therefro'm into this subject-matter will be our 
" human judgment," not the Word of Christ. 

Equally unsatisfactory is the foundation which the orator lays 
for his second proposition : All children saved. We are not now 
considering whether the thesis be true or false ; but simply 
whether it be the Word of God. The author, disregarding the 
texts : " Unless a man be born again of water and the Holy 
Ghost, he cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven " (John in. 5),. 
and " He saved us by the laver of regeneration and renovation 
of the Holy Ghost " (Titus iii. 5) not to mention the other 
passages which demonstrate the necessity of baptism insists much 
upon the teaching of the apostle that " Christ died for all." This, 
to be sure, is a great and consoling truth ; and one which Catho- 
lic theologians have, at the expense of much vituperation, valiantly 
asserted against Calvinists and Jansenists ; but when our author 
jumps to the conclusion that " the little child that comes into 
this world " " is not guilty in God's sight," he directly contradicts 
the apostle, who argues " that if One died for all, then all were 
dead." And when he goes further to assert that " the guilt ot 
[original sin] is taken away for ever from the race by the Lamb 
of God " ; that " no soul shall ever perish for Adam's trans- 
gression " (p. 63), he is giving us, not the infallible Word of God,, 
but, whether true or false, the " fallible human judgment " of 
Henry Van Dyke. 

And here we arrive at the vital point of the whole question. 
Why did not our eloquent author, speaking to Christian fathers 
and mothers, insist upon their having their infants baptized, and 
thus insuring their salvation by incorporating them into the king- 
dom of God ? Why should we vex our spirits with idle disqui- 
sitions upon subjects so obscure and irrelevant, to the neglect of a 



458 ///A I- A TK c/ r\n.4rrf/t-:i> I. \t-~A :. [July. 

plain duty imposed upon us by the Lord, and looked upon as 
nio^t .sacred and important by rvriy \|iounder of sacred doc- 
trine from the apostles down to John Calvin /;/<///./;< / I num- 
ber amongst my acquaintance a gentleman who, having been 
brought ii]) a strict 1'resbyterian, was taught, among other relics 
of the old Christian faith, that Christian parents ought to have 
their children baptized. A child of his happening to fall sick 
and there being no clergyman of his denomination at hand to 
bapti/e it, he sought the kind offices of a Baptist minister, who, 
instead of complying with the request, began an argument to 
demonstrate that infant baptism was unscriptural. " Kxcuse 
me," said the anxious father, " I came to you, not to hold an 
argument, but in the performance of a religious duty." No\\. 
since the proof of every theory is the practical working th< 
we should like very much to ask our eloquent divine what lie 
would have done in this circumstance. Was the old-fashioned 
Presbyterian right in assuming that it was a " religious duty " 
for him to have his child baptized ? Or would our author as- 
sure him. " in accordance with the teachings of Christianity," 
that without the sacrament of baptism these children " fly 
from our arms, not into the arms of darkness, but into 
the arms of God, and with him they are safe " ? Of course it 
was illogical, according to true Calvinistic principles, for a Pre-- 
byterian father to be solicitous about the baptism of his child ; f> >r 
in the Genevan theology the salvation or damnation of the said 
child was quite independent of its baptism, as being the fore- 
ordained result of "an absolute and eternal decree." But for- 
tunately this layman knew little of Calvin's Institutes except that 
the reformer had condescended to retain the " Roman " doc- 
trine of infant baptism, a doctrine which is called Roman for 
pretty much the same reason that the potato is called "Irish"; 
not as if it originated in Rome, but because it descends to us 
through Rome from the primitive ages of Christianity. For 
my part, I entertain towards Calvin a feeling akin to grati- 
tude in spite of his " horrors " ; for with one drop of ink 
the mighty heresiarch might have harmonized his tenets by 
consigning millions of babes to an unregenerate death. But 
the " shadow of Rome " was still upon him ; in other words, he 
lacked the audacity to carry his erroneous opinions to their 
legitimate, practical conclusion. Hence, though he had no scru- 
ple in asserting that all Christendom were wrong in understand- 
ing the monumental words of Christ, " Unless a man be born 
again of water," etc., to refer to the sacrament of baptism, he 



1890.] TllK 1 : ATE OF UNHAI'TIZED INFANTS. . 459 

nevertheless, by a fortunate neglect of " logical consistency," 
held fast to the ancient practice of infant baptism, of which that 
text is the mainstay. But his followers, if not more logical, are 
at least not so anxious to maintain even the appearance of 
reverence for antiquity ; one instance of which lies before us in 
these two sermons, written partly in prose and partly in poetry, 
on the future destiny of infants, but not thinking it worth his 
while to devote one line to the inculcating the " religious duty " 
of having them baptized. 

Now, we beg our readers to ponder this irresistible logic of 
events. Calvin, on the one hand, rejected the interpretation placed 
by every Christian before his time upon the words of Christ, 
" Unless a man (rk) be born again of water" etc., because it 
did not fit into his theories regarding salvation and regeneration. 
A man, according to him, was saved and regenerated or else 
damned for ever by " an absolute and eternal decree " issued 
long before he was, born ; and no action, internal or external to 
him, could change his destiny. But with all his audacity of 
speculation Calvin, possibly (as one of his disciples has said) be- 
cause he was " still under the baneful shadow of Rome," dared 
not contradict notorious facts. One fact which confronted him 
was that in the Old Dispensation the circumcision of infants 
had been enjoined upon the people of God under the sanction 
of dire penalties (Gen. xviii. 14). Another fact which he had to 
consider was that according to the teaching of the apostle 
(Col. ii. 11) baptism is among Christians the substitute for cir- 
cumcision. Regardless of speculative consistency, therefore, he 
strenuously asserted infant baptism against the " carnal judg- 
ment " (or, as our author would have called it, " the natural in- 
stincts ") of the " frenzied spirits " of the Anabaptists, even though 
he had shorn the external rite of its real significance. It is 
always left to the disciples of a bad leader to push out his 
errors to their logical conclusions ; and they invariably do sx> in 
course of time. The divinest ordinances will fall into neglect if 
the purpose which inspired them be extracted from them. 
Catholics have always been extremely anxious about the bap- 
tism of their children, because they have been taught that this 
sacrament is not an idle ceremony, but the " laver of regenera- 
tion," or new birth, by which we are saved ; by it we are 
cleansed from the taint of hereditary corruption, rise to a new 
life, and become members of the Body of Christ. This anxiety 
survived for long amongst Protestants " as a relic of the dark 
ages," without any solid foundation ; but the force of " logical 



460 7V// '/ r.v/.vi //////< /:. [July. 



" is rapidly extinguishing it. and nv :u- pity. 

Metier was tin- iiu onsistciicy of (".iKin, \\hich retained something 
out of the shipwreck <>f the ancient faith, tlian the logic of liis 
nt followers, which sweeps away the last "!' Christian 

doctrine. 

The proper logical course would have been to retain the cer- 
tain, the visible, ttiul the tangible, and to bring the speculative 
and theoretical into accord therewith. Now, if th :ie tiling 

certain and tangible in Christianity, whether in Scripture or in 
history, it is the importance attached to the rite of baptism. 
Instead, therefore, of consulting his " natural instinct-." our 
author ought to have made a serious investigation of the mean- 
ing and importance of this characteristic feature of the religion 
of Christ. This is, indeed, the main di:; a his 

method and that followed by the "hundreds and thousands" of 
earnest thinkers whose opinions he has treated with scant cour- 
tesy. These ended where he he-. in. by inquiring how the a 
tained facts of the Christian revelation (which our orator did not 
take the trouble to collect.) can be reconciled with our " natural 
instincts," a question of secondary importance in every scientific 
investigation. Our " instincts " have their claims ; but it needs 
no extended experience of nature or human life to assure one 
that they are of slight assistance in determining facts. The old 
Peripatetics "knew" instinctively that a two-pound ball must 
fall to the ground twice as quickly as a one-pound ball. The 
infidel " knows by instinct " that this world of suffering humanity 
is not under the governance of an All-Wise Providence. The 
true Christian has sufficient confidence in the truth of Christian- 
ity to be certain that its teachings are mild and rational if 
properly interpreted ; but he seeks the divine revelation, not in 
his " natural instincts " or in the feelings of " fathers and 
mothers," but in the sacred deposit of the Word of God. We 
should be very loath to submit even a matter of natural jus- 
tice to a jury of " fathers and mothers," much less the deep 
abyss of the judgments of God. 

Another grave mistake of our author was to discourse to a 
mixed audience upon a profound theological subject without ex- 
plaining his terms. What is the theological definition of salvation 
and perdition ? He contends that divines are to be found in 
every denomination who hold that unbaptized children are lost. 
He, on the contrary, maintains that all children are sarfJ. I 
have already intimated a suspicion that this critic of " hundreds 
and thousands " has no clear ideas himself on the subject of 



1890.] '/'//A 1'ATE OF UNBAPTI/.I-.n LVFANTS. 461 

salvation 1 and perdition. Salvation, he tells us, is not demanded 
by natural justice ; the perdition of unbapti/.ed infants is 
opposed to natural justice What theologian of any denomina- 
tion would trust the author of these mutually destructive pro- 
positions as a fair expounder of his opinions ? Is it not possible 
that there are mysteries of grace and nature which, though they 
have puzzled " hundreds and thousands," have given this writer 
no concern because he had no conception of them ? The heaven 
which he has " thronged with happy children " for the " conso- 
lation and comfort " of their parents is certainly a very pleasant 
abode, far superior to any marble residence on Fifth Avenue, and 
the little inhabitants can disport themselves and sing and play 
to their hearts' content. It reminds one of the heaven which 
one of our grave Western senators is reported to have defined 
as a place where a man will eat fat turkey out of magnificent 
China dishes for all eternity. It is such a heaven as " Lo ! the 
poor Indian" is said to have sighed for: replete with good 
things tobacco, whiskey, and buffaloes and inaccessible to sick- 
ness, hard work, and greedy Caucasians. Why not ? If our 
" natural instincts " have to be consulted, give to each his heart's 
desire, whether more or less refined ; make our possession there- 
of secure and everlasting, and we shall call it salvation and 
heaven. 

But here enters the mystery. " Hundreds and even thousands " 
of profound theologians have conceded to unbaptized infants all 
the joys which this orator contends for them, and have still 
maintained that this state is not salvation, but a " gentle damna- 
tion." What, then, do all these theologians mean by salvation 
and perdition ? This, we repeat, is that which a preacher of the 
gospel, speaking to Christian people, ought to have set out by 
defining. It is easy to fling obloquy upon " hundreds and even 
thousands " of learned theologians by confused and ex-parte 
statements ; but a'n intelligent listener or reader is apt to ask 
himself: " Were all these theologians ' from St. Augustine down 
to the end of the seventeenth century ' so blind and stupid as to 
defend for ages a doctrine 'condemned by natural justice'"? 
Individuals, indeed, may err Calvin, for instance but error is 
short-lived and local. It is not wont to be embraced by "men 
of all ages and of many churches." 

The salvation announced to mankind by Christianity is a 
supernatural blessing, neither craved for by our " natural in- 
stincts " nor attainable by the laws which regulate "natural 
justice." Is it not really the " remorse of equity," or the worry 

VOL. LI. 30 



462 Tin [July, 

of fate, winch brings it about that a Catholic is forced to remind 
.'vinist that (ioil's Mipcrnatur.i .ift given or 

refused without the imputation of partiality or injustice? " 
by the works of justice which we have done, but according to 
His mercy He saved us by the laver of regeneration and re- 
no\ation of the Holy (ihost" (Tit. iii. 5). 'I'he hc.uen of the 
Christi.in consists essentially in the vision "face to face" of the 
Triune God, the True, the Beautiful, and the Good. Any eternal 
state short of this, no matter ln>\\ free from torments or how 
replete with ecstatic joys, is to the Christian theologian a state 
of perdition, of darkness, of damnation ami death. These- are 
beyond doubt very harsh terms; but it needs harsh terms to 
designate the irreparable loss of an ineffably great though super- 
natural and unmcritable Good. If it is salvation and eternal life 
to see God, it surely must be called perdition and everlasting 
death and the exterior darkness to be lor ever deprived of that 
beatific Vision ; and since this state is the punishment of Un- 
original sin, it is rightly called a state of damnation 

It will scarcely be denied that from the primitive ages of the 
church it has been the common belief of Christians that the 
title to salvation is acquired by the sacrament of regeneration. 
Long before St. Augustine this doctrine was plainly taught by 
St. Cyprian, who urges that in cases of necessity we ought to 
" baptize and sanctify " infants without waiting till the eighth 
day after their birth, giving, as his reason, that " as far as we 
can, we must strive that, if possible, no soul shall be lost* 

Before Cyprian the perdition of the unbaptized was taught 
by Tertullian, who, whilst maintaining that in ordinary cases lay- 
men ought not to usurp the administration of baptism, adds, how- 
ever, that this becomes a duty if the person to be baptized be 
in danger of death ; " because he that shall neglect at such a 
time to do what he lawfully may, will be guilty of a human 
being's perdition."f 

1 quote these ancient fathers for two reasons. First, to show 
that St. Augustine introduced no new doctrine when he taught 
that the sacrament of baptism \\as the indispensable means to 
salvation, and, second, to show that in ancient times, as at present, 
the question of the fate of the unbaptized was touched upon 

* Ep. 58. " Quantum in nobis est. si fieri potest, nulla n\ma frrdnja est." This is not 
the decision of St. Cyprian alone, but likewise, as he informs us. of sixty-five other bishops in 
council assembled. 

< " Quoniam reus erii ftrjiti hominis, si supcrsederit pnvst.ire quod libere potuit." Dr 
liapliMiio. 



1890.] THE PATK OF UNRAT-IIZED INFANTS. 463 

only as incidental to the clear " religious duty " of baptizing 
all whom we possibly can. 

Neither father turns out of the certain path to investigate 
the details of this perdition an investigation which, in the ab- 
sence of a direct revelation, is a groping in the dark. " The new- 
born infant being descended from Adam according to the flesh," 
says Cyprian, "contracted by his birth the fatal contagion."* 
The only means known to him by which to escape this death is 
the sacrament of baptism : hence with him baptism and the 
grace of God are indissolubly allied. To be hindered from the 
one is to be deprived of the other. 

Tertullian's mode of reasoning is the same as St. Cyprian's. 
" It is an acknowledged axiom," he says, "that no one is saved 
without baptism, grounded chiefly on that sentence of our 
Lord : f 'Unless one be born of water, he cannot be saved.'" 

It is not true, then, that " St. Augustine comes first " in 
teaching "the old doctrine of the perdition of infants." This 
doctrine has been " the teaching of Christianity" from the very 
beginning; for Tertullian is the oldest of the Western Fathers; 
and he gives us, not his private views founded in " moral sense" 
or " natural instincts," but the " prescription" of Christianity, the 
authoritative word of revelation to which our " fallible human 
judgment " must defer. Again, I observe that these fathers 
have not given any intimation as to the positive sense of the 
word perdition ; but only the negative signification as opposed to 
salvation. There is no suggestion of hell-fire or torments 
about their utterances. They have given us the Christian doc- 
trine as they found it, without burdening it with speculations of 
their own. 

It is, indeed, the office of the theologian, after ascertaining 
firmly and clearly the revealed truths, to busy his thoughts 
about them, and to bring them into correlation with each other 
and with the truths and principles of the natural order. This, 
however, is a subordinate function which different theologians 
will accomplish with varying degrees of success. Now, the first 
of the fathers whom I have discovered to have troubled himself 
about the equity of the question which engages us, is St. Greg- 
ory of Nazianzen, called by excellence the Theologian. In his 
celebrated Oration XL., " On Holy Baptism," the saint, after 
pronouncing a glowing eulogy upon the sacrament and warning 

* Secundum Adam carnalitcr natus contagium mortis antiquae prima nativitate contraxit. 
t " Prajscribitur nemini sine baptismo competere salutem, ex ilia raaxime pronunciatione 
Domini qui ait : Nisi n.Uus ex aqua quis erit, non habet salutem." De Bap., c. 12. 



464 Tin U" ! >, 

his IH-.II. rring the reception of it. divides into 

three . !m depart from this lift- unlupti/ed : 1st. 

tho>e \\ :'. tin- gift : -d, those who have delayed too 

through ncc : ,d. infants and othrr- who were de- 

prived of it "by reason of some utterly involuntary accident.' 
The first two dashes will be punished as their malice or folly 
dcservis; "the last sort will neither be glorified m>r chaM 
by the Just J for though they lack the sacramental char- 

acter, this has not happened through their own \\ickediiess, and 
they arc unfortunate rather than wrong-doer>. Hut not every 
one who is not worthy of chastisement is therefore worthy of 
honor."* 

This same process of reasoning led St. Ambrose about tin- 
same time (A. i>. 380) to pretty much the same conclu 
After laying down the "acknowledged axiom," that "no one can 
ascend into the kingdom of heaven except through the sacra- 
ment of baptism, "t the saint cites the words of Christ: " I 
one be born again of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot 
enter the kingdom of God"; and argues thus: "He excepts no 
one, neitiier the infant nor one hindered by unavoidable acci- 
dent. These may, indeed, enjoy some unexplained immunity 
from suffering, but I fail to see how they can possess the honor 
of the kingdom." f 

Now, all these fathers wrote their converging testimony to 
the belief of Christendom respecting the fate of unbapti/.ed in- 
fants before St. Augustine began his memorable conflict with 
Pelagianism, some of them long before he was born. If, there- 
fore, "Christianity" ever had a substantive and historical exist 
ence, it must be said to have taught consistently in "all 
and many churches" that baptism is (to use St. Gregory Na/ian 
zen's expressive phrase) "the key of heaven," without which 
"neither the infant" nor any other "unfortunate rather tlnn 
wicked" being shall ever see God, which is the Christian's ik-lini- 
tion of salvation and eternal life. 

As we do not wish (at least at present > to extend our re- 
marks any further, we shall make a brief summary of the points 
at issue : 

ist. When this reverend orator felt his "heart constrained and 



Or. XL. c. 23, TovS 61, m'iri SoSatSSifaiaSai, >n'/r 
TOV SiNiiiui' K/atrutT, o3( aOtppayiOt' . etc- 

f Si. Anilmiic, Uc Abraham, lib. ii. c. 11, " nemo asccntlil in regnum coclorum nisi per 
Mcnunentum b:iptisin 

t" Utique nullum cxcipit, nun infanlem non aliqu.i pr.rtrntum necessitate. Ilabeant ta- 
il. i-n opertam ptrnaruui jfiiinuintatc'ii. ncsciu an habeanl regm i 



//// /-.-///. OF UNBAPTI/.ED INFANTS. 465 

mightily impelled to preach this gospel about children" he ought 
to have explained clearly what he meant by salvation and perdition, 
by heaven and hell. They are words which are often used with 
no precise meaning attached to them ; and seldom have we no- 
ticed them employed so vaguely and confusedly as by the 
speaker whom we are criticising. In discoursing to children 
' and to common people it is pardonable and advisable to conjure 
up before them golden palaces and natural joys which appeal to 
the imagination of the rude ; for heaven is this and much more. 
But a theologian is supposed to know that the essential beati- 
tude of the saints is the supernatural vision of God. So, too, 
hell in scriptural and ecclesiastical phraseology does not always 
designate the torments of the wicked. 'Our Lord " descended 
into hell" after his death. Abraham went down to hell to await 
the promised redemption. The Hades of the Revised Edition 
is only a new name for the scholastic Limbus. All that our 
faith can tell us for certain about this abode is that it is the 
state of a soul excluded from the vision of God. Our imagina- 
tion may strive to picture it ; but our intellect is present to 
remind us that we can form but a very imperfect idea of the 
condition of the soul beyond the grave. 

2d. It may be, therefore, that our author's " heaven thronged 
with happy children" is nothing more nor less than a misap- 
prehension. He may have mistaken St. Thomas' Limbus, or 
even St. Augustine's "gentle damnation," for the abode of the 
blessed. We do not presume to speak with assurance ; but, cer- 
tainly, he has given no indication that he or his flock are 
looking forward to a supernatural destiny, or that they would 
consider it a hardship or a damnation to lead an eternal exist- 
ence lacking nothing but the Beatific Vision. 

3d. His radical error was the attempt to construct a sub- 
jective or mythical " Christianity" in opposition to the " old 
doctrine" held by "all ages and many churches," and which 
can be decried only when grossly misinterpreted. It was no 
theologian, whether " Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Presbyterian, 
or Episcopalian," it was Christ who declared : " Unless a man 
be born again of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter 
tlic kingdom of God." 

JAMES F. LOUGHLIN. 

Philadelphia. 



466 TlIK 1-lf-f: Of-' l-ATIIKK //ACAVA-. [Jl>', 



mi: i.n-i; OF \ : . \IHI.K III-.CKI-.K.- 

(IIAI'IIK \\. 
l.NNIK 1.1 KK WHILE AT Ilk' K KAKM. 

TllK private journals from which we are about to qut> 
largely were an unhoped-for addition t the stock of matin.il> 
available for Father Hecker's biography. L'ntil after his death 
not even their existence, still less the nature of their contents, 
was suspected. With the exception of two important docu- 
ments, one written while he was in Belgium, in obedient 
the requirements of his director; the other in Rome, for the 
consideration of the four venerable religious whose advice he 
sought before founding his community, no records of his in- 
terior life have been discovered which are at all comparable in 
fulness to those made during the eighteen months which pre- 
ceded his admission to the Church. In his years of health and 
strength he lived and worked for others ; and in those we.iry 
ones of illness which followed them, he thought and wrote and 
suffered, but apparently without making any deliberate notes of 
his deeper personal experience. 

On those of our readers whose acquaintance with Father 
Hecker dates, as our own does, from his intensely active and 
laborious prime, these revelations of the period when he uas 
being passively wrought upon and shaped for his work by 
the hand of God, may produce an effect not unlike that we 
have been conscious of in studying the greater mass from which 
our extracts are taken. They will, perhaps, be struck, in the 
first place, by the unexpectedly strong witness they bear to 
the wholly interior and mystical experience of the man. They 
testify, moreover, to the real and objective character of that 
leading which he was constrained to follow ; and not only 
that. They do so in a way which furnishes a convincing reply 
to a very, plausible doubt as to whether the narrow and uncon- 
genial surroundings of his early life might not, by themselves, 
be sufficient to explain the discontent of a poetic and aspiring 
nature such as his. 

He -was at Bnx>k Farm when that community was at 
jts pleasantcst. The shadow of care and the premonition of 
failure were, indeed, already looming up before those who bore 

Copyright, 1890, Rev. A. F. Hewit. All rights reserved. 



1890.] THE LIFE or FATHER HECKER. 467 

the chief responsibilities of the undertaking, but the group by 
virtue of whose presence it became famous had hardly begun 
to dwindle. And besides those whose names have since become 
well known, there were others, young, gay, intelligent, and well 
bred, acquaintance and familiarity with whom were in many ways 
attractive to a susceptible youth like Isaac Hecker. What im- 
pression he made upon the circle he entered, how cordially he 
was received and held in high esteem, our readers already 
know. And if he gave pleasure, he received it also. At first 
the new circumstances were a little strange and embarrassing to 
him. After a fortnight, or thereabouts, we find him noting that 
he is " not one cf their spirits. They say ' Mr. Hecker ' in 
a tone they do not use in speaking to each other." But the 
strangeness soon wore off, and he yielded to the influence of the 
place with a wholeness which would have been entire but for 
the stronger drawing which never let him free. 

On this point, too, the witness of the journal is peremptory. 
So it is as to the unity and consistence of his interior experi- 
ences from first to last. Child, and boy, and man, there was 
always the same ardent sincerity of purpose in him, the same 
docility to the Voice that spoke within, the same- attitude to- 
ward " the life that now is " which Mr. Curtis, in the letter 
given in the preceding chapter, has described, with so fine an 
insight, as one of reserve and observation. " He was the dove 
floating in the air, not yet finding the spot on which his foot 
might rest," writes Mr. Curtis of Isaac Hecker at that period 
of his youth when his surroundings and companions were for 
the first time, and very possibly for the last, wholly congenial 
to his natural inclinations. And again : " There was nothing 
ascetic or severe in him ; but I have often thought since that 
his feeling was probably what he might have afterward de- 
scribed as a consciousness that he must be about his Father's 
business." 

These words are significant testimony to the nobility of the 
impression made on others by Father Hecker's personality in 
early manhood. Even if our only addition to such scanty 
knowledge of his life at Brook Farm as could be gathered from 
his own conversations in later years were this happily-touched 
sketch, it could hardly be more interesting than it is. . But, fortu- 
nately, it does not stand alone. Its fine recognition of the lofty 
purity of his nature is everywhere borne out by the unpremedi- 
tated and candid self-revelations of the diary. Their character- 
istic trait is everywhere aspiration a sense of joy in elevation 



Tin: A///-. i>/ I-AIIII-.K ///.( A'/./-. U ul >- 

ithly, or a sense of depression because the earthly 
(is him down. '1'hen com, | of inquiry in 

every direction for tli tion of his aspiration-, little by lit- 

tle narrowing down to the Catholic Church, wherein the do\v "I 
Mr. I'urti-'- image w.,s finally to rest his f<>t f.r <-\i r. And in 
all this 1. v at all mentions a dread of the Divine wrath 

Mi"!ive for his flight. It is not out of the city of .1; strtiction, 
but toward the celestial city that he goes. He is drawn by 
what he wants, m>t hounded by what he tears. Always there is 
the reaching out of a str, >n- nature toward what it lack- a 
material for its strength to work on, a craving for rational joy, 
coupled with an ever-increasing conviction that nature cannot 
give him such a boon. Men who knew Father Ilecker only in 
his royal maturity, sometime-, cavilled at his words of emphatic 
faith in guileless nature ; but they had -only to know him a 
little better to learn his appreciation of the supernatural order, 
and his recognition of its absolute anil exclusive competency to 
satisfy nature's highest aspirations. Reading these early journals, 
we have constantly recalled the later days when he so often, 
and sometimes continually, repeated, "Religion is a boon!" No 
one could know that better than he who had so deeply felt 
the want it satisfies. 

The diary was begun in the middle of April, 1843, when 
Isaac had just returned to Brook Farm after a fortnight spent at 
home. It opens with a prayer for light and direction, which is 
its dedication to the uses not only of an earnest but a religious 
seeker. He addresses himself directly to God as Father, not 
making either appeal or reference to our Lord. Hut there is in 
it an invocation to those " that are in heaven to intercede and 
plead " for him, which recalls the fact, so often mentioned by 
him, that it was the teaching of the Catechism of the Council 
of Trent on the Communion of Saints which cleared away his 
final clouds and brought him directly to the Church. 1 here is 
a note, too, among his later papers, in which, speaking of the 
phenomena of modern spiritualism, lu says that the same long 
ing for an assurance of personal immortality which leads so 
many into that maze of mingled truth and error, had a 
share in disposing his mind to accept the authoritative doctrine 
of the Church, which here as elsewhere answered fully the 
deepest* longings of his soul. 

We shall not attempt to follow the chronological order of 
the journal with exactness, but in making our extracts shall 
pursue the order of topic- rather than of time. Hy the middle 



1890.] THE /.///: or FATIIEK HECKER. 469 

of April the question of the Church had presented itself so un- 
mistakably to Isaac Hecker, as the necessary preliminary to 
further progress to be settled in one way or another, either 
set definitely aside as unessential or else accepted as the adequate 
solution of man's problems, that his struggles for and against it 
recur with especial frequency. Faber has said somewhere that 
the Church is the touchstone of rational humanity, and that 
probably no adult passes out of life without having once, at 
least, been brought squarely face to face with it and made to 
understand and shoulder the tremendous responsibility which its 
claims impose. There would be no need of a touchstone if there 
were no alloy in human nature, no feebleness in man's will, no 
darkness in his understanding. Were that the condition of 
humanity, the call to the supernatural order would be simply 
the summons to come up higher, its symbol a beacon torch 
upon the heights. As it is, the path may be mistaken. He 
whose feet have been set in it from birth by Christian training 
may wilfully forsake it. He whose heart is pure and whose 
aspirations noble, may be so surrounded by the mists of in- 
herited error and misapprehension that the light of truth fails 
to penetrate them when it first dawns. The road is always strait 
which leads any son of Adam to supernal joy in conscious 
union with his Creator, even when his will is good and his 
desire unfeigned. 

We shall find, therefore, that Isaac Hecker's struggles were 
many and painful before he fully recognized and attained the 
necessary means to the end he craved. They were character- 
istic also. He was looking for the satisfaction of his rational 
aspirations rather than for the solution of historical problems, 
although his mind was too clear not to see that the two are 
inextricably bound up together. But inasmuch as at the period 
of which we are writing, which was that of the Oxford Tracts, 
controversy turned mainly on questions 'of historical continuity and 
of Divine warrant in the external revelation of holy Scripture, it 
follows that he, and such as he, must have taken a lonely and 
unfrequented road towards the truth. Every time he looked at 
the Church he was greeted with the spectacle of unity and uni- 
formity, of discipline and order. These are elements which always 
have been, and probably always will be, most attractive to the 
classes called educated, to men seeking for external notes of 
truth, flying from disorder, fearful of rebellion. But to Isaac 
Hecker, the only external note which deeply attracted him was 
that of universal brotherhood. If he were to bow his knee with 



470 7V//: /.///: of I-'ATIIKK HECKI-.K. LJ 1 ' 1 )'- 

joy to Jesus Christ, it would be because all, in heaven and earth 
or hell, should one day bend in tiniini with him. 

It t.ikes .in intimate knowledge <>f Catholicity t<> perceive tin 
interior transformation >f liumanity by its supernatural aids. On 
the one hand, the influence of KI.I. llecker'- Brook Farm sur- 
roundings was to persuade him t C'intidc wholly in nature, which 
there was very nearly at its unaided best. v >n the oilier hand, the 
;;res of Catholicity for the inner life were hidden from him. 
Religion, in his conception of it in the true conception of it 
must be the binding of all things together, natural and super- 
natural. Hence we find him at times complaining that the 
Church is not sufficient for his icants. If it were not personal 
in its adaptation to him, it was little that it should be hiMorical 
this, hierarchical that, or biblical the other. It must be his 
primarily, because he cannot live a rational and pure life with- 
out it. An ordinarily decorous life, if you will; free from lust 
or passion, and without gross unreason, but nevertheless tame, un- 
progressive, dry and unproductive, without any absolute certainty 
except that of the helplessness of man. Such a life seemed to 
him hardly more than a synonym for death. " The fact is. 
he writes on a page now lying before us, " I want to live every 
moment. I want something positive, living, nourishing. I n 
tive only by affirming." 

The earliest entry in this diary has been already quoted in 
the first chapter of the present biography. On its second page 
occurs the following account of his impressions while in church 
on Easter Sunday : 

"Monday, 'April 17, 1843. Yesterday I went to the Catholic 
church at West Roxbury. It was Easter Sunday. The services 
were, to me, very impressively affecting. The altar-piece repre- 
sented Christ's rising from the tomb, and this was the subject- 
matter of the priest's sermon. In the midst of it he turned and 
pointed to the painting, with a few touching words. All eyes 
followed his, which made his remarks doubly affecting. How- 
inspiring it must be to the priest, when he is preaching, to see 
around him the Saviour, and the goodly company of martyrs, 
saints, and fathers! There may be objections to having paintings 
and sculptures in churches, but I confess that I never enter a 
place where there is either but I feel an awe, an invisible in- 
fluence, which strikes me mute. I would sit in silence, covering 
my head. A sanctified atmosphere seems to fill the place and to 
penetrate my soul when I enter, as if I were in a holy temple. 
'Thou standest in a holy place,' I would say. A loud word. 






1890.] /'///: /-/// OF FATHER HECKKR. 471 

a heavy footstep, makes me shudder, as if an infidel were dese- 
crating the place. I stand speechless, in a magical atmosphere 
that wraps my whole being, scarcely daring to lift my eyes. A 
perfect stillness comes over my soul; it seems to be soaring on 
the bosom of clouds." 

" Tuesday, April 18. I confess that either the Church is not 
sufficient for my wants or I have not seen it in its glory. I 
hope it may be the latter. I do not want to say it, but I 
must own that it fills me no more. I contemplate it, I look at 
it, I comprehend it. It does not lead me to aspire. I feel that 
either it has nothing to give, or that what it has is not that 
for which my soul is aching I know it can be said in reply 
that I cannot know what the Church has until I am in com- 
munion with it ; that it satisfies natures greater than mine ; that 
it is the true life of the world; that there is no true spirituality 
outside of it, and that before I can judge it rightly my life 
must be equal to it in purity and elevation. Much more might 
be said. But, after all, what is it ? The Catholic shows up the 
Anglican ; the Anglican retorts with an accusation of corruption, 
and even a want of purity ; the Protestant, the Presbyterian, 
claim their own mission at the expense of consistency and good 
logic. ... 

" The whole fact, I suppose, is that if there is anything in 
Succession, Tradition, Infallibility, Church organism and form, it is 
in the Catholic Church, and our business will be to stop this 
controversy and call an Ecumenical Council which shall settle 
these matters according to the Bible, Tradition, and the light of 
the Church." 

There is a touch of unconscious humor in the final para- 
graph which clamored- for quotation. But it was plainly written 
in profound earnest. 

" Thursday, April 20 My soul is disquieted, my heart aches. 
Tears flow from my eyes involuntarily. My soul is 
grieved for what ? Yesterday, as I was praying, the thought 
flashed across my mind, Where is God ? Is He not here ? Why 
prayest thou as if He were at a great distance from thee ? Think 
of it. Where canst thou place Him in what locality ? Is He 
not here in thy midst ? Is His presence not nearest of all to 
thee ? Oh, think of it ! God is here. . . . 

" Am I impious to say that the language used in Scripture 
for Christ's expresses the thoughts of my soul ? Oh, could we 
but understand that the kingdom of heaven is always at hand 
to the discerner, and that God calls upon all to ' Repent, for ye 



472 /'//A I.lhE Of- I : AT1IER Hl-.CKl-.K. [J"lv. 

shall not all disappear until it shall open. This generation shall 
not pass away.' " 

Then follows a page of philosophizing on time and eternity, 
immensity and space, ami " monads who may develop or fulfil 
their destiny in other worlds than this," a reminiscence, perhaps, 
of the lectures on such topics at which Mr. Curtis says Isaac 
u-ed to "look in." hoping to " find an answer to his questions." 
Such speculations are a trait throughout the diary, though they 
are everywhere subordinate to the practical ends which domi- 
nantly interest him. A day or two later comes a pa- 
already given in a preceding chapter, in reference to certain 
prophetic dreams which it has been given him to see realized. 
And at once this follows: 

//// 24, Noon. The Catholic Church alone seems to satisfy 
my wants, my faith, life, soul. These may be baseless fabrics, 
chimeras dire, or what you please.. I may be laboring under a 
delusion. Vet my soul is Catholic, and that faith responds to my 
soul in its religious aspirations and its longings. I have not 
wished to make myself Catholic, but that answers on all sides 
to the wants of my soul. It is so rich, so full. One is in 
harmony all over in unison with heaven, with the present, 
living in the natural body, and the past, who have changed. 
There is a solidarity between them through the Church. I do 
not feel controversial. My soul is filled." 

From this point he speedily recedes. By the next day he is 
" lost almost in the flesh " ; " fallen into an identity with my 
body," and notes that for some time he has " done little in study, 
but feel that I have lived very much." What hinders him 
he supposes to be " contemplating any certain amount of study 
which I ought to accomplish looking to it as an end. Why 
should I not be satisfied when I am living, growing ? Did 
Christ and His apostles study languages ? I have the life is 
not that the end ? " 

"April 28. What shall I say? Am I wrong? Should I 
submit and give myself up to that which does not engage my 
whole being? To me the Church is not the great object of life. 
I am now out of it in the common meaning. I am not subject 
to its ordinances. Is it not best for me to accept my own 
nature rather than attempt to mould it as though it were an 
object? Is not our own existence more than this existence in 
the world ? 

" I read this morning an extract from Heine upon Schelling 
which affected me more than anything I have read for six 



I- 1 ''> 01' 1-AT1I1:K llKCKEH. 475 

months. The Church, says Schelling in substance, was first Pet- 
rine, then Pauline, and must be love-embracing, John-like. 
Peter, Catholicism ; Paul, Protestantism ; John, what is to be. The 
statement struck me and responded to my own dim intuitions. 
Catholicism is solidarity ; Protestantism is individuality. What 
we want, and are tending to, is what shall unite them both, as 
John's spirit does and that in each individual. We want 
neither the authority of History nor of the Individual ; neither 
Infallibility nor Reason by itself, but both combined in Life. 
Neither Precedent nor Opinion, but Being neither a written 
nor a preached Gospel, but a living one. . . . 

" It is only through Christ we can see the love, goodness, and 
wisdom of God. He is to us what the telescope is to the 
astronomer, with this difference : He so exalts and purifies us 
that our subject becomes the power to see. The telescope is 
a medium through which the boundaries of our vision are en- 
larged, but it is passive. Christ is an active Mediator who be- 
gets us if we will, and gives us power to see by becoming one 
with Him." 

" May 3. We all look upon this world as suits our moods, 
assimilating only such food as suits our dispositions and no 
doubt there is sufficient variety to suit all. . . . Every personality 
individualizes the world to himself, not subjectively but truly 
objectively. . . . Every individual ought, perhaps, to be satisfied 
with his own character. For it is an important truth of 
Fourier's that attractions are in proportion to destinies. Fear in 
proportion to hope, pain in proportion to pleasure, strength in 
proportion to destiny, etc. But it is mysterious that we know 
all this. ' Man has become as one of us.' We are all dead. 

" Ah, mystic ! dost thou show thyself in this shape ? But 
now, being dead, shall we receive life and immortality (for I 
imagine immortality the solidarity of life i. e., the union of the 
two lives, here and heaven) through Jesus Christ, the Son of the 
living God, and so lose ' the knowledge of good and evil.' ' For 
as in Adam all died, so shall ye all be made alive through 
Jesus Christ.' The effect of the fall was literally the knowledge 
of good and evil. God knows no evil, and when we become 
one with Him, thrqugh the Mediator, we shall regain our pre- 
vious state. ' Knowledge is the effect of sin, and is perhaps 
destined to correct itself. Consciousness and knowledge go to- 
gether. Spontaneity and life are one. Knowledge is no gain, 
for it gives nothing. I can only know what has been given 
through spontaneity. Spontaneity is unity, one ; knowledge is a 



474 till- f-ff-f- 01 l : ATIIl:H Ht-.CKKH. [Jl>'. 

division f being. If Adam had not been separated he wmiKl 
doubtless not have sinned. 'The woman tli.it I'll m ;^.i\<--t un- 
said unto me, I 1 '.. it, .ind I did rat.' Still, through the i-i-d of 
tin- woman, which will be the union restored, is tin serpent to 
be brui- 

7r/r 4. The real effect of the theory of the Church is to 
i-olate men from the outward world, withdraw them from its 
enjoyments, and make them live a life of sacrifice of the pas- 
sions. This is one statement. Another would be this: All t! 
things can and should be enjoyed, but in a higher, purer, more 
exalted -Lite of being than is the present ordinary condition of 
our minds. The only opposition to them hen the soul 

;nes sensual, falls into their arms, and become> lo^t t 
higher and more spiritual objects. . . 

\11 is dark before me, impenetrable darkness. I appear to 
live in the centre. Nothing seems to take hold of my soul, or 
else it seeks nothing. Where it is I know not. I meet with no one 
else around me. I would that I could feel that -M.me one lived in 
the same world that I now do. Something cloudy separates 
us. I cannot speak from my real being to others. There is no 
mutual recognition. When I speak, it is as if a burden accu- 
mulated round me. I long to throw it off, but I cannot titter 
my thoughts and feelings in their presence ; if I do, they return 
to me unrecognized. Shall I ever meet with one the windows 
of whose soul will open simultaneously with mine ? " 

On the first Sunday of May Isaac went into Boston to hear 
Brownson preach, and a day or two later made the subjoined 
shrewd comments on the sermon in a letter to his mother: 

" May 9, '43. His intention is to preach the Catholic doc- 
trine and administer the Sacraments. How many of them, 1 
suppose, depends on circumstances. He justifies himself on the 
ground that he that is not against us is for us, and that in 
times of exigency, and in extraordinary cases, we may do what 
we could not be excused for doing otherwise. And he thinks 
by proclaiming the Catholic faith and repudiating the attempt 
to build up a Church, that in time the Protestant world will be- 
come Catholic in its dispositions, so that a unity will be made 
without submission or sacrifice. Under present circumstances it 
would be impossible, even if the Protestant churches should be 
willing to unite with the Catholic, that the Catholic could even 
supply priests for forty millions of Protestants, the Protestant 
priests being most of them married, etc. 

" I confess the sermon was wholly unsatisfactory to me. un- 



1890.] Tin-. LII-E oi- FATHER HECKEK. 475 

catholic in its premises, and many of his arguments and facts 
chimerical and illusive. If you grant that the Roman Catholic 
Church is the true Church, there is, to my thought, no stopping- 
place short of its bosom. Or even if it is the nearest to the 
truth, you are under obligations to join it. How any one can 
believe in either one of those propositions, as O. A. B. does, 
without becoming a Catholic in fact, I cannot conceive. This 
special pleading of exceptions, the necessity of the case, and 
improbable suppositions, springs more, I think, from the position 
of the individual than from the importance or truth of the argu- 
ments made use of. Therefore I think he will give up in time 
the ground upon which he now supports his course not the 
object but his position. ... I have bought a few Catholic books 
in Boston which treat upon the Anglican claims to Catholicity, 
and I think I can say, so far, I never shall join a Protestant 
Church while I am not positive on the positive side, nor even 
in any way as yet decided." 



CHAPTER VII. 
STRUGGLES. 

The citations thus far made from Isaac Hecker's youthful 
diary, although penned at Brook Farm, bear few traces of that 
fact. They might have been written in a desert for all evidence 
they give of any special influence produced upon him by per- 
sonal contact with others. It is not until the middle of May, 
1843, that he begins to make any reference to his actual sur- 
roundings. 

Before following him into these more intimate self-confi- 
dences, and especially before giving in his own words an ac- 
count of that peculiar occurrence which so permanently affected 
his future, some preliminary remarks seem necessary. 

It has been said already, in an earlier chapter of this biogra- 
phy, that but for some special intervention of Divine Providence, 
it is more than probable that Isaac Hecker would have led the 
ordinary life of men in the world, continuing, indeed, to cherish 
a high ideal of the duties of the citizen of a free country, but 
pursuing it along well-beaten ways. There is no doubt that, 
unless some such event as he has narrated, or some influence 
equivalent to it in effect, had supernaturally drawn him away, he 
would of his own volition have sought what he was repeatedly 



7V//: /.///: 01- I-'ATIII-.H ///.< -A . [J'>. 

advised tu seek by K : friends, a congenial uniim in 

wedlock He was natur.illy susceptible, and his attachments were 
not only firm, but often seemed obstinate. Of celibacy he had, 
up to this time, no other idea than such as the common run of 
non-Catholics possess. At home, indeed, when afterwards pr< 

ek a wife, he had an-wered, truly enough, though holding 
fast t.. 1: ;. that lie " had no thought of marrying and felt 

an aversion to company tor such an end." An<i a^ain he write- 
to his mother, anxious and troubled for his future, that the 
circle which surrounded him in New York op; aid con- 

tracted him, and abridged his liberty. There was no one in it 
win- "increased his life." 

But at Brook Farm he met some one, as is ; by his 

diary and correspondence, who deeply attracted him, and who 
might have attracted him as far as marriage had he not already 
received the Holy Spirit's prevenient grace of virginity. That i- 
to say, he found "a being," to use his impersonal term, whose 
name and identity he is careful to veil, awkwardly enough at 
times with misleading pronouns, whose charm was so great as 
to win from him what would have been, in his normal 
marital affection. But he was no longer normal. Although still 
beyond the visible pale of that garden of elect souls, God's 
holy Church, he was already transformed by the quickening 
grace which "reaches from cn.l to end mightily and orders all 
things sweetly." Our next quotations afford explicit proof on 
this point : 

" Tuesday, May 16. Life appears to be a perpetual struggle 
between the heavenly and the worldly. 

" Here at Brook Farm I become acquainted with persons 
who have moved in a higher rank in society than I persons of 
good education and fine talents ; all of which has an improving 
influence on me. And I meet with those to whom I can speak, 
and feel that, to a great degree, I am understood and responded 
to. In New York I am alone in the midst of people. I am 
not in any internal sense en rapport with them. 

" I suppose the reason why I do not, in my present state, 
feel disposed to connect myself with any being, and would rather 
avoid a person whom I was conscious I might or could 1>\ 
that I feel my life to be in a rapid progress, and that no step 
now would be a permanent one. I am afraid the choice I would 
have made some time since (// there had not been something 
deeply secret in my being -cliieh prevented me\ would now be 
very unsatisfactory. I feel conscious there could not have been 



1890.] THE LII-E OF FA'IHEK HECKER. 477 

an equal and mutual advance, because the natures of some are 
not capable of much growth. And I mistrust whether there 
would not have been an inequality, hence disharmony and un- 
happiness, 

" To be required to accept your past is most unpleasant. 
Perhaps the society with which I was surrounded did not afford 
a . being that unified with mine own. And I have faith that 
there are spiritual laws beneath all this outward framework of 
sight and sense, which will, if rightly believed in and trusted, 
lead to the goal of eternal life, harmony of being, and union 
with God. So I accept my being led here. Am I superstitious 
or egoistic in believing this ? This is, no doubt, disputed terri- 
tory. Have we any objective rule to compare our faith with 
which would give us the measure of our superstition ? How much 
of to-day would have seemed miraculous or superstitious to the 
past ? I confess I have no rule or measure to judge the faith 
of any man. 

" The past is always the state of infancy. The present is an 
eternal youth, aspiring after manhood ; hoping wistfully, intensely 
desiring, listfully listening, dimly seei-ng the bright star of hope 
in the future, beckoning him to move rapidly on, while his 
strong heart beats with enthusiasm and glowing joy. The past 
is dead. Wish me not the dead from the grave, for that;would 
be death re-enacted. 

" Oh, were our wishes in harmony with heaven, how changed 
would be the scenes of our life ! . . . This accordance would 
be music which only the angels now hear too delicate for be- 
ings such as we are at present. List ! hast thou not heard in 
some bright moment a strain from heaven's angelic choirs ? Oh, 
yes ! In our sleep the angels have whispered such rich music, 
and the soul being then passive, we can hear. And the pleasure 
does not leave us when passion and thought take their accus- 
tomed course. 

" O man ! were thy soul more pure, what a world would 
open to thy inner senses ! There would be no moment of thy 
existence but would be filled with the music of love. The 
prophet said : ' In that day my eyes were opened.' And behold 
what he saw ! He saw it. Could we but hear ! The word of 
the Lord is ever speaking alas ! where is one that can hear ? 
Where are our Isaiahs, our Ezekiels, our Jeremiahs ? Oh ! thou 
shrunken- visaged, black, hollow-eyed doubt! hast thou passed like 
a cloud over men's souls, making them blind, deaf, and dumb ? 
Ah, ha ! dost thou shudder ? I chant thy requiem, and prophets 

VOL. LI. 31 



I /it-: /.///: nf I-'ATHI.K /// [July. 

poets, .111 shall rise attain ! I - ; e them coming, ("ni.it 

heaven! Karth -hall he again a paradise, and ( i"d coir, 
with men ! " 

The next entry i- undated, hut it was probably made on 
the last day of May. It lia^ -m ed t fix the proximate time 
of the illness and disquiet which led to his first withdrawal from 
business and home. 

" l\'edHeadti\'. About ten month- ago peril. tp- "tily -even 
or eight I saw (I cannot say I dreamed ; it was quite different 
from dreaming; I \\ bed on the side of my bed) a beau- 

tiful, angelic being, and myself -landing al of her, 

ing a most heavenly pure joy. It was as if our bodies were 
luminous and gave forth a moon-like light which sprung from 
the joy we experienced. I felt as if we had always lived 
together, and that our motions, actions, feelings, and thoughts 
came from one centre. When I looked towards her I saw no 
bold outline of form, but an angelic something I cannot describe, 
though in angelic shape and image. // was this picture that has 
left such an indelible impression on my mind. For some time 
afterward I continued to feel the same influence, and do now 
so often that the actual around me has lost its hold. /// my 
State previous to this vision I should liave been married ere this, 
for there are those I have since seen who u'ould liare met the 
demands of my mind. Hut now this vision continually hovers 
over me and prevents me, by its beauty, from accepting any 
one else ; for I am charmed by its influence, and conscious 
that, should I accept any other, I should lose the life which 
would be the only one wherein I could say I live.' 

Those of our readers who are either versed in mystical 
theology or who have any wide knowledge of the lives of the 
Church's more interior saints, with neither of which Isaac Hecker 
had at this time any" acquaintance, will be apt to recall here 
St. Francis of Assisi and his bride, the Lady Poverty, the 
similar occurrences related by Henry Suso of himself, and the 
mystic espousals of St. Catharine. We have in this relation 
not only the plainly avowed reason why he accepted the celi- 
bate life, even before entering the Church or arriving at any 
clear understanding of his duty to do so, but we have some- 
thing more. Not yet certain of his own vocation, the dream of 
a virginal apostolate, including the two had ah 

absorbed his yearnings, never again to be forgotten. Neither 
priest nor Catholic, save in the as yet unrevealed ordinance of 
God, he was no longer free to invite any woman t man 



1 890.] TV//-; LII-K OF FATHER HECKER. 479 

no matter how deeply he might be sensible of her feminine 
attraction. . The union of souls ? Yes ; for uses worthy of 
souls. The union of bodies ? No ; that would only clip his 
wings and narrow his horizon. Thenceforward the test of true 
kinship with him could only be a kindred aspiration after 
union in liberty from merely natural trammels, in order to tend 
more surely to a supernatural end. 

This may seem to some a strange beginning to a life so 
simply and entirely set apart from the active, or, at least, public 
union of the sexes in apostolic labors. Strange or not, the 
reader will see it to be more true as this biography proceeds, 
and its writer is not conscious of any reluctance to make it 
known. Such an integral supernatural mission to men was what 
he ever after desired and sought to establish, though he only 
attained success on the male side. We cannot deny that this 
diary, surprising to us in many ways, was most so in this 
particular, although in this particular we found the explanation 
of many words spoken by Father Hecker in his maturity and 
old age, words the most sober and the most decided we ever 
heard from him. He never for an hour left out of view the 
need of women for any great work of religion, though he 
doubtless made very sure of his auditor before unveiling his 
whole thought. He never made so much as a serious attempt 
to incorporate women with his work, but he never ceased to 
look around and to plan with a view to doing so. Among the 
personal memoranda already mentioned are found evidences of 
this so direct, and corroborated by such recent facts, that they 
cannot be used until the lapse of time shall have made an 
extension of this life as well possible as necessary. 

"June i. One cannot live a spiritual life in the world 
because it requires so much labor to supply food and clothing 
that what is inward and eternal has to- be given up for the 
material and life in time. If one has to sustain himself at 
Brook Farm without other means to aid him, he must employ 
his strength to that degree that he has no time for the culture 
of the spiritual. I cannot remain and support myself without 
becoming subject to the same conditions as existed at home." I 
cannot expect them to be willing to lessen their present ex- 
penses much for the sake of gaining time for spiritual culture ; 
nor do I see how I can at home live with my relatives and have 
the time which I require. I see no way but to give up the 
taste for fine clothing and variety in food. I would prefer the 
life of the monastery to that of the external world.- The advan- 



480 Tilt. I.I// i 'A h'Mllt.K ///.CAV-.A'. U ul >'. 

for my be in:,' are greater. The harmny of the tw is 
tin- full .mil perfect i-\i teOCC ; but the spiritual should aluay- 
bc preserved at the < ,\| the <>tlier, which is contrary to 

the tendency of the world, and perhap> even to that of this ]. 
1 would prefer i;oin^ hungry in body than in soul. I am 
spcal. -.\n^\ neither, for 1 believe ill tile fulness of life, in 

amply supplying all its wants; but the kin,.l";n of <"1 is more 
to me than this world. I would be 1'l.ito in love. X.eno in self- 
strength, and Kpicurus in .i^thetu ^ ; but if I have to sacrifice 
either, let Kpicurus 

"JlHU u. At times I have an impulse to cry out, 'What 
wouldst Thou have me to do?' I would shout up into the 
empty vault of heaven : 'Ah, why plainest Thou me s. < J What 
shall I do ? Give me an answer unlcs> Thou wilt have me 
consumed by inward fire, drying up the living liquid of life. 
\\'ouldst Thou have me to give up all ? 1 have I have no 
dreams to realize. I want nothing, have nothing, and am will- 
ing to die in any way What ties 1 have are few, and can be 
cut with a groan.' ' 

" Mninia}-, June 26. Solomon said, after he had tasted all 
the joys of the world, 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.' 1, un- 
friend, who have scarcely tasted any of the pleasures of the 
world, would say with Solomon, 'All is vanity. I see nothing 
in which I can work. All are vanities, shadows ; -beneath all 
there is nothing. Great God ! what is all this for ? Why tor- 
ment and pain me so ? Why is all this action a profanity to 
me ? And even holiness, what is it ? 

" Oh ! I am dumb ; my soul is inarticulate. There is that 
in me which I would pour out. Oh ! why is it that the nob; 
actions of humanity speak not to my soul ? All life is inade- 
quate but not in the sense of the world. I would joyfully be 
silent, obscure, dead to all the world, if this alone which U 
in me had life. I ask not for name, riches, external conditions 
of delight or splendor. No ; the meanest of all would be 
heaven to me, if this inward impulse had action, lived itselt 
out. But no; I am imprisoned in spirit. What imprisons? 
Wh'at is imprisoned ? Who can tell ? 

" You say, good adviser, ' You must accept things as they 
are be content to be ; have faith in God ; do. that work which 
your hands find to do. 1 Good ; but it is taken for granted we 
know what things are which is the question. ' He content to 
be.' He what? 'Have faith in God.' Yes. 'Work?' 
but how? Kike others. But this is not work to me; it is 



1890.] THE /,///: 01- r.-iruER HECKER. 481 

death ; nay, worse it is sin ; hence, damnation and I am not 
ready to go to hell yet. Your work gives me no activity ; and 
to starve, if I must, is better than to do the profane, the sacri- 
legious labor you place before me. I want God's living work 
to do. My labor must be a sermon, every motion of my body 
a word, every act a sentence. My work must be devotional. I 
must feel that I am worshipping. It must be music, love, 
prayer. My field must be the kingdom of God. Christ must 
reign in all. It must be Christ doing in me, and not. me. My 
life must be poetical, divine. Head, heart, and hands must be 
a trinity in unity ; they must tons in one accord. My work 
must be work of inspiration and aspiration. My heart cannot be 
in heaven when my head and hands arc in hell. I must feel that 
I am building up Christ's kingdom in all that I do. To give 
Christ room for action in my heart, soul, and body is my de- 
sire, my aim', purpose, being. . . . 

" It is not he who goes to church, says his prayers, sings 
psalms, says ' Lord, Lord,' who is in God and establishing His 
kingdom. No ; it is he who is doing it. The earth is to be 
His kingdom, and your prayers must be deeds, your actions 
music ascending to heaven. The Church must be the kingdom 
of God in its fulness. . . . 

" Are we Christians if we act not in the spirit in which 
Christ acted ? Shall we say : ' What shall we do ? ' Follow 
the spirit of Christ which is in you. ' Unless ye are repro- 
bates, ye have it in you.' ' Be ye faithful, as I am,' said 
Jesus. ' Love one another as I have loved you.' Take up 
your cross and follow Him. Leave all, if the Spirit leads you 
to leave all. Do whatever it commands you. There will be no 
lack of action. Care not for the world ; give up wealth, friends, 
those that you love, the opinions of all. Be willing to be de- 
spised, spit upon, crucified. Be silent, and let your silence 
speak for you." 

It is plain that what Isaac Hecker is here condemning is 
the life of the world, wholly ordinary in its aims and motives. 
It is not to be understood as a condemnation of the common 
lot of men, or of that life in itself. It was only as he saw it 
over against his own vocation to something higher that it be- 
came repulsive, nay guilty to hint. Nor was he even yet so 
settled in his view of the contrasted worth of the two careers 
between which he had to choose, as to be quite free from pain- 
ful struggles. In the entry made on the day preceding this 
outburst, he once more recurs to the subject of marriage : 



Till /./// ('/ /',//// A A' //ACAV-.A'. [July, 

Monday l : .--ening, June 26. This evening the same advice 
that ha> been given me before, first by the doctor who at- 
tended me, next by my deare-t triend, was given me again 
by a man who now resides here." 

f'ltfsiiay Morning, June 2~ . Rather than follow this ad- 
vice, I would die. I should be miserable all my life Nay, 
death before thi>. These men appear to me as natural men, 
but not in the same life as mine. They are older, have mop 
perience and more judgment than I, perhaps; but considering the 
point of view from which their judgment is formed, their advice 
does not appear to be the counsel for me. I never can, nor will, 
save my health or life by such means. If that is the only 
remedy, then unremedied must I remain. 

" But the cause of my present state of mind is not what 
they suppose. It is deeper, higher, and, O God! Thou kn<>w- 
est what it is! Wilt Thou give me hope, strength, guid- 
ance ? " . . . 

" Fruiav, June 29. Am I led by something higher to 
the life to which I am tending ? Sometimes I think it is 
most proper for me to return home, accept things as they 
are, and live a life like others as good, and as much bet- 
ter as possible. If I can find one with whom I think I can 
live happily, to accept such a one, and give up that which 
now leads me. 

" My friends would say this is the prudent and rational 
course but it appears this is not mine. That I am here is 
one evidence that it is not mine. A second is that I strug- 
gled against what led me here as much as lay in my power, 
until I became weak, sick, and confined to my bed. Farther 
than that I could not go. 

" They tell me that if I were married it would not be so 
with me. I will not dispute this, although I do not believe it. 
But, my good friends, that is the difficulty. To marry is to me 
impossible. You tell me this is unnatural. Yes, my brethren, it 
may be unnatural, but how shall I be natural ? Must I commit 
that which in my sight is a crime, which I feel would make mi- 
miserable and be death to my soul ? ' But this is foolish and 
one-sided in you. You are wrong-minded. You will lose your 
health, your youthful joy, and the pleasure which God has, 
by human laws, designed you to enjoy. You should give up 
thoughts and feelings of yours and be like those around 

you.' 

"Ye, my friends, this advice I accept with love, km>v. 



.1890.] Tin-: /.///: oh' 1-ATiiKK ///;< -A 7-. A'. 483 

your kindness to mo. But, alas ! I feel that it comes from such 
a source that I cannot receive it." 

" July 5. My brother George has been here; he stayed 
three days. He told me he had often talked with my brother 
John about living a life higher, nobler, and more self-denying 
than he had done. It appears from his conversation that since 
I left home they have been impressed with a deeper and better 
spirit. To me it is of much interest to decide what I shall do. 
I have determined to make a visit to Fruitlands. To leave this 
place is to me a great sacrifice. I have been much refined in 
being here. 

" To stay here to purchase a place for myself or to go 
home. These are questions about which I feel the want of some 
friend to consult with. I have no one to whom I can go for 
advice. If I wish to be self-denying, one would say at home is 
the best, the largest field for my activity. This may be true in 
one sense. But is it wise to go where there are the most diffi- 
culties to overcome? Would it not be better 'to plant the tree in the 
soil where it can grow most in every direction? At home, to be 
sure, if I have strength to succeed, I may, perhaps, do the most 
good, and it may be the widest sphere for me. But there are 
many difficulties which have such a direct influence on one to 
injure, to blight all high and noble sentiments, that I fear to 
encounter them, and I am not sure it is my place. Perhaps it 
would be best for me not to speculate on the future, but look 
to Him who is above for wise direction in all that concerns my 
life. Sacrifices must be made. I must expect and accept them 
in a meek, humble, and willing spirit." 



4< S 4 ./ W AYC.-I.V L'.-l ///<'//( I-KATI-.KM1Y. [J"!.V, 



.\MI.Klt\\\ CATHOLIC FK. \TKKM 1 Y 

TllK Yowl- Men's Institute is a Catholic, American fraternal 
organization, whose object is to promote the moral, intellectual, 
and social improvement nf its members. 

No race restrictions bar admission to its ranks. It is an 
American organization. Its members, like the grand old church 
whose loyal children they are, welcome to fellowship all Amer- 
icans who can stand upon the common plane of fealty to the 
faith of our fathers, and loyalty to the land " of the free heart's 
hope and home." 

It imposes upon its members no foreign garb. Its plan 
anticipated the admonition so eloquently and patriotically voiced 
by that distinguished prelate the Archbishop of St. Paul, during 
the Catholic Centennial celebration in Baltimore: "The Church 
of America must be, of course, as Catholic as ever in Jerusalem 
or Rome ; but as far as her garments assume color from the 
local atmosphere, she must be American. Let no one dare 
paint her brow with foreign tint, or pin to her mantle foreign 
linings." 

Catholic organizations founded in part upon foreign birth or 
ancestry have accomplished vast good ; and their beneficent 
influence has been felt in the midst of hundreds of thousands of 
American homes. But it should be borne in mind that the 
grandest conquest of the Catholic Church cannot be achieved 
over the American heart if her agencies invite from lier ene- 
mies the suggestion, or charge, that she is a foreign church. 
Unfortunately, in this regard, the largest aggregations of Catholic 
societies in America have been generally identified with race. 
Few have been simply Catholic. The motto which the Young 
Men's Institute inscribes upon its banner is Pro Deo, Pro Patria. 
The fraternity which it inculcates is based upon loyalty to God 
and country. The banner under which it wages battle is the st.ir- 
spangled symbol of the great American Republic. The special 
symbol under whose inspiration it marches to conquest is that 
which Constantine beheld resplendent in the sky, the harbinger 
of victory. The necessity of organization is patent to the mind 
of every one who keeps abreast of the times.' No great result 
can be achieved without it. E pliiribtis nniiin was the motto 
whose influence gave success to the strong arms of the kev<>lu- 



1890.] AMI-:KIC.-\\ CATHOLIC I-'KATLKXITY. 485 

tionary patriots. Its magic power has builded up the thirteen 
stripling colonies into giant States, whose strong embrace now 
encircles more than thrice thirteen glorious commonwealths in the 
clasp of a common, undying nationality. 

As well in the domain of moral and religious principles as in 
that of trade and commerce is organization the means of storing 
the greatest amount of energy and accomplishing the greatest 
result. 

In America more largely than anywhere else in the world 
do people of all classes gravitate toward organization. It is of 
the utmost importance that this essentially American force should 
be applied to the development and perpetuation of Catholic prin- 
ciples upon American soil. Especially should its influence sur- 
round our Catholic young men when setting out on their pathway 
of life's labor. 

Accustom our young American Catholics to stand in solid 
phalanx in the vindication and the practice of their faith. Let 
each derive strength and courage from association with his fellow. 
Give to our Catholic young men the encouragement, the backing, 
the intellectual and moral sustenance which the Young Men's 
Christian Association affords so amply to the young people who 
are not Catholics. 

Build up in each community a centre of Catholic sentiment ; 
provide for the young people libraries, halls, and reading-rooms, 
where they may meet in social intercourse and create an interest 
in each other's welfare. Afford them opportunities for social 
intercourse where education and refinement comport with Cath- 
olic culture. Create an attractive sphere of acquaintance and 
association for those who, from lack of home and friends, find 
themselves removed from the influence of the family fireside. 

Say to the young man entering upon his life's career that he 
shall have provided for him, among the fellowship of his faith, 
that backing of encouiagement and support which will enable 
him to succeed. Give to him an organization so strong, so wide- 
spread, so congenial, that he may not drift away, as so many 
thousands have heretofore, into other organizations condemned by 
his church, and thus become estranged from kinship with those 
of his creed. 

This work of encouraging, of organizing, of solidifying our 
young American Catholics has been undertaken by the Young 
Men's Institute. Strangely enough, until the birth of this young 
organization there was no American Catholic fraternal organiza- 
tion of consequence in the United States. 



486 AMKR/CA.V CATHOLIC I : KATEK\ITY. LJ ul >'. 

There were m.my imitated societies accomplishing a \ 
amount of go <!. hut there was no bond of unity cementing them 
in th I common eiule.. 

Membership in one conferred no rights or privileges in an- 
other. I A en members of kindred societies in the same city "r 
town had no direct interest in the members of any organisation 
but their own. 

Living in communities where the great bulk of the popula- 
tion enjoyed the advantages of fraternal intercourse, Catholic 
youn^ nun were entirely denied the advantages of fraternity. 
1 his comparative isolation in places where their neighbors en- 
joyed all the advantages of fraternity placed them at a serious 
disadvantage in many of the practical affairs of life. In some 
places, subjected to a social or business ostracism on account of 
their faith, they either submitted to the penalty of mortification 
and business loss, or ingloriously severed by slow degrees their 
connection with their church. The Catholic communities of the 
United States are not lacking in intelligence, in public spirit or 
moral worth. No good reason can be shown why the individual 
members of such communities should act as if the practice of 
their faith was due to the sufferance of their fellow-citizens 
rather than to the beneficent law of the land. 

The Young Men's Institute aims, in the persons and by the 
influence of its members, to solidify Catholic sentiment. It arro- 
gates to itself none of the functions of a ministry abundantly 
able to direct the strictly spiritual concerns of Catholics. It is 
not in a strict sense a church society, like those devotional organ- 
izations known as confraternities, sodalities, and the like. But 
it does hope to take the high-strung young man, just freed from 
the restraints of school and home, and subject him to pleasant 
and profitable association with those of his own creed, and to 
withhold him from the grasp of the myriad other organizations 
that tend to estrange him from his faith. 

All applicants for active membership must be Catholics, be 
tween the ages of eighteen and thirty-five years, of good charac- 
ter, temperate and industrious habits, and sound mental and 
physical condition. One may become a charter-member of new- 
institutes whose age does not exceed forty years. 

Active members, by virtue of their membership, become en- 
titled after six months to sick benefits to the amount of seven 
dollars per week. 

Institutes organixed in the Atlantic jurisdiction may deter- 
mine whether to pay sick benefits to their members and may 



1890.] AMERICAN CATHOLIC I-KATKKXITY. 487 

regulate the amount The sick benefits are paid out of the 
treasuries of the subordinate branches. 

A small insurance of five hundred dollars is paid to the bene- 
ficiary of an active member who dies while in good standing. 
As a reasonable precaution, members desiring to participate in 
sick benefits and to avail themselves of the insurance feature, are 
required to submit to a medical examination by a local exam- 
iner selected by the institute, the report of the examiner being 
afterward inspected and passed upcn by the Grand Medical Ex- 
aminer. In addition to the beneficial or mutual benevolent 
features of membership, the organization embraces also associate 
or honorary members, who participate in all the fraternal advan- 
tages of the order. Really the building up of Catholic fellowship 
is the most important work of the Y. M. I. Those applicants 
who have exceeded the limit of age, or who cannot undergo a 
satisfactory medical examination, are received as honorary or 
associate members. 

To those who have given the fraternal feature some thought, 
it seems a matter of paramount importance to the young man 
who leaves his mountain home to carve out for himself amid 
the bustle of a great and strange city the position of standing 
and distinction for which his industry and his talent qualify him, 
it is an undertaking of difficulty and delay to take the proper 
soundings and locate himself where his surroundings may con- 
spire to accomplish his purpose. 

To be alone and strange in a great city may be an advan- 
tage to the libertine, but to the timid young man bent on win- 
ning his way to social, business, or professional standing it is a 
disadvantage. The member of the Young Men's Institute who 
leaves his distant home to come to the city will find the warm 
hand of greeting and fellowship extended to him ; he will hear 
words of advice, of assistance, of encouragement ; he will find 
many of the difficulties in his way obviated by the brotherhood 
to whom his necessities and desires are a law. To the traveller 
whom ill-health or business exiles from home and family sur- 
roundings, the dread fatigue of loneliness among the crowds of 
strange faces that he does not know is almost as disagreeable 
as his ailment or a business reverse. To him this society will 
lend its words of fellowship, which will open to him the council 
chamber where he will find his friends gathered to render to him 
the courtesies of hospitality and the services of fraternity. To 
him who remains at home and meets with a misadventure, it is 
pleasant to find the sustaining hand and voice of fellowship in 



4>s -.'/-Avc/fA- CATHOLIC I-'KATI-.K.VITY. [J"'y, 

his misfortune. Among liis associates lie may look with confi- 
dence to that assistance which will tide him >vi-r discomfiture 
and distress 

To the Catholic American it has the attraction of novelty. 
He is fully ,iliv<- to its importance, and he will not rest until in 
every considerable town in the Union there has been established 
an institute which uhall serve as a centre for the radiation of 
the moral, patriotic, and fraternal principles of the order. To 
this end, whenever possible, the institute will have their own 
halls or meeting-places, their own libraries, reading-rooms, and 
their appropriate conveniences for gentlemanly recreation 

The organization at present embraces a membership of nearly 
ten thousand members, distributed through one hundred and 
thirty distinct branches. Each branch is designated by a number, 
and is known as Young Men's Institute No. . In each juris- 
diction the supreme legislative and appellate power is e.xei 
by a body known as the Grand Council of the Young Men's 
Institute. This latter body is composed of two delegates selected 
from each institute. Its sessions are held annually. During its 
adjournments the functions of the Grand Council are exercised 
by a board of grand directors. Owing to the rapid extension 
of the order in the States of the Mississippi valley and the New 
England, Southern, and Middle States, it has become necessary 
to establish the Atlantic jurisdiction. A Grand Council of the 
Atlantic jurisdiction will assemble in the city of Cincinnati on 
the 4th day of July, 1890. After the inauguration of the new 
Atlantic jurisdiction a Supreme Council will deal with the gene- 
ral organic law of the order and regulate generally the affairs of 
the several jurisdictions. 

The order aims to make each institute a source of instruction 
and intellectual entertainment to members and friends. Kindlji 
and pleasant social relations with non-Catholics are fostered ; 
addresses, lectures, and essays upon subjects of general interest. 
involving art, science, literature, and morals, are given from time 
to time under the auspices of the institute. 

It is of the utmost importance that the Catholic young men 
of the country, factors of her future greatness, should be abreast 
of the times, should be a part of the mighty intellectual activity 
that characterizes the age. To quote again from the patriotic 
prelate of St. Paul : 

' This is an intellectual age. It worships intellect. All thing's arc tried by 
the touchstone of intellect, and the ruling power, public opinion, is formed by it. 
The church will be judged by the standard of intellect. Catholics must ex< i -I in 



1890.] AMERICAN CATHOLIC FRATERNITY. 489 

religious knowledge ready to give reasons for the faith that is in them, meeting 
objections from whatever source ; keeping up with the times, they must be in 
the foreground of all intellectual movements. Religious knowledge needs for its 
completeness the secular. 

" The age will not take kindly to the former if separated from the latter. 
The church must regain the sceptre of science, which to her honor and the favor 
of the world she wielded gloriously for ages in the past." 

Let us hope that the new crusaders of the Young Men's 
Institute may be encouraged to do gallant battle in conjunction 
with the other intellectual forces of the land in placing the 
sceptre of science in the hands of the real mistress of our 
modern civilization, Mother Church. The marvellous growth of 
this young organization on the Pacific coast has been largely due 
to the fostering care and kindly encouragement of the clergy, 
many of whom are prominent, active members. 

His grace the Most Reverend P. W. Riordan, Archbishop of 
San Francisco, is a warm friend and advocate of the order, as 
likewise the good fathers of the Society of Jesus, whose gra- 
duates are among the most prominent members of the organi- 
zation. 

The banner of the institute was first raised in the Queen 
City of the Pacific, the extreme outpost in the Western march 
of civilization. The star of Bethlehem emblazoned upon that 
banner casts its light athwart the advancing tide of human pro- 
gress. May the wise men of the East discern its light ! Let 
the missionaries of the Young Men's Institute pursue their 
accustomed pathway of labor and success ; nor should they rest 
until the territory from British Columbia to the Mexican line, 
from Maine to Florida, from Liberty's torch on Bedloe's Island 
to the golden gateway of the departing sun shall constitute one 
vast field overspread with the institute principles of Faith, 
Fatherland, and Fraternity. 

J. F. SULLIVAN, 
Grand President Y. M. I. 

San t'ranfisco. Cat. 



490 /.V7A.W/-.AVf.V<7 /.V 



INTKMl'K RANCH IN IK!. I- \NH 



"DKINK is a monster ^or^ed witli hum. in iM Father 

Mathew. The man niu-t know little of the world who docs not 
know the truth of this. It would be idle, and be^dc tin- present 
subject, to speak of its victims and their universality. There i> 
not a class in the community, and, if we except mere children. 
not an age that has not given it hostages; and one sex i- 
little beyond its evil grasp as the other. \Vc all know this and 
deplore it. But this is not the question: the question is, Ho\\ 
does it stand in Ireland to-day ? Of the population, considering 
them broadly, there are three classes whose habits and 
tions are different with regard to drink the country population, 
the small-town population, and the city population. \Ve will 
consider each of these in its turn. 

The public-houses in the country places and little village* 
do not depend on the surrounding population for their profits. 
But first, are these public-houses numerous? A total abstainer 
would say if there were only one, that it was one too m my. 
So the word numerous depends on taste. But to describe how 
they do stand, I will take thrcj roads leading from one of our 
large cities. As you travel out of the city up to its very sub- 
urbs you have the public-house. When you come out in the 
clear country on road No. I the first public-house stands at 
3j miles from the city, the next on that road at 7 miles. 
About three miles further on is a small village with two, 01 
perhaps three, public-houses. On road No. 2 there is not a 
public-house till you come to a small village about 6 miles 
from the city. In that village of thirty houses or so there are 
three taverns. You pass on, and meet none till you reach 
another little village about 4 miles away. On road No. 3 
there stands a public-house at the distance of 2 l / t miles ; the 
sign still swings over the door, and you are told, in half-del, u . -.1 
letters, that " Anne McMahon is licensed to sell beer and 
spirits by retail " ; but neither Anne nor the beer will an 
the thirsty soul. The house has been vacated, and Anne is 
gone somewhere else to earn a livelihood by, it is hoped, a 
less questionable profession. The house, in fact, stands untenant- 
ed. It is more than four miles still further on, on that road, 
that " the bona fide traveller " can get a drop. These arc all 



1890.] INTEMPERANCE i.\ IREI.AXD. 491 

thoroughfares leading to a large city, and give a fair specimen 
of our publican trade. The taverns or public-houses are m< in- 
numerous on the main roads, such as those leading from one 
large town to another or to the city, than they are on the 
small by-roads of the country. The system of railway 
travelling has banished these way-side inns out of existence. 
There was once a time when they did a roaring trade. AH the 
travelling then was by road, and ejther on horseback or by the 
common country cars. The country was largely devoted to 
tillage twenty or thirty years ago, when we had a teeming popu- 
lation, and when the country could be worked and must be 
worked. Now there is little or no tillage, except as a " welcome 
haws" i.e., where the land will give nothing else; and the 
produce of the country, butter, or fatted beast, or bag of corn, 
goes oft' by rail ; and the bank or the post-office order returns- 
the equivalent to the farmer, who sits at home by his fire. 

Still, there will and must be travellers ; and days will be 
sometimes hot, when something must be taken " to cool," and 
days will be cold, when something must be taken " to warm." 
On such chance travellers and on the fools of the surrounding 
population the public-house depends. So far as the neighboring 
population is concerned, Sundays and holidays are, as a rule, the 
only days that they go to drink. You know, perhaps, that we have 
in Ireland a legislative act called the Sunday Closing Act, and 
you will perhaps wonder at the statement that there is still 
drinking on Sundays. I will explain all about that when I come 
to speak of the efforts being made to stem the advance of 
drink. 

It will be asked what proportion of this rural community spend 
their money on drink and to what extent. Let us put the 
question this way : What percentage spends more than one or 
two shillings that is, a quarter or a half a dollar on drink every 
week ? Not two in every hundred spends constantly week by 
week over two shillings, or half a dollar, on drink ; not ten one 
shilling, or a quarter of a dollar. 

What they do is this : Four or five meet ; one proposes,. 
"Come up to Ryan's or over to Kavanagh's, and we'll have a 
drink ; the day is cowld. or the day is hot." They go. The 
inviting party calls for four pints of beer, or whatever they will 
have. If it comes up to a shilling, it rarely passes it. Another 
of the party says, " Now, boys, ye'll have a thrate from me." It is 
a matter of honor that no one leaves without asking the others 
to have " a thrate." They have thus, each, got four or five 



/.VT-A.WA/'.-MV/. /.V IKI-IAM). [JI.V. 

"drinks ." If it is taken "on the sly" as, for instance, on a 
Sunday they take it quietly and " --lip "lit he the hark-way " : 
if on another day, they might spent two or three hours at it, 
sing, talk, laugh, and when they come out shout ami pretend 
to l> 11 deal worse than they 

Do the country taverns, then, make much money ? Not at 
all. The public- house in the country is simply an adjunct to a 
little farm or something else; .the house would have to be had 
in any case : and a little mixture of the spring-well with the 
whiskey will pay for the license. I was amused on an occ. 
it was the eve of a "pattern" (feast i.f the patron saint) to 
see a publican almost tearing his hair, and shouting till he was 
well-nigh blue in the face, that " there wouldn't be a dhrop ot 

: left in Sunday- well." i Whisper the other publi 
had taken away barrelfuls ! You perceh 

Taking the rural population, then, they could not by any 
means be said to be addicted to drink. They may drink one 
Sunday or one holiday, one fair-day or market, at a hurling or 
football, one wedding or wake or christening; and with the ex- 
ception of a few lads about the place " loafers," as they are 
popularly called they may not taste drink for months to come. 
A country priest, like the writer, has the best means of knowing 
this. If there is anything like constant drinking on the part 
of any person, some relative or friend, wife or mother, will see 
" his reverence " and ask him " to have a talk with the little boy" 
or " with that man of mine." 

We proceed now to consider the drinking in towns. By 
towns I mean places of a population ranging between a couple 
of hundred and a couple of thousand. In villages and towns 
public-houses are all too numerous ; however, for these is to 
be said the same thing as was said for the country taverns, 
viz. : that they are not left for subsistence solely on their 
custom. In nearly half the cases in villages and towns, the 
public-houses are again the adjuncts of a little spot of land or 
of some other industry. I know where a widow who ha-, a 
large farm keeps a smithy not for the smithy's sake but 
because she has a public-house, and those coming to the forge 
will now and again turn in. There is plenty of abuse, h< 
knows, about the public-house ; but plainly such a thing as 
this is a glaring and notorious abuse. 

The drinking habits of the town population are different from 
those of the country. In the town you have the shopkeeper, the 
artisan, and the day-laborer. Money is (as they -ay) more (lush; 



1890.] INTEMPERANCE IN IRELAND. 493 

the public-house is nearer to their door. A customer, we will 
say, comes into a flour-and-meal store, pays a bill of 4. or .5 
which has been standing against him. The flour-and-meal man 
wants to keep that customer; he takes him out to the public- 
house across the way and "stands a thrate. " Do not blame the 
flour-and-meal man ; blame our unfortunate customs. Perhaps if 
he had said, " All right, Mr. So and So thanks, here's your 
receipt, stamped," the other would go away and say to himself 
(as ten to one he would), " After laving him. me big lump of 
money, the nagur never asked me, had I a mouth on me " ; and 
likely as not that customer may never enter the flour-and-meal 
man's shop again. 

Four or five such customers may call in to that flour-and- 
meal man's shop during the day, and he must be a man of very 
strong resolution (which all men certainly are not) if he keeps 
to teetotal drinks all the time. The publican knows this unfor- 
tunate failing of ours, and he sets up his shop, saying, " Why 
should they not call in to me as well as over to Mat. Moro- 
ney's." A shoemaker is paid, a carpenter, a tailor, and the 
same thing happens, not on all occasions, but on a great many. 
Here is a town, now, of a thousand or two thousand inhabi- 
tants ; what percentage of that population will regularly and 
habitually spend from half to three-quarters of a dollar a week 
on drink ? About 30 in every 100 men would week by week 
spend about so much on drink. There may be 20 out of that 
100 that will "go on a spree" occasionally; drink for a week ) 
maybe a month ; drink themselves out of work or drink them- 
selves sick ; and then give it up, or try to. There are about 
five in that hundred that, year by year, will " go to the dogs " ! 

The main support of publicans in a country town is the fair- 
day or the market-day. If you enter the town of a week-day 
you will find their shops abandoned and empty. Two or three 
may be there, as we described above ; but nothing like a brisk 
trade or their hands full. In the days of the great Land League 
gatherings publicans w.ere very hot politicians, and were amazed 
that, while every town had its meeting to further on the good 
cause, their town had none up to this. And when the placards 
for the meeting were issued " Oh, then and there was hurrying 
to and fro ! " The poor people came to the meetings, often from 
immense distances, and sometimes on foot, and they too often 
flocked into the publican's shop. But from this one should not 
suppose that the League meetings were occasions of hard drinking. 

I come now to speak of the city. I was four years working 

VOL. I.I. 32 



litT&MP&KANCA I.\ IKEI.A.\D. IJu'y, 

priest among a dense and poor population, ami 1 can use 
no language more truly descriptive of what my eye-. saw than 
the homely phrase. " It is a fright ! " Such a tangled mass of 
.< -Ltimis st.it. - me in the face, that I am afraid I can give 
no order to my impressions. \Vii.it was the occupation of the 
peop!. :IK- \vere me- uptown; some dri\ in-; 

some engaged in the factory ; s >:nc at tlu docks, and s un 
were tishermen. '1'he wives anil daughters of many of them were 
washerwomen at borne, who did the laundry work < t the city. 
Half, perhaps uvo-thirds, of the men themselves bei t!ie 

Confraternity of the Holy Family. Their little girls went to the 
nuns', their little boys to the Christian Brothers' sell" '.- There 
was even a benefit and total abstinence society in the parish ; 
and yet drunkenness! drunkenness ! ! The pla 
with public- houses. There was a huge distillery in full swing, 
giving employment to hundreds, and destined to beggar thousands. 
I feel I am giving you but the idea of a tangled mass ; but 
that is the way it exists in my own mind. I was daxed. 

Say the population of the whole city is 39,000; now, the 
number of public-houses is about 300; that is, I to evvry 130 
of the population, men, women, and children. The cleaner and 
better-conducted ones stand in the main streets; the pitiable ones 
at the corners of lanes and hidden away among the haunts of 
the squalid and the poor. Let us go again on our basis of cal- 
culation here. What percentage of the male population, from 
eighteen upwards, spend from a dollar to a dollar and a quarter 
on drink weekly, constantly, unremittingly ? Fully fifty per cent. 
Laborers at the docks ; laborers at the stores, at the factories ; 
porters, tradesmen, mechanics, and small shopkeepers fully fifty 
per cent. ! I mean in every sense unnecessarily. A dock laborer, 
for instance, is a mile or so from his little home, and work is 
busy ; he has no one to bring him his dinner ; if he runs in to 
a public-house, and has a loaf of bread and a pint of , 
ale that drink some may look upon as necessary. When, then, 
I say unnecessarily, I mean a thing entirely outside of meal- 
times. Outside of meal-times, then, and totally unnecessarily, 
there are fifty out of every hundred men and boys sp' IK ling from 
a dollar to a dollar and a half, and sometimes more, steadily, 
week by week, on drink. 

And here we reach the most doleful aspect of the case 
women, and even young girls, drinking. It is said I cannot say 
with what accuracy that the Dublin gin-shops look on the 
young girls from sixteen to twenty years of age a> t'u-.r 1) ri 



18QO.] iNTEMl'EKAXCE IN IRELAND. 49$ 

customers. They are ashamed as yet to be seen within a public- 
house ; they therefore take their drink hurriedly, pay for it, and 
go. I am unable to say what percentage of women drink. If I 
would hazard a guess from my experience I would say ten per 
cent., at least, and I would venture on the lamentable guess of 
saying the same number for unmarried females. My impressions 
after four years' chaplaincy in a city workhouse is, that of the 
married women who have come to hospital, one-third is the fault 
of drunken husbands, one-third from their own habits of drink, 
and the remaining third from the effects of accidents or heredi- 
tary disease. Of the children born and reared in the workhouse, 
one-half are the children of shame, the other half owe their 
being there largely to drink on the part of either parent or both. 
It is true that in small towns and country places a women may be 
found who is constantly given to drink ; in the country parts, how- 
ever, it is so rare that a case would be looked on as something hor- 
rendum, almost unnatural. In the small towns, persons speak of 
it and wonder at it. In the city it is, unhappily, so common 
that persons merely shake their heads, and say, if she is mar- 
ried, "God help her husband!"; if unmarried, "That poor girl 
will come to no good." 

I have excepted from our calculation those wealthy classes 
who can afford to have drink in their houses like any other 
luxury, and I come now to speak of them. In the country parts, 
from 1873 to '78, there passed over the island a wave of prosperity. 
During that time drinking at home and to excess was very much 
the custom among the more comfortable of the farming class. 
Since then there has been no such general drinking. I remarked 
one day to a friend, ' that a mutual friend of ours " was going on 
very temperately now." "The exchequer is low" was the true 
though sarcastic reply. 

At present, in country places, there is not one family in forty 
or fifty that keeps intoxicating drinks in the house and uses them 
daily at table. The consumption, therefore, of liquor in this way- 
is very trifling; and if a well-to-do tenant-farmer does take his 
glass of punch, that is all he takes for the evening. The cases 
where a passion for drink is manifested, and where drinking goes 
on during the day, are very rare. 

In the small towns the better class of shopkeepers keep a 
share in the house, and a respectable customer is invited up- 
stairs to have a drop. But the drinking at dinner, or during 
the evening, in this case, as in the case of the country parts, is 
very small. Generally the good father of a family sees too 



496 /.Y77:.V/'/-A'J.\-<7- /.V /KKl.A\/>. fj uly. 

many victims before hi- eyes, and lu- i- anxion ,r ii|) his 

children without any knowledge of drink at all, particularly as 
the temptation is so near his own door. In a proportionate 
measure this also stands good of the city population. More 
than town or country, the city man the daily destruction 

called by drink and ha- a horror of it. 

Such, then, is a statement of the po-ition. \Ve come now 
to the i|iie-tion : What are the curbs that are attempted to 
tame this hideous dragon ? Education, religion, legislation ; each 
seeks by its own methods to draw the dragon's teeth. 

It is in towns and cities that education generally works in 
this matter. It takes the shape of temperance halls, lectures, 
entertainments. Has every little town a temperance hall? 
no! But they have what is better; they have their religious 
societies and guilds, in which temperance is upheld and preached, 
now as of old, as one of the cardinal virtues. They have their 
weekly meetings, at which an address on some religion- subject 
from the chaplain is customary. They have their monthly Holy 
Communion and their annual week's Retreat. These are un- 
doubtedly great helps. 

For the town and country a most salutary act was passed 
by legislation in 1878; it is called the Sunday Closing Act; 
but Dublin, Cork, Belfast, Limerick, and Waterford are exempted 
from it. Its main provisions are, that no public-house shall be 
opened for the sale of drink at any hour on Sundays. An 
ception is made in favor of persons who are at least three miles 
from home, and these persons are technically known as bona fide 
travellers gentlemen, by the way, who give a good deal of an- 
noyance. 

I was a priest in a remote country parish at the time that 
this act passed. Previously I endeavored to get the five or six 
publicans in the district to sign an agreement among themselves 
to shut their shops and sell no liquor on Sundays. Some would. 
but some would not ; and so it dropped. I recollect seeing a 
large number of the congregation, as soon as last Mass was 
over, sit along a low wall opposite the chapel gate, and await 
the opening of the public-house. Some hundreds so waited. In 
the evening they went home, many of them reeling along the 
road, ill-tempered and blasphemous. As soon as the act came 
into operation they all went quietly to their homes. A tew 
may stay lurking about the place, but not one-fiftieth the num- 
ber of former times. These hang around and manage to get in 
by the back way and take a drink "on the sly." The tir-t 



1890.} INTEMPERANCE IN IRELAND. 497 

business with a country or small-town publican is to " make 
friends of the mammon of iniquity" that is, to "square" the 
police, if he can; if they will not be "squared" then he has to 
set watch, and bring up all his ingenuity to devise means how 
he can sell drink on Sundays unknown to the police. 

. The license for a public-house is obtained from the bench of 
magistrates at licensing sessions. The applicant generally can- 
vasses them beforehand, and, like the unjust steward in the 
Gospel, in this he is to be commended. All that is required is 
that he be of good character, and that the premises be -fit to 
carry on the trade of a licensed victualler. The license is to be 
renewed before the judge of quarter sessions every October. It 
were to be wished that licenses were not given so indiscriminately 
as they are. If they were confined to fewer persons, " the trade " 
would not act in so demoralized a manner as it appears to do. 
It has got into its hands by the law of the land a very great 
power the general distribution of a semi-poisonous drug and 
it ought to be made to feel the responsibility of that power. 
Apothecaries have to be accurate in compounding and even regis- 
tering, and are exposed to very severe punishment for any laxity 
in entry of orders or distribution of medicines ; and yet the pub- 
lican seems to ply his trade in a most dangerous drug without 
moral or legislative responsibility. 

There is no use in appealing to the publicans as a body, at least 
in Ireland, to have an interest for the welfare of society ; they see 
little more- the bulk, at any rate, of the small dealers than 
the danger that their neighbors will forestall them in securing the 
custom of their unhappy victims. And breaches of the licens- 
ing act and the Sunday Closing Act are, as a rule, passed over 
by the bench, unless some political aspect be introduced into 
the case. 

It is a pity that coffee-taverns or pastry-shops are not more 
numerous. The use of such places is, however, contrary to the 
ideas of the people ; and here and there where trial has been 
made it has usually proved a failure. In the city that I have 
been alluding to there are some houses of refreshment conducted 
on teetotal principles ; and on inquiry at one I find that it 
pays eleven per cent, to the shareholders. It might be said, 
Why not go to other localities and do likewise ? why do they 
not become more numerous ? I suspect it is from want of a 
public opinion in their favor. We have little or no means at 
hand to create this public opinion. Among our reading popu- 
lation there is not one that has read a professedly teetotal book. 



498 /.vy/-..WA/vf.vcY-. /.v IKKI.A\I>. [July. 

The ])ress is not teetotal. It is only an occasional paper that 
will make total abstinence one of the main principles of the 
raiuine. There is one work that I should wish to see 
printed at a cheap figim- and circulated among the poor 
Cough's Orations. The Life of Fatlur Mathcis (which one 
would think would be a temperance book and nothing else), as 
written by John Francis Maguire, is indeed a captivating work; 
but it is hardly the thing that a temperance advocate would 
look for, or desire for practical purposes. I remember putting 
GougR's Orations into the hands of a laboring man. His ideas 
with regard to drunkenness before reading the book may be 
given in his own words: "I had rather be had up a 
hundred times for being drunk than once for stealing a hen " 
(had up, i. e., summoned before the magistrates). After reading 
the book his opinions were quite different. Our Irish author, 
Carleton, has written a short and very striking tale, Art Mc- 
Guire, or tltc Broken Pledge, which is natural and truthful, but 
not so persuasive as Cough's Orations. The United Kingdom 
Alliance of Great Britain has done a good deal in the way of 
distributing cheap literature, circulating facts and figures with 
regard to drink, and thus creating a wholesome public opinion. 
Father Xugent's paper, the Catholic Times, of Liverpool and 
Manchester, has for many years made temperance one of its 
principal subjects of advocacy; and a new and excellent little 
weekly, the Irish Catholic of Dublin, from the office of The 
Nation, has lately come into the field and inscribed temperance 
on its banners. 

Legislation, too, might go further than it has done in this 
country. There cannot be a doubt that the Sunday Closing 
Act, although there be some drawbacks, has done an immensity 
of good. It was nicknamed by its opponents the Sabbatarian 
Act, in order to make it odious to Catholic Ireland. The late 
A. M. Sullivan answered this very well. " I find," he said, 
" the Archbishop of Cashel one of the great advocates of this 
measure, and I do not count him a Sabbatarian." But legisla- 
tion might go further. Over and over, before commission after 
commission, it was proved that the closing of public-houses in 
the cities and towns early on Saturday evening /'. e., at six or 
seven o'clock- would do even more good than the Sunday Clos- 
ing Act itself; and this act, which allows the five largest cities to 
open from 2 to 7 o'clock, should be greatly abridged in the 
extent of time. 

If this were done, and if the number of public-houses 



1890.] I\Tl:.Mri'.KA.\CE 1\ IRELAND. 499 

very strictly limited to, say, one in every five hundred, or even 
every thousand, of the population, it is, perhaps, as far as legis- 
lation could be asked to go. There is a saying that you can- 
not make a man sober by act of parliament ; you have the 
same means to make him sober that you have to make him 
honest, and parliament is as properly invoked in one case as in 
the other. 

In the presence of drunkenness religion is sure to be up in arms, 
and zealous and determined just in proportion to the more or 
less aggressive aspect drunkenness assumes. It is so with religion 
in the case of every moral danger, and drunkenness is no excep- 
tion. It has been so with it from the beginning. Father Brid- 
gett, of the Redemptorist Order, has written a highly interesting 
and instructive work on this matter ; it is called The Discipline 
of Drink. Its purpose is to state what regulations the Church 
has made with regard to drink down through the centuries. It 
was a time in Ireland of peril and danger with regard to 
drink when Father Mathew arose. From his time to the present 
efforts have been made by religion against drink, but with no 
such universality or success as attended his. 

Two dioceses in Ireland have been known 'for decades past 
as teetotal dioceses the diocese of Ferns in the county Wex- 
ford, and the diocese of Cashel and.Emly in Tipperary and East 
Limerick. Sunday-closing had been long enforced in these dio- 
ceses before it became the law of the . land by act of parlia- 
ment. 

The religious society of the Redemptorist fathers, by estab- 
lishing Confraternities of the Holy Family in many towns and 
cities of Ireland, have done a great deal in the cause of tem- 
perance ; because, although membership in the confraternity does 
not require a pledge of total abstinence, yet exhortations, and 
.sacraments, and prayer, and regular life go largely to assist 
temperance. The League of the Cross, too, so providentially 
instituted by Cardinal Manning, has come across the Channel 
and found a resting-place in Cork, Dublin, Limerick, and many 
other cities and towns in Ireland. Father Mathew's own order, 
the Capuchin Franciscans, never lost sight of their companion's 
great work ; and in Cork, but especially in Dublin, the cause of 
temperance has been advocated zealously and fruitfully. There 
were and are numbers of parishes and towns that have their 
total abstinence society, each dcing its work according to the op- 
portunity or necessity. 

This year the Archbishop of Dublin, after his usual cautious 



500 /.V TKMri: KA .VO. AV lHl.l.A\!>. D">>'. 

but determined manner, set himself publicly to the work, He 
gathered the suffragan bishops of the province of Dublin, and, 
having deliberated with them, he and they issued a joint pastoral. 
In the province of Dublin this must prove of great r.tility. In 
almost every diocese in Ireland the I.enten pastoral- of the 
bishops this year referred to drink, and urged the necessity of 
establishing temperance societies. 

The success of all this will depend on the perseverance and 
the zeal of those in whose hands lie> the promotion of the re- 
form. It would be pleasant to prophesy that the measures re- 
ferred to will be successful, but we fear this is "too good to be 
true." On the other hand to doubt of their having a iarge share 
of success would be to put no hope in human effort or to deny 
the strength of prayer and the grace of God. 

There -are two moves, however, which I have not yet spoken 
of, and which I would single out from the rest, and to which I 
would attach the greatest importance when making a reckoning 
of the future. The first is inducing children (with due precau- 
tion) to take the pledge. In what I believe to be the majority 
of the dioceses in Ireland, the bishops, when on their visitations, 
administer the total abstinence pledge to the children at con- 
firmation, to be observed till they are 21 years of age. There 
was a time when I thought that children might and should be 
asked to take it till they became 31. In a long conversation 
that I happened to have with Father Bridget!, C.SS.R , I uas 
persuaded that 21 was, on the whole, a better term. In the 
country parts 31 may be well enough, but in the city it would 
not do. I believe that between 16 and 25 is the most perilous 
age for town or city boys. At that time they begin to earn for 
themselves and to have the handling of money, and to meet 
with acquaintances, and therefore to be in danger of learning 
habits that will be injurious to them all their lives. 

The second move that I allude to is the heroic offering for 
life, or for a determined time, as put forward in the Irish 
Messenger of the Sacred Heart. The Irish central director of the 
Apostleship of Prayer is Father Cullen, S.J. lie wa> a secular 
priest of the diocese of Dublin remarkable for his temperance 
advocacy and his zeal. He joined the Jesuits, and still continued 
pleading for temperance. About three years ago he \\a^ appoint- 
ed the first Irish central director of the League of th 
Heart; he established the Irish Mcsscn&r as the special organ 
of the association in Ireland, and at once saw the ailv.n.- 
his position and his magazine gave him to promote hi-, favorite 



1890.] INTEMPERANCE i.v IRELAND. 501 

cause. The idea he puts forward is that of reparation. Drunken- 
ness is a sin ; it is good in us to repair the injury that sin has 
done to God, no matter by whom committed ; if by one of our 
friends, there is the more proximate and pressing reason ; if by 
ourselves, still more proximate and pressing. This is like taking 
the enemy in flank ; and certainly any priest will find that in 
the confessional a person will be far more easily induced to take 
the pledge when it is put before him as a matter of reparation 
than as a necessity. His honor and all that is good and noble 
in him are appealed to in the first case ; in the latter you tread 
on his weakness, and few will willingly accept a moral require- 
ment as a penalty. 

In the April number of the Messenger Father Cullen thus 
speaks : " Intemperance is universally admitted to be one of the 
saddest and most destructive social evils of this country. Few 
vices, if any, rob the Heart of Jesus of more glory, or wound it 
more deeply. Its ravages extend to every English-speaking 
country, to every class, creed, age, sex. Many remedies are pro- 
posed to counteract its terrible influence. Amongst them it is 
clear that none can be as efficacious as prayer, self-denial, good 
example, offered for that end to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The sav- 
ing power of these devout exercises is multiplied beyond measure 
when reduced to an organized form. Hence the Apostleship of 
Prayer having the greater glory of the Sacred Heart for its 
direct object, with its simple yet powerful and world-wide or- 
ganization, with its daily 'morning offering,' its monthly Mes- 
senger and monthly Rosary Leaflets, with its millions of mem- 
bers united in daily prayer for the interests of the Sacred 
Heart admirably supplies this remedy and organization," for the 
vice of drunkenness. R. O'K. 



502 THE PKKs/irTKKiA.v KKI-/S/O.\: fj'y, 



THK PKKSKYTKKIAN KKYISION. 

Tin: general movement among the clergy and laity ol the 
Northern l'n shytcrian body tow. mis a revision of their ConfV 
of faitli lias awakened universal interest. It is an event of import 
tor several reasons. The 1'an- Presbyterian denomination in the 
Knglish--peaking world is very numerous and highly respectable. 
Its distinct portions are well-organized societies, and arc cl 
connected with each other through a similarity of doctrine and 
discipline, which warrants our regarding them as an ecclesiastical 
confederation, bound together in a kind of moral unity, com- 
posing a great communion, not inferior to any of the great 
divisions of the Protestant ecclesiastical world. It is a very 
conservative communion, adhering with great constancy to the 
in of doctrine and polity which was adopted at its origin, 
and firmly resisting innovation. 

The Presbyterian Church of Scotland and its daughter in the 
United States have been in recent times the two great strong- 
holds of Calvinism. On the continent of Europe, Calvinism and 
Lutheranism, the two sisters, who, although they have had bitter 
family quarrels with each other, are nevertheless the genuine- 
offspring of one mother, the Reformation, have fallen away from 
their first faith. In Scotland and America it has been preserved 
and maintained with vigor by Presbyterians, not exclusively, but 
with greater steadiness and persistency, and with a more disci- 
plined and numerous array of forces, than among those who have 
adopted the looser Congregational polity. 

Since, for some time past, a current toward the direction 
which continental Protestantism has taken has set in in Scotland, 
and a similar stirring of the waters has been observed in this 
country, tne attention of observant and thoughtful men has been 
turned to the movement, with at least the interest of curiosity. 
This interest is heightened, and attention is more watchfully 
directed to the Presbyterian movement, by the startling and 
unexampled action of the General Assembly and the Presbyteries 
in subjecting their formularies to revision. What is the spring 
and direction of this movement, and what will be its result, 
thousands are asking with much anxiety and pti//led-he,uK -dm -s-,. 
The same was the case when the revised version of the Bible 
came 'out. It was eagerly seized upon and read, with a wonder- 



1 890.] THE PRESBYTERIAN REVISION. 5P3 

ing curiosity as to what kind of new Bible had been issued from 
the Oxford press, followed by a flat reaction of disappointment. 
The anticipations of the multitude in regard to the revision of 
the Confession have been equally vague. Is the movement 
radical and revolutionary, and looking toward some entirely new 
form of religion ? Doubtless, there are some men in Scotland 
and in America whose tendencies and aims are revolutionary, 
and in the direction of German free-thinking. But this is not 
true of the great majority. The General Assembly has mani- 
fested its intention to remain within the lines and limits of the 
old Presbyterian -orthodoxy, and to retain the system of Calvin- 
ism, seeking only an amelioration, but not an abrogation, of the 
formulas in which its doctrines are expressed. 

Precisely what is meant by Calvinism in this attitude and 
relation cannot be ascertained at present, or before the work of 
revision has been completed. Princeton, Andover, and New 
Haven profess to be Calvinistic, although widely differing from 
each other. Exactly what doctrines the dominant party in the 
Presbyterian Church of the North are resolved to retain in an 
explicit form, as belonging to the substance of orthodoxy, we 
cannot completely and accurately know until their amended 
formula has been prepared, and what will be the modified Con- 
fession of faith finally adopted the event alone will disclose. 

It is morally certain, however, that the doctrines which Cal- 
vinists, Lutherans, and Arminians agree in holding as funda- 
mental will remain untouched at the basis of Presbyterian 
theology. The doctrines of the Trinity, the Incarnation, the 
Redemption, the Resurrection, and the two eternal states of 
Heaven and Hell, the creation of the first man in original right- 
eousness, the fall of Adam and the human race from this primal 
state through his sin, the necessity of divine grace for the restor- 
ation and sanctification of all men who are to be saved, the need 
and the fact of a divine revelation, the inspiration of the 
Scriptures, divine faith infused by the Holy Spirit as the indis- 
pensable condition and instrument of justification ; all these doc- 
trines are, for the present, safe from any serious controversy. 

They all pertain to the system of Calvinism, but they do not 
make its specific difference as distinct from other systems which 
have their own specific differences and names, under the common 
genus of Protestant orthodoxy. 

The present controversy relates to some of these specialties 
of Calvinism. The practical question of revision relates to desired 
and proposed modifications either of doctrines or the manner of 



504 TV/A- /'A'A.v/.T/v-.AY.-rv A'AT/.SVC.V. U lll >'> 

defining .mil expressing doctrines peculiar to the Westminster 
Confession, and other specifically Calvinistic formula! 

It seems likely that the conservative party will prevail to 
restrict revision within such limits, that the modified Confession 
will retain the form of moderate Calvinism. When finally ratified 
it will probably obtain the approbation or toleration of the great 
majority of Presbyterians, and of other 1'rotestants who are con- 
siderably assimilated to them in doctrine. 

We do not see how the compromise between the party which 
opposed revision and the party which demanded or favored it 
can be effected, except by the way of general and indefinite 
formulas, which will give liberty to both to put their own inter- 
pretations upon them. The strict Calvinists and their opponents 
can only agree, by mutually consenting to tolerate their differing 
opinions. By this method there may be a pacification of the 
disturbance which has arisen, which will last for a time. But will 
it be enduring, and will it conduce to a solid and permanent 
concord in doctrine among Protestants generally ? 

We think that it will not and cannot have this effect. The 
same causes which have produced such a general dissatisfaction 
with the old Confession, and which have sown the of a 

more radical and revolutionary movement than the one which has 
carried the point of moderate revision, will be still at work, after 
as before the ratification of the modified Confession. V will 

regard the settlement as final. Whatever doctrinal statements 
may be accepted, they will not bind the minds and consci 
of any as having authority, or be considered as irreformable. On 
the side of history and science, of criticism, philosophy and 
theology, questions and controversies which agitate the period 
and engage the attention of Christians and anti-Christians of all 
classes in all countries, will more and more disturb the waters 
of Presbyterianism. The door which has been unbarred and 
partly opened by consenting to revision, will be beleaguered by 
an increasing force which will push it wide open and make a 
clear space for free speculation. Not predestination alone, but 
inspiration, revelation, the Trinity, the Incarnation, tin destiny of 
man, creation, the nature and attributes of God, everything which 
belongs to religion, . will be the object of this fre< .ition, 

which acknowledges no criterion of truth and no authority above 
the* individual reason and private judgment, whose emancipation 
has been proclaimed, as the grand result of the Reformation. The 
conservative champions ate obliged to defend their position by 
rational methods purely. No doubt, the scholars and divin 



1890.] THE PKESBYTERIAN REVISION. 505 

Princeton are well able to defend the citadel of Christianity 
against agnosticism, pseudo-criticism, a sophistical philosophy of 
history, against the opponents of natural theology and repealed 
religion. They have able co-workers within and without their 
own denomination in other centres of learning throughout the 
country. Their general idea and intention, to maintain and 
defend without compromise the pure and entire religion of 
Christianity as contained in the word of God, by philosophical, 
scientific, and historical methods, is noble and praiseworthy. The 
moderate revisionists are substantially in accord in this intention 
with those who have consented to yield to their demand. All, 
except the extreme sticklers for unmitigated Calvinism, are united 
in the desire and the effort to remove the stumbling-stone in the 
way of Christian belief, which has called forth the general cry 
for revision from the Presbyterian clergy and laity. This outcry 
shows the existence of a wide-spread conviction and sentiment 
that the Westminster Confession contains incredible and unreason- 
able statements. The pressing question of the moment is : Can 
this incredible and unreasonable element be separated from Cal- 
vinism ? The answer to this question requires a careful and 
exact analysis of the matter under examination. I will not at- 
tempt to set forth this analytical process in a formal manner, but 
rather present some of its results in a concrete and popular way. 
What is the origin and the deepest reason of this cry ? It is 
not metaphysical curiosity, but moral unrest. It is from the 
heart, and not primarily from the intellect. It is the voice of 
anxious souls asking : What can I and what shall I do to be 
saved ? Aroused by Calvinistic preaching, and imbued from 
childhood with Calvinistic doctrine, such souls, coming face to 
face with their future destiny, and convinced that they have to 
fear the wrath to come, look eagerly for a way of escape from 
sin and retribution. The only way for the sinner to find pardon 
and mercy which is pointed out to them, is by conversion to 
God, and inward renovation through the grace of the Holy 
Spirit, for the sake of the merits of Christ. What can they do 
to obtain this salvation ? They are told that they can do 
nothing. They are passive, and God must do the saving work 
for them and in them. Can they rely on his doing it ? If they 
are of the elect, he will do it ; if not, their case is hopeless ; 
They must, therefore, in some way, obtain a hope that they are 
of the elect' they must find in themselves some sign of the 
grace of God, some token of a personal interest in the redemp- 
tion of Christ, or else despair of salvation, and relapse into a 



506 TV/A rKl-S/iYTEKlA\ A'A/Y.sYP.V. 

of .i]>.itliy and indifference. It is t!v resistance of the mind 
ami heart against the narrow .in.! exclusive system which limits 
tlie love of God, tlie grace and mercy of Christ, which has 
tl tin- n action a;.;aiiist Calvinistic teaching in the pa^t and 
in the present. The religious teachers and friends of those who 
have been harassed and haitl'-d by exhortations to do what they 
are assured they are both bound and unable to do, and to resort to 

ircc of grace which is open only to a few, h 

by sympathy to look for a way of escape from the dilemma. 
Zeal for the conversion of sinners and the salvation of souls has 
driven preachers to put forward those doctrines which are most 
encouraging to all who seriously ask what they shall do to be 
saved, and keep others in the background. Awakening and 
hortatory sermons cannot be preached without implying the 
universality of redemption and grace, and the freedom of the 
will to comply with the conditions of pardon and salvation. 
This implicit doctrine of free-will necessarily tends to become 
explicit and clear, and when once fairly admitted in the 
freedom in all to accept and act under the influence of divine 
grace, it widens itself into a universal principle and brings with 
it other cognate ideas. 

The Methodists, who began and have continued as yealoii- 
. preachers to the poor and neglected class, happily threw off the 
shackles of Calvinism under the lead of Wesley and Fletcher, 
and boldly proclaimed the universality of the love and grace of 
Christ toward men, the freedom and ability of the will to use 
efficaciously the means of grace. This gave them a great advan- 
tage in preaching, and is one chief cause of their success and 
popularity. The New-School in New England and in other 
parts of the country where Congregationalism prevails, a party 
which has gained a strong hold also among Presbyterians, has 
originated in a similar way. What is the present cry for a 
revision of the Presbyterian Confession ? It is a cry for the 
recognition of the universal love of God to his creatures, of the 
universal extent of-his mercy in Jesus Christ. There is no other 
ground for a firm belief and hope in Jesus Christ as a saviour to 
whom every one may draw near, and no other sufficient reason 
for preaching to all the privilege and duty of believing and 
trusting in him. 

The predestinarian doctrine of Calvin is swept away by the 
recognition of universal redemption, free grace, and free-will. 
Consequently, the multitude of men who have not had the 
Gospel explicitly preached to them cannot be regarded as under 



1890.] THE PRESBYTERIAN REVISION. 507 

a doom of reprobation which deprives them of all means of sal- 
vation. Much less, harmless and helpless infants who die in 
their nonage. 

Now, passivity and determinism in the moral order are essen- 
tial tenets of Calvinism. It teaches that men are born de- 
praved and by nature inevitably inclined to sin, morally unable 
to. do anything which is not sinful and deserving of everlasting 
punishment, except under the determining influence of efficacious 
and irresistible grace. A Calvinist can escape from holding in- 
fant damnation by the conjecture that all who die in infancy 
belong to the number of the elect. He can escape from holding 
the inevitable and universal damnation of the heathen by the 
conjecture that some of them are predestined to salvation, and 
are justified before death by a secret grace and infused faith. 
But can he escape from the doctrine that all men, infants in- 
cluded, are born under a doom which subjects them to the 
hatred and vengeance of God, without renouncing his Calvinism ? 
Men may retain the appellation of Calviriistic, but when they 
cease to teach total native depravity, the inability of the will to 
determine itself either to good or evil, the arbitrary destination 
of some men to everlasting happiness and of the rest to everlast- 
ing misery, they have essentially altered their theology, and 
would be acknowledged by Arminius, Wesley, and Fletcher as 
brethren in arms against the Synod of Dort and the Westminster 
Confession ; they will be received to the fraternal embrace of New 
Haven and Andover. They are, in fact, committed to progressive 
as in opposition to stationary orthodoxy. 

It is a matter for deep and serious consideration to the able 
and learned scholars and divines, whether Presbyterian or of other 
names, who desire that progress shall be on the lines of ortho- 
dox development, and not regression into Pelagian, Unitarian, 
and Rationalistic heterodoxy, how they shall eliminate incredible 
and unreasonable elements, and no others, from their theology. 
It is not with any sentiments of disrespect and animosity that I 
make these remarks. The times are serious. The divinity of 
Jesus Christ, and the supreme authority of his revelation, are. 
objects of assault from every side. All men who are loyal to 
these truths, the denial of which destroys Christianity, ought to 
give a serious attention to whatever has been or may be written 
by men who are of recognized competence, with the intention, 
of showing the harmony of these truths with natural theology, 
philosophy, and science. If any foreign and antagonistic elements 
of human speculation and opinion have become mixed with the 



5c8 THE rKKsnYTKKiA.\ A'Ar/.s/c.v. 

truths i if revelation and arc an obstacle to their genuine develop- 
ment .iiul vindication, tiny ought to be cast a~uie, without re- 
gard In human respect and hum. in traditions. Certain Calvinistic 
teiu-t >u almost universally rejected as human mixtures of 

this kind, and as utterly incredible and unreasonable. I am con- 
vinced that they all spring from one doctrine, common to all 
forms of the theology of the Reformation viz., the doctrine that 
the State of Original Righteousness in which the human race, as 
virtually contained in and represented by its first parents, fftt 
constituted at the creation of man, was merely the state of natural 
and normal integrity and perfection. The necessary sequel of 
this doctrine is the doctrine of the total depravity of the nature 
with which all men are born since the Fall. This doctrine de- 
termines the soteriology and eschatology of the systems which are 
based upon it, as well the Lutheran and Arminian as the Cal- 
vinistic. I am convinced that the extreme, supralapsarian Cal- 
vinism is the only logical and complete theory among all these 
systems, a perfect and irrefragable chain of deductions from their 
common premises. If the conclusions are rejected, there is no 
logical course except by working back to a rejection of the 
premises, especially of these two doctrines viz., that men are 
conceived and born in a state of natural depravity whose n 
sary sequel is an everlasting curse of God, and that the original 
state from which Adam fell was a pure condition of natural 
integrity. 

It is well known that the Luthero-Calvinistic doctrine of the 
original state and subsequent fall of man was condemned by the 
Council of Trent. The vast majority of Protestants at the pre- 
sent time concur in this condemnation so far as the most ob- 
noxious parts of this doctrine are concerned. The Council of 
Trent also declared and defined the doctrine of the Fathers and 
Doctors of the church handed down by Catholic tradition. This 
constructive work is impossible for any Protestant sect and for 
all combined. They can only revise and repair their old and 
worn-out confessions, in which the rents are made worse by the 
insertion of patches of new cloth. 

Would it not be wiser to exchange for the search after a 
consistent theology in the conflicting writings of the divines of 
the Reformation, the study of the Fathers and the great Doctors 
of Christian antiquity ? The decrees of the Council of Trent 
profess to have embodied and defined the ancient, traditional 
doctrines of the Christian Fathers on grace and free-will, on the 
primitive, the lapsed, and the repaired state of humanity, and 



1890.] ON THE SCOURGING OF THE TRAFFICKERS. 509 

other cognate topics. It seems reasonable to expect, that at a. 
time when the mutual animosities among the great divisions of 
professed believers in the divine character and redeeming media- 
tion of Jesus Christ are diminished, and the desire for a healing 
of the schisms which separate them is so general, Protestant 
scholars and divines will re-examine the controversy between the 
Reformers and the Council of Trent. This examination requires 
a study of the great Catholic theologians who have made 
thorough and systematic expositions of the doctrines of this 
great council. Their works contain a synthesis of all the dogmas 
which seem to many irreconcilable with each other. Let our 
Presbyterian brethren examine candidly this effort to present 
Christian doctrine in a credible and reasonable form. If they 
think they can do the work better, let them make the attempt, 
and give their dissatisfied disciples a revised Calvinism which can 
answer their rational and moral demands. 

A. F. HEWIT. 



ON THE SCOURGING OF THE TRAFFICKERS IN THE 

TEMPLE. 

"And when He had made as it were a scourge of little cords, He drove them all out of the 
temple." St. John ii. 15. 

' YE hapless traders in the temple courts 
Come, show the world each smarting weal 
Raised by the lash of God ! What art can heal 
Such stripes ? What balm may soothe such hurts ? " 

" In all the wide, wide world there is no mart 
Where balm is sold for wounds or cruel smart 
Like ours. But hearken ! Look ye well within 
The sacred temple courts of your own hearts. 
There ye shall find who ply the huckstering arts 
In victims, not for holy altar-fires, 
But for the flames of base, hell-vowed desires. 
Dare ye make boast of scathless, unfrayed skin, 
And crave no healing balm for unscourged sin ? 
Tis said the lash of God, by chastening, cures. 
Our smarting wounds, will heal : but what of yours ? " 

ALFRED YOUNG. 

VOL. LI. 33 



5io AV-.fA'A.-f /YC.V.V \rrni [July. 



RECREATIONS WITH CONSERVATIVES AM) RADI- 
CALS, 

TlIK radicals we arc to meet are only tin- roots of our 
English speech. The conservatives are the principles or the 
accidents, the concurrence or combinations ,,f circumstances by 
which the essential character of the language ha- been cr 
and modified. The recreations, therefore, are play with words ; 
not Hamlet's " words, words, words," but a pleasant study, free 
from pedantry, into the significances that lie a little below the 
surface into, indeed, the soil itself. 

The study of language as a means toward the study of man- 
kind is comparatively modern. Its value is only beginning to 
be understood. It is only a hundred years since Grimm's Law, 
supplied the key that opened the doors of the great mother 
languages into each other. It is less than that that Venncr's 
Law, complementing Grimm's, accounted for discrepancies which 
the former could not fully explain. Many errors concerning the 
derivation of words, the growth of dialects, and the apparent 
decay of organic structures were corrected by the labors of the 
eminent German philologists who have disclosed the histories of 
many languages besides their own. That all in which we have 
a living interest sprang from a common cradle, is not longer 
doubtful ; that they are cognate rather than progenitors or pro- 
geny of each other, is rapidly coming to be accepted. The 
influence of migration, whether, as in primitive times, for ni-w 
food - areas ; whether, in later times, for mere robbery; whether, in 
more modern times, for commercial exchange or adventure ; in 
more recent times for barter, is confessed to have been more 
powerful than all other influences in extending speech ; and 'it is 
scarcely now to be disputed that the people having the largest 
merchant navy, protected by the quickest and best-armed fleet, 
will force their language upon new nations that buy and sell. 
Teachers cannot insinuate a new tongue upon any people. War 
will not secure a foreign speech upon the lips of a conquered 
race. If the former could have happened, Britain would have 
adopted the Irish Celtic. If war and conquest were sufficient, 
Ireland would have abandoned Gaelic before the close of the 
reign of Henry VIII. In truth, the mercenary and trafficking 
Danes and Dutchmen made more impression upon the British 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 511 

with their Northern blunt one syllables than the learned scholars 
who went so numerously from Ireland into the sister island to 
help the missionaries from Rome plant Christianity there ; and 
although the alphabet was accepted from the immigrants, their 
speech was finally and easily obliterated. That it so completely 
failed is due in some degree to the fact that Latin and Greek 
were more taught by the Irish scholars than their vernacular, 
for the propagation of the Gospel was to be aided chiefly by 
these ; and the profane learning which possessed a classic char- 
acter was in them also. If war and conquest could force a lan- 
guage upon a reluctant country, then Norman-French English 
should have become the speech of Ireland ; for the subjugation 
of Ireland was effected only after the Continental mixture of 
Romance and other dialects with English had become the official 
language of England. Yet Norman-French English never took 
root in Ireland. Commerce and printing accomplished in later 
days what the schoolmasters and the soldiers alike failed to do 
in earlier ones. The language which finally became what we 
call English is a language made largely by commerce and 
invention ; and it Was not foisted upon the people of Ireland 
until long after the cessation of general war. Trading between 
the two islands compelled the inhabitants to come to an under- 
standing, very much as the Normans compelled the English to 
accept their words in order to buy or to sell ; and in the same 
manner subsequently that intercourse with other nations of the 
world moulded the English into its final essential form, the 
weaker elements in its historical development disappearing under 
pressure by the stronger. The query, What language is to 
become paramount in the world ? is one that gains more attention 
as the civilized world grows wider, may find an answer in the 
past of the language of the peoples most sanguine of commercial 
supremacy. 

My design does not involve a minute examination of English 
morphology. It involves only that moderate study which may 
haply lead those who follow it into the more exhaustive inves- 
tigations by the now many writers whose zeal has made a large 
literature, necessarily technical and elaborate. Therein can the 
serious work be performed with rich and abundant profit. 
Herein is only a little play. But within moderate limits I hope 
to present a summary of the true story of the English language, 
with such simplicity that the young may follow to the end, 
ready then to begin in earnestness at the beginning -of the 
science of their mother tongue ; and with such freedom from 



512 A'/iA'A.-/7/c.\.s if/7// [July- 

unfamiliar terms that tlu-y who have no time to. pore into etymo- 
dictionaries for uiuisual or recondite words may possess 
themselves of tli t the st-ry without fatigue or per- 

plexity. 

To those infatuated with it, the history of language is .1- fasci- 
nating as the most absorbing romance. It is endowed with all 
the qualities that render human nature the most despotic as well 
a- the most enticing of subjects. Like a great drama, it is 
crowded with superb incidents ; its action is incessant, its move- 
ment picturesque, its climaxes surrounded with mystery, exciting 
and full of promise. It is yet the greatest of mysteries which 
the intelligence of the race is confident shall be unveiled, for what 
we know of comparative philology is trifling when set beside what 
remains to be found out. Pervaded with a charm which still leads 
on, it yields only enough to make the pursuit endless, the gain 
substantial, the allurement irresistible. For those who have 
escaped so subtle a spell, comparative philology is like Assyrio- 
logy or Ogham inscriptions. It is a trouble, almost a worth- 
less and wasteful toil. Happy then may any one be who can 
win even one more to a form of recreation which, once begun, 
never is willingly dropped ; which, if its principles, few and 
concrete, be mastered, opens a world of beauty, of fancy, and of 
practical value which will never cease to delight and will never 
begin to weary. For all language is from God ; and the true 
science of philology leads man back, not to doubt but to believe, 
not to scoff but to worship, not to hate any portion of the human 
race but to love all, since all are children of the same birth, 
human and divine. Every word, if true and fair, has the autho- 
rization of God upon its brow ; for the Gospel itself speaks 
the highest and most comprehensive revelation in the first chapter 
of St. John: " In the beginning was the Word, and the Word 
was with God, and the Word was God." 

I. 

IS BROGUE THE ARISTOCRAT ENGLISH ? 

" My language ! . Heavens ! 
I am the best of them that speak this speech ! " 

The Ttmjusl. 

We must use the word aristocrat in the sense in which it is 
employed by Aristotle. He advocated aristocratic government in 
preference to monarchical or democratic, not because he espe- 
cially favored hereditary caste, but because the democracy in his 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 513 

day was not the people but the mob, which, in our day as well 
as in his, whether illiterate or somewhat educated, is nevertheless 
ignorant, bigoted, brutal, the creature of knaves or the dupe of 
chance ; and because monarchs did not stand to him, as they do 
not to us, for aught more than individual weakness or strength 
made more dangerous by excess of power. He advocated aris- 
tocratic government, meaning the best government, government 
by the best (aristos, Gr.), whether the governing body were all 
of a higher or a lower social grade or mixed ; but the best in 
the sense of intrinsic superiority. The best English, therefore, 
would not be the English of the king, for there is no warrant 
for the popular fallacy that the King's English was necessarily 
better than the ploughman's or that the phrase meant to say so. 
The best English is not the pedantic polysyllabic compound of 
prigs who spent their midnight vigils over GreeJc and Roman 
authors, heavily dragging in upon English foundations alien if 
ancient superstructures, without regard to unity or compatibility. 
Nor yet is it the vulgar insensible mouthing of the thoughtless, 
who pay no heed to the rights and wrongs of words but simply 
use language as they would spades or brutes, to satisfy their 
wants. Aristocrat English is that body of words, that system of 
construction, that custom of sounding them, that are legitimate, 
honest, and verifiable by true standards. True standards in 
English are easily to be had. It owns three periods of forma- 
tion. The first began nobody knows when, but it ended in the 
tenth century. The second began with the enforcement of the 
Norman -French, and ended in the fifteenth century. The third 
began imperceptibly, reached its maturity in the seventeenth 
century, and is still with us. To say that brogue English is 
aristocrat by these tests may seem jocular or only sensational. 
Yet the attempt to demonstrate it shall be made in soberness 
and sincerity. 

I was moved to this undertaking by a letter written from an 
American city to that well-written publication, the Nation, of 
Dublin. The writer of the letter is a reverend gentleman, a 
well-known devotee of the Gaelic language. He writes : 

" The decay of the national speech during the last century has been owing 
far more to the neglect or hostility of Irishmen than .to the fault of the English. 
It is also true that this swapping of horses crossing a stream, this swapping of a 
rich, expressive, copious language, one natural to the genius and vocal organs 
of the people, for the miserable brogue that has made the broguish Irish the 
laughing-stock of two continents, has been most detrimental to the Irish genius 
and national character." 



514 A'ACA'AX 7W.V.S WITH [Jl'l.V. 

Perhaps it would be difficult to substantiate- tin averment in 
tlie tirst portion of this paragraph. When it is remem!< 
that the t.ixes of Ireland have been collected and applied ex- 
clusively by English authority and English will; when it is 
recalled that it is only half a century since appropriations were 
made fur schools in which even Kn^li>h was taught under con- 
ditions satisfactory to the great majority of the people of Ireland; 
when the Gaelic devotees admit, as they will, that members of 
the National party have made many unsuccessful efforts to obtain 
grants, or even recognition, for Gaelic prior to Mr. Sexton's suc- 
cessful effort, it seems scarcely fair to charge the decline of 
Gaelic to the neglect or hostility of the Irish themselves. 
Things of far greater material value have been denied to them. 
No effort on their part, some of them will certainly insist, could 
have succeeded in inducing the English government to footer 
that which it was the traditional and even imperative policy of 
a foreign government to discourage, and which it did all in its 
power to extirpate with fire and sword, with penal law and 
social odium. But my sympathy with the devotion to the Gaelic 
is so keen that it is easy for me to forgive an exaggeration in 
relation to it on the loving side. Every consideration of self- 
respect, of national pride as to the past, of worthy aspiration 
for the future, makes it the duty of the race to protect, revive, 
and promote the native speech. However amiable a portion of 
the English people and a majority of an English party have- 
become toward Ireland, the English speech, because of the cir- 
cumstances of its intrusion upon Ireland, is for us the proof of 
servitude ; it is 

" the badge ot all our tribe. 

We may speak it without humiliation ; our fathers were forced to u 

In a bondmnn's key, 

With bated breath and whispering humbleness." 



They resisted it with superb loyalty to their own tongue ; they 
resisted for centuries, and neither schoolmaster, nor sword, nor 
law, nor custom, nor ambition, nor social advantage induced 
them voluntarily to sacrifice the ancient tongue, whose literature 
should be as dear to the Irish race as that of Hellas is to the 
Greek. Perhaps before it can be revived for it will be revived 
it must be purged of the successive deposits of incongruous 
foreign substances that have been overlaid upon it. The Greek 
of to-day finds his language intermixed with Turkish and other 
foreign words, and is engaged upon the noble task of purifying 



i8go.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 515 

a vernacular which force and commerce combined to defile. It 
is to be observed with satisfaction that the efforts to revive the 
study of Gaelic of late years are bearing fruit. In 1861 the 
percentage of persons who could speak Irish and English was 
19.1; in 1871 it fell to 15.1 ; in 1881 it arose to 18.2. Another 
census will doubtless show a marked increase over the latest 
figures. 

While sharing heartily the reverend gentleman's interest in 
Gaelic, it is impossible to agree with him concerning what he 
terms broguish English. To arrive at a valid judgment about 
its quality, we must inquire into the circumstances attending its 
introduction into Ireland ; the subsequent conditions calculated to 
preserve it or to degrade it. To reach a fair estimate of the 
opinion in which it has been and is held, we must ask experts, 
especially English experts. Whether English in Ireland became 
" a miserable brogue " or a language whose colloquial purity has 
been well preserved ; whether, as a written language, the Irish 
employed it freely, taking the actual state of education and 
liberty into account, and wrote it with power, fluency, and 
effectiveness, are questions susceptible of material answer. 

The first English generally known in Ireland was carried in 
by students from England who sought tuition at the Irish 
schools, and who lived among the people throughout the country ; 
and by missionaries and scholars from Ireland returning to their 
native land after laying Christian foundations, monastic or scho- 
lastic, generally the two together, in England. This period 
covers three centuries, from the sixth to the ninth. 

" Our nation, in common with other nations of Western Europe, has 
adopted the Roman alphabet. This change began in the latter end of the sixth 
century, but it was not completed at a single step. The alphabet was introduced 
into our island from two opposite quarters, from the northwest by the Irish 
missionaries, and from the southeast by the Roman missionaries. It is to be 
remembered that when our Saxon ancestors were pagans and barbarians, 
Christian life and culture had already taken so deep a hold on Ireland- that she 
sent forth missions to instruct and convert her neighbors. Their books were 
written with the Roman alphabet, which they must have possessed from an early 
date, and to which they had already imparted a distinct Hibernian physiognomy. 
Of the two denominations of missionaries which thus from opposite quarters 
entered our island, one gained the ecclesiastical supremacy ; but the other for a 
long time furnished the schoolmasters. Hence it was that an insular calligraphy 
was retained for centuries, the first Anglo-Saxon writing having been formed 
.after the Irish and not after the Roman model." The Philology of the English 
Tongue, by John Earle (Oxford), p. 101. 

" In the eleventh century the fashion of our calligraphy was changed ; the 
old Saxon forms (which were, in fact, Hibernian) being superseded by the 
French form of the Roman writing." Ib., p. 107. 



Si6 AY.rA'A/fy/o.v.v \\Trn 

" I. vcn in Kent the heathen ti-mples were not fonn.ill> abolished until 
the year 640. ... It was only ;it a later period, through the efforts of the 
Irish missionaries, that the Christian religion prevailed among the Angles. who-t 
conversion, being supported by numerous sclidnls and religious establishrr. 
spread among the people a certain decree of culture which cxerte.l a permanent 
influence on the future of the national language." ;sh l'to(>le 

and the English ljtn^:i.< : ^, . Koeiner. p. 108. 

It as thus that C'eltu masters liei amc the earliest teachers ot the Anglo- 
Saxons and that the Celtic spirit became largely infused into early English 
literature. 

If I were asked,' says Matthew Arnold, ' win-re English poetry got these 
three things, its turn for style, its turn for melancholy, and its turn for natural 
magic, for catching and rendering the charm of nature in a wondcrfulh 
and vivid way, I should answer, with some doubt, that it got much of its turn 
for style from a Celtic source; with less doubt that it got much of its melan- 
choly from a Celtic source ; with no doubt at all that from a Celtic source it got 
nearly all its natural magic.' Hut if the bright coloring and romantic note 
found in English poetry may be ascribed to an abiding Celtic influence, this 
influence, it must be observed, is more literary than lexical and extends but little 
to the vocabulary of the language." Ib., p. 117. 

It would be easy to quote many others ; the main facts 
not open to debate. They arc, that Ireland sent many scholar-* 
to teach in England ; and that the Gaelic or Celtic, which \\.i- 
thcir native language, did not seriously impress itself upon the 
vocabulary of the British. But while the spirit of culture \\.is 
thus transfused from Ireland into England, the native speech of 
the English was carried over into Ireland by these returning 
teachers, by their disciples, and by the thousands of English 
students who preferred the Irish schools to any in England. 

" Finian was baptized and instructed by one of the immediate disciples of 
St. Patrick, and after studying under various Irish masters, he passed over into 
Britain and there formed an intimate friendship with St. David. St. (iildas, and 
St. Cadoc. He remained for several years in Britain, and on returning to his own 
, country founded several religious houses, in one of which h lectured on the 
Holy Scriptures for seven years. . . . They (colleges of Irish origin) were 
seminaries of learning wherein sacred and profane studies were cultivated with 
equal success. Not only their own monasteries, but those of every European 
country, were enriched with their manuscripts ; and the researches of modern 
bibliopolists are continually disinterring from German or Italian libraries a Horace 
or an Ovid, or a sacred codex, whose Irish gloss betrays the hand which traced its 
delicate letters. They are admitted to have been the precursors of the medi.i-val 
schoolmen. . . Their love of Greek w.is perhaps excessive, for they evinced 
it by Hellenizing their Latin, and occasionally writing even their Latin missals in 
the Greek character. In the disputes which arose on the subject of the Paschal 
computation they astonished their adversaries with their arithmetical science and 
their linguistic erudition." Christian Schools and Scholars, p. 50 it sty. 

These Irish seminaries were in every part of Ireland, and into 
them and to the people with wlmm the student^ intermingled 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS,. 517 

was carried the language of Britain while it was taking on its 
permanent grammatical character. " In the English dictionary, " 
says Max Miiller, " the student can detect Celtic, Norman, Greek, 
and Latin ingredients"; "but not a single drop of foreign blood 
has entered into the organic system of the English language. 
The grammar, the blood and soul of the language, is as pure 
and unmixed in English spoken in the British isles as it was 
when spoken on the shores of the German Ocean by the Angles, 
Saxons, and Jutes of the Continent." 

The Irish scholars and missionaries who taught in the English 
schools must have acquired this organic structure in order to be 
practical teachers. They must have communicated it to their 
compatriots in writing while abroad and orally after returning. 
The thousands and thousands of British students and scholars 
who went to the Irish schools must have established it firmly in 
Ireland. The pure and undying English vocabulary and gram- 
mar were made domestic in Ireland before the changes began in 
England which were for a long time to threaten both The 
English that took root in Irish soil was authentic and virile, not 
"detestable English." "Pure English words," says Skeat, "form 
the true basis of the language. They can commonly be traced 
back for about a thousand years, but their true origin is alto- 
gether prehistoric and of great antiquity." Etymological Dic- 
tionary of the English Language, p. xiii. 

We now find Ireland in possession of the aristocrat English 
the best English. This English suffered grievous corruption 
in England during three centuries to follow. But during those 
centuries Ireland, to whatever degree she speaks or writes Eng- 
lish, is not subject to the influences which were operative in 
England. She was not learning new English. She had as much 
as she could do to defend her shores against the Danes, a good 
number of whom she finally took into her bosom and made her 
own ; and when not engaged in this kind of enterprise, her 
princes and people were fighting among themselves in Gaelic. 
Her schools became neglected, except in great precincts where 
the foundations are too deep and their fame too widely diffused ; 
but she guarded her libraries and preserved her languages 
the Latin, the Greek, the English as carefully as the Gaelic. 

This authentic English was carried back again by the Irish 
students who went to Oxford and other English universities, 
after they in turn became attractive ; and while internal discord 
dimmed the glory of the Irish schools, and drove to the Conti- 
nent hundreds of Irish scholars, 



518 A'ATA-A^ r/tJ.v.v \\-ITII U ul >". 

. . . then- must li.ivo been a considerable TiisKin of Kni;lish with Latin anil 

\ l\hi!M .1 few terms ll.lll ploh.lhl) 

been the van<|in-)hcd Britons who spoke Celtn di.ilcclv Kdward 

the C" :>-latioiis with Normandy first introduced a slight acquaii.' 

with French, and the battle of II id Latin almost 

paramount i..- tin- tiiiu-. Hut English remained so orach the language of tbi 

pic that tin- knowledge of it w ml on one *<>\\: I..M Henry 

:cd a prorlamation in tin- n.itnc lan^ua^e. on the iSth of 
her, 1258. Throughout his rcijjn and that of Kdward I. all statutes and i 
> s in the law-courts were in French or Latin: but there 

;s literary works in F.nj;lish 'Ski. at. PrindpUt of Engtitk 
.. p. i~). "The introduction of printing gradually brought about an 
cnoii: in the principle of spelling words. Before that date none 

but phonetic spelling was in use." Ib. 

The introduction of printing occurred in 1477. Knglish had 
been taught in the schools of Kngland, to the partial or com- 
plete exclusion of French, for more than one hundred y 
Chaucer and Govvcr had been familiar to the reading or hearing 
people for nearly as long; for books were carried about, read 
aloud, and listened to much more attentively before Caxton's time 
than since the press multiplied copies at so little cost that they 
soon lost something of their value. The new, modern Knglish 
was, therefore, not only born, but before printing became general 
\\.i- sturdy and persistent It was gradually driving out the 
Norman- French wherever the latter would not conform to the 
Knglish and assimilate with it. The English which the Irish 
students at Oxford and the other universities found in use bore 
a much closer resemblance than the transitory corrupt diction 
to the Knglish in their manuscripts, and to that they acquired 
phonetically by tradition. 

Had any considerable commerce sprung up between Kngland 
and Ireland during the period when the struggle between Knglish 
and Norman- French proceeded, the result would have been upon 
the Knglish in Ireland in less degree what it was upon the 
Knglish in Kngland. No commerce existed. The greatest part 
of Ireland was aloof from the influences causing change in pro- 
nunciation or in spelling. Tradition preserved the one; manu- 
scripts and books the other. The invasion of Ireland from 
England for purposes of conquest occurred, it is true, during 
the same period. But the battle-ground was a little area around 
Dublin, and when men are fighting they are not much con- 
cerned about language. The English that had taken hold in 
Ireland was scattered all over the country. The pronunciation 
was authentic. It was stable. The knowledge of Knglish was 
necessarily scanty even at the best; but it was pure. The wars 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 519 

drawing the energy of the people chiefly toward Dublin, caused 
the people throughout the country to use their Gaelic more 
exclusively ; it protected them against spies and adventurers. 
Gaelic became almost the exclusive speech once more; but when 
at length comparative peace settled upon the island, the new 
classic English, the English of the dawning literature, came in 
to rear itself upon the true foundation of sound and spelling 
which had been so firmly and purely laid by scholars and stu- 
dents. Chaucer's expanded vocabulary, containing much Latin 
but more of the veritable English, was readily received because 
the genius of the Gaelic is largely that of the Latin; and 
Chaucer's English became as fluent and as fixed among the 
Irish who used English as in the best haunts of English learn- 
ing at home. So true is this that it was afterward made a 
reproach to the Irish. " One of our old chroniclers," writes 
Trench, in English Past and Present, " writing in the reign of 
Elizabeth, informs us that by the English colonists within the Pale 
in Ireland numerous words were preserved in common use, the 
dregs of the old ancient Chaucer English, as he contemptuously 
calls them." 

Of course the question is pressing for answer, How shall 
we reconcile the pronunciation of English in Ireland the brogue 
Irish with the different pronunciation which has come into use 
in the United States and in England ? It is impossible to 
reconcile them. There are in England almost as many different 
pronunciations of English as there are in the United States. 
Nevertheless there is a correct pronunciation and there are vari- 
ous incorrect ones. Can it be possible that the brogue English 
is the correct one, and that those that differ from it are incorrect ? 

The changes in English 'spelling and pronunciation were ar- 
bitrarily made, in the greatest proportion, by the printers, and for 
no sound reason. As printing did not become general in Ire- 
land for several hundred years later than in England, Ireland 
retained the true phonetics of English, even after the compulsory 
changes in spelling were adopted. 

"The chief points to remember are: ist, that our present spelling is 
archaic ; 2d, that spelling at first was purely phonetic, and afterward partially 
so down to A. D. 1500 to 1550; 3d, that after this the new principle set in of 
rendering the etymology visible to the eye in the case of Latin and Greek words 
and of respelling easy French words according to their Latin originals ; and, 
4th, that the changes which have taken place in our pronunciation since the 
time when spelling became practically fixed are more violent than those of 
earlier periods" {Principles of English Etymology, Skeat, p. 330). "The 



520 A'ACA'A.* 7YD.V.V WITH 



in spelling MIHC 1600 arc comparatively trilling, anil arc chierly due to 
the printers, who aimed at producing a complete uniformity ( spelling. \\lnili 
ally acconiplithed shortly before 1700" (fb., p. 33-). 

It is painful to note the chagrin with which young Irish- 
Amcricans listen t<> their fathers and mothers saying "lay" for 
" re-ave " for receive, "say" for >.-.i, and so on. If upon 
the father's watch-guard were a finely-engraved seal "I" an olden 
time ; if upon the mantel are old medallions, or in the dining- 
room old china perliap^ the mother calls it " chayney " if in 
the library be old books, upon the walls old engraving's and 
old pictures, the son or daughter would point to them with 
rapture. Yet none of these could be more authentic than the 
pronunciation which causes them humiliation. It is they, not 
their parents, who are ignorant. 

"At the time when the orthography ol teawa-. determined, it is certain that 
most instances ofc<j final sounded as ay, and probably that all did. In a num- 
ber of words with ea internal, the pronunciation differed. But even in these 
cases there is room to suspect that the ay sound was once general if not univer- 
sal. We still give it the ay sound in break, great, measure, pleasure, tn 
In Surrey we find heat rhyme to great, and no doubt it was a true rhyme." 
(Earle, p. 173. 

The same authority goes on to show that ease and \> 
conformed in sound to days, and that " treeson " for treason is 
altogether false. Pope, Cowley, Milton, Drayton, and Goldsmith 
have all left testimony to this sound of ay. 

" Another illustration of the old power of ea may be gathered from a source 
which has not received attention I mean the pronunciation of English in Ire- 
land. It is well known that there resave is the sound for receive, pays for p 
say for sea, aisy for easy, and baste for beast. These and many other so-called 
Irishisms are faithful monuments of the pronunciation of our fathers at the time 
when English was planted in Ireland." Earle, p. 174. 

Earle finds Walter Scott and Matthew Arnold using different 
rhymes for break, the latter employing the sound now most in 
use. He says finally : " That the latter is the pronunciation at 
the present time there can be no doubt ; and yet the former is 
heard from persons of weight enough to suggest the doubt 
whether it may not perhaps establish itself in the end." 

As the tendency of the time is toward renascence, and a- 
the spuriousness brought about in Knglish phor. 
chiefly to vowels, how fine the satire of Time would be if fashion 
should demand our return to the true and authentic sound of 
thr-e vowels! Earle also recalls that " cheyney," "Uyloc," 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 521 

" obleege," and " gould " for gold were " talismans of good 
breeding " in the elder time a time still regnant for many who 
use English thoughtfully. It generally raises a smile of pity to 
hear an old -fashioned man or woman pronounce " oi " like eye. 
Vet it is the correct pronunciation. When the French pronunci- 
ation had degenerated so far in such words as join, joint, that 
the o was taken no account of, a reaction set in, and recourse 
was had to the native English fashion of pronouncing the two 
vowels. This is found confirmed in many stanzas in which, for 
instance, "mine" is made to rhyme with "join." 

The testimony which travellers' experience offers in support 
of the aristocrat nature of the English as pronounced in Ire- 
land is as emphatic as that of English literary authorities. The 
best English it has been my fortune to hear is spoken in the 
Irish schools of the present time. The enunciation is clearer, 
smoother, more melodious, more coherent, more accurate than 
that I have ever heard elsewhere. It is not nasal, as so much 
of the American English is. It is not twisted and gnarled, as 
much English spoken in England is. The badness of the pro- 
nunciation of English is essentially in the vowels. In this re- 
spect American English is comically bad. Men even pretending 
to culture will talk about a " soot " at law, a " soot " of apart- 
ments, a " soot " of clothes ; an " institoot " and a " floot," 
ignoring the true value of the u, although ready enough to give 
it in "education," "tribute," and "cute." They pronounce gas 
as if it were spelled with ss, flatting the a in that, as in thou- 
sands of other words having the same a sound. The e sound in 
" were " and similar words is often telescoped so that we hear 
only " wuh " ; the i in girl and similar words is transposed so 
that we have " gurl " or " gell " ; the e following an o is gen- 
erally treated with contempt, so that we have " po'tes " and 
" po'try " ; and an e somewhat similarly situated is made to 
give out " lit'ry " and "litertoor." The indifference to correct 
syntax in the schools of the United States is so well known as 
to require no statement of it, (or it admits no denial. It is not 
pleasing thus to censure what is dear to one's self the practices 
and tendencies of one's country ; but Truth has her rights. It 
would be fortunate, indeed, if the American schools could be 
led to cultivate the soft voices, the clear enunciation, and the 
habit of giving the English vowels, whether open or closed, their 
relative values, which prevail in the schools in Ireland, and which 
are undoubtedly due to the purity of their traditional English. 
Hear an English witness Earle : 



,22 R/.CK/-.A 770.V.V Iff/7/ 

\:u one with an car lor the melody of language, and with a hi. 
sible to rtiinant: . inu->t IK- drawn toward the Irish people if it were only 

lor the sui).'ulai and m\>i :.nl\ ot'tli 

True.-, they speak Saxon now -in-.te.ul of Krse. but the rhythm is unshaken. It 
runs up into and is indistinguishable from that native music which is at once 
the surest exponent of national character and its most tenacious product, Out- 
living the extinction of all other heirloom-. " 

The chief aim of the typical American teacher in the pri- 
mary schools is to make every child read, recite, and >in^ as 
loudly as possible. There is no attention to quality of voice, to 
individual naturalness of pitch. Noise, which as the pitch 
becomes nasal, is the product. In consequence of it youn^ 
Americans of both sexes are incapable of reading pleasingly in 
their homes, where their educational opportunities should he made 
a benefit in the rational pleasures of family life ; and in public, 
on street or steam cars, on the streets, in assemblies private or 
other, on steamships, everywhere, they irritate, if they do not 
disgust, all who are troubled by their vociferation. When these 
young Americans go into European countries they simply 
astound the natives, who are quite ignorant of the fact that noise 
and the accompanying self-assertiveness are peculiar to public 
education in this country. 

In spite of the manifold differences of pronunciation, edu- 
cated speakers of English do not use it with striking difference 
whether in Ireland, England, or the United States. If Sir 
Charles Russell representing one, Mr. Gladstone or John Morley 
another, and Daniel Dougherty or Mr. Blaine the last, should 
speak on the same rostrum, a Russian who had never heard 
English would be at a loss to detect their nationalities by the 
slight divergences in their pronunciation. 

The remarkable success which the Irish achieved in writing 
English is another proof of the firm hold it had upon the native 
apprehension, and of the readiness with which the wit and inven- 
tion of that people seize upon a medium of expression. The 
classic English, which we are fain to believe our own 
boasts, became perfected in the first half of the eighteenth 
century. There was more or less uncertainty prior to that time, 
the Latinistic tendency which descended from Milton to Johnson 
having enjoyed a long usurpation. Printing did not become 
well established in Ireland until the penal laws fell into disuse. 
The English books read in Ireland were for the greater part 
printed in England ; the compulsory poverty of the people and 
their compulsory illiteracy made it certain that many books 



1890.] CONSERVATIVES AND RADICALS. 523 

would not be current. Yet, with English style set by such 
masters of it in Ireland as Sir Philip Sidney, Walter Ralegh, 
Spenser, the first and second earls of Kssex, Strafiford, and other 
cultivated carpet-baggers who went to Ireland for the revenue 
and governed for taxes ; with only the small number of English 
books accessible, what a procession of admirable writers ot 
English the island has produced ! 

The literature of England in the sixteenth century and much 
of that of the seventeenth, especially if on controversial or 
scientific matters, is in Latin ; that of Ireland in Latin or Gaelic ; 
after Trinity College became an organ of culture, the scholars 
educated in it or coming into Ireland from English universities 
employed Latin as freely as English. Thus we have in that 
century in Ireland Edmund Campion, Keating the historian, 
Fynes Moryson, Ussher, Ware, and Bedell, not to mention the 
great students who wrote exclusively in Gaelic and whose 
monumental labors the world in general knows naught of at the 
present time. In the seventeenth century Ireland gave to 
English literature Farquhar, the dramatist ; Nicholas French ; 
James Logan, whom Philadelphia has reason to remember ; 
Samuel Madden ; Sir Hans Sloane, who succeeded Sir Isaac 
Newton as president of the Royal Society and whose private 
museum became the nucleus of the British Museum ; Richard 
Steele, Dean Swift, and Tate. Tate, it will be remembered, was 
a poet-laureate to William III. His father's name was Faithful 
Teate in Dublin, and the change in the spellin g confirms the law 
of pronunciation previously mentioned. The printers changed .it 
to conform to the pronunciation with the least cost to the type- 
setter. To this century belong also Sir John Temple, whose 
history is a favorite fountain for Mr. Froude's pen. In the 
eighteenth century the Irish list of masters of English in various 
fields grows wider. Thomas Parnell, the poet ; Charles Macklin, 
the actor ; Maginn, the critic and reviewer; Edmund Malone, the 
Shakespearean commentator;' William Marsden, the orientalist; 
Bunting, who furnished Moore with many of the airs of the 
Melodies ; Arthur O'Leary ; Petrie, the antiquarian ; Pilkington, 
the first compiler in English of a Dictionary of Painters, upon 
which Allibone says Bryan's appears to be based without 
acknowledgment ; Plowden, the historian ; Cha rles Phillips, 
whose " Character of Napoleon Bonaparte " " grand, gloomy, 
and peculiar " will outlive the works of better me n ; Sir Martin 
Shee, who became president of the Royal Academy a nd taught 
others to paint better than he ; Alexander Campbell, the 



524 A'/-.(.v.'-.-J/7c.v\ WITS CONSERVATIVES AND A'.-f />/c '.-/ / .s. [July, 

founder of the Campbellites in the United States ; Matthew 
C.irey, the economist; Charles Wolfe, the poet, and Richard 
Montgomery, the soldier ; the Sheridans, father and son ; 
Kdmund Burke ; the Crokers ; Croly, the poet ; Philip Francis, 
father and son ; Adair Crawford, the chemist ; Sir Aubrey De 
Vere. poet and dramatist ; John Doyle, the caricaturist of Punch ; 
Eliza Farren, the actress, and Miss O'Neill, who divided 
London with Mrs. Siddons ; Oliver Goldsmith, Sheridan Kn<. 
Ledwich, the antiquarian ; Hamilton the mathematician am! 
Hamilton the naturalist; Anna Jameson; Leland and Lanignn, 
historians. I have omitted great statesmen and politicians, but 
who in forensic English surpasses Flood, .Cumin, Grattan, Sheil ? 
To add to these names those of George Berkeley, Thomas Moore, 
Abernethy or Boyle, Bickerstaff or Spranger Barry, the Coir 
of Blessington and James Barry is surely needless. 

A race which could master an alien language as the Irish 
has done the present century boasts its own quota of writers 
is not one that need bewail too deeply the fortunes of war that 
enforced an undertaking, it has turned to its own glory. As 
the early English intruders in Ireland became in time more 
Irish than the Irish themselves, so the sons of the Gael have 
become more English than the English with equal opportunity 
in employing English speech with propriety and power. Like 
the Gaelic, the English has proved " natural to the genius and 
vocal organs of the people." Like the Gaelic, it has proved for 
them " a rich, expressive, copious language." What excess of 
zeal for Gaelic has induced a good and learned man to describe 
thoughtlessly as "broguish Irish," the "laughing-stock of two 
continents," is found, on the witness of high English authorities, 
to be aristocrat English the best English. Instead of making 
the Irish the laughing-stock of two continents, the laughter it is 
necessary to admit is only the folly of the ignorant. In the 
vernacular of William the Conqueror Queen Victoria subscribes 
her assent to every act of Parliament. If the throne of the 
English people is thus apparently for ever to proclaim that Eng- 
land herself bent her neck to the alien, the Irish people 
have no reason to be ashamed that having been made involunta- 
rily subjects of the English language, they have in a short time 
and with limited opportunities made captive their conqueror. 

MARGARET F. Sui.i.iv \\. 



1890.] "DECORATED" 525 



"DECORATED." 

THE world uses toilet as a language. Authority, warfare, 
officialism, even religion, love to dress their vocations significantly 
Priesthood, many centuries before Aaron, proclaimed its rank, 
even its function, by toilet. To wear something which was not 
worn by everybody has been always distinctive of degree. The 
king with his crown, the bishop with his mitre, the general with 
his cocked hat or plume, have been only the aristocrats of that 
badge-loving humanity which now gives its tags to the footman. 
Nor has toilet stopped short at mere dress ; it has proceeded to 
its superlative decoration. It has come to include knots and 
broad ribbons and rosettes, with even a comely and picturesque 
garter, in its language of outside-glorification. The eloquence of 
a ribbon, in itself worth a few cents, is now more stirring than 
that of a superb suit of clothes. Just as the laurel-wreath could 
not be purchased by gold, if it were conferred for pre-eminence 
in conflict, so the strip of rose-sarcenet, if it mean letters after 
a name, now gives a dignity out of the reach of a big balance. 
There is, then, a rich language in garnish. It is spoken by 
dumb trifles, but it is read by envious hearts with emotions that 
are not stirred by even money. It may be interesting to trace 
the genesis of decoration, as distinct from the genesis of dress; 
to see whether its gravity, its importance, do not lift it into 
the sphere of pure history. 

And, to begin with, what do we mean by decoration ? The 
answer will depend entirely upon what period of the world's 
history we are referring to when making use of the word. The 
idea, decoration, is as old as is human vanity ; the word is as 
modern as are 'silk stockings. What we propose to show in this 
short paper the forgotten fact which we wish to recall to our 
memories is that the true idea of decoration is mediaeval, and 
therefore Catholic ; while the new ideas are not true and not 
Catholic. And if it be asked, What will be the good of showing 
this ? the answer is that it is always good to realize that the 
true encouragement of true objects of stimulation has always 
been the consistent conduct of the Catholic Church. To be 
" decorated " was an old idea in the human family and we will 
say more upon this point as we go on but to be " decorated " 
as both a Christian and a gentleman was the happy "invention" 

VOL. LI. 34 



;_ "-D&coxAi U"ly. 

of those medieval Catholics, who did everything " </</ maj^ron 
A/ x loriain. " 

No\v, we will begin by keeping close to assured facts, and 
will resist every temptation to quote romance. \Vc will keep 
to the historic, Catholic groove. \Vc will cast away, with 
reluctance but with candor, Mich pretty myths as the badge of 
the order of the Holy Sepulchre, founded A. i. 69 by St. J.mu^ 
the Apostle, Bishop of Jnu-.dem ; the badge of the order of 
St. Anthony, founded A. D. 370 by the converted King John 
of Ethiopia ; the badge of the order of St. Ampoule, founded 
A. D. 496 by the happy, because newly-baptized, Clovis ; and 
also the badges of the two or three orders which Charle- 
magne is said to have initiated. History declines to authorize 
particulars, either about such brotherhoods or their badj; 
Poetry or devotion may authorize them, and the satisfaction will 
be as innocent as keen. For our part, we must severely draw 
the line, when using the words "order" and "orders," at a 
period so comparatively modern as the eleventh century ; and we 
must affirm that the " Hospitallers of St. John, the Soldiers of 
the White Cross " which we take to be the first (historic) 
emblem of any order were not only the earliest (historic) order, 
but the earliest that is known to have been " decorated. " Let 
the lovers of the old chronicles cavil at such base modernism, 
but at least we shall take care to be on the safe side. " The 
defence by arms of the holy faith " or, as St. Bernard put 
it, " faith inside, iron outside " was the motto of the Soldiers 
of the White Cross, and is still the martial spirit of the order. 
A hundred treatises have been written on the Hospitallers. \Ve 
should fill pages were we to risk a beginning on the subject. 
Suffice it to say here for we are writing only of decorations 
that a caliph of Egypt and Palestine, with the help of a few- 
wealthy merchants, established a refuge in Jerusalem for the use 
of Latin pilgrims; building two hospitals, in the year 1048, and 
placing them under the in%'ocation of St. John the Almoner. 
The Benedictines were made custodians of the institution. And 
from this noble example in charitable work sprang at least seven 
associated knighthoods ; Templars, Teutonic Knights, and Lazar- 
ists, in Palestine; and the brotherhoods of Calatrava, Santiago, 
Alcantara, and Avis,' established in the Peninsula with this two- 
fold idea, " to help the weak and fight the Saracen." Now, 
these orders, or rather fraternities, had their badges, or, as we 
should now call them, their "orders." They were "decorated. 
A red cross on a white robe was the badge of the Templars, 






1890.] "DECORATED," $ 2 7 

who were first started, in 1118, by nine Frenchmen of good 
degree, but who unfortunately became too rich to continue 
chivalrous, and were finally condemned for their luxury by a 
Roman pontiff who had exhorted them to more constancy and 
asceticism. A black cross on a white cloak (to which St. Louis 
subsequently added the flcur-dc-lys} was the badge of a Teutonic 
chivalrous order, founded in 1190, to "nurse wounded soldiers"; 
an order which was suppressed by Napoleon, but reconstructed 
in 1834, and is now reckoned among the orders of Austria. A 
green cross was the badge of an Iberian order, founded in the 
same century for charitable purposes. Indeed the cross was 
always the badge of Catholic knighthood, whether in the 
military or in the charitable sense ; the modern appropriation of 
the badge by numerous fraternities being in homage rather to 
tradition than to Christianity. Suffice it to add here that, while 
most of the knighthoods of Palestine have vanished out of our 
modern prosaic world, the Peninsula knighthoods, being local, 
have survived. The grand old Hospitallers, the Soldiers of the 
White Cross, still exist, if they do not flourish, in the Catholic 
world. In Rome there is the " Sovereign Order of the Hos- 
pitallers of 'St. John of Jerusalem," which grants its privileges to 
well-born gentlemen and ladies ; and during the Franco-German 
war two white crosses, bestowed at Rome, might be seen on the 
breasts of two Englishmen. No Catholic can think of this 
glorious order, this first-born of Catholic chivalry and faith 
" faith inside, iron outside " without a feeling of homage for 
its many centuries of grand industry, its combined poetry and 
reality of vocation. 

So that we - may say that what in these days are called 
knighthoods bearing their badge or " order " of vocation were 
of purely Catholic origin and ideality; their lofty object having 
been works of mercy with asceticism ; nor did vanity so much 
as cloud their pure intention. 

True, we may go back more than two thousand years in our 
quest for the earliest examples of decoration; but we shall find 
only the inventions of vanity, not of devotion to the highest ser- 
vices of religion. The diadem of laurel or of myrtle, like the rings 
worn by Roman knights to show their rank, or like the court- 
buttohs of the modern Chinese or, for that matter, like the scalp- 
ornaments of the red Indians were certainly decorations, in a 
vain sense, but they implied the opposite of the ideal of the 
Hospitallers. And since we must now turn to a new class of 
orders of merit, let us trace the process of decadence in this 



528 " DECOKATt.l'" 

\\ ay : The first orders were for chivalrous or moral virtues ; the 
modern orders arc for science, literature, or industry for 
good service, for compliment, or in lieu of pay. The first 
brotherhoods were either monastic or soldierly. They were suc- 
ceeded by the great aristocratic knighthoods; but the so-called 
knighthoods of our own day are mostly state institutions, con- 
ferring somewhat remunerative badges, which are more or Irs-, 
obtainable by diplomacy. In short, the modern " bombast of the 
button-hole " is a terrible falling off from the white cr 
which meant the decoration of the virtues, not simply the virtue 
of decoration. 

The point we must keep before us, in the whole subject ! 
decorations, is that the cross is the normal badge of all distinc- 
tion ; and, after we have glanced hastily at a few curious 
modern changes, we will show why the sacred emblem is so 
used. And first, let it be noted that the modern democratic 
spirit has multiplied orders without number. Most of these 
orders mean next to nothing. There are eight orders only, in 
the whole of Europe, which stand out in their unapproachable 
importance ; all the rest are the mushroom offspring of small 
vanities. The Garter (A. D. 1344), the Seraphim (A. n. 
1344), the Annunciada (A D. 1362), the Golden Fleece (A. D. 
1429), the Elephant (A. D. 1478), the St. Andrew of Russia (A. n. 
1698), the Black Eagle (A. D. 1757), and the St. Stephen (A. i>. 
1764) are the mighty princes of the world of decoration, 
before which all other badges bend the knee. Highly honor- 
able, no doubt, are many military medals the St. George 
of Russia, the Iron Cross, the Victoria Cross, etc., but these are 
in a particular groove of recognition, and have no charm of 
historic mystery or antiquity. As 'to modern orders, modern 
ribbons, modern crosses, there are in these days not less than 
one hundred and forty- three ; of which nineteen have been cre- 
ated in our own century, twenty-three were created in the last, 
and two only before the year 1700. Of the forty-three countries 
which rejoice in orders, thirty-three are in Europe, lour in 
America, five in Asia, and one in Africa; while one hundred 
and twenty-five orders are known to have become extinct 
through international warfare or diplomacy. It is a curious 
fact that France has only one order, and that she has no 
cial order for women. Rosa Bonhcur and Sceur Rosalie are 
members of the Legion of Honor, of which the five classes con- 
stitute the above differences in the conferring or the wearing 
of decorations. The French are commonly said to be a vain 



' 



1890.] "DECORATED." 529 

people; if so, they have not shown it by a multiplication of 
orders, in harmony with the modern spirit of other countries. 
True, they decorate a good many people. There are about fifty- 
two thousand Frenchmen who are so honored ; while about 
eight thousand are the possessors of foreign crosses. Many are 
the "good stories" told of the craft and the trickiness by which 
Frenchmen (like other people) fish for orders. Soldiers, of course, 
before all things wish to be decorated; indeed, no soldier looks 
complete without his medal. Is the story authentic which we 
have read in a French history ? that Napoleon, seeing a soldier 
with one arm, and understanding that he had lost the other at 
Austerlitz, took the cross off his own breast and pinned it on 
to the soldier's, remarking that the reward was fully earned. 
And then, when the soldier asked him " what dignity he should 
have received had he had the luck to lose both his arms," the 
emperor replied, " I would have made you officer of the Legion." 
But here our credulity is somewhat taxed ; for the story goes 
on that the soldier cut off his only arm, so as to receive the 
promised reward for having no arms. Now, that a man should 
prefer a bauble on his breast to the happy remnant of one ser- 
viceable arm does seem to imply a perverted taste ; the more so 
as there was a great doubt whether Napoleon would reward a 
lunatic for playing the part of his own enemy and mutilator. 
However, the story fairly, illustrates the passionate longing for 
decoration with which some minds are afflicted even to madness. 
Decoration is the outside of dignity, and sometimes compensates 
for the small quantity that is inside. 

And as to the particular "wearing" of this outside dignity, 
the French and the Spanish wear a knot or a rosette in their 
ordinary, every-day walking attire, but do not bear titles or as- 
sume letters. The Italians do not wear knots or rosettes, but take 
the title of chevalier or commander ; the latter title conferring 
the rank of countess on the knight's wife, but leaving the 
knight without the rank of count. The Germans, being so very 
much in uniform, do not commonly wear ribbons in civil attire, 
but wear crosses, like the English, on their tunics. And as to 
the English, no civilian wears an "order" in the street; nor 
does he decorate his outward seeming on great occasions, unless, 
indeed, the occasion be a state function, such as a queen's levee 
or a state banquet or ball. " Letters " after the name are the 
English mode ; and this tribute is paid by others, not self-paid. 
K.C.B., like the academical M.A., is put at the end in compli- 
mentary addresses. After all, whether you decorate your coat, 
or decorate your envelopes or your visiting-cards, the idea is 



530 '/>/.(( AVfAA/J." 

perhaps practically the same; it is the idea <>t" .1 bit nf exterior 
dignity tacked on to your interior meritorious^ 

And now to .isk the 1)1101(011: Why is the cross, the highest 
symbol, used to dellbtc such \ cry average superiorities? If we 
go back to the earliest times of which record h.i- been kept or 
rather, from whicli the traditions have been recorded we find 
that even the heathen derived their respect for ,i cross from the 
traditions of the quite primeval times. Indeed, a cro-- -i c -m> 
to have been the earliest revered symbol. We know for certain 
that the Egyptians \\\. r. 1 2OO) used the /(///-cross .1- .1 symbol 
of something more than this mortal life ; Didnm -ays that " the 
numerical value of the tau-cross, which was 300" (this cross was 
shaped like the letter T), " presented an immense field, in which 
the mystics of Alexandria labored with unwearied diligent 
we know also that the Druids profoundly reverenced it ; and 
Silvanus Morgan says that it was a symbol of security, and 
hence came to be adopted in heraldry as the " crutched ci 
. on which men might lean for strength. The crux i\>tiga or crux 
alia, the cross of the Passion, was of course different : but cer- 
tain it is that, ages before Christianity, a cros i favorite 
symbol of power. And this tau-cross was the one mostly in use. 
It was, long afterwards, adopted by St. Anthony; 'and Grove re- 
cords : " The cross of St. Anthony was worn on a black habit 
like a letter T." This would be as late as the eleventh century. 
Much earlier, however, there were knights of St. Anthony who 
wore a blue tau-cross, edged with gold. We need not, perhaps, 
add anything more on the subject, save to express a regret that 
the cross of modern knighthood which has usually no reference- 
to Christianity has not been supplanted by some more congruous 
emblem, expressive of the special character of the merit. 

Still, it is something to know that the idea of being decorated 
was in the first instance Christian and Catholic, and that tin- 
cross, now used only conventionally, was the first symbol of an 
honorable knighthood. And certainly this makes all the difference 
in the world. It may be hazarded that the chief distinction be- 
tween the new knighthood and the old knighthood is that the 
new knighthood is meant to honor the individual, while the old 
knighthood gave the first honor to the virtues. The cross would 
of itself imply this meaning. Just as the modern jewelled collar, 
jewelled cross, jewelled sword-hilt mean that the wearer is to 
be the object of popular homage, so the first cros- of white 
linen meant that the wearer was to be the servant of the virtues 
he humbly hoped to help to spread. What a fall from white linen 
to jewelled gold! How perfectly are the two ages typified in the 



1 890.] " DECORA TED." 5 3 r 

two qualities first, pure idealism, then materialism. And in the 
same spirit the whole motive of giving orders, like the motive 
of wearing them, has become changed, and by no means for the 
better. The giving is both international and individual. It is 
international when a government wishes to pay a cheap com- 
pliment to some representative or emissary from abroad. It is 
individual when, for engineering, for a great book, for -the safe 
conduct of some enterprise or public work, or for long service 
in official capacity, a government wishes to say " Thank you " 
without paying. Indeed, economy has largely suggested modern 
decorating. A government can make a present of what costs next 
to nothing to a recipient who will esteem it above gold. Happy 
arrangement ! In no department of officialism has the discovery 
been before made of practising splendid generosity without cost. 

So that, speaking generally : just as religion suggested the 
first Hospitallers, and aristocracy suggested the first Garter, and 
democracy suggested the Legion of Honor, so has economy 
suggested wholesale decoration. Here we have a sort of epitome 
of modern history modern in the sense of a thousand years. 
In the early middle ages religion was everything ; then aris- 
tocracy for which we might better write feudalism contended 
with and sadly impaired religion ; the third stage, the democratic, 
of spasmodic but long growth, has impaired both religion and 
aristocracy ; and now, fourthly, we have entered on a period 
when financial considerations have become paramount, in the 
sense both of economy and indulgence. Decorations have, in 
truth, followed suit. They have not set a fashion, but have 
followed it. They were, first, the indications of a pious mind. 
They were next the indications of a love of chivalry. Then they 
came to mean a sort of acclaim of equal rights the right of 
every man to wear an order, if he could get it. Their last or 
present stage is perhaps a little bit hazy ; it seems to include 
all the ideas that have gone before, in a diluted or thinned 
degree or reality ; but it also admits of a thoroughly commercial 
reading a financial value being frequently attached to an 
honor together with a good deal of interpretation of trickiness, 
of an ingenious if not an ingenuous way of " meriting. " Here 
we have got to the end of the gradual decadence : decorations 
cannot well become less decorative ; so we will just take one' 
more hasty glance "from the beginning to the end," and sum" 
up our whole subject in a nutshell. 

Go back to Adam and Eve, and to their near descendants. 
First, of course, came "dress," for warmth and modesty; next, 
dress for the sake of comeliness or personal beauty ; next, dress 



532 " DECOKATl-.n." [July. 

for the sake of significance as to position. Then would follow 
simple ornamentation, and then an ornamentation that w.is 
costly. After this we should get to the making of presents of such 
ornaments as would give pleasure or would show honor to the 
recipient. From this stage the transition would become inevit- 
able : to look on some gifts as descriptive of one moaning, and on 
somr gifts as descriptive of other meanings. And thus the 
presents of personal ornaments whose significance was determined 
would be in true sense primeval decorations. Whether a king 
gave such presents or a warrior gave them, the wearer would 
wear them as decorations. We read in the Old Testament of 
royal gifts of gold chains (did not a Pharaoh give a gold chain 
to Joseph ?), of purple robes, and of rings, and even of crown-, 
most unmistakable decorations in the esteem of the recipient, 
and also of all who were acquainted with him. And long before 
the time of Abraham the same custom was established in the 
courts and camps of almost the whole gentile world. So that 
the only difference between the very old and the very new is 
the difference of the interpretation of the gift ; and it is just 
here that we give the palm what we may call the princedom 
of decoration to the first Hospitallers, the Soldiers of the White 
Cross. They initiated the pure idea both of giving and of 
receiving ; the giving being the approval of a high vocation, and 
the receiving the determination to act up to it. No Crusader 
who, on bended knee, received the sword, could be said to be 
so highly decorated as the Hospitaller who received the simple 
cross of white linen. The symbol and its simple material both 
meant volumes of decoration such as all the jewelled swords in 
the world could not intimate. This then is the true idea, 
decoration. It is the idea which was begotten only of Catholi- 
cism. Paganism could initiate a system of rewards which meant 
favor, but not necessarily personal esteem ; classic times could 
initiate a system of rewards of which the symbolism meant 
valor in the wearer; the nineteenth century can initiate a system 
of rewards which means "Take this because it will tickle your 
vanity, and also because it does not cost me a dollar " ; but the 
Catholicism of the early middle ages alone conceived the true 
idea, which was the decoration of the virtues, not the wearer. 
" You are decorated that you may practise a virtue " was the 
idea of Catholic knighthood ; " you are decorated for having 
done well " is rather the idea of complacent modernism, " and 
that all men may bend the knee to your self-esteem." Kgotism 
is the weakness crowned in the modern idea ; Devotion was the 
grace crowned in the mediaeval. A. F. MARSHAL].. 






1890.] HIDDEN SAINTS. 533 



HIDDEN SAINTS. 
I. 

" THERE are as good fish in the sea as were ever caught " 
is an old saying, and, like most such, very probably true. Many 
an Achilles has been lost to fame because he had no Homer to 
chant his praises. So the "village Hampdens," like the roses 
" born to blush unseen," have lived and died in obscurity, and 
their merit is acknowledged only in a confused and general way, 
even the " Man of Airlie " being known only as the type of his 
class, leaving us in doubt as to whether the poet had a real 
individual in his mind when he sketched his hero. What is 
true of civil and- martial heroes is likewise true of the saints. 
Those who are canonized are but specimens of the class to 
which they belong, just as precious stones, birds, and other 
objects in a museum do but give us an idea, although they also 
furnish striking, practical, tangible proofs of the excellence, 
beauty, and variety of the vast and almost boundless kingdoms 
they represent. This thought struck me very forcibly a couple 
of years ago on reading, in the Annals of the Holy Childhood, 
of the martyrdom of those thirty thousand Christians in Ton- 
quin, as well as the accounts of several individual cases of death 
for the faith; the truth and courage displayed in them being 
equal to almost anything we find in the history of the early 
ages of the church. Agnes, Cecilia, Sebastian, Perpetua and 
Felicitas, Polycarp and the child Simeon, find their counterparts 
in China to-day. I took up lately that modest record of won- 
ders, Challoner's Missionary Priests, and could not but be aston- 
ished at the heroism, as common as getting up and going to bed, 
of those glorious English martyrs ; and the calm, every-day 
language in which their biographer describes their surpassing 
faith, bravery, and brotherly love only confirms me in the con- 
viction that even those great men and women were but speci- 
mens picked here and there from the mass, and that the chronicler 
himself, all the while that he acknowledged and admired their 
noble deeds, yet felt that it was but what should be required of 
an Englishman, who is always expected " to do his duty," cost 
what it may. The coolness of the Anglo-Saxon is displayed in 
the literary style of the vicar-apostolic who compiled the work, 
as well as in many an instance therein set down. 



534 ////v v.v SAM [July. 

Take this for an example : Richard Her-t u.i- h.in_,.<! for the 
faith, August 29. lojS. "On the way to execution he carried 
in his hand a picture of Christ crucified, on which he had his 
lixed, and frequently repeated to himself short ejaculatory 
prayers. When lie came in sight of the -allows he said: ' (fal- 
lows, thou dost not affright me,' and coming to tl-.e place, lie 
'1 the post. Some few ministers \\ere there to importune 
him again in point of religion, but he regarded them not. 
The sheriff telling him he was to be the first man to die, he 
most earnestly and devoutly recommended himself to the mer- 
ciful hands of God, begging the prayers and intercession of 
the Blessed Virgin, his angel guardian, and all the saints, 
especially of St. Jofin Baptist, it being the clay of his decolla- 
tion. Ami looking nf> at the executioner, u'ho teas busy in fasten- 
ing the ivpc, but knew not readily lioic to do it right, he merrily 
called him by his name and said : ' Tow, 1 think I must come 
and helf> tluc.'" O very flower of courage, and sublime victory 
of God's grace, that makes Christ's soldier actually jest about 
the instrument of his own death ! 

Thus a plain English farmer, torn from his wife and children 
and hurried to a shameful end, emulated the glory of the Roman 
champion Lawrence, as well as the example of the renowned chan- 
cellor of his own country. Pray for us, Blessed Richard Herst, 
that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ! And 
yet, and yet, here is the wonder: Two hundred and sixty years 
passed before the names of such heroes were authoritatively in- 
scribed on the church's list nay, three hundred and fifty before 
the halo was placed on the exalted brows of More and Fisher! 
The small but active and zealous church in England took the 
matter in hand at last, and succeeded a couple of years since 
in having a considerable number of their martyrs crowned ; but 
any one reading the annals of the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries will be convinced that these heroes are but select 
examples from the crowd of witnesses to the faith in those dark 
and bloody times. 

Meanwhile, where are the saints of Scotland ? Will it be 
believed that none of the countrymen of Mary Stuart deserved 
the bays of heroism ? And Ireland ? Where be thy saints ? 
One only, out of the countless multitude of martyrs that the 
Green Isle furnished during the last three hundred years, has 
been placed on our altars Oliver I'lunkett, the Propagandist, 
Archbishop of Armagh, who had the luck to be executed in 
England, and thereby slips in on the English calendar submitted 
to Leo XIII. 



1890.] HIDDEN SAINTS. 535 

I heard an Irish-American bishop once preaching a pane- 
gyric of St. Lawrence O'Toole, and he made this remark : That 
with the loss of her independence the list of saints was closed 
in Ireland. St. Lawrence contended, but in vain, for the free- 
dom of his country, and was, too, her last canonized saint. Ire- 
land was conquered in 1172. Does any one mean to tell me 
that the last seven hundred years have seen no man or woman 
in Ireland fit to be enrolled on the list of saints ? Indeed, that 
bishop said that the atmosphere of freedom is necessary to the 
development of the perfect man that is to say, of the saint a 
proposition open to question, I think, for otherwise your saints 
would be mighty few and far between in the tyrant-ridden 
countries of Europe. Martyrdom, at least, supposes persecu- 
tion. Where, then, are Ireland's saints ? Where is their cata- 
logue ? When some one offered Dr. Doyle dust from the 
Coliseum, saying that it was all sodden with martyrs' blood, 
he replied that not a sod of Irish soil but was as holy. O 
the pity of it ! that the martyr-nation, the one which not only 
suffered in her children for the faith, but even died herself, as far 
as a nation may (but whose death implies resurrection, for her 
" spirit never dieth "), has no recognition in the Catholic Church ! 

Is there not some way of making this process of canoniza- 
tion more feasible? Cannot the Holy See devote a special con- 
gregation of cardinals to seeking out and glorifying some more 
of these hidden saints, especially the heroes of those countries 
whose people are too poor to stand all the necessary expense 
of legal process? Why could not such a tribunal be maintained 
by general alms ? 

One of my dearest recollections of Rome is that of the box 
at the door of Sant' Andrea della Fratte, the church in which 
the Blessed Virgin appeared to the Jew, Alphonse Ratisbonne 
the box, I say, surmounted by a picture of St. Benedict Joseph 
Labre, with an inscription to the effect that alms might be 
placed therein to forward the process of his canonization. What 
a comfort it must be to those who were privileged in aiding in 
this, one of the boldest and noblest acts of the church in the 
nineteenth century the " lifting up of this poor man from the 
dunghill, and placing him among the princes of her people " to 
look back to the days of their innocence and chivalry, when 
they used to drop their pennies, as an alms, for the glory of the 
democrat-saint! He was a man of the common, common people; 
he died in the house of one of them to a butcher fell this in- 
comparable honor and it was by their aid, with the efforts of 
their pastors, that his apotheosis was finally brought about. 



II. 

There are other reasons, however, why one is compelled to 
believe that tlie hidden saints are very numerous, and we pro- 
pose to enlarge on one of them, which consists in the fact that 
some societies try to have their holy members canonized, while 
others seem to be quite indifferent about it. Take the Jesuits, 
for instance. Look at the number of saints they have already 
secured, and think of the others whose case is advancing by 
stages, more or less slow but never interrupted, until their tem- 
poral honor be fully and finally accorded them. This society 
has, I believe, a general historian, as well as a chronicler, for each 
province, whose business it is to collect and preserve data of 
every single individual member. Hence they have an anthology 
or martyrology of their own, which is read in their houses, and 
they preserve the likenesses and publish the lives of almost 
every one of their order who acquires distinction for sanctity 
or for general usefulness. This is surely a very good practice, 
and results in quite a large list of saints, who would otherwise, 
in all probability, have been lost to posterity. What is the 
reason that there are so few canonized saints among the paro- 
chial clergy, for instance? It cannot be, surely, that the "Order 
of St. Peter." the very Atlases that sustain the church, are with- 
out this witness of holiness to the divine institution of their 
body. And how is it that so many bishops are placed on the 
calendar? Is it not, in all probability, because the lives of the 
former are little noticed, and their heroism soon forgot, while 
the blaze of high office makes the virtue of the latter to stand 
out in strongest light ? Their history is written with that of the 
diocese and the country, and Rome herself becomes their bio- 
grapher. I was reminded of the difference between the bishop 
and the parish priest, quite lately, by something I saw in a 
newspaper. The reader remembers the miracle related of St. 
Malachy, that other Archbishop of Armagh, by his friend and 
panegyrist, St. Bernard, the great Doctor of the Crusades. \Vell, 
a perfectly similar incident is said (as I read in the paper) to 
have occurred in the ministry of a simple priest in the City of 
New York, some twenty years ago, and although I am pretty 
well acquainted with the American metropolis and its ecclesias- 
tical history, as well as with the priest in question, I never 
heard it till yesterday. It is the case of a woman reviving 
fourteen hours after her death, to receive the last Sacraments. 
Suppose this had happened on the sick-call of a Jesuit, or in 
the life of Bishop Neumann of Philadelphia! And yet, it is 



1890.] HIDDEN SAINTS. 537 

almost as probable to me, in this case, as if I read it in St. 
Malachy's life. It is still Homer that makes Achilles. 

The church is always holy ; therefore, she should always have 
saints. Why is it that there are none conspicuous in Ireland for 
seven hundred years ? Because ordinary human means have not 
been taken to place them on the pedestal. Why is it that we 
find them sometimes grouped in certain periods of history ? See 
if it be not on account of the particular genius of those who 
made them known to the world. Thanks, then, to the Society 
of Jesus for the rich and fragrant and beautiful bouquet they 
have gathered and tied for the delight, admiration, and comfort 
of the faithful ! What student that ever knelt before the shrine 
of the Angelic Youth in St. Ignatius' Church at Rome but 
blesses God for his chance ? Who ever helped to decorate, with 
his hard-won medals, the couch on which reposes the statue of 
the dying Stanislaus, and did not thank God for the glory of 
the saintly boy ? And what cleric is it that knew of the plain, 
simple, yet heroic life and death of St. John Berchmans, that did 
not rejoice in the Lord when his name at length was enrolled 
among the saints ? Oh ! that day, enshrined in my memory 
beyond most of those passed in the varied scenes of the Holy and 
Eternal City ; one of those days of one's life in which, out of the 
depth. of the heart, many thoughts are revealed the day of the 
' triumph of St. John Berchmans, when his sacred relics were re- 
moved from their lowly resting-place, and carried upon the 
shoulders of four' deacons clad in golden array, to be set on 
high on God's holy altar; while students, priests, bishops, and 
cardinals, learned and simple, old and young, ruler and subject, 
all walked with reverence, joy, and thanksgiving behind the bier, 
delighted to do honor to the young hero ! It was, indeed, a 
sight worth crossing the ocean to behold ; and the spiritual com- 
fort arising from the event, how shall we estimate its worth ? 

There are orders which appear to pay no attention to 
their holy members. While the society above mentioned places 
in a sepulchre apart the remains of any individual member who 
is believed to have died in the odor of holiness, I am assured 
that in another order, the foundation of which goes back two 
hundred and sixty-five years, such a thing has never been done. 
Do you expect me to believe that the society founded by the 
Apostle of Charity, St. Vincent de Paul, has produced no one 
remarkable enough for holiness, in these two and a half centuries, 
to deserve at least a separate tomb ? Can it be that until Blessed 
John Gabriel Perboyre was providentially led to his glorious 
martyrdom in China, in the year 1840, there were no subjects 



;:S ////</>/.. v S.I /NTS. . [July, 

for canonization aiming the children of St. Vincent? I say the 
children, not the suns, for I want to call attention to the fact that 
even in the renowned order of the Sisters of Charity, another of 
St. Vincent's foundations, the odor of whose su baa filled 

the whole earth, the relics of no member have been preserved, 
nor have any steps been taken, as far as I know, to place upon 
the altar any of those women whose virtue civil France has so 
often honored with the cross of th<- Legion, and whose canoni- 
zation has frequently been popularly acclaimed. The Jesuits date 
back some ninety years beyond the Congregation of the Mission 
and the Sisters of Charity. The constitutions of these latter, too, 
are the work of a saint, and have also been approved by the 
church as apt to lead their members to perfection. Shall we 
then believe that while the Jesuits have at least a dozen saints 
canonized, and the processes of many others under way, the 
spirit of St. Vincent has found no emulators in all this time ? 
No saint among the "Daughters of Charity," forsooth? Credit 
J adieus A pel la. 

" Well, but our spirit is not such as to induce us to seek the 
canonization of our members." Such is the answer. But is it 
a sound one ? Is the greater glory of God really promoted by 
such policy ? Would not the churches of the La/.arists, Domini- 
cans, Franciscans, and other orders be more popular, and- their 
ministry more effective, as well as their numbers greater, if they 
had more of their heroes placed on high for the veneration of 
the faithful ? And the noble Sister of Charity ! would not her 
zeal be quickened by the model set authoritatively before her 
by the Spouse of Christ, who would select some gem out of this 
casket to decorate her earthly crown withal ? One feels about 
the saints as Father Hecker used to feel about the dogmas. He 
rejoiced when the boundaries of infallible truth were enlarged by 
a new definition. So it seems to me we should rejoice and be 
glad when a new .flower of sanctity is set forth in the visible 
garden of the Lord, when a new brilliant is placed on the 
brow of Christ's Bride. God hasten the day when the saints of 
Ireland not only, but of Poland and of America saints not only 
of the Jesuit order, but of the Dominican and Franciscan, who 
also fulfilled as glorious an apostolate and likewise shed their 
blood in North and South America shall be all enrolled ! Why 
should their names be buried in history? Why is it that 
Bancroft's strength and Parkman's grace have so magnified the 
"Jesuits in North America"? Why have Canada and the 
Northwest led their imaginations captive ? Naturally men arc 
inclined to write up their own neighborhood, and the localities 



1890.] HinnEN SAINTS. 539 

they have been enabled to visit. Therefore these historians 
have chosen and developed these special fields. But besides this 
they have had the theme suggested by the frequent, nay constant 
and laudable, efforts of the Society of Jesus and its friends to 
keep its heroes before the public, and behind all this they have the 
careful and conscientious memoirs of the great and holy mis- 
sionaries themselves, furnishing material the most reliable and 
at the same time fascinating and romantic, ready fitted for the 
pages of sober but eloquent history. 

I was strolling one day last August about those lovely hills 
.and glens that beautify the " meeting of the waters " of the 
Schoharie and the Mohawk, recalling the scenes that took place 
there two hundred years ago, following as best I might the 
traditional route of the blessed martyrs who sanctified the spot 
for ever by their glorious death, and the thought came to me: 
Why is not the field made glorious likewise whereon Father 
Louis Cancer de Barbastro, O.P., rushed to death, or where 
Father Lopez and Brother Augustine, O.S.F., spilt their sacred 
blood for this very same cause by the hands of savages just such 
as these, and even a century in advance of Father Jogues, S.J., 
and Rene Goupil, S.J. ? Would not the fathers of the Third 
Plenary Council of Baltimore as readily present the names of the 
former to the Holy See for canonization as they did those of the 
latter ? The spirit of St. Francis and St. Dominic has certainly 
not waned, that these orders should not even remember their 
glorious heroes nor feel inclined to pay them their due honor ? 

The Society of St. Sulpice still preserves the heroic spirit of 
its founder. Where are its saints ? They tell of Pius IX., that 
he declared himself ready to canonize any Sulpician who was 
proved to have observed his rule perfectly. Indeed, I know of 
no order of priests whose discipline is so severe and whose 
spirit is so self-sacrificing as that of the Sulpicians. And yet 
we wait for two hundred and fifty years and there is no saint, 
and the order is extremely and singularly limited in numbers, 
and therefore in usefulness. If some of their hidden saints were 
offered to the admiration and proposed for the example of the 
young clerics that receive their ecclesiastical training in the 
houses of this admirable society, perhaps the church would not 
have to regret the small numbers and insignificant development 
of an order specjally designed for the education of the clergy, 
and to which the Spouse of Christ is very probably indebted for 
the noble work achieved in every part of the world by the 
apostolic missionaries of her " eldest daughter," France. 

Aft. St. Mary's, Emmittsburg, Md. EDWARD McSWEHNY. 



540 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. [July. 



TALK A HOT I NK\V BOOKS. 

it may not be the most important, yet perhaps the 
most obvious remark to be made about Mr William O'Brien's 
novel, ll'/it'it HV ;(/< Jicrs ,Nc\v York : Longmans, (ireen & 
Co.), is that it is interesting throughout, and so possesses the 
first of all excellences as a work of fiction. The firial cause of a 
novel is to " enjoy " people of a good novel, to attain certain 
other ends of reproof, or doctrine, or instruction while heading 
straight for this one. Probably a better way than this might be 
found to express the opinion that a novelist should not have the 
pulpit in direct view, but ought to content himself with the 
lecturn. 

Mr. O'Brien occupies that post with singular ability and 
success. His novel has no dull pages in it, although it may be 
admitted to have more bright ones than are in strictness necessary 
to the telling of its story. It would have been a greater novel 
had it occupied less space. Still, we should hardly know where 
to cut it without in some degree curtailing our own pleasure. 
One forgives its dallying, leisurely pace, considering how many 
otherwise heavy, although e.npty, hours of prison life the writing 
of it served to solace. There is no .other trace of prison gloom 
about it, no pessimism, no denunciation, no despair. The critic 
of the Boston Pilot speaks of its almost " intolerable pathos," 
but to our mind the brightness of the author's spirit has suffused 
his work so thoroughly that as charity is its pervading senti- 
ment, so hope is everywhere its dominant note. True Celt that 
he is, he is indomitably light-hearted. He knows the secret which 
forbids despair. In the whole congeries of fine strokes which 
sculpture out his hero's personality, there is none more charac- 
teristic than the reply he makes in the last chapter to the prison 
chaplain, coming to tell him that his capital sentence has been 
commuted to imprisonment for life : 

" ' It realizes an old dream of mine, that is all,' he answered 
with a mournful smile. ' I used once to rave of the life of St. 
Finn Barr's old monks in their stone cells in the Gougaun Harra. 
I am going to have an opportunity of testing the reality. A 
convict prison is a monastery under three locks in place of the 
Three Vows, and as the sentence is for life, 1 dare say there 
will be no fear of a break-down in my vocation." 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 541 

For the characteristic religious trait of the Irishman is his 
capacity for the supernatural. As Dr. O'Harte says, in one of 
the many good conversations in this volume which we are sorry 
not to have space to quote, " every Irish young fellow who feels 
a soul stirring within him, feels that he wants more hair-cloth 
and ashes in his religion." He has that capacity for devotion 
and self-sacrifice which nothing can explain, or even justify be- 
fore the bar of common sense, save an intense realization of the 
supernatural. He tends above this world, and gains a knowledge 
of things beyond its ken, by a force unsurpassed if equalled by 
the man of any other Christian race. In politics he follows a 
leader, and when, as in his island-home, he has his own natural 
leaders, his political power is only to be resisted by brute force : 
he is the omnipotent politician of the British Empire. The 
whole Celt was expressed in O'Connell, reciting his beads in the 
lobby of the Commons while awaiting the moment when, as 
chieftain of his sept, he should lead it against the British. 

No one but an Irishman so penetrated with the best tradi- 
tions of his race that they are to his literary expression what the 
breath is to his lungs, could have written When We were Boys. 
It has a thousand merits, but its chief one is to have so admi- 
rably embodied what one might call the archetypal Irishman in 
the hero, Ken Rohan. And there could hardly be imagined a 
better background for such a figure than that chosen by Mr. 
O'Brien. The period is that of the madly-conceived and pre- 
ordained-to-failure Fenian insurrections which succeeded our 
Civil War. The novel is essentially a graphic portrayal of the 
conflict between the old order of things in Ireland and the new 
the struggle, fatal to both antagonists, between religion falsely 
expressed and patriotism extravagantly bent on freedom. Car- 
dinal Cullen and his Castle bishops on the one hand, and the Fenian 
leaders on the other, represent two extremes. A people less 
in need of the supernatural and less able to appreciate it, would 
have flung Catholicity overboard in their frantic race for national 
integrity. A people who loved their nationhood less, would 
have parted with it to secure the good things of this life. Had 
either faith or race been weaker in them, the Irish would now 
be West Britons, as the Scotch are North Britons. 

Mr. O'Brien, in taking so close a grasp of this central fact 
in a situation now, happily, long past, has doubtless laid himself 
open to unfriendly criticism, sometimes implied, sometimes 
explicit. To our mind, he has done both his subject and his 
actors something as nearly like even-handed justice as could be 
VOL. LI. 35 



542 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. [July 

expected from any quarter. There seems hardly a stroke to 
choose in tin- way of impartial candor on his part between the 
three priests whom he ha- dr.i\\ii at full length Father I'hil, 
"the silver-headed old curate the golden-hearted <>!d curate 
the oldest old curate who was ever assumed into hea>vn with- 
out a parish"; Monsignor McGrudder, a clean-cut specimen of 
a type of Irish ecclesiastic which, if not extinct, is on the down 
road to extinction; the large-hearted bonhomie of Dr. u'llarte, 
the Coadjutor- Bishop of " Clonard. " wlio is so well in touch 
with the honest aspirations of the new order all are exceedingly 
lifelike and well done. In fact, if one of them is less fairly 
handled than another, it seems to us that Dr. O'llarte is the 
man. No priest of our time and of his stamp, we fancy, in any 
country, but would object to placing the ideal of even "journey- 
men priests, " whose life-business is with the " Toms, Jacks, and 
Harrys who, to the end of the chapter will have homely wits 
and homely virtues," so low as that Mr. O'Brien puts in his 
mouth in the chapter called Les Jennes Moustaches. A suo 
ful shot is always aimed above the point it is meant to reach. 
But this is pretty nearly the sole defect with this portrait, and 
we credit Mr. O'Brien with an ill-judged though well-meant 
intention to be -complimentary in making it. 

The care and candor which mark the author's treatment 01 
his Irish characters is not less evident in his handling of his 
English ones. The Protestant rector, Mr. Motherwell, is made 
as agreeable in his way as Father Phil, whose staunch friend he 
is. The heroine, Mabel Westropp, who is " of perfections all 
compact," is English and not 'Catholic ; Joshua Neville is a good 
type of the liberals whose influence has done so much to 
change British middle-class sentiment on the Irish question. 
And all through there are evidences of a sympathetic knowledge 
and love of human nature wherever and however it is met. As 
for his hero, he is, perhaps, a trifle too thoughtful and senten- 
tious for a youth of his age, or would be so if poetry, religion, 
and patriotism, when combined, did not go far to make men of 
boys in times such as Mr. O'Brien was dealing with. \Ve have 
marked the book in many places for quotation, but our space 
is limited. Here is a passage from the chapter called " The 
American Captain." Captain Mike MacCarthy's dialectic di\ 
tions between the idiom of the " Ninth Massachusetts and the 
brogue of his early CoomhOla days, strike us, by the way, as 
the least successful part of Mr. O'Brien's work. The Captain 
himself is entertaining and well understood. The scene is the 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 543 

bar-parlor of the Drumshaughlin Arms Hotel, and the company 
Fenian conspirators talking over the near arrival of a shipful of dis- 
banded Grand Army men to assist in taking Ireland from the British: 

" ' And now, ' pursued the Captain, ' what I want to know 
is, supposing our boys keep their appointment, what sort of 
reception will they have from the people supposing they land 
here in Bantry Bay, now, for argument's sake ? " 

"There was an awkward pause. Pulling the British Empire 
to pieces looks the simplest thing in the world till you come to 
particulars. Our fervid Celtic faith believes in moving mountains, 
and hates being teased with petty difficulties about pulleys and 
means of transport. 

" ' Begor,' says Mat Murrin, not being prepared with any 
other strategic suggestion, ' we'll drink their health in the biggest 
bumpers that ever blazed with Irish whiskey." 

" ' I con-elude you'd do that much violence to your feelings 
without bringing shiploads of people across a hemisphere or 
two to assist at the de-monstration,' said the Captain drily. 
' No, boss I don't allude to the toast-list, nor the torchlight 
procession, nor the "luminated address from the citizens.' 

" ' Give us the guns ! ' said the stone-mason, in a low, deep 
voice. 

" ' There goes the Ninth Massachusetts ! ' said the Captain, 
fixing his dark eyes upon the speaker's brawny limbs with a 
critical approval that made Con blush like a rosy russet. ' What 
I want to know is, can you multiply Con Lehane by fifty 
thousand ? How many more lineal yards of that material have 
you got in stock round here ? ' 

"'You'll find too many like me just as poor and just as 
ready,' said Con, sheepishly. 

" ' In the towns, yes, ' said Jack Harold. ' But -we must not 
deceive ourselves. It is different with the country people. 
There are good prices for springers. That is their literature, 
their history, their heaven. The only cause in which they are 
willing to die is filching their neighbor's spot of land. Don't 
count upon the farmers. Parbleu ! They are such miserable 
creatures that they have not even found it out. The Society for 
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals might as well expect 
donkeys to call in the police to the brutes that flog them. If 
those charming peasants ever heard tell of us, we are wild 
young men who knows ? instigated by the devil.' 

' It's the priests that does it,' said Dawley. ' There's Mon- 
signor McGrudder. He tells the ould women we're bringing 
over the French Revolution to abolish God and the altar.' 

" ' When our boys go for bear I'd advise the reverend man 
not to pan out on that text to any great extent within my 
lines,' said the Captain, 'if he don't desire a short road to 
heaven bored through his body.' 



544 TALK ABOUT NEW Bv 

' 1 li.it's what I tell Vm, ' exclaimed Dawley, triumphantly. 
'The Fivnih l\c\ -olution's ti> good for them sky-pilots. They're 
too purple and fat, and wants blood-letting.' 

"That's atrocious!' cried Ken Rohan, hotly, 'If we are to 
judge three thousand Irish priests by Monsignor Mc(irudder, 
how can you blame Monsignor McGrudder if lie judges us -by 
Sanguinary balderdash like that ? ' 

"'Balderdash!' exclaimed the little tailor, his nose tilted 
into the air, like a flash-light on a dangerous coast. ' Listen to 
that balderdash ! ' 

"'Yes, stranger, it was nonsense bloody nonsense,' said the 
American Captain, coolly. ' Shoot your man if he blocks the 
road, whoever he is; but don't go blazing away .it the Short 
Catechism you may as well be firing at the moon. It's kind 
of wrong, and it wastes cartridges.' 

' I for one,' said Ken, whose heat was not altogether 
allayed by the Captain's rough-and-ready summary of the theo- 
logical tenets of the Ninth Massachusetts ' 1 for one will be 
no party to pulling down the Church to stop Momignor 
McGrudder's chatter. It's the one possession the Irish people 
have got in perpetuity, except the graveyards. There is one 
Irish province that was never confiscated their hope in a 
boundless heaven for eternities. The man would be more 
accursed than Cromwell who would bar them out of that bright 
country for the sake of a few fretful hours on a mere speck of 
earth in a world which is itself a shadow.' 

" Dawley listened open-mouthed ; his wrath fortunately tem- 
pered by wonder what all this could possibly be about. 

" ' No,' Ken Rohan dashed along. ' You'll get the Irish 
people to write " Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity " in plain 
letters over the church doors, but you'll never get them to dance 
carmagnoles on the altars. God forbid you ever should be able ! 
If there is a more detestable thing on earth than an Irish priest 
without a country, it is an Irish patriot without a God." 

" ' Do you mean me ? ' shrieked Dawley, who had seized a 
tumbler, having, worse still, emptied its contents. 

" ' Don't make a bosthoon of yourself ! ' said Con Lehane, 
smilingly, replacing him in his seat. 

" 'Allans, my dear Ken, you are as fond of making a preach 
as the Monsignor himself,' said Jack Harold. ' Dawley can have 
a horrible revenge by making your new coat a misfit. It would 
serve you right to prepare you for heaven in garments cut for 
a mendicant friar. Eh, gai ! we are perfectly agreed. Brother 
Dawley has no more notion than you or we have of going to 
hell to spite Monsignor McGrudder.' 

" ' I hope Dawley and the rest of you will forgive me, I am 
sure. It's an infernal way I've got,' said Ken, blushing. ' When 
the Monsignor proceeds from the pulpit into the street and picks 
up stones against the Irish cause, our friend Dawley may trust 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. -545 

me he will not find me making genuflections. The greater _the 
Irish reverence for our faith, the better we are entitled to resent 
Maynooth College being converted into a sort of auxiliary Con- 
stabulary Depot in which the people's priests are drilled by an 
Italian Cardinal and turned out for patrol duty in the service 
of the people's oppressors.' 

" ' I am glad to hear that explanation,' remarked Dawley, 
with dignity. 

" ' And what is more, I am convinced that the bulk of the 
young priests resent it more sorely than we can. They have 
Irish hearts that will never mark time to those Italian drill- 
masters. Captain MacCarthy need not fear either for priests or 
people. I know hardly anything about the country except what 
I have read, or what I hear in the cabins when I drop in to 
light my pipe ; but, so far as I can judge, what you lack is not 
young fellows to take up arms, but arms for them to take up. 
The old fellows are still living in the famine time, many of them 
with one leg in the famine grave. My own governor's faith in 
pike-heads is in the grave with Smith O'Brien he denounces 
us as furiously as the Monsignor. Age is a time-server all the 
world over Leonidas had more trouble with middle-aged Bceotians 
than with the Persians ; but give the young fellows a chance ; 
let them see your ships here in Bantry Bay, and they will rush 
to you as the young waterfalls' do from the mountains.' 

" ' Correct," said the American Captain with much satisfaction. 
'Wai, children, I ain't powerful on Fourth of July work; but 
just you take home this sentiment, and frame it up over your 
chimney-piece in the most slap-up style this respectable but back- 
ward island can produce. If Mike MacCarthy knows a clam-bake 
from a Confederate shell, you young waterfalls will have the 
chance before long. Yes, SIR !' 

The chapter called " The Election " is that wh'ich will pro- 
bably provoke most comment of the unfriendly sort. It is very 
vigorous. The candidacy of Toby Glascock, the attorney-general, 
for a seat in Parliament ; Monsignor McGrudder retiring from 
the platform, worsted by the ribaldry of a chimney-sweep and 
the " determined reverence " of the stone mason who voices the 
determination of the young men to "have no priests in politics"; 
Mat Murrin's nomination of Ken Rohan, already in prison, await- 
ing his trial for high-treason, and its unexpected seconding by 
Father Phil O'SulIivan, all hold the attention with a powerful 
grasp. How vivid is this picture of the Monsignor, rising to 
second Glascock's nomination in the name of the clergy : 

" His altar denunciations of Fenianism had made him fiercely 
unpopular. ' No priests in politics ! ' the young men growled 
between their teeth, their eyes flashing dangerously. The Mon- 



546- TALK AROI [July. 

signor, for his part, gave them back fire for fin-. lie could not 
help feeling ttddened with thoughts ot former election scenes on 
that very hustings, when his sonorous voice was as decisi\ 
the returning officer's, and when the man who said him nay had 
better have addressed himself to an unloosed menagerie. Hut he- 
did not so much mourn the wreck of his own influence in the 
county as he was scandali/ed by the insolent growth of a spirit 
which' in his eyes had all the seven heads of the Krench Revo- 
lution, with its mtyadcs of priests and its worship of an impure 
Goddess of Reason. He might be martyred by this beast, but he 
was not going to truckle to it. 'Hah !' he said, waving a corn- 
minatory arm at the angry crowd. 'The cause of (iod's Church 
is not going to be put down by the clamor of ragged brats 
of boys.' His great chest and shoulders were thrown back in a 
fine statuesque posture of defiance, and his right foot was planted 
as firmly as jf it were rooted to the Rock of Ages. The spectacle 
was one of dignity and even grandeur. The massive old eccle- 
siastic stood there clothed around with the tranquil majesty of 
Divine Right, while the young men bayed at him and glov. 
at him with the wild hungry flame of Human Liberty in their eyes." 

The purpled form of ecclesiastical authority and the 
glowering eyes of human liberty were set against each other 
by Cardinal Cullen, backed by the .papal authority which he had 
beguiled. Mr. O'Brien's readers will find abundant historical 
proof of what we say by reference to the Life of l-'n-dcrick Lucas, 
by his son. This biography portrays the futile attempt of Lucas 
and his friends to make Irish politics honest and patrioti 
against the attempt of Cardinal Cullen, Keogh (who is Mr. 
O'Brien's Toby Glascock), Sadlier, and others to make them 
successful whether honest or not. Neither the methods pursued 
in public and* parliamentary life, nor the individuals who pursued 
them, were such as honest men or country-loving Irishmen could 
countenance. Both men and measures were foisted on the 
country by the Cardinal, and their opponents were driven from 
public life by politico-ecclesiastical censures. The patriotism of 
such prelates as Croke and Nulty, and the sound Catholicism of 
such leaders as Dillon, Davitt, Healy, and Biggar, prevented 
what for a time seemed inevitable the permanent divorce of 
liberty and religion in Ireland. Woe to the nation which must 
destroy the altar ot God to rid itself of the tyrant's throne! 
Woe to the religion which stands between a people and its 
legitimate aspirations toward human good ! 

One more quotation from " The Klection " and we must 
refer our readers to Mr. O'Brien's book itself to -ati-ly the 
appetite we hope to have excited. We cannot but rind room 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW- BOOKS. 547 

for Dr. O'Harte's maiden speech when he takes his seat for the 
first time among his episcopal brethren : 

" Nor was the clergy an unbroken phalanx, either. At a 
meeting of the bishops, the new Bishop of Clonard, whose Brief 
of appointment had just arrived, maintained an obstinate silence 
while a manifesto denouncing the wickedness and impiety of 
the opposition to the Attorney-General was being confectioned. 
The other bishops were saintly, peace-loving old gentlemen, who 
could remember what it was to be a Papist in the pre-Eman- 
cipation days, and were lost in thankfulness for a state of 
government under which Catholic churches, schools, convents, 
judges, magistrates, and what not were multiplying and pos- 
sessing the land. They could not possibly conceive what object 
there could be in interrupting this blessed process except that 
evil men, for unhallowed purposes of their own, desired to in- 
fect the unstained youth of Ireland with the scepticism and 
irreverence which had wrought such havoc with religion and 
society in other lands. When it came to a question of signing 
the manifesto, Dr. O'Harte for the first time broke silence. 

" ' I cannot do it,' he said. ' I am only a newcomer, and I 
have too much respect for your lordships' venerable character to 
do anything to oppose your action. I will remain neutral ; but 
that is the utmost I can conscientiously do.' 

" An abbot finding barricades thrown up in the cloister could 
not have been more shocked than those gentle and timid souls. 
They had always regarded Dr. O'Harte as a staunch partisan of 
the policy of alliance with the constituted authorities from whom 
had come Emancipation, and from whom seemed likely to come 
Disestablishment. 

" ' There are two things that are dearer than life to an Irish- 
man in full health of mind and manhood his Faith and his 
Nationality. You used their Nationality as long as. it served your 
purpose, to make the Irish people suffer for their Faith. It would 
be, to my mind, madness from the religious, as well as baseness 
from the human point of view, to think that you can now dis- 
card and eradicate Nationality after it has served your purpose. 
You'll simply divide two good forces into opposite camps. 
That's what they've done over half Europe, to religion's cost 
goaded young men into thinking that the Faith of the Middle 
Ages can only co-exist with mediaeval tyrannies and thumb- 
screws. The Faith of the Middle Ages flourishes like a bay-tree 
in the American Republic, because religious, people don't think 
it necessary to revile George Washington and plot to bring back 
a king. Why should American principles be damnable only when 
they land on the shores of Ireland ? They've landed, my lords, 
at all events, and all the Queen's troops and judges won't dis- 
lodge them ; and, depend upon it, young hearts won't think the 
less tenderly of them if we persecute them from the altar of God 



548 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. Duly, 

while the Government is torturing them in its jails. One thing 
more I feel bound to remind your lordships of that there are 
young hearts under clerical soutanes as well ;is under frieze coats, 
and for the one old Father Phil in this diocese I know fifty 
young Father Phils whom y>u will never drill into cursing their 
people's cause in the interest of their people's masters. For my 
part, I don't intend to try to drill them. My first episcopal act 
will be to remove Father. Phil from Drumshaughlin. in order 
to avoid the scandal of any open differences between him and so 
worthy and eminent a priest as Monsignor McGruddcr; but it 
will not be to banish him into the Siberian mines it will be to 
make him my own administrator in Clonard. As for this elec- 
tion I dare say it is only some tipsy freak of Mat Murrin's ; but 
if I am asked to brand little Ken Rohan, who served my Mass, 
and to whom I gave First Communion, as a limb of the devil 
1 don't believe it, and I won't say it. Candidly, if your lord- 
ships must issue any manifesto at all, my advice is that you 
frankly declare the Attorney-General to be what he is, a politi- 
cal gambler, who has made a dishonest use of his patriotism, 
and is making a not altogether honest use of his piety ; and if 
you must denounce armed insurrection in Ireland as the mid- 
summer madness it is a matter of infants playing at soldiers, so 
far as England is concerned, but tragic enough for our own poor 
unarmed boys then let your lordships not stop there, but point 
out how otherwise the ineradicable craving for Irish Nationality 
is to be satisfied, and make the young men feel that in strug- 
gling for it they will have our blessing, no matter if we had to 
take to the wooden chalices and the mountain cabins again with 
our people," 

" ' It seems a pity you did not intimate those opinions 
before,' gravely observed the archbishop, a noble and courtly 
figure. 

" ' I tell your lordships frankly, I waited until I could give 
them effect," said the coadjutor-bishop with perfect composure. 
'The Brief for my consecration only arrived yesterday. The 
opinions that would have been crushed in an humble priest have 
now some chance of being useful to the Church and to the coun- 
try.' ' 

The Master of the Magicians, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 
and her husband, Mr. Herbert D. Ward (Boston and New York : 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co.), differs from most novels we have seen 
which were founded on Scriptural subjects, by being readable 
and entertaining. Its dual authors, looking at the Babylon of 
Nabuchodonosor (or, as they prefer to differ from both Catholic 
and Protestant orthography, by writing Nebuchadrezzar), through 
American eyes, have not been guilty of any serious pretence to 
any remoter point of view. The gain, so far as liveliness is con- 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 549 

corned, is not wholly dissipated by the flippancies of style and 
sentiment which here and there accompany it. 

Stolen America, by Isabel Henderson Floyd (New York: 
Cassell Publishing Company), opens so inauspiciously that only a 
conscience which forbids either praise, blame, or passing mention 
not founded on knowledge, prevented its being thrown aside at 
once as simple trash. In reality it is a more than average 
novel, and in the heroine, Kate Weston, an attractive American 
girl of one of our best varieties, is carefully drawn. " Stolen 
America" is the island of Bermuda, which the author's patriotism 
bemoans as a true bit of American soil carelessly allowed to fall 
into English hands. The hero, Dr. Sinclair, converted from 
pessimism, low views of his fellow-creatures, and disgust for 
himself by his admiration for Miss Weston, blooms forth into a 
prospective lecturer throughout the country on the great subject 
of Coast Defences. The book is amusingly crowded with statistics 
on this and other topics which the author deems of serious im- 
portance to her compatriots. The culminating incident of the 
story, in which the doctor and Miss Weston are lost in one 
of the ocean caves in Mullett's bay, is very cleverly managed. 

Bella's Blue-Book, translated from the German of Marie Calm 
by Mrs. J. W. Davis (New York : Worthington Company), is 
one of those sweetly sentimental tales of which the Teutonic 
public appear to enjoy almost a monopoly. They may usually 
be warranted safe and moderately entertaining, and this one is 
no exception to the common rule. 

The Leper Queen : A Story of the Thirteenth Century (New 
York : Benziger Brothers), does not purport to be more than a 
legend, although historical names are used. It is well written, 
and brings into strong relief that spirit of sacrifice for others 
which is of the very essence of our Christian faith. But one 
could wish that the story, being merely legendary, the author 
had spared Aleidis and her princely lover the final sacrifice which 
led both of them to something like a living death for purely 
political ends. One doubts whether mere politics were ever 
fairly worth such sacrifices. 

John Murphy & Co., Baltimore, bring out, in very handsome 
shape, Dr. Edward W. Gilliam's //p/ . A Tale of San Domingo, 
which will need no recommendation to our readers, who have 
so lately followed the story through the pages of this magazine. 
Some substantial additions to the tale have, however, been made 
in putting it into this permanent form. 



55O WITH RF.AIW.HS A\D CoRREsro\ni--.\ [July, 



WITH KKADl.KS AND COKKI.S1'. >M )l ,N ITS. 

MM . \KOI i nri KM. >s. 

AMU. vii IK, N. ('.. :d JUIH-. 1890. 

Ki\. \M. HIM; SIR: The June number of THK t.' M ni n \Vi-Ki.n con- 
tains a most interesting letter from ^i^tci Maty I'aul on a subject which it has 
ahv.i\s seemed to me should be one of profound interest to the misMonar. 
ment of the church and should not that mean the whole church ? 

The negro is intensely religious ami intensely ignorant of true religion. I 
subjoin an " experience " which is almost a verbatim report. I change nothing 
of circumstance or surrounding, but, in negro language. " I gi 1 ter you ez 'twas 
gi'en ter me." 

Aunt Caroline was busy with the week's ironing, and lightened her labors by 
singing in her rich soprano a plantation version of the fortunes of 

" Sh.ulrik, Mr-h:ik an' At>edenego, 
A-burnin 1 in de fi'ry funniss," 

when the little daughter of the owner of the plantation entered and stood by 
the ironing-table. As she pushed back her sun-bonnet the braids of thick linir 
caught Aunt Caroline's eye. 

" Sho thing, ef I was you, I wouldn' low 'em ter plait my hyar," the old 
woman said, as she rubbed a fresh iron, to cool it, on the shuck door-mat. " Doan 
you know witches rides folks what plaits dey hyar ? Hits one o' de awfulles' 
sins you kin do." 

" Do witches ride folks, Aunt Caroline? " asked the little girl. 

" Law, chile ! dey dess fyar gallops 'em ; an' in de mornin's a'tcr de witches 
been takin' you for dey horse you dess seem lak you'se 'bout ter break in two, 
you'se so no 'count. An' see, w'en yo' hyar's plaited dey seizes dat for dey 
bridle. I sho wush you'd git Mijun an' stop 'lowin' 'em ter meddle wid yo' hyar." 

" When did you get religion ? " asked the child, leaning her arms over on 
the table and preparing to listen. 

" 'Tain't been so ve'y many years ago. 'Twas at de very fust Vival we hed 
in de new Piney Grove Chu'ch. I 'members I was a mighty han' for scoffin' at 
'lijun, an' dat night I tooken put on a hoop-skirt, an' spread out my new dress, 
an' fastened year-bobs in my years, an' sot up dar fine ez er fiddle, an' no mo' 
'siderin my soul den you is dis yere minnit. Hut dat preacher ! he fyar lifted 
de roof, he did ; an' de Christyuns 'menced a prayin' an' a beggin' de sinners ter 
come to de mo'rners' bench, an' some on 'em s'rounded me an' 'seeched me ter 
have mussy on my po' sinful soul ; an' chile ! I struggled an' I strived ter git up 
an' go, but dat ar hoop-skirt seem lak 'twas change ter lead an' was a-holdin' 
me down, an' pres'n'y 1 dess run my han' thew my dress-body an' I onbuckled 
dat hoop ; an' den dem year-bobs ! seem lak dey hilt me back, and I tooken 
snatched 'em out, an' den I went up, an' 1 tried ter pray ; but no use, my sins 
was dess a pressin' me down, an' pres'n'y seem lak I fell inter cr trance an' 
w'en I come to, behole you I was in Htll .' an' ooh ! it's de dreadfulles' place ! 
Hit's all vided up inter rooms all cased in red hot i'on, an' de flo' it's red hot i'on, 
an' gre't big fire-places big nuff \er hoi' fo' loads o' wood at cr time, an' Sat. in 
runnin' 'bout wid a great pronged pitch-fork a-prickin' his imps ter ma'. 
keep up de fires; an' dem imps dess a-grinnin', an' a-pawin', an' a-flingin' hot 
ashes on dc sinners down dar, an dey a-ragin, an' a-ruv.in'. an' a-d.nn in', an' 



1890.] 



WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 551 



screamin'. Lawd ! dem ez ain't seen it ain't got no idee o' it. An' clar I laid 
at de foot o' a gre't long lather, what reched down fum some'ars, I couldn' 
tell whar; an' ev'y time I'd strive ter rise, my sins 'ud hoi' me down. Dey 
was all in er big black pack on top o' me, an' 'peared ter me I wuz struck 
duin'; 1 couldn' eben holler; but last my voice come ter me, an' I say, 'Aw 
Lawd, ha' mussy on me er sinner, fo' Jesus' sake,' an' no sooner hed I said 
dat, den behole yo' ! dat ar lather 'menced a shinin' (hit was Jacob's lather), 
an' 'wa*y high up I hear sompen lak de flutter o' whings, an' de sweetes" 
voice say, ' Aw Ca'line come up. Aw Ca'line clamb up ' [nothing can express 
the emotion with which Aunt Caroline sang these words in imitation of the 
angelic (?) invitation], an' my sins dey rolled off an' I could hear 'em a-si:zin' 
ez dey struck de red hot flo\ an' I 'menced a clambin' de lather, rung by rung ; 
an' ez I got up de angels 'menced fannin' me wid dey white whings, an' a-singin' 
de sweetes' o' dey hymes, an' pres'n'y I got ter de top, an' aw, honey ! dar a- 
shinin' in dat flow'ry meado' waz de New Jerusalam. Two angels dey tooken 
put on me a long flowin' gyarment whiter'n ennythin" yo' uvver see, an' dey tuk 
me by de han's an' led me thew dem pearly gates. Aw, chile ! you thinks 
youse seen purty streets, but up dar de pavemints is o' shinin' gol", an' de 
houses is pyor silver, an' de trees hez di'mant leaves an' ruby flowers, an' de 
anjii'ls sets on dey do'-steps an' plays goldin' harps, an' sings de praises o' de 
Lamb. An' de angels what led me dey tuk me thew de streets, whar t'other 
angels 'ud say, ' Howdye, sister ! howdye ; eno'er redeemed soul ! ' An' las' we 
got by de ruvver what flows fum de Th'one, an' pres'n'y we reched de Jh'one, 
an' dar settin' upon it was Jesus His own Se'f, an" de angels dey cyarried me up 
de steps, an' Jesus he took my han' an* he say, ' Go an' sin no mo' ; an' den I 
come back ter dis worl' an' my sperrit entered my body, whar, de folks say, he'd 
been a-layin' dar at dat mo'ners bench, dead for three days, an' I dess jumped 
up, I did, an' I shouted, an' I shouted till ev'y rag o 1 my clo'es was in strings, 
an' I 'claimed aloud de glony o' God, an' I 'joiced case I hed seen his salvation 

for clem as trusts him ! 

" 'Aw! dis ole time 'lijun, 
Dis ole time 'lijun, 
Dis ole time 'lijun 
Is good nuff fur me ! ' ' 

rang out in Aunt Caroline's musical voice as the finale of her experience, and 
the little girl thought she would shout right there ; but at that moment a slant- 
ing ray of sunlight illumined the ironing-table and recalled the visionary to 
mundane things. 

" Dar ! " she exclaimed in her every-day tones, as she commenced ironing 
vigorously, " dat ar sun's fyar racin' ter de wes' an' dese yere clo'es ain't done 
i'onin' ! " 

Is there not a fruitful harvest awaiting the workers in this neglected 
corner of Christ's vineyard? FANNIE CONIGLAND FAR1NHOLT. 



THE RABBITS AND THE ASS'S SCHOOL. 

There had long lived together in an enforced harmony, under the same roof, 
two families, one of Asses and the other of Rabbits. The Ass and his children 
were of the kicking and loud braying variety, while the Rabbits were of the lop- 
eared, pink-eyed species with beautiful white fur. 

There had been a time, so runs the tradition, when the Rabbits had occupied 
spacious and beautiful warrens of their own, but they had been driven out by a 



552 M "//// AY:.-//>AA'\ .-MV> r(>A i A'/-:.syi>.\7>/..v/.v. [July- 

pest of rattlesnakes, anil after casting about for shelter for a long time, they hired 
lodgings in the house of the Ass. 

Now, the Ass had some peculiarities which these poor Rabbits did not like, 
and against which thty had to protest most vigorously. Their heads were in 
danger when he lifted his heels to kick, and their mouths were too tender to eat 
the thistles with which he attempted to feed them. 

Hut it came to pass in the course ofyearsth.it the Rabbits begun to prosper, 
and to be no longer the mere servants of the Ass. Feeling then that the time 
was come when with a good show of success they might assert their independ- 
ence, they informed the Ass that in a month's time they would lea\e In-, house 
and build houses of their own. Hut there was one thing which the Ass claimed, 
and that was the right to educate and train up the young Rabbits who were born 
in his house. " As I am the head and the source of all law for you, you must 
send your children to me to be educated." 

" No," said the Rabbits, " we cannot allow our children's mouths to be 
wounded with the thistles which you feed them with ; it takes us too long to cure 
them. Moreover they learn to kick, and we do not propose to have a family of 
what every one will call Jackass-Rabbits." 

" Very well," said the Ass, ' I will not urge my claim ; but you must con- 
tinue to pay me for the privilege which you are determined not to use. My 
house, you know, is yours, and as long as you have this right to come and go 
freely you must pay for it." 

In vain did the Rabbits protest against such an injustice. Even when the 
Ass put on the Lion's skin and tried to roar, they denounced him as a robber. 
The controversy became so hot at last that the Ass accused the Rabbits 
of gnawing the foundation beams of his house. But as these were protected 
by sheet-iron the poor creatures were cleared from that charge. 

The case came finally into the court where the Lion sat as the chief-justice, 
and a day was set apart for the hearing. 

A small but very fine Rabbit, with a creamy white pelt, appeared as the 
attorney for the Rabbits. And the old Ass himself came into court to plead for 
his own case. 

Lawyer Rabbit was about to begin, when suddenly the Ass lifted up his 
heels and gave a tremendous kick into the air, and stuck out his tail and opened 
his jaws and gave forth a succession of lugubrious brays, which drowned the 
voice of the Rabbit, and deafened the ears of the audience. The Lion called 
for silence, but the Ass kept on until the Fox and the Laughing-Hyena had to 
be called in as police to quiet him. So they put a muzzle on his nose and tied 
his tail to his legs, and he was forced to be silent. 

The attorney for the Rabbits then began his plea: " Your Honor, I have- 
lived with my clients for many years in the house of the Ass, much to the dis- 
comfort of our families. We were provided w'th thistles for food, we were 
taught to kick, and the songs which the Ass sings and his music were imposed 
upon us. We determined to leave, but the Ass claims that we must continue to 
pay him rent for the rooms we have vacated. This we have done under protest 
up to the present. I now ask that the Ass be restrained from collecting any- 
more rent from my clients." 

The Lion said then to the Ass: " Is all this true ? " And he being muzzled, 
nodded his head. Then said the Lion : " My sentence is this : The Rabbits must 
pay no more rent to the Ass. And the Ass must have his ears and tail cropped 
for his unjust treatment of the Rabbits." And so the court adjourned sine die. 

RKS s \KD. 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 553 

THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION. 

ALL COMMUNICATIONS RELATING TO READING CIRCLES, LISTS OF BOOKS, ETC., SHOULD 
BE ADDRESSED TO THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION, NO. 415 WEST FIFTY-NINTH 
STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 

We have received many letters of grateful acknowledgment for the informa- 
tion published in this department concerning living Catholic authors. From 
Cleveland, Ohio, this question has been sent to us: " Is Agnes Repplier a 
Catholic ? Her articles in the .-Itlaii/ic have excited my interest and admiration." 
Not long ago the same inquiry was made by a Reading Circle in Boston. Read- 
ers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD have had ample proof that Miss Agnes 
Repplier is one with them in faith by the perusal of her many excellent con- 
tributions to Catholic literature in this magazine. We are pleased to announce 
that she also recognizes the broad field of usefulness before the Columbian 
Reading Union, and sends her best wishes that it may meet with the hearty 
co-operation it deserves. Our members will read with delight her own words in 
the following letter : 

" There are few undertakings so doubtful and difficult as the direction of 
other people's reading, and "t have a reasonable hesitation in offering any coun- 
sel on the subject beyond a few general and safe rules. In providing books for 
young people, the first requisite is that they should be moderately interesting ; 
otherwise, all their admirable qualities count for nothing, for the very simple rea- 
son that the young people do not read them. A girl of seventeen will not plod 
through a dull controversial novel, when close at hand lies something, less 
excellent perhaps, but infinitely more attractive to her untrained mind. We 
probably all remember the manner in which, as children, we were wont to han- 
dle certain dismal books, tolerated for lack of anything better ; the cursory 
glance at each new chapter to see if it were more promising than the last, the 
scraps of conversation and incident picked out pathetically here and there, the 
wholesale skipping of all that went between. I am inclined to think the most 
melancholy experience of my boarding-school life was the constant effort to 
read utterly unreadable books ; but, by the same token, I can never forget the 
joy that Constance Sherwood gave me, a joy untarnished to this hour. It is, I 
believe, the best Catholic story I have ever read, except Loss and Gain. Fabiola, 
too, is charming, when we can once reconcile ourselves to nineteenth-century 
men and women uttering nineteenth-century sentiments in nineteenth-century 
language amid the catacombs ; but Constance Sherwood has no such artistic 
incompleteness. Its historic atmosphere is inimitable, and the opening chapters, 
before all the troubles begin, and when Constance and Ann Dacre are happy 
little girls together, form in themselves a perfect idyl, lovelier indeed than any- 
thing that follows, just as the opening chapters of The Mill on the Floss are 
lovelier than the sequel of the tale. 

Wherever history is to be selected, sincerity should guide our choice. 'Pious 
fiction is fiction still,' and the plainest speaking is safest in the end. Hubert 
Burke's volumes merit all the praise they have received, and it is a pity that, 
like Cardinal Newman's essays and historical sketches, and Aubrey De Vere's 
poetry, they should be so costly as to be beyond the purse of many who would 
like to buy them. Such works constitute the cream of Catholic literature, but 
they can only be enjoyed by people of cultivation ; and the same may be said 
most emphatically of that rare book, The Journal of Eugenie de Guerin, a book 
which to the uncultivated mind is blankly and burdensomely stupid. The fine 
quality of distinction, which Matthew Arnold recognized as Mile, de Guerin's 



554 WITH READEHX AMI c'oAw.sy^.v.- [July. 

mcthing diml> understood l>\ the average reader, who thinks her 
vcr\ pious, vciy melancholy, and no more. Hut to those who ha\c learned to 
love the delicate simplicity of her p.i^es, I ,,uld rei-ommend with nil my heart 
the Ji>urti,it ami Letters of her brother. Maurice de Gucrin. Far more subtle 
and intellectual than his sister, ex cry sentence he lias left Us is weighted with 

mil hc.uiu, tine even in a translation, peerless in the oii^inal French. 
He had.' says Matthew Arnold. a passion lor perfei lion ' ; and. I- 
this passion, and by his eMraoidinary mapc of expression, he has won his 

Aith a few tranmcntary writings, into tlie trampiil atmosphere of tlr 
mortals. .v.si | KUTI UK." 

. 

A fine copy of the pamphlet entitled A',W/ A ' and the Mind, with Sunn-thing 
/. AV.,/ (price 25 els. i, has been sent to us by the publisher. Mr. I). ]'. Murphy, 
Jr., 31 Barclay Street, New York City. We congratulate the author, Rev. J. F. 
X. O'Conor, S.J., on the success of his work, which has now reached a third 
edition, with fair prospects of a total circulation of six thousand copies. In the 
preface we are informed that this pamphlet preceded by two years the famous 
lists of./ Hundred Honks, which appeared in the yoar 1884. 

The pamphlet is divided into two parts "Reading and the Mind," and 
" Something to Read." Under the first there arc thirteen essays, philosophical, 
critical, and didactic, which point out the worth of modern prose and poetry. 
Among these essays there is one which is remarkably suggestive : The Influence 
of Greek Thought. It describes the two phases of Greek literature which pervade 
modern poetry in these words: " If we look upon the map of Turkey, in 
we shall see that the melted snows on the summit of the mountain ran^r 
Mt. Ararat supply the waters of those two mighty streams, the Tigris and the 
Euphrates. But how different the course of the two rivers ! The 
travellers tell us, flows almost directly south, in a clear, deep stream, while the 
Euphrates takes a northern, western, and finally southern course, but in a shal- 
low, zigzag bed, frequently bursting its banks, and bringing ruin to life and prop- 
erty by its destructive floods. Such are the two lines of Greek thought ; one 
keeps its pure refinement, the other is sullied by its own extravagance. In 
Homer we find the thought yet unsullied by modern dregs, though pa^an in its 
morality ; but when we come to Swinburne, it is the Greek sensualist that ap- 
pears, and not the noble type of Homer, or of Sophocles in his rhiltKi. 
Antigone." The fourth short essay, entitled False Principles in Reading, begins 
in a very scholarly manner, by showing that there are men who tear down, but 
who build up nothing. They sweep away with their pen the most sacred b 
and plan nothing in its place that can satisfy the soul. We must not worship 
God, but heroes and men, they tell us, and not according to what has been re- 
vealed and taught, but according to our whim or fancy, or, better yet, not at all. 
Nature is God, Man is God, Passion is God, or there is no God. And thus, in 
many ways, the fountains of literature have been poisoned, according as the 
mind of the writer has been turned away from truth and right. Under cover of 
a spirit of liberality, intellectual freedom freedom to use against the Maker that 
intellect which is his gift are disguised thoughts against the divine teachings of 
religion. There is a quiet stab in the dark at the submission of our minds to the 
Creator, a sneer at our love for the Mother of God, or a smile at our belief in the 
Sacraments instituted by our Divine Redeemer. Our poetry, as our prose, is 
tainted with Pantheism and Atheism, and, more recently, with the manifold 
developments of Materialism, Rationalism, and Agnosticism. All this is \early 
developing and parading itself in our literature. 



, 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 555 

Under the head of " Something to Read " the author again makes a division 
into literature of time and literature of eternity. The former comprises selec- 
tions of authors reflective and critical, studies for prose style, eloquence, trans- 
lations, studies for taste in poetry, versification, history, biography, didactic 
or reference, and fiction. Throughout all these books we fail to find Brownson's 
Ainfrican Republic mentioned the book which marks an epoch in the history 
of American literature. We heartily agree with every word Mr. Conde B. Fallen 
recently uttered in Baltimore in praise of Orestes A. Brownson. Did the author 
intentionally omit the American Republic, or was it forgetfulness ? There are 
some notable omissions among the magazines published in the United States. 
While Father O'Conor was vice-president of St. Francis Xavier's College he 
arranged graded class-readings for the students, which stirred up intelligent in- 
terest among the collegians ; these readings have been now added to his pam- 
phlet. Young aspirants after knowledge in the world will read his book, and 
thereby derive benefit not only from the essays, but also from the graded lists. 
We ask, Why did the author push THE CATHOLIC WORLD down to the strip- 
lings of the class of classics ? It strikes us that even the philosophers of the 
senior class might read it with profit. The author is severe on fiction, limiting 
himself to three healthy-toned writers Scott, Thackeray, Dickens ending his 
remarks by the bigoted dictum of Porter. The novel, like the stage, has come 
to stay ; we must make it a power for good by judicious approval of the best 

authors. 

* * * 

The members of the Alumnae Association of the Holy Angels' Academy, 
Buffalo, N. Y., have been concentrating their attention forsorrfe time past on the 
preparation of a list of books relating to the Catholic Church in the United 
States. Seldom do we find young ladies engaged in such practical and useful 
work after they have become graduates. We hope their example of indus- 
try and good sense will stimulate other graduates to do something more 
than pound the piano monotonously and make a showy debut in fashionable 
society. We know of no better testimonial to the academy which directed the 
studies of this Alumnae Association, the first one organized among Catholics, 
than that furnished by the fact that the members have willingly undertaken for 
their own self-improvement an elective course of profitable reading, which brings 
them under the influence of the great thoughts that inspired the pioneers and 
chief workers of the church in the United States. The Columbian Reading 
Union is thankful for the list of books prepared in this way, and now published 
for the benefit of the Catholic reading public. Especial mention should be 
made of the well-directed zeal of Miss Marie L. Sandrock, the secretary of the 
Alumnae Association. 

We quote these passages from the introduction : 

"By request of The Columbian Reading Union this list has been prepared. 
The compilers have endeavored to give prominence to the most approved books 
now in the market bearing on the history and work of the Catholic Church in 
the United States. In making the selections one object has been kept in view, 
namely : to provide a course of reading which would materially assist inquiring 
minds to realize the effects produced here in our own country by the promulga- 
tion of Catholic doctrine in the pulpit, through the medium of the press, and by 
the constant influence of devoted teachers. Whether among the wigwams of 
the Indian, or the most refined circles of civilized society, the zeal of the 
Catholic teacher is inseparable from the progress of the church. 

" During the epoch from the landing of Columbus to the first Catholic 



556 \Vrrii READERS AKD CoRREsro\ni-:.\'TS. [July. 

Congress almost four hundred years a work of great magnitude for the 
spiritual and temporal welfare of this western continent has been accomplished 
by Catholics representing various nations of Europe. The heroic charact 
this epoch, and the events which mark the development of the providential 
design in directing the nation-builders appointed to establish a new home for 
Christian civilization, furnish abundant material for a literature which now exists 
only in a fragmentary condition. It remains for the native-born Catholics of 
America to reverently pn-seivc and study the golden words committed to 
writing by their ancestors. There is reason to hope also that a new generation 
of writers will be generously encouraged to embellish with a modern literary 
finish the chronicles of the heroic pioneers of the Catholic Church in the United 
States." 

N.i me of Author. Title of Book. 

John (iilmary Shea The Catholic Church in the United States. 

" " " Missions among the Indians in the United 

States 1524-1854. 

" " '< The Catholic Church in Colonial Days. 

" " ' Life of Father Isaac Jogues, S.J. 

" " Life of Archbishop Carroll of Baltimore. In- 

cluding History of the Church in the 
United State--.. 
Christ in His Church. 

John O'Kane Murray A Popular History of the Catholic Church in 

the United States. 

" " " Catholic Pioneers in America. 

Rev. P. J. De Smet Indian Sketches. 

Right Rev. J. L. Spalding, D.D. -Life of Archbishop Spalding. 

" " ..Religious Mission of the Irish People and 

Catholic Colonization in America. 

Lawrence Kehoe Works of the Most Rev. John Hughes, D.D. 

Most Rev. J. R. Bay ley, D.D Memoirs of Rev. Simon William Gabriel 

Brute, D.D. 

" " " Early History of the Catholic Church on the 

Island of New York. 

Henry F. Brownson Complete Works of Orestes A. Brownson 

(in twenty volumes). 

Leaves from the Annals of the Sisters of 
Mercy (in three volumes). 

Rev. A. A. Lambing History of the Church in Pittsburgh and 

Allegheny. 

Rev. Charles T. White, D.D Life of Mrs. Eliza A. Seton. 

Richard A. Clarke Lives of the Deceased Bishops of the Catholic 

Church in the United States. 

Right Rev. C. Maes, D.D . . -Life of Rev. Charles Ulerinckx. 

Right Rev. R. Gilmour, D.D The Debt America owes Catholicity. 

J. R. G. Hassard Grants of Land and Gifts of Money to Cath- 
olic and Non-Catholic Institutions in 
New York compared. 

Esmeralda Boyle Biographical Sketches of Distinguished Mary- 
landers. 

Rev. Eugene Grimm Life of Right Rev. John N. Neumann, D.D., 

fourth Bishop of Philadelphia. 






WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 557 

Very Rev. Joachim Adam Life of Venerable Padre Junipero Serra. 

Rev. James J. McGovern Life and Writings of the Right Rev. John 

McMullen, D.D., first Bishop of Daven- 
port, Iowa. 

Very Rev. I. T. Hecker The Church and the Age. 

' " " Questions of the Soul. 

" Aspirations of Nature. 

Very Rev. A. F. Hewit, D.D Life of the Rev. Francis A. Baker. 

" The King's Highway; or, The Catholic 

Church the Only Way of Salvation Re- 
vealed in the Holy Scriptures. 

Right Rev. Mgr. Preston, D.D Reason and Revelation. 

Rev. James Kent Stone The Invitation Heeded. 

Cardinal Gibbons The Faith of Our Fathers. 

" " Our Christian Heritage. 

Rev. Joseph Prachensky, S.J Church of the Parables. 

Rev. James J. Moriarty Stumbling-Blocks made Stepping-Stones. 

Eleanor C. Donnelly Life of Father Barbelin, S.J. 

Ellen H. Walworth Life and Times of Kateri Tekakwhita 1656- 

1680. 

It is to be regretted that- the following books, entitled to a place on this list, 
are now very rare or out of print : Oregon Missions and Travels over the Rocky 
Mountains, by Rev. P. J. De Smet, S.J.; The Catholic Church in the United 
States, by Henry De Courcy; Life and Times of Rt. Rev. J. Timon, D.D., by 
Charles G. Daithes ; Memoir and Letters of Mrs. E. A. Seton (in two volumes), 
by Rt. Rev. R. Seton, D.D.; Life of Rev. D. A. Gallitzin, by 'Sarah M. Brown- 
son; Memoir of Rev . I. Jpgues, S.J. (in three volumes), by Very Rev. Thomas 
Hayden ; Life of Mother Julia, Foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame ; History 
of Maryland, by J. T. Scharf ; History of Irish Settlers in the United States, by 
T. Darcy McGee ; Memoir of Commodore John Barry; Memoir of Charles 
Carroll of Catrollton. 

For historical accuracy and judicious treatment some books by non-Catholic 
writers deserve notice, among which may be mentioned : Early Jesuit Missions 
in North America, by W. T. Kipp; Memoir of Roger B. Taney, Chief-Justice 
of the Supreme Court of the United States, by S. Tyler, LL.D.; Jesuits in North 
America in the Seventeenth Century, by Parkman. The evidence in favor of 
Catholic affairs gathered by these writers has a unique value, because the charge 
of undue partiality cannot be made against them. 

This first list of books on the Catholic Church in the United States is not 
intended to be exhaustive ; many other books of standard value will be given at 
a later date, when other lists are prepared on the same general subject. Miss 
Walworth's new book, Life and Times of Kateri Tekakwhita, is now in press. Jt 
is based on original researches, and we predict that it will be a most acceptable 
volume for all our Reading Circles. M. C. M. 



THE WORKING-WOMEN'S GRIEVANCE. 

We call attention to the article on The Experience of a Working-woman, in 

our present number, as containing a true picture of the actual condition of that 

vast multitude of intelligent, and generally speaking virtuous, young women who 

are employed in the retail stores of New York. They are commonly the 

VOL. 1 1. 36 



If/7// A'/..-J/)/.A > .S A\l) i~('A'/v/-.v .'.V. [July, 

(laughters of well-deserving citizens, men who form the largest class in the 
Christian community ; they and their kindred constitute a large proportion of 
the woishippi rs in our churches, and cMoits (or their welfare should be our 
deepest concern. In order to lay before our readers the trutli of this qu< 
wi h.ive reijiu -.led a typical working-woman of our acquaintam e to give her 
actual experience, and have published uh.it she has to say just as it came to 
our hands. If it has not the literary merit of the production of a profes- 
uritir, it c< rt.iinly comes from the heart and is told a-* no one else could tell it. 
Any one who will take the trouble to read (he report of the Working- 
women's Society read at the Checkering Hall meeting last May, will find that 
the female employees in some of our largest and most fashionable store- arc 
dii\en and goaded on to labor as no one would dare to urge an animal on the 
public streets. There is no doubt but what the brutes of Vw York Cit\ arc 
better protected by the law than its working-women. Let us consider what 
grievances these women have. For instance, it is an established rule of many 
of our richest dry-goods establishments to never pay their employees for over- 
time and to fine them if they are only five minutes late ; and during their hours 
of work they are kept so busy that they hardly dare stop to breathe. The fine, 
which is the worst feature of the system, is more cruel than the slave-driver's 
lash of forty years ago, for it snatches bread from the hungry to load down the 
proprietor's table with luxuries. One great house boasts of a yearly profit of 
three thousand dollars from fines alone! \Ve wish that society could be 
protected from such robbers (for they are nothing else). These vampires live 
by the blood of the poor. The saleswoman or cash-girl who would pilfer the 
proprietor's stock would be punished rigorously according to law, but the 
employer is allowed by law to deduct ten cents as his payment for losing ti\e 
minutes of the time of a girl whom he pays two dollars per week. Such 
employers are the fomentors of the dreaded plague of socialism. By tolerating 
such injustice we arc allowing our social and political order to be undermined 
to satisfy the greed of the already over-wealthy extortioner. 

If we would preserve the great boon of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of 
happiness " which our fathers have bequeathed to us, we must eradicate by sound 
Christian teaching the false principle that human labor is to be bought and sold 
like any mere commodity. It is useless to try to defend this principle by saying 
that if employees are not satisfied with their wages and treatment they are at 
liberty to leave their employers. In most cases working-women must keep such 
positions as they have or get nothing to do. The article on The Experience of 
a Working-woman shows this. Chattel-slavery could be defended with much 
more reason than chattel-labor, because the former supposed the master to be 
held to care for his slave during sickness and old age, but the latter makes 
human effort no more than the action of a machine. The doctrine that labor is 
simply a merchantable commodity is unworthy of an enlightened and Christian 
people, means little else than the enslavement of the working-classes, and will 
end in our downfall as a nation. 



1890.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 559 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

THEOLOGIA MORAUS FUNDAMENTALS AUCTORE THOMA JOSEPHO Bou- 
QUILLOX, S. T. D. et in Universitate Catholica Americana, Theologis 
Moralis, Professore Ed. Sec. Recognita et Adaucta Brugis. Bayaert-Storie, 
Editor. 1890. Neo-Eboraci : Fr. Pustet. 

This is a second and considerably enlarged edition of a work which at- 
tracted much attention in theological schools when first published, in 1875. In 
its present shape it will prove still more attractive to professors and students of 
moral theology. In this country it offers the additional interest of coming from 
the pen of one of the professors of our Catholic University. What this new 
centre of sacred science, what the Church of America, at large, may expect from 
such a teacher, this recent publication of his tells plainly enough. It is in every 
way a remarkable book; clear, judicious, thorough, and positively overflowing 
with theological erudition of the most varied kinds. It would seem as if the 
learned writer had made it a rule to read everything worth knowing on the sub- 
ject with which he deals, and give his readers an opportunity to do the same, 
by his abundant foot-notes and references. 

The general plan of the work differs little from that commonly followed by 
theologians. It deals, in succession, with the grave and solemn questions of 
fundamental ethics : the end or purpose of existence : the law of life, external and 
internal ; moral action in man, its conditions, modifications, etc. But whilst mov- 
ing constantly within the traditional lines, one cannot but notice that the writer 
thinks for himself the whole time, and that if he refrains from assailing the 
weak points of some of his predecessors, and even adopts their forms of language, 
it is only on condition of giving them a modified and more acceptable meaning. 
A striking instance of this may be found in his ingenious and masterly exposition 
of probabilism, in which he puts aside, without special refutation, what is most in- 
coherent and illogical in many of its supporters. Perhaps, in this matter, he fails 
to do justice to the theory of compensation which, properly understood, seems 
to us to underlie the whole subject, and by bringing it under the more general 
law of human conduct, to meet adequately all the difficulties. 

An original and most valuable feature of the book is its Introduction. It deals 
with the sources and history of moral theology. Each one of its pages suggests 
the wish that so much useful information may be expanded into another portly 
volume, and surely nobody could be better fitted for such a work than the 
learned writer himself, whose book is before us. In such a work, as in 'the many 
others we may expect from his prolific pen, we will naturally hope to find more 
frequent reference to English and American works, and which, though not al- 
ways the best, are to us the most interesting, as well as the most useful. 

ANCIENT HISTORY. For the use of colleges. By William F. Allen and 
P. V. N. Myers. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

In spite of much that there is to commend in this little history, it cannot be 
made the text-book of a Christian school. The authors' anti-Christian animus is 
evident in many passages, and one passage can only be characterized as 
malignant. This is much to be regretted, for, speaking generally, the writers are 
just in their statements, besides being plain and concise in style. 



560 NEW /Vv.Y/r.1 //O.VA. [Jlyr 

HEROK HAI i u. wun I'.U.MS <>i \\'\K AM- I'ATKIOI I-M. Edited, with 
notes, by L). H. M. Boston: Ginn & Co. 

The complaint, so general, of poems edited for the use of M-hooK. tli.it the 
notes are useless for the pupil and worse than useless for th< cannot lie 

made against this collection of ballads. We do not know who i>. II. M. is, but 
he is to be congratulated on having produced a unique, inasmuch a-, his notes 
are clear, concise, without offence to creed or party, and all that may l>e required 
for the full understanding of the poems. We heartily recommend the ballads to 
all instructors of youth. 

I' \i HOLICITV vs. Pk<u i .-TAN ns\i. Conversations of a Catholic Missionary 
with Americans. l!y the Rev. John C. Perrodin. To which is add 
Biographical Sketch of the Author. Milwaukee: Hoffman Brothers. 

It is not easy to do justice in the space of a short notice to a book so 
earnestly thoughtful as Father Pcrrodin's Catholicity vs. /Vv>/,->/,r////.(. No one 
of those who are not of the household of the faith can read it without recog- 
nizing the great ability and perfect sincerity of the late pious author. They 
cannot fail to recognize in him a friendly and useful critic. The chapter on the 
Spanish Inquisition is a calm and dispassionate account of this much-abused 
institution, a refutation (if not so complete as that of Bishop Dwenger and 
Comtc de Maistre, still sufficient for the purpose) of the monstrous calumnies 
that have been so universally circulated with regard to it. Let us hope that the 
labors of the devoted author may meet with the reward he desired, that through 
his words men may be led to a more intelligent appreciation of Holy Church. 
The book is well bound, and is a creditable specimen of the printer's art. We 
venture to suggest a table of contents and an index for the next edition. 

DIARY OF THE PARNELL COMMISSION. Revised from The Daily .V, :>. l'>\ 
John Macdonald, M.A. London: T. Fisher Unwin ; New York: The 
Catholic Publication Society Co. 

This purports to be and is a most exhaustive and truthful compilation of 
the proceedings of the infamy styled the " Parnell Commission." Space forbids 
more than a glance at the " Diary," which is full of interesting and instructive 
information, not only for all lovers of justice, truth, and liberty, but even for 
those who, if they do not hate these virtues, certainly do show .1 very inappre- 
ciative spirit for them. There is surely much that is wholesome in English 
politics when we may learn from the Parnell Commission that men shall not lie 
and forge with impunity. The "Diary" is one to recommend to all interested, 
and they are not few, in the cause of liberty and justice as exhibited in the Irish 
people and their great leader, Charles Stewart Parnell. 

A COMMENTARY ON THE HOLY GOSPELS. By John Maldonatus. Translated 
from the original Latin by George J. Davie, M.A.. Exeter College, Oxford, 
one of the translators of the Library of the Fathers, etc-. St. Maul'. 
Gospel, chapters xv. to xxviii. London : John Hodges : New York : For 
sale by Benziger Bros. 

This work has already been noticed by us at length. We can but add that 
the second volume confirms the impression we received on reading the first, that 
it is impossible to overestimate the value of this commentary to all givers of ser- 
mons, and to those of the laity (may their number increase, !) who have a devout 
love for the Word of God. The translation goes far to confirm the opinion of 
those who bclic.vc that English, of all spoken tongues, is the nmsi flexible, and 



1890.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 561 

Christians owe a debt of gratitude to translator and publisher for opening to them 
a treasury so rich in the science of God. The work will comprise four volumes, 
of which the third is in press. 

REVELATIONS OF THE SACRED HEART TO Bl.ESSED MARGARET MARY, AND 

THE HISTORY OF HER LIFE. From the French of Monseigneur Bougaud, 
Bishop of Laval. By a Visitandine of Baltimore. New York, Cincinnati, 
Chicago : Benziger Bros. 

We heartily recommend this translation to all who wish for a succinct and 
faithful account of the Revelations of the Sacred Heart, together with the life of 
the holy woman chosen by Heaven to inaugurate a devotion destined for so much 
good. This is a book not only calculated to inspire us with a great love of the 
Sacred Heart, but which, furthermore, furnishes us with a pattern and model in 
our efforts to increase in that love. Many writers so enlarge on the extraordinary 
mortifications of the saints as to hinder, rather than help, the average reader. 
The average reader has not the courage, and probably has not the grace, ta 
practise extraordinary mortification. Besides, they are hardly faithful biograph- 
ers who write so as to suggest to their readers that the heroic is the starting-point 
of the saints. Such, certainly, is not the rule. So was it not with Blessed Mar- 
garet Mary. She began by denying herself in small things ; and to give up small 
things very often cost her a great deal. Blessed Margaret Mary was not, natur- 
ally, mortified,, any more than we are. The secret of her triumph over self was 
her constancy in prayer. She did all things illumined by the light of the Holy 
Ghost. 

One can but praise the form in which this translation has been presented to 
the public. The frontispiece is a triumph of the engraver's art. 

AIDS TO CORRECT AND EFFECTIVE ELOCUTION, WITH SELECTED READINGS 
AND RECITATIONS FOR PRACTICE. By Eleanor O'Grady. New York, Cin- 
cinnati, Chicago: Benziger Bros. 

Many aids to elocution, for school use, have been published, but this seems 
to be one of the best of them all. The selections are appropriate ; some, how- 
ever, of not much literary merit Mrs. Stephens' " Convict Ship," for instance. 
The book will be found of the highest use in conducting elocutionary exercises, 
which ought to have a place in every school. The compiler and the publisher 
and the schools are to be congratulated on the skill and adaptability of this 
book. 

MONTH OF THE SACRED HEART. For Young Christians. By Brother 
Philippe. Translated from the fourth French edition by L. A. Mulli- 
gan. New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago : Benziger Brothers. 

Books such as this are aids to piety to both young and old. To cultivate a 
devotion to the Sacred Heart is simply to cultivate a desire for perfection and 
the spiritual life. Brother Philippe's book, simple and unpretentious, is likely to 
awaken in its readers a lively devotion to the Sacred Heart. The translation is 
good, the English being simple and direct. 

THE ONE MEDIATOR; OR, SACRIFICE AND SACRAMENTS. By William 
Humphrey, Priest of the Society of Jesus. London: Burns & Gates; 
New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 

Father Humphrey has done well to reprint collectively the chapters of this 



.\7. ;c 

book which have appeared from time to time in Tht Month. The object of the 
author is to bring home to the minds of men the perpetual presence of 

:rth. anil hi- |>n --t-nt pei -nn.il influence on individual souls. Thrrr ii 
.1 per inn in Father Humphrey's book, murh of which is due, aside 

from the intrin-i' interest in the -ubj u> the striking originality of 

thought (hsplavci! IP\ the author. ll< .ilistrusc in his definitions, is 

careful to iimig the doctrine of the church in regard to the sacraments within 
the grasp of all. And this he has done without being wordy ; avoiding super- 
fluous explanations, alwa\s leaving something to the intelligence of the reader. 

THK HISTORY or THI SrKH-ki\<;> m KI..IITI r.\ CAKIIII -i\\s i\ 

MI, who refusing to take part in schism, and to separate themselves from 
the unity of the Catholic Church, were cruelly martyred. Translated from 
the Latin of Dom Maurice Chauncey, a Professed Member of the London 
Charter House. London: Burns & Gates ; New York: The Catholic Pub- 
lication Society Co. 

The history of which this is a translation was written by Dom Maurice 
Chauncey, a monk of the London Charter House, about the year 1539, a short 
time after that House had been destroyed by Cromwell and his agents under 
Henry VIII. In exceedingly touching and simple language it describes the 
House just before its downfall, the extreme measures taken to force upon its 
members the new dogma of the royal supremacy, the death and sufferings of 
those who refused the oath, and the dispersion of the rest after many and I 
trials. The publication is produced in the elegant form of a large and thin 
quarto. 

AMIXTA: A MODERN LIFE DRAMA. By Cornelius O'Brien, D.D., Archbishop 

of Halifax. New York : Appleton & Co. 

i 

It is exceedingly difficult to assign to Archbishop O'Brien his proper position 
in American literature. Is he a poet or is he a philosophizing moralist ? Strip 
much of his verse of its rhyme, and we have left the soul of poetry, truth, in a prose 
dress. The dress is always elegant, but not always the garment promised by the 
preface to the Drama. But after all this is picking flaws in cloth of gold, 
which, if not of finest bullion, has a value intrinsic to the fabric into which it is 
woven. Had the author written nothing but the " St. Cecilia's Sonnet " and 
" Mathilda's Tale," no one would say that he had not the poetic faculty highly 
developed ; that he was not a refined, elegant, harmonious poet. But, then, 
what can one think of such a stanza as the 12th of Book II. ? (and there are 
others as unpleasant). 

One lurking phantom tells of ill, 
Though faintly seen aslotioned scar," 

is a simile not of a poet but of a surgeon. Such verses appear to be worse, 
even, than they really are when bound together with so delightful a poem as tin 
"Mathilda's Tale." Poetry, such as is contained in Mathilda's verses, is not for 
the cultured few, but for the many, and it is a true poem because it is for the 
many. It has that fireside element which is the truest test of g.-nius. Shak- 
spere, and every great poet from Homer down, has this element, without 
which there may be glittering tinsel and tinkling bells, but there is not poetry. 



1890.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 563- 

THK TRUK STORY OF THK CATHOLIC HIERARCHY nn-nsin HY QUEEN 
Ei.i/AHKTli, with fuller memoirs of its last two survivors. By Rev. T. E. 
Bridget! and the late Rev. T. F. Knox. London: Burns & Oates ; New 
York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 

Nearly every one who has written on the subject of which Father Bridgett's 
book treats has had something to say about the deposed bishops and the 
various fates which befell them. The inaccuracies of some of these authors are, 
to say the least, glaring, and in some cases unpardonable. This has come, no 
doubt, partly from a desire to conceal the truth, partly from ignorance, and 
partly from carelessness and a slovenly method of study, if real study can ever 
be done in a slovenly way. And these falsehoods and inaccuracies Father 
Bridgett has well shown up in the nine interesting chapters which compose his 
work. 

The memoirs of Bishop Watson and Bishop Goldwell, who was present at 
the closing session of the Council of Trent and signed the decrees, are most 
interesting. The accounts of the sufferings of such men for the faith must ever 
be interesting to one who loves one's religion. For, like their brethren on the 
little isle across the Channel, they were confessors of the faith. Father Bridgett 
has taken years and pains to produce the volume before us, and, like his excellent 
work on the Holy Eucharist, it is well done. 

MANUAL OF CATHOLIC THEOLOGY. By Joseph Wilhelm, D.D., and Thomas 
B. Scannell,'B. D. ; with a preface by Cardinal Manning. London: Kegan 
Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co. ; New York : The Catholic Publication 
Society Co. 

There ought to be among our Catholic laymen a larger and an ever- 
increasing number who are acquainted with their religion in a degree far above 
the ordinary ; and this we would repeat in the ears of the clergy and laity in 
spite of the cry of "we have heard of that before." The great danger ahead is 
unbelief. Every kind of objection is in the air. God's existence is denied, or it 
admitted, then the possibility of a revelation is laughed to scorn. The Church 
is assailed on its human side, as if there were no divine part to her. By many 
the sacraments are cut down to two. The Incarnation and all that is consequent 
to it furnishes food for many objectors. Every one of the falsehoods to which 
we have alluded is abroad in the mouths of men and women who are not Catholics. 
It is no easy matter to reach out and grasp the objection, and fling back the 
answer, for one who is not used to such things. And yet the answer must come. 
The volume which we are called upon to review is worth an article rather than a 
short notice. The whole work will be in two volumes ; thesecond will appear later. 
It is based on Scheeben's great work, and, as Cardinal Manning says of it in the 
preface, it is a book to be studied, not merely read. Every editor of every 
Catholic newspaper in this country ought to have it by him. Every layman who 
makes any pretence to knowledge of his religion should not let an hour pass 
until he has taken the trouble to place it within easy reach of his hand. 

It will show to those who peruse its pages what a mistress of all sciences is 
Theology. We think this is the first attempt which has been made to put a 
complete work on Dogmatic Theology into English, but we hope there will be 
such a demand in future that many another will follow. Why should they not ? 
St. Thomas Aquinas' works are translated into French, and shall we who speak 
English, but cannot read any but our native tongue, suffer any longer from the 
poverty which has always attended this part of English Catholic literature ? 

As to the work of Scheeben, it is conceded that his is the best dogmatic 



564 NEif /'//,//(-,(//( U ul >'. 



the Council of the Vatican, and the translators have chosen wisely 
in taking his wi.rk a-. the Imdy of thrir own. The arrangement of subi' 

!. as it should be, .mil not merely natural, so the mind will the more readily 
r nexus which connects the different divisions of the whole science. 
We hope in an article at some not distant day to give this valuable work the 
attention which it deserves. 

Tin Km "i Si. JT-TIN M \KI\K. Mrs. C. Martin. New York: The 
Catholic Publication Society Co. 

Mr-, \fartin has already done good work in the life of St. Jerome, and 
follows it up in the delightful little book which we have just read. \Ve hope and 
feel confident that more works on the lives of the early Saints will follow, as the 
author has a faculty in this direction which is well developed. 

THE CHURCH or MY BAPTISM, \M> \VHVI RKU K\M> 10 ir. By w. F. n. 

King. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 

The writer of this notice, being a convert like the author of this book, can 
well remember his hazy notions about the unity of Christ's Church, floating in 
his mind like fleecy clouds on a dull day, but sen-ing only to obscure the sun 
which finally pierced them and dissipated them entirely. Mr. King has given a 
complete refutation of the fallacious argument by which Anglicans endeavor to 
dissuade their brethren from becoming Catholics. " Why leave the church of 
your baptism ? " they ask, as if they had been baptized into the Church of Kng- 
land or the P. E. Church. Mr. King's answer in the comprehensive but con- 
cise little work before us is simply: " I have not left the church of my baptism, 
but I am returned to it. Whereas 1 was only belonging to the soul of the 
church, I am now also a member of the body as well ." For kindliness of tone and 
moderation of expression, we do not remember to have seen any thing better for 
some years in books of this character. 



iSgo.1 WITH THE PUBLISHER. 565 



WITH THE PUBLISHER. 



THE mail for the past month brought the Publisher fewer 
requests for sample copies than usual. Lest this is due to a 
misapprehension of the invitation he extended to our readers in 
the June number, he here repeats it Send us the name and 
address of any one of your friends likely to be interested in the 
magazine and we will forward a sample copy. It will do good 
always ; even if it does not add a new name at once to the 
subscription list, it is a seed dropped in the ground which under 
ordinary conditions will surely germinate. 



* 
* * 



And every new subscriber is doing more with four dollars 
than is at first apparent. He is helping to secure- the aim of 
this magazine, to realize its mission. He is doing his share in 
behalf of American Catholic literature, he is adding to its 
influence. All this is obvious, of course, but we often need to 
be reminded of even obvious things. If sound Catholic literature 
does not thrive, one must go to the publishers, if he would 
know much of the reason of it. 



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To serve the cause of Catholic literature is the duty and the 
privilege of our Catholic reading public, and it is for this reason 
we appeal to our readers to use their influence in behalf of a 
greater extension of our subscription list. We are not engaged 
in the work of conducting and publishing this magazine in the 
interest of money-making, and so when our readers do anything 
in behalf of the prosperity of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, they will 
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A work of interest in these days when university education 
is so much discussed is announced by the firm of Larose & 
Force 1, 22 rue Soufflot, Paris, entitled La Faculte de Droit dans 
Vancienne Universite de Paris (1167-1793), par V Abbe G. Perico. 

Charles Scribner's Sons announce the publication at an early 



566 WITH THE /'r/.Y./.s'///^-. [July, 



uf Imbert do Saint-. \ni.uul'- Marie Antoinette and the l : .nd 
of flit Old Regime, translated into Knglish by Mr. T. S. IVrry, 
and a new novel by Marion Harland, entitled With the Best 
Intentions. They also announce a cheap edition of Robert Louis 
Ste\enson's The Wrong AV.i . MacMillan & Co. announce a new 
novel by F. Marion Crawford, called A Cigarette- Maker s Ro- 
mance, to be ready in July. 

Benziger Brothers have published during the past month : 

General Metaphysics. By Rev. John Rickaby, S.J. $1.25. 

Revelations of the Sacred Heart to Blessed Margaret Mary, 
ami the History of Her Life. From the French of M.^r. 
Bougaud, Bishop of Laval. $1.50. 

Aids to Correct and Effective Elocution, w//// selected Read- 
ings and Recitations for Tractiee. By Kleunor O'Grady. 
$i.2 S . 

The Leper Queen: A Story of the Thirteenth Century. 

50 cents. 
The New Second Reader of the Catholic National Series. 

By Right Rev. Richard Gilmour, D.D. Price, 40 cents. 

The New Primer and the New First Reader were issued 

about a year ago, and the New Third Reader is now 

in preparation. 

The same firm announce : 

The Crown of T/torns ; or, The Little Breviary of the Holy 

Face. .By the Sisters of the Divine Compassion. 
Compendium Juris Canonici. By Rev. S. B. Smith, D.D. 

A text-book for seminaries. 
The Principles of Anthropology and Biology. By Rev. 

Thomas Hughes, S.J. ; and 
A German Edition of Cardinal Gibbons' Our Christian 

Heritage. 

The Catholic Publication Society Co. will issue the following 
within a few weeks : 

The Church ; or, What do Anglicans Mean by " The 

Church " f By Canon Bagshawe, 
A new edition of Sancta Sophia. 
Irelana's Ancient Schools and Scholars. By the Coadjutor- 

Bishop of Clonfert ; and 

Who and What is Christ? Translated from the German. 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 567 

They have also in preparation : 

St. Thomas Aquinas, the Angelic Doctor. Translated from 
the French of Pere Joyau. Edited by Rev. Pius 
Cavanagh, O.P. Illustrated. 

The Christian Virgin in Her Family and in the World : Her 
Virtties and Her Missions at the Present Time. From the 
French. 

Two Tales by the late Kathleen O'Meara, entitled The 
Blind Apostle and A Heroine of Charity. 

The Life of Our Lord, for Children. By a Teacher. This 
little book will be issued at a low price and in an attractive 
form. 

The Great Sacrifice of the New Law, expounded by the 
Figures of the Old. By James Dymock. Eighth edition, 
1687. This work will form Vol. II. of the Old-English 
Ascetic Series, edited by Orby Shipley, M.A. 

. Plain Sermons. By the Rev. R. D. Browne. Sixty-four 
plain Sermons on the " Fundamental Truths of the 
Catholic Church." 

The Wild Birds of Killeevy. By Rosa Mulholland. A 
new and popular edition. 

Ginn & Co. will issue in July : 

Our Government. Revised edition. By Jesse Macy, Pro- 
fessor of Constitutional History and Political Economy 
in Iowa College. 



$68 Boo/ex Kf-.cx/i'ED. D lll >'- 1890. 



Kl < 1.IVI 
Unlit* of looks in Iku flatt dots mot fm/njf ixtndrd motict in SHtiefufxl mumttn. 

A M ANUAL OF CATHOi n I < Iwn's Dogmattk. Hy Joseph \Vil- 

helm. D.D., I'h li.. anil Thomas H - : D. With .1 'preface by the Cardinal- 

Archliishop of Westminster Vi.I !.: I Ir .<fTheoloeit-.il Knowledge, God. 

,uon. anil the Supernatural Order London : Kegan Paul, Trench. Triilmer & Co.. 

limite<l ; New York: The Catholic Pulilk-.it: 

\^ ' \ i KIIII- i IM. -in \ 1'iui tisurm :-i p.j Brother Azarias, ol 

Ihe Brothers of the Christian - New York : r. O'Shra. 

WlKA TILS HI- SUM, IKON! KlF.t.HS OF Pill l.t isol'll V. Dulillll M 11 (illl&Son. 

AMINTA: A MODERN I.n r DR\MA. By Cornelius O'Brien. D.D., Archbishop of Halifax. 
Yodi i>. Applet, <n \ Co. 

CONPERKM M Ol i DA MONTEFKLTBO. 1 >elivered in Koine dunne Lent. 1889. 

Translated from the It.ili.m b\ H D.dh\ (ialli With Prefatory Letter I -u-nce 

the Cardinal Archbishop tister. London: Thomas Maker; New York: 

Benziger Brothers. 

THK VIKI.IN MIITHKK OF GOOD (.'< :itht>fMar>. Compiled, by pern. 

chiefly from the work of Mgr. George F. Dillon, I) 1).. by a Nun of the Benedictine 
Priory of the Sacred Heart, at \Ymnor. Isle of Wight, England. Translated from the 
French. Dublin: M. H. Gill <\ - 

MI.SIH iii nil SAIRH) HKAKT. From the French of Brother Philippe. New York, Cin- 
cinnati, and Chicago : Benziger Brothers. 

I 1,1 l'i , i i - M\M M.I.I Si Jo.sKi'll ; Wlio i- ,n? Hy the Bishop < 

ford. Prayers, with thoughts and examples, for every day in the month. Price <;c. Haiti- 
more: St. Joseph's Seminary. 

Tun S.M-KKII HKAKT LIBRARY. Second Year. No. I. June, 1890. A quarterly series ol 
standard theological works. The Immaculate Heart of Mary, from the original Italian 
Considerations of Father John Pi nti. S.J. A new with appendix, 

notes, references, and contents. Complete in this number. Philadelphia: Messenj; 
the Sacred Heart. 

GEMS FUR MY CROWN. By a Child of Mary. Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son. 

THE NEW SECOND RKADKR. BY Rt. Rev. Richard Gilmour, D.D., Bishop of Cleveland. 
New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago : Benziger Bros. 

CATHOLIC MANUALS OF I'liii.iiMii'tiY. General Metaphysics. By John Rickaby. S.J. New 
York, Cincinnati, and Chicago : Benziger Bros. 

JESUS OF NAZARETH. Three Lectures before Ihe Y. M. C. A. of Johns Hopkins I'm 

in Levering Hall. By John A. Broadus, D.I).. LL.U. President of the Southern Baptist 
Theological Seminary. New York: A. C. Armstrong & Son. 

CATF.CHIST'S MANUAL. Compiled and arranged by Rev. Andrew Ambouen, with the appro- 
bation of the Archbishop of Milwaukee. Milwaukee: Hoffman Brothers. 

LKS AM&RICAINS CHEZ Eux. Madame la Marquise de San Carlos de Pedroso. Paris: 
Librairie de la NoteveUt Revut. 

NATURAL RELIGIOK. From the Apologiidti Ckristtntkumi of Franz Hettinger, D.D . l'r.< 
fessor of Theology at the University of Wurzburg. Edited, with an introduction on 
tainty. by Henry Sebastian Bowden, of the Oratory. New York and Cincinnati : Fr. 
Pustet & Co. 

CATHOLIC NATIONAL READERS. New Primer. Firsi.Reader, the New Second Reader. By 
Rt. Rev. Richard Gilmour, D.D., Bishop of Cleveland. New York. Cincinnati. Chicago : 
Benziger Brothers. 

P AM I'H I ) 

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND SOCIALISM. A Solution of the Social Problem. By Conde 
B. Pallen, Ph.D. St. Louis: B. Herder. 

THF. LATIN PLAY AT ST. FRANCIS X \\imV T Mam, IManti Capteivei. May ijth, 
I5th, and 22d, 1890. 

PASTORAL LETTER ON THE CONSECRATION OF THE DIOCESE OF ST. cim-n TO IMF. 
MOST SACRED HEART OF JESUS. Otto Zanletti. Bishop of St. cloud 

THE RELIGION OF ANCIENT CRAFT MASONRY. By Henry K. Krownson. Detroit : Henry 
F. Krownson. Publisher. 



SIXTIETH ANNUAL REPORT OK THK INSPECTORS OF THE sr\i>: PKMH-MIX. 
THE EASTERN DISTRICT 01 I'I.NS-M v \M.\. Philadelphia: Allen, Lane & s 



TIII: 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. AUGUST, 1890. No. 305. 



PROTESTANT SEPARATE SCHOOLS IN CATHOLIC 

QUEBEC. 

IN no respect, in what we call free countries, is there a more 
general disregard of the feelings, not to say the rights, of re- 
ligious minorities than in the matter of education. It is both 
pleasant and profitable, therefore, to glance at the exceptions to 
this rule. In a previous number * I set forth, in a brief way, 
the history and import of the law of Ontario in regard to the 
establishment and maintenance of denominational schools ; in this 
article I purpose dealing with the educational code of Quebec as 
it affects the Protestant minority, and in that regard it would 
be difficult to find a better example of equitable dealing. Dr. 
Robins, a prominent Protestant educationist, in his report as 
principal of the McGill Normal School to the Superintendent of 
Public Instruction, says : 

" I should do less than justice to leading politicians of all shades in this 
province were I not to state my admiration of the attitude they maintain towards 
education. During an association of more than thirty years with the public 
education of Quebec an association which has repeatedly brought me, a suitor 
on behalf of education, into contact with men of influence of all political parties 
I have found an universal desire for the spread of popular education, a willing- 
ness to listen patiently to the views of practical educators, a wide love of fair play 
for the educational rights of the minority, and a determination to hold the 
precious interest of education aloof from the turbulent arena of political party 
strife, "f 

The school lawj in force in Quebec when the Canadian Con- 
federation was formed in 1867 provided that the religious minority 
in any municipality might, for educational purposes, separate 

THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1889, article, "A Canadian Example." 
t Report of the Superintendent of Public Instruction of the Province of Quebec for the 
year 1886-7. } Consolidated Statutes of Quebec, 1860, cap. 15. 

Copyright. REV. A. F. HEWIT. 1890. 



570 rKorj-.sTAxr SCHOOLS /.v CATHOLIC Qt [Aug.,. 

themselves from the majority, establish a school or schools of 
their own, and elect trustees for the management of the same. 
On their doing so they were entitled to a proportionate share 
of the amount derived from the local school tax and of the gen- 
eral school fund. If dissatisfied with the arrangement in vogue 
for the recovery anil distribution of the local assessment, they 
had authority to levy on and collect from the dissidents the 
necessary school rates. The law required the corporations of the 
cities of Quebec and Montreal to appoint twelve school commis- 
sioners, six of whom were to be Catholics and six Protestants, 
forming t\\o separate and distinct corporate bodies for the di- 
rection of the schools of their respective religious beliefs ; and 
further, that the treasurer of each of the said cities should pay 
to the respective school boards thus constituted, in proportion to 
the population of the religious persuasion represented by such 
boards, a sum equal to the amount apportioned to each city out 
of the common school fund of the province. The general control 
of education was vested in a council and superintendent of pub- 
lic instruction, appointed by the lieutenant-governor in Council. 
No provision existed for the representation of the religious 
minority on the Council of Public Instruction. The superior 
education fund was distributed by the superintendent, subject to 
the approval of the government ; and, although a share was 
given to Protestant institutions, there was no stipulation to that 
effect in the statute. 

Such was the law at the date of confederation ; and, speaking 
of it, the late Sir John Rose (a former associate of the Vice- 
President of the United States in the well-known firm of Mor- 
ton, Rose & Co.) said in one of his union speeches : 

" Now we, the Protestant minority ol Lower Canada, cannot forget that 
whatever right of separate education we have was accorded to us in the most 
unrestricted way before the union of the provinces (of Upper and Lower Canada, 
in 1841), when we were in a minority and entirely in the hands of the French 
population. We cannot forget that in no way was there any attempt to prevent 
us educating our children in the manner we saw fit and deemed best ; and I 
would be untrue to what is just if I forgot to state that the distribution of state- 
funds for educational purposes was made in such a way as to cause no complaint 
on the part of the minority. I believe we have always had our fair share of the 
public grants in so far as the French element could control them, and not only 
the liberty, but every facility for the establishment of separate dissentient schools 
wherever they were deemed advisable." 

He might have added that the attitude of the French Cath- 
olic majority was all the more striking and worthy <>f praise 
when viewed in juxtaposition with the efforts made by the ruling 



1890.] PROTESTANT SCHOOLS IN CATHOLIC QUEBEC. 571 

minority, in the days before self-government, to Protestantize the 
educational wells of the country. 

The Constitution of Canada, in giving to each province of the 
Dominion the sole power of legislating in relation to education, 
makes the proviso that " nothing in any such law shall prejudi- 
cially affect any right or privilege with respect to denominational 
schools which any class of persons have by law in the province 
at the union,"* and further, that such legislation as may be from 
time to time necessary for the due execution of this provision 
shall be enacted. But the Legislature of Quebec was not con- 
tent with simply conserving the constitutional rights of the 
minority as to education. The majority in that province did 
not rest satisfied with merely standing by the confederation bar- 
gain. They went much further than the very liberal ante-con- 
federation arrangement. And they did so heartily. Would that 
the same could be said of the majorities of other faiths in other 
parts ! What a contrast is afforded by the eruptions of bigoted 
opposition in Ontario and Manitoba against the legal educational 
rights of the Catholic minorities, and the outbreaks of the same 
virus in " the land of liberty " ! But to the law as it is ; it 
teaches its lesson without the aid of comment. 

The Council of Public Instruction of Quebec, which is 
charged with the general control of education, is now divided 
into two committees one Catholic, the other Protestant. The 
latter consists of ten Protestant gentlemen (cleric and lay) ap- 
pointed by the lieutenant-governor in Council, and five others 
named by these. They have also associated with them a repre- 
sentative elected by the Provincial Association of Protestant 
Teachers. A Protestant clergyman, with the privileges, emolu- 
ments, and rank of a deputy head of the educational depart- 
ment of the government, acts as secretary of the Protestant 
Committee. This committee has entire control of the schools 
and public instruction of the Protestant portion of the popula- 
tion, and in that regard -the superintendent of public instruction, 
who is an ex-officio member, is bound to comply with its 
directions. It makes all regulations in respect to courses of 
study, text-books, discipline, organization, and classification of 
schools. Under its direction the McGill Normal School trains 
teachers, and the Protestant Central Board of Examiners grants 
teaching diplomas. Upon its recommendation inspectors are 
appointed and paid from the public treasury. 

For educational purposes the province is divided into school 

* British North America Act, 1867, section 93. 
VOL. U- 37 



/'AV/'A.s 7/00/.V /.V C A 1 1101 1C i . [All!,'.. 

municipalities, and in each municipality five commissioners are 
selected for the management of the schools therein. If the 
majority of the municipality be Protestant, the commissioners 
will be subject to the Protestant Committee of the Council of 
Public Instruction, and the schools will be conducted in 
oMclance with the regulations of that body; if the majority be 
Catholic, the Catholic Committee will be the ruling power, and 
the schools will be Catholic : for the law of Quebec provides for 
religious, not mere secular schools, and its enactors were wise 
enough to see that schools to be religious must necessarily b 
denominational, and, if secular, must inevitably be It 

is, therefore, provided by article 1985 of the Revised Statut' 
(Juebec, 1888, that, "if in any municipality the regulations and 
arrangements made by the school commissioners for the man 
ment of any school are not agreeable to any number whatever 
of the proprietors, occupants, t nants, or rate-payers professing 
a religious faith different from that of the majority of the in- 
habitants of such municipality," such dissatisfied persons may 
establish one or more schools of their own, and may elect for 
the direction of the same three trustees, who have all the 
powers, privileges, and concomitant responsibilities of regular 
school commissioners, with one exception, namely, the levying 
of school taxes on incorporated companies. These taxes are 
levied by the commissioners, who are held to pay over a fru- 
rata share thereof to the trustees of any dissident school which 
may exist in the municipality. The dissidents are entitled to 
a share of the municipal school property proportionate to the 
amount of taxable property represented by them, and, of course, 
they are liable in the same ratio for the indebtedness of the 
school corporation from which they separate themselves ; but 
if within a month after the formation of a new municipality 
any number of the residents give notice of dissent, they are 
not subject to any taxes levied by the school commissioners, 
nor have they any claim or liability as to the school property 
or indebtedness of the municipality. The assessments for the 
maintenance of dissident schools are levied upon, and unless 
otherwise mutually arranged, collected from the supporters of 
such schools by their trustees, who have, under the supervision 
of the Catholic or Protestant Committee, as the case may be, 
of the Council of Public Instruction, sole control of the schools. 
If in any district the religious minority be too few to maintain 
a school, they may, under certain conditions, annex themselves, 
for school purposes, to an adjoining municipality ; and this 
privilege is accorded to an individual dissident. In the cities, as 



1890.] PROTESTANT SCHOOLS IN CATHOLIC QUEBEC. 573 

in the rural municipalities, an absolute division of the school 
rates is made, taxes from Catholics going to Catholic schools, 
and those from Protestants to Protestant. The amount appro- 
priated annually by the Legislature .for common schools is 
divided according to population among the different munici- 
palities, and where there are dissident schools, is subdivided 
between the school commissioners and dissident trustees in 
proportion to the number of children attending their respective 
schools. There are about one thousand Protestant separate 
schools, and the Rev. Mr. Rexford, the Secretary of the Pro- 
testant Committee, says that " they receive approximately ac- 
cording to population, or about one-seventh of the total grant 
of $160,000." These schools are now inspected by five regular 
and three partial inspectors, appointed on the recommendation 
of the Protestant Committee, and, as already stated, paid from 
the public treasury. 

Some time ago the government established in the large 
centres of population free denominational night-schools, and in 
doing so did not neglect even the Jews. They have their own 
day and night schools, and their leading men have expressed 
their appreciation of the liberal treatment accorded them in 
school matters by the government. 

As to higher education, the law stipulates that " the total 
aid to universities, classical colleges, industrial colleges, academies, 
and model schools . . . shall be divided between the Roman 
Catholic and Protestant institutions respectively, jn the relative 
proportion of the respective Roman Catholic and Protestant 
populations of the province according to the then last census," 
and shall be apportioned by the Superintendent of Public 
Instruction between the different institutions " according to the 
recommendation of the Roman Catholic or Protestant Committee, 
as the case may be." In addition, the sums paid for marriage 
licenses by Protestants are in like manner divided among the 
Protestant institutions of superior education ; and, according to 
the Jesuits' Estates Act, an additional sum of $60,000 was 
appropriated for the higher education of the religious minority. 

As in the Province of Quebec the religious minority are 
treated in the matter of education, so are they dealt with in 
every other regard. Mr. Mercier spoke by the book when he 
said : " The Catholics of Quebec are not aggressive. . . . 
They have the satisfaction of being able to say that in the 
whole world there is not a single country where the minority is 
treated with as much liberality as the Protestant minority in our 
province." J. A. J. McKENNA. 



574 - }fy Ti ACHl-.K. [A 



MY Tl.At 1IKK. 

M v little neighbor swings 

And rifl 

Amongst the maple-trees ; 
1 1 IT parrot sits aloft, 

And soft 
1 le echoes all her gl. 

She sang of saints and palm-, 
And psalms, 

And fadeless heavenly bowers; 

Then lisped in sweetest words 
Of birds 

And bees amongst her flowers. 

Then, while her hammock swung, 

She sung 

To lulling, minor air, 
" No matter where I go, 

I know 
That God is everywhere." 

I'm startled quite, to hear 
How clear, 

With what precision rare, 

The bird with savage beak 
Can speak, 

And solemnly declare : 

" No matter where I go, 
I know 

That God is everywhere." 

From all my books I turn, 

To learn 

A lesson from the child. 
I wait for holy-day 

To pray 
In temple stately piled, 



1890.] MY TEACHER. 575 

With pillar, dome, and spire, 

Far higher 

Than I can sound my prayer 
Up toward the heedless sky, 

When I 
Know God is everywhere. 

The' hammock slowly swings, 

She sings 

In drawling, sleepy tone : 
" No matter where I go, 

I know " 
And then the song is done. 

My little neighbor dreams, 

And gleams 

Of sunshine, sifting down, 
Her tangled golden hair 

Makes fair 
As baby angel's crown. 

And still the parrot clings 

And sings 

Above the sleeper fair, 
And soft as lullaby 

His cry 

Floats on the summer air : 
"No 'matter where I go, 

I know 
That God is everywhere." 

MARGARET HOLMES. 



576 f-'rrt'A-f. DKST/.VY of- I\FA.\ [Aug., 



FUTURE I'I'SIINV OF INFANTS. 

'llii: future destiny of human facing who die in infancy or in 
a state which is rationally equivalent, becom. cial problem 

only for those who hold some kind of doctrine of original -.in. 
Those who believe that human nature as such is in a fallen 
state, from which none are delivered except through the redemp- 
tion of Christ, must wish to know whether infants can receive 
the benefit of this redemption. If they can, in what way, and 
to what extent do they actually receive it ? That they are 
absolutely and universally excluded from the benefit of redemp- 
tion none will maintain. Some will affirm, more or less confi- 
dently, that all who die in infancy are regenerated by the 
grace of the Holy Spirit and immediately translated into the 
kingdom of God; others maintain, at least as a probable -opinion, 
that they go after death into another state of probation, where 
they have the opportunity of becoming sanctified and fitted to 
obtain eventually admission into the kingdom of heaven. 

On the contrary, it has been taught by some that only a 
certain number of elect infants are saved, the non-elect being 
doomed to. everlasting misery, on account of their original sin 
and native depravity. This doctrine of infant damnation has 
seemed, however, so shocking to the most even of strict Calvin- 
ists, that they have generally ignored it and sought to escape 
from it. Although I was brought up among Calvinists, I do 
not remember that I ever heard this doctrine asserted by any- 
one, either in preaching or private conversation. At the present 
time, it has almost if not altogether disappeared, as a tenet of 
any class of Protestants. 

I propose to state what is the Catholic doctrine respecting 
the future destiny of those who die in infancy, and also what 
is credible and reasonable, on metaphysical and theological prin- 
ciples, in respect to some most interesting parts of this great 
question, which have not been defined by the church. 

In the first place, it is Catholic doctrine that all dying 
infants who have been baptized are immediately translated into 
the kingdom of heaven. In like manner, all who were freed 
from original sin before the sacrament of baptism was instituted 
by some other means, were admitted into heavi-n as KXMl 
was opened to the souls of the just by our Lord. 



1890.] FUTUKE DESTINY or IXFANTS. 577 

In the second place, it is Catholic doctrine that all who die 
in original sin are excluded from the kingdom of heaven, and 
that there is no state of probation after death in which souls 
that have not received sanctifying grace in this life have another 
opportunity of obtaining grace, and gaining a right to enter the 
kingdom of the saints in bliss. 

It is the destiny of these souls, who have done neither good 
nor evil, who have had no personal probation, and who have 
not received as a grace the right to the kingdom of heaven, 
which I wish specially to consider. 

The doctrine that they are excluded from the kingdom ot 
heaven on account of original sin has given rise to the opinions 
concerning their future misery held by those who exaggerate the 
nature and effects of original sin. In its nature original sin is 
more or less identified with actual sin and a moral depravation 
of character, involving ill-desert ; the necessary sequel of which in 
the future life is a permanent state of positive or negative misery. 
Exclusion from the kingdom of heaven is supposed to imply such 
a privation of the good which alone can satisfy the natural desire 
of a rational creature for happiness, that the state of those who 
are excluded is necessarily one of misery. All these various 
shades of opinion are either contrary to Catholic doctrine or 
without any positive sanction from its authoritative definitions. 

In respect to the nature of original sin, the Catholic doctrine 
teaches no more than this : that it is a privation of sanctifying 
grace and supernatural gifts. Those infants who die in original 
sin have not a depraved nature, or any principle which deter- 
mines them to vicious acts. Their souls have been immediately 
created by God, and are essentially good. Dying before they 
have done anything by which they could make themselves either 
better or worse than they are by nature, they pass into the state 
and condition of separate spirits, just as they have come from 
the creative hand of God. They never have any personal pro- 
bation or trial, and are therefore not liable to commit any sin 
by which they would deserve any privation of natural good or 
the infliction of any positive punishment. They cannot feel 
remorse on account of original sin, which is entirely involuntary 
and unavoidable, and they are altogether innocent of any actual 
transgression for which their conscience should reproach them. 
This element of suffering is, therefore, entirely absent from their 
interior condition. There is absolutely no reason in justice or 
the fitness of things why any physical and sensitive suffering 
should be inflicted upon them. The only source of pain which 



578 /-'r/TA'/. 7>A.v7Y.vr <>/ /.VA.-JA [Aug.. 

can be imagined to exist in the jK-rmaiu-nt and pcrprtu.il state 
t<> which they .ire destined, anil in which they are t<> live for 
ever. [9 iv-tvt and longing for the lost b.-atitude of the kingdom 
of heaven. 

It is possible that the great gramUon of a deposed kin;.; 
might grieve over the loss of that hereditary right to a kingdom 
which would have descended to him if it had not been forfeited 
by hi- .in, <--tor. Hut again, if he were a reasonable man, and 
if he had the opportunity of an honorable career and a happy 
life in a private station, he might not regret the lack of royal 
dignity, and he might be perfectly contented with hi- actual 
state.. 

One who inherited a disabling and painful disease from an 
ancestor would, indeed, be thereby rendered incapable of enjoy- 
ing life. He would be deprived not of a merely adventitious 
dignity, but of something essential to the perfection of human 
nature, and necessary for that happiness which satisfies the in- 
nate desire for well-being implanted in the breast of every human 
person. 

Are we to suppose that souls excluded from the kingdom of 
heaven grieve and lament for ever over this privation ? St. 
Thomas says that they are not subject to any such grief, which 
would be irrational. 

Moreover, according to the teaching of St. Thomas and a 
great number of theologians, they are not deprived of any good 
which is essential to the perfection and happiness of a rational 
being, according to the natural capacity and exigency of the 
specific essence given to him by the creative act ot God. The 
capacity and exigency for the supernatural good which con- 
sists in the imtnediate vision of the divine essence, are not innate 
in any created, rational nature by virtue of its creation, but by 
virtue of a superadded, elevating grace, raising him above the 
plane of his natural destiny. Infants dying in original sin have 
never actually received this grace. They had a remote and con- 
ditional right to it in Adam, which he forfeited for all his pos- 
terity when he sinned, so that none of them have ever received 
the gift of supernatural grace by inheritance from him. But 
neither have they inherited by natural generation a depraved and 
vitiated nature. There is no reason, therefore, why souls which 
pass out of this life into the future state, where they exist for 
ever, with the nature they have received at the time of their 
conception, from their Uv.itor, should suiter any pain of sense or 



1890.] FUTURE DESTINY OF INPAXTS. 579 

Immortal life without pain and suffering, and at the same time 
without a positive happiness which satisfies the natural desire, is 
impossible. It is contrary to the nature of a rational being to 
subsist permanently in a drowsy, apathetic state, like a kitten 
dozing in the sunshine. An infant is a drowsy creature, because 
its body is undeveloped. Even in adult age the corruptible body 
is a weight on the immortal spirit which informs it. But when 
the soul escapes from the body, it is awake and active even in 
the separate state, although the want of a suitable body makes 
this state defective and imperfect. At the resurrection human 
nature is restored to its integrity. Not only do the heirs of the 
kingdom of heaven obtain glorification in their bodies as well as 
in their souls, when the integrity of their nature is restored by 
the resurrection, but all men without exception enter on a new 
era of existence in bodies which are incorruptible and immortal. 
The multitude of souls which have awaited resurrection in the 
Limbo of Infants receive perfect bodies, no longer undeveloped, 
feeble, and composed of gross and corruptible matter, but in all 
respects complete and adapted to the exigencies of immortal 
spirits with a rational nature and powers fully developed. Their 
nature demands that they have a sphere of habitation, a sociology, 
an entire environment suited to their character, in which full 
scope is given to their powers, and adequate satisfaction to their 
innate desire for happiness. They have never transgressed any 
law, they have no demerits, there is no reason why they should 
be deprived of anything which is due to their nature, or made 
to suffer any kind of pain. They must, however, suffer a per- 
petual and irremediable pain by the very necessity of their 
nature, unless they have a positive and adequate happiness in 
the possession of a good which makes their endless life worth 
living. It is true that they have no merits. But neither have 
regenerate infants any personal merits. It is not necessary that 
a rational creature should have merit in order to be entitled to 
receive his ultimate perfection and felicity. This is necessary 
only for those who have been placed under a law of probation. 
The goodness of God necessarily causes that a rational being, 
by the very act of his creation, should be destined to attain his 
proper completion in the permanent possession of a good pro- 
portioned to the exigency of his nature. If he is given no 
opportunity of gaining it by the way of merit, he must receive 
it as a boon. 

It is not easy to define precisely what is due to a rational 
creature as such. There are many grades of possible being, and 



580 /'ITfA-f. />/ \7Y.\T <>/ /.V/.-/.V [A 

their limits an- indefinite in tin- upward line. Hut ti. 
limit in the downward line, below which no creature car, 
without losing all correspondence to the type of it* specific 
nature in the divine idea. As for human be. in can find 

their type in their actual constitution a- it nou exists on the 
eartli. The inchoate and imperfect state in which man exists 
us the idea of what his complete and perfect state mint 
be. Prescinding from all supernatural endowments, and from all 
degradation produced by actual sin ami moral depravity, the 
human being, after the resurrection reali/es in his actual 
and condition the ideal of humanity in the- purely natural order. 
In his environment is realized a condition of purely natural, 
ideal felicity. Take the specimens of human nature existin. 
the earth which are physically, intellectually, and morally the 
nearest to our ideal of perfection, take those conditions of 
happiness which approach the most closely to the visions of 
youth, and we have all the elements for constructing a sphere 
of existence and a sociology, proportioned to the capacity and 
the exigency of pure human nature, unelevated ami unvitiated. 

The corporeal, sensitive organization, purified from all gr. 
ness, refined, etherealized, rendered incapable of pain, infirmity 
and corruption, subsists in perpetual, immortal youth, health, 
vigor, and beauty. It is a fitting compart of the rational soul 
in all the operations of organic life. These operations, that is 
the exercise of the senses, without any liability to inordinate 
movements, are a source of intense and innocent enjoyment. 
The sense of living is itself a pure and exquisite pleasure. The 
sight of the visible universe with all its beautiful contents, the 
hearing of harmonious sounds, all sensible impressions whatever, 
without weariness or satiety, make sensitive life an endless enjoyment. 

There is another demand of nature, for society and friendship. 
The multitude of human beings who exist in this st.ite of 
natural happiness are all of one species, essentially alike, and 
living together in a harmonious and well-ordered society bound 
together by a law of perfect love. 

The whole world of truth and knowledge is open to tit c >n- 
templation of intellect and reason, and the supreme object of the 
mind, God, so far as he is knowable in his works, and by 
abstractive contemplation, is manifested in all his attributes and 
perfections to the intelligence, as in a clear mirror. God is 
therefore the supreme object of the intellect. So, also, he is the 
supreme object of the will, of love corresponding to kn >u! 
of gratitude and worship. 



1890.] FUTURE DESTINY OF IXFA.VTS. y-ii 

These reasons are enough to show that a state of natural 
beatitude is possible, and that it is congruous to the character 
and condition of those human beings who are neither elevated 
above their specific nature by grace, nor degraded below it by 
actual sin. The philosophical and theological conclusion that all 
those who die in original sin only will actually exist for ever in 
this state, follows logically from the principles laid down by 
St. Thomas. It is the common doctrine of the majority of 
theologians who acknowledge the Angelic Doctor as their 
master. Nicholas de Lyra affirms that infants dying without 
baptism have a more delightful life than can be had in this 
present world, according to all the doctors who speak concerning 
those who die in original sin alone. Suarez says that they will 
remain in their natural good and will be content with their lot, 
and he ascribes to them a knowledge and love of God above all 
things. 

Several theologians go beyond even these statements. That 
lowest limit of natural good, which is due according to the rule 
of wisdom and justice to a rational being who has reached his 
final goal, is not necessarily the actual limit determined by the 
goodness and the sovereign will of God. He may give much 
more. The clear teaching of Holy Scripture, and the well-founded 
belief of all Christians, that God will make the whole universe 
share in the wonderful order and beauty of the palingenesia war- 
rants the conclusion, that all rational beings in the state of natural 
beatitude will be raised to a degree of perfection and felicity 
far higher than that which is strictly due to their nature. Some 
theologians even suggest that the infants who die in original sin, 
will at the resurrection receive some benefits from the redemption 
of the human race by Jesus Christ which are beyond the limit 
of the purely natural order. Suarez affirms that these children 
obtain some benefit, in a certain way, from the merits of Christ, 
and that it pertains to his glory that he should be adored and 
acknowledged as prince and supreme judge on the day of uni- 
versal judgment even by infants who died without grace. 

Martinonus subjoins, commenting on Suarez, that although 
the words of the apostle, " In Christ shall all be made alive," 
must be properly and principally understood of the predestined, 
nevertheless they can probably be applied to a certain extent to 
these children, inasmuch as they will have in their risen bodies 
a certain special conformity and relation to Christ, a greater per- 
fection, and some gifts and benefits which are not at all due 
to nature, so that Christ may be said to be their model. Sal- 



582 l-rrt- /.v/vf.v [.V 

meron say- tli.it they will rise again through Christ and above 
this natural order, will daily advance- in the knowledge of the 
work-, i >f (iod and of separate substance-. (/'.., of angeU and pure 
spirits), will have angelic visits, and in comparison with the 
citi/.ens of the heavenly Jerusalem, will be like our rustics living 
in the country. 

The society of angels and saints, the sight of the glorified 
humanity of the Son of God, of the rei-plendent beauty of the 
Blessed Virgin, opens a sphere of natural beatitude to all rational 
beings in the universe who are not made unfit for it by the >tate 
of actual sin, which is far above any decree of the same which 
could exist entirely separate from the supernatural order. It is 
especially congruous and credible that human beings, in preference 
to other species which may exist, should be elevated to this 
sphere. They are related by consanguinity to Jesus Christ and 
the saints. They were included in the universal intention of the 
redemption. 

There is a special reason, therefore, why they should receive 
a certain reflection of the glorified state according to their 
capacity. Being naturally capable of contemplating God in the 
creation, it is credible that they should enjoy this contemplation 
in its highest degree, by the sight of the masterpiece of creation, 
the glorified humanity of Christ. Seeing him, in all the reflected 
glory of the Godhead, they must love him supremely, and in this 
knowledge and love find the perfection of their felicity. 

It may be asked why such a state as this is not called 
heaven, and what is the difference between the citizens of heaven 
and these dwellers in the Klysian fields which are on its 
borders ? 

The difference is infinite. It is not a locality which really 
makes heaven. It is not streets of palaces, brocade robes, 
golden crowns, which constitute the royal possessions of the 
blessed in the kingdom of God. Nor is it anything in the order 
of natural perfection and felicity which constitutes the esM-ntial 
beatitude of the saints, although all this natural beatitude 
actually accompanies and completes the supernatural glory and 
beatitude which is their highest and supreme good. 

This supreme good consists in the immediate vision of the 
essence of God subsisting in the three Divine Persons It is 
something unspeakable and inconceivable by us in this mortal 
state. Faith gives an obscure apprehension of it, and 
awakens a longing for it in the depths of the soul. Hut in the 
popular descriptions of heaven, and the meditations of ordinary 



1890.] FUTURE DESTINY OF INFANTS. 583 

Christians on the future happiness which they hope for, it is 
almost entirely the natural accompaniments of celestial glory 
and beatitude which are dwelt upon, and chiefly in meta- 
phorical language, by analogies derived from this present world 
and human life. Hence, it is so difficult to explain in popular 
language the idea of the state of endless happiness, much better 
than anything .to be found in this world, and yet infinitely 
inferior to the state of absolute and divine beatitude which is 
the inheritance of the adopted sons of God. 

Such an exaltation is a purely gratuitous gift of God, not 
included in the creative act, but altogether transcendent. 
Supposing that the worlds of the universe are or will be filled 
with rational beings, there is no ground for conjecturing that 
they are called to a supernatural destiny. The human race was 
universally favored with this high destination at the beginning 
of its creation as a species, and restored to it by the universal 
redemption. But this vocation was not the absolute conferring 
of a right on individual men. It was a conditional grant, which, 
in the case of all who are not personally regenerated, remains in 
abeyance. There is, therefore, no ground for complaint against 
the justice of God, in respect to any persons in whom the con- 
ditions have not been verified. There is no reason in any 
Catholic doctrine for ascribing to God any predestination to 
endless misery of human beings, as a doom which they incur by 
nature and birth. Such a gloomy doctrine has originated from 
perversions and distortions of dogmas of faith, and it is to be 
hoped that it will disappear for ever together with all these dis- 
torted views. 

A. F. HEWIT. 



VAN //<>*'.VA'.V WAY. [An- , 



VAN llokNK'S WAV. 

ii\i morning Mr. Van Home became very much impressed 
with the fact that his chief servant was a treasure. She was 
about to leave him after fifteen years of at"freti<->nate service to 
fulfil a matrimonial engagement of a year'- standing. Mr. Van 
Home had argued with her ten minutes about the chances of 
improving her condition by marriage, when she had told him of 
her intention to quit his service. She convinced him by her 
smiles and giggles that it was a ease of love at first sight, and 
that the rapture of changing her name was too sweet to her to 
be overborne by arguments of any kind. So he wished her 
much joy, accepted her invitation to be at the church for the 
wedding, and fell to thinking of her good qualities as a .servant. 
which had made home-life so pleasant for fifteen years. Mary 
an administrator of the first rank, with that excellent thing 
in woman, a low voice, with a kindly heart and great patience. 
She made herself, from the moment of her arrival in the house, 
the peacemaker in the servants' quarters, and at once secured to 
Mr. Van Home and his amiable but helpless wife, perfect immu- 
nity from all disagreeable household cares. In ten years, since 
Mary had been chief servant, they had not heard a murmur from 
the kitchen regions. Servants came and went occasionally for 
various reasons; grocers, butchers, and the like were dropped 
or taken up in turn, for satisfactory cause ; they never inquired 
into the matter. The service was always good, the bills reason- 
able, and the day which had received Mary into their house 
was blessed by the Van Homes as often as they thought of it, 
which was not often, (or they were of a kind who take good 
fortune as people take the air, and would be indignant if it were 
removed from them by any cause less than death. 

However, when it was certain that Mary would go, Mr. Van 
Home became impressed with the sum of her good qualities, anil 
irritable at the same time with the dread of future domestic 
troubles. Mrs. Van Home wept, and suggested a bribe. 

"In what way, Helena?" 

" Why," said Helena through her tears, " she is marrying be- 
cause she is getting old, and wants to have a sure home. I 
think if you offered her a thousand dollars down, and another 
thousand in your will, or if she became disabled in any way, she 
would not get married." 



1890.] VAN HORNE'S WAY. 585 

" This is not a money case, Helena," said Mr. Van Home. 
" Mary is in love with her young man. You can see that 
yourself. If money is to be used at. all, it ought to be tried on 
the young man, who would surely turn up for more money as 
often as he could .get it by threatening to take Mary from us. 
No, my dear, Mary will go, and nothing on earth can stop her 
without breaking her heart." 

He was correct. Mary was really in love with her young 
man, and money could not coax her into surrendering him. It 
was not so certain that he was in love with her, unless, like Mr. 
Van Home, he knew her good qualities. He was four years her 
junior, and, though not handsome, was so much better-looking 
than Mary as to cause wonder that he should woo a girl of 
thirty-five with a face that was worse than plain. " As homely 
as Mary Frazer," was a common saying among the girl's friends, 
and did not exaggerate the fact. Her face was masculine, heavy, 
and old in expression. Her young man, being German, had a 
fair, smooth skin, and bright yellow hair, and was a great ad- 
mirer of Mary's cooking and small, convenient bank account, 
which was to save him the necessity of furnishing a home. She 
had, of her own accord, agreed to furnish the new home com- 
plete. He considered himself lucky to get such a fine girl, so 
well prepared for matrimony, and he never mentioned or noticed 
particularly her homely face. So they were married with a 
Mass, and the Van Homes were present at the ceremony. His 
wife studied the bridal pair the best part of the time, while Mr. 
Van Home enjoyed a philosophical reverie on human nature 
and some of its antics. Here to-day, for instance, was a cu- 
riously vested priest, an altar, lighted candles, a tinkling bell, 
bread and wine, and ceremonies, all holding a certain relation to 
the mental disposition of his servant, Mary Frazer. She would 
not have been satisfied without them. Often he knew her to 
rise at awful hours to be present at these rites. There were 
some millions of people like her in the world, and many of them 
were intellectual giants ; of all these people none would have 
taken life seriously or happily if they were at any time deprived 
of the combination of symbols and ceremonies called the Mass. 
What a queer world it was ! The pagan, old and new, had his 
Fates and superstitions, like the Christian. Agnostics like him- 
self, who were supposed to be free from influences that had no 
legitimate existence in the mind, were they not also bound to 
the practice of foolish ceremonies, which it was easier to accept 
than to avoid ? Mary Frazer, thought he, was of the class to 



(86 r.-t.v //<'/. v/.'.v ]\'AV. 

go crazy if they become conscious of their own mind-. She 
knew not how t<> supply its cravings with wide reading. ; itieiit 
discussion, and k'"'"' reasoning. In place of these were the 
\ e-tments, the lights, tlie ^ol<! vends, and tlie candles, which 
soothed the disorder of the mind. Nature was true to herself 
always, and made the sweet sound of a bell, the taste of health- 
ful bread and wine, the burning wax of hers, with convention. d 
movements of reverence a sedative as powerful for some -ouls 
as reasons were for him. 

"Therefore," concluded Mr. Van Home, "the man who does 
not respect what are natural necessities for certain disposition- is 
a fool. All bigots are for that reason fools, and never shall I " 

But just then he was saved from self-laudation by the ending 
of all ceremonies and the return home of the wedding party. 

It will be seen from the character of his reflections that Mr. 
Van Horne was an unusual person. Me was so rated in the 
social world which claimed him as a member, and was esteemed 
as a very fair-minded man, a practical sceptic, so fair in his 
judgments of mankind in general as to be utterly useless, with 
all his learning, to the free-thinking movement. He was prominent 
only as a talker in quiet club-rooms, and could not be made 
a propagandist, whom he secretly rated among the species 
clowns. Mary Frazer had secured for him on departing a 
servant of her own quality, but, of course, not quite so good and 
unselfish as herself; which relieved the Van Homes of much 
anxiety. Moreover, she continued to take an interest in the 
household as before, and to save them many annoyances by her 
tact and experience. She was now the friend rather than the 
servant, and they could not do too much for her, often visiting 
her plain rooms, and delighted with the pleasurable hours spent 
there. Poor Mary made her rooms the expression of her own 
simple, religious tastes. Mr. Van Horn thought he never saw 
anywhere such a hideous collection of religious symbols as was 
displayed in them. The pictures of Christ, the Blessed Mother, 
and the Saints were awful ; the crucifixes were of the vilest 
wood and tin. 

" Do you buy these things, Mary," said he, " in Catholic 
stores ? " 

"Well, an' where else would we buy them?" said Mary; 
" sure 'tisn't Protestant ministers 'd be afther sellin' 'em." 

" I thought," murmured he to Mrs. Van Horne, " that Cath- 
olics had too much reverence for these things to make and 
print such monstrosities." 



1890. j \'AN HOKXE'S WAY. 587 

" Their dealers are like other commercial people, I fear," 
said Helena, who was invariably cheated in her shopping. 

" I think we can do better, Mary," continued he, " in the art- 
stores ; if not here, then in France." 

She did not understand him until she received some French 
prints of sacred subjects whose beauty was genuine, crucifixes 
with solid, natural figures on hard wood, and other pious objects 
of no artistic value, but real aids to devotion, not caricatures. 
He filled the house with them, and Mary had taste sufficient to 
arrange them well, and to give her rooms an enviable Catholic 
air, which delighted Mr. Van Home, though Helena never could 
understand the reasons for his delight; nor did he try to explain 
them, unless when he said to Mary, after a look through the 
establishment : 

" Now, this is very pleasant. Your faith has gone out oi 
yourself, and has made your home beautiful. Hasn't it, my 
dear ? " to Helena. 

" I call it superstition," said Helena. 

" Because somebody else practises it," said he. " I like to 
see a human being with convictions strong enough to work 
themselves into the lite around him. I have been in the homes 
of Catholics where there was not a trace of their faith to be 
found in the living-rooms, and I marvelled at it." 

" The Fentons, for instance," said Helena. 

" Any instance will do, Helena. They have not even 
a picture of their Christ in view, which is not astonishing 
since they do not seem to have even a private acquaintance 
with him. Now I think, Mary, I have fairly earned my 
right to stand sponsor for that boy of yours over there. 
Helena and I would dearly like to be his god-parents." 

" Indeed we would," said Helena, with a fond look towards 
the new-comer, who was just two weeks old, and was to be 
baptized the next Sunday. Mary laughed at the proposition. 

" Yez would make a fine pair o' sponsors," said she, " to 
bring afore the priest, to say the Our Father and the Creed, an' 
promise to look afther the boy, an* bring him up a Catholic, 
wouldn't yez." 

" I was not acquainted with the precise conditions," said Mr. 
Van Home. " We could fill part of them, but the Creed would 
be a bar, of course. I must look up the matter. However, you 
don't object to us attending at the church ; your priest will not 
be offended at us ? " 

" Not at all," said Mary. " Mrs. Van Home can hould the 

VOL. LI. 38 



r y ' //'.-/ r. [A 

child before tin- bapti-m. an' we'll call liim Charles aftlu-r yo. 
_j r H both have a share in it, if ye'll be so kind." 

"Delighted." -aid Helena. Mr. Van Horm v\ and 

more than plea-cd, t" be given a chance to see the cereni 
of baptism at close range. They did not disturb any precon- 
ceived opinions of his own. The lustral water, the sculptured 
font, the oils -alt, lighted candle, prayers, renunciation-, and 
other ceremonies delighted him. They -uited his idea >f human 
nature. What could be more beautiful than to meet the little 
child just born with the pure water of the earth, the invigorating 
salt, the sweet-scented oil; to bear him to the sculptured font, 
whither at one time all the nations of Europe had come, rich 
and poor, peasant not less than king. It made him one with 
them as it were, and Mr. Van Home, though he could not be 
sponsor, felt a kinship with all the sponsors that had ever been. 
and mentally saluted them. As Helena had held the child before 
the ceremony, he presented the priest with an honorarium which 
made him stare. Mary gave her baby a tender hug when they 
placed him in her arms. 

Now, indeed, he's me own son," she said with emotion 
" he's mamma's own boy." 

:' Was he not yours all along," said Mr. Van Home. 

" Well, I don't deny," said she with some humor, " he had 
a Catholic mother, but he wasn't on'y a poor little Protestan' 
hims If " 

" Which is why you had me carry him," Helena remarked 

spitefully. 

" His company suited him better goin' than comin'," laughing. 
" but now he's mamma's own Catholic boy." 

"What particular change has come over him?" said Mr \ an 
Home, interposing in Helena's behalf (poor Helena got the 
worst of it with every one). " I can't see any difference in his 
looks this moment." 

" Maybe you can't," answered Mary with the confidence which 
always baffled Mr. Van Home, " but God sees it." 

Mr. Van Home had read many books and studied men. 
He was well versed in the world's lore, had travelled largely, 
and observed carefully. The details of ritual were' familiar to 
him ; but he had never caught sight of the spirit which made 
ritual a living thing to some people until his friendship for 
Mary Frazer gave him an opportunity He had previously 
thought his education complete. He had looked upon all reli- 
gious ceremonies alike, whether of pagan or Christian form, per- 



1890.] VAN HORNE'S WAY. 589 

milling them a weak influence in deference to the fact that men 
readily and unconsciously adopted them. However, there was 
more than a weak influence in them for Mary Frazer. They, or 
their meanings rather, were the basis of the purest happiness in 
her simple but earnest life. He could not but feel this fact to 
exist, and in it he saw that he had neglected an important 
feature of his studies and observations. Symbolism of itself mat- 
tered little; in connection with men it was deserving of atten- 
tion. No doubt, the priest who baptized, said Mass, and ad- 
ministered the other sacraments felt the same reality in these 
rites as Mary did, but more intellectually. No doubt, also, the 
splendid genius of the theologian which gave a meaning to the 
symbols was also thoroughly satisfied with them. He had never 
thought of these things before. He had never seen a number 
of priests going through a religious ceremony without wondering 
how they kept from laughing at each other when alone, like 
Cicero's augurs. He had pictured to himself theologians in 
council as a sort of aldermanic board voting for measures which 
they had been bribed to adopt, with the decorum and modest 
unconsciousness of incorrupt legislators. Now all this was changed. 
Mary Frazer had given him a new point of view. He had been 
doing an injustice to old Mother Earth, who, having brought 
forth her children, would never suffer them to lose sight of her 
during the years that come between birth and death. Intimacy 
was kept up by a thousand beautiful symbols, which in their 
last meaning were simply Mother Earth herself. Water and 
wine and oil and bread ; silk and cotton, flax and wool ; metals, 
marbles, granites, and precious stones ; the arts of men music, 
painting, sculpture, architecture what were all these but mani- 
festations of Mother Earth's spirit. And what were men doing 
in using them so beautifully but responding to that affectionate 
generosity of their mother which he, and the fools like him, 
pretended to acknowledge, yet stupidly laughed at the more real 
acknowledgment of others. 

"Go to! go to!" said Mr. Van Home to himself; "there is 
more in this Catholic Church than we have given it credit for, 
and I'm of half a mind to join it." 

But he did not. Instead he read an essay on the subject of 
Catholic symbolism before one of his most agnostic societies. It 
was received with profound astonishment. It even created a sen- 
sation, and several declared their intention of joining the Catholic 
Church immediately. In praising Mr. Van Home for weeks, 
however, they forgot the other divinity of Mother Earth, and 



590 ' "f-v /'' "''' [A- 

:tent to worship the Incredible as bcf i l.v.-n Mi 
Van Hi .me forgot his first determination, hut not his second. 
He determined to >tudv tlie effects of -\ mbolism on human be- 
\\lio professed the Catholic faith, in particular on Mary 
l-'va/er and lier child. Here he had a tine opportunity. H<- w.i- 
but forty himself, and had three decade-* before him if Mother 
Karth \v< iu-rous with year-, a- with symbol-.. He counted 

on her geiier<ity, and arranged his plans accordingly. He would 
follow Mary in her training <>f the child. At -even the boy 
would make his first confession, at twelve his first communion, 
at fourteen his confirmation. In the intervals the mother would 
teach him the minor symbols such as devotion to the HK 
Virgin and to the saints, to the crucifix, the scapular, and the 
like ; and Mr. Van Home was determined to have a hand in the 
teaching. He would take care that the boy's education did not 
suffer interruption. He would have the best opportunities, and 
a- his nature slowly matured under the benign influences of 
Mother Karth, represented by the Catholic Church, he would 
note and describe the progress to maturity. What a. contribution 
that description would be to the science of human nature! Mr. 
Van Home bitterly regretted he had not thought of it before, 
and consoled himself with the reflection that it was a ( 
work, that one life was not too much for it, and that he had 
yet time to do it. Leisure and money were minor considera- 
tions with him, since they were his in plenty. To look after 
his rents and interests, to write an essay for his pet literary club, 
and to perform his social duties were his heaviest tasks ; so that, 
without prejudice to any, he could prosecute his beloved scheme. 
And just at this point a glorious idea occurred to him. It- 
brilliant possibilities almost stunned him. When his observa- 
tions of Mary and her son would be completed, his studies 
would yet be imperfect. Because there was still the symbolism of 
the priesthood to be studied in its influence upon the men of the 
sacerdotal order. It occurred to him that at his expense Mary's 
son might be educated for the priesthood. He himself would 
be the boy's patron and benefactor, his friend and confidant. 
Intimately he would see the workings of the entire system upon 
a nature which he might know almost like his own. The idea' 
was rapture. His soul was in a bath of delight while his mind 
went over the golden opportunities intimacy with a priest of his 
own making would give him. Breathlessly he described hi.- 
to Helena, and fired her commonplace but sympathetic mind 
with his own enthusiasm. 



1890.] VAN HOKNE'S WAV. 

" She may not want her boy to be a priest," said Helena. 

" Oh ! there are a thousand such difficulties in the way," he 
cried out ; " the boy may die, I may die, he might get married, 
and all the rest of it. It is the ' scheme, Helena, that no one 
ever thought of before. Why, I can educate a dozen boys at 
the same time, like so many plants, if I wish, and study them all." 

" You might keep an understudy," she suggested. 

" I shall keep two," he replied, " but little Charles shall be 
my treasure. I'll talk to Mary about it. I have heard and iv id 
that Catholic parents think no greater honor and happiness can 
befall them than to have a son become a priest." 

"And who knows," said Helena with an unusual display oi 
imagination, " but that he might become a bishop, an archbishop, 
a cardinal, by judicious " 

" By that time, my dear, you and I will be resting in peace 
somewhere. So do not let your fancy run away with your 
good sense," he interrupted tenderly. " You must discover for 
me what ideas Mary has about her boy's future. We must not 
startle her. I am sure she is ambitious, and would be proud 
to see him at college some day preparing for the profession of 
a priest." 

" She has told me so already," said Helena. 

" What !" with rapture. 

" She never fondles him that she does not whisper in his ear, 
in the prettiest way, ' My darling, you shall be a priest some- 
time.' I told her if she kept on whispering that way the idea 
would surely influence him." 

" Well, indeed," said she, " Mrs. Van Home, if whisperin' '11 
make him a priest, he's wan already, for never a minute 
to the day that I don't sing that in his own blessed little pipsy- 
wipsy ear." 

They both laughed at the clever imitation of Mary's brogue. 

" Everything then is in my favor," said Mr. Van Home joy- 
fully. " I have only to wait in patience." 

The waiting was easy enough, but patience was sorely tried. 
Young Jansen, Mary's German husband, lost in a few years 
much of his natural steadiness, and began to drink beer in 
quantities. Mary grew anxious and fretful, as it became harder 
each month to make both ends meet with the scanty wages a 
drinking husband brings home. Mr. Van Home observed with 
regret that symbolism did not seem to have much help for Jansen. 
Perhaps it prevented him from going speedily to ruin, but it 
required all the efiQprts of Mary, her priest, much prayer, and 



]'A\ //I>A'.\V-:'.V /I'.-* >'. [.\ 

ni.iny M.i - .iml omfes-ion> to effect this small result. Mr. Van 

Home saw liis threat idea in danger of wreck 1>< Mary 

:i t talk of going out to work attain, and putting her child 

in a day nursery. This would remove her influence above all, 

her precious whispering from little Charles, and Mr. Van Home 

1 not hear of it. Through Helena he arranged a small 

allowance for the boy's support which easily kept him and his 

mother in comfort 

Charlie grew rapidly to his sixteenth year, and Mr. Van 
Home's notes grew in proportion. As they fit neatly into this 
story, certain parts of them are here presented as a better illus- 
tration of Mr. Van Home's ideas than any other account could 
be. He had separated these notes into three chapters, relatir. 
three different periods the first ending with the child's first con- 
fession, the second with his first communion, and the third with 
his confirmation. 

,\t>tt- i. The subject of this memoir was at seven a slim but 
robust child, German in appearance inherited from his father but 
decidedly Celtic in disposition, as his training came directly from 
his mother. He was above the average in intelligence, and took 
quickly to the symbolism which was so strong in his mothers 
nature. At twelve he was decidedly pious, as Catholics under- 
stand the word, and at fourteen, though lively in action, of a 
very serious, sweet temper. He gave expression to his desire of 
becoming a priest from his earliest years, owing to the insistence 
with which his mother pressed the idea upon him. This desire 
I encouraged in every possible way. I had as much intimacy 
with him as if I were his own father. I studied to acquire and 
maintain it. Up to the day of his confirmation we were perfect 
friends, and I enjoyed his fullest confidence. I seconded his 
mother's efforts so thoroughly in making him a bigoted Catholic, 
as Helena called it, that he never knew but that I was also a 
Catholic . . . 

Note 2. The day of his first confession I went myself to the 
church to study him. He was nine years old. As I have 
shown, the preparations at home and from his teachers had been 
very thorough. His use of holy water, his little rever 
before the crucifix and holy pictures, his intelligence in talking 
of Christ and the Virgin Mother, his knowledge of th< Ma , 
and the hundred little points connected with doctrine, all de- 
clared him an adept, for a child, in the beautiful and mysterious 
symbolism of the church. Previously he told me he was very 
much afraid of con ft - 



1890. J \'AN HORNE'S WAY. 593 

" You ought not to be," I said ; " Father Gray is a noble 
fellow." 

" It is not that, godfather " so he always named me " but 
I may forget some of my sins, and that would be telling a lie 
to the Holy Ghost." 

I assured him on this point with the certainty of the pope 
himself. 

" Were you afraid when you went to confession ? " he asked. 

" Not at all," I answered promptly, as I was accustomed to 
his awkward questions on these points. After his confession we 
walked home together. His first remark was : 

" How lucky I went to Father Gray ! Did you hear the 
noises on the other side of the church? Three boys got 'fired." 
I expressed sympathy and astonishment, although I had observed 
the commotion at a distant confessional. 

" Father Gorman is awful cross," he went on, " and if you 
don't do everything right you're ' fired.' The boys are afraid to 
go to him. I got mixed telling my sins, but the priest helped 
me out. It was splendid." 

" You did not have many sins to tell," I suggested. 

"You know them all, godfather" as I did. 

" And what did the priest say to you ? " 

" Oh ! I'm to be careful, and go to confession often, and say 
my penance, and be very, very good." 

"And will you go to confession often?" 

" Will I ? " with enthusiasm ; " oh ! I'll go oftener than you, 
godfather. I feel so good ! When I went in I was heavy, when 
I came out I could jump over a house." 

This physical relief is common among Catholics. The nerv- 
ousness which precedes confession makes reaction very grate- 
ful, etc. . . . 

Note 3. The day of the first communion is regarded as of 
high importance. Helena was affected to tears at the pretty sight 
which the children made in white ribbons, veils, wreaths, gloves, 
rosettes, and silver medals. But she objected to the fasting pro- 
cess as barbarous, and secretly urged Charles before the cere- 
monies began to eat a cake which she had brought with her. 
He rejected the offer in such horror that she was glad to pretend 
a jest. The mental condition of the boy for a week previous to 
the event was interesting. The Blessed Eucharist is the chief 
Catholic symbol, and is the inspiration and motive of all other 
symbols. Because of its existence you have altar, priest, Mass, 
sanctuary, church, ceremonies, and everything else. The firm 



594 /".-/.v //I-A-.VA'.S ll'.jy. [Aug., 

belief of this twelve-year-old boy was that Christ himself was the 
Hlessed Kucharist, whom he uould receive that morning. II is 
one fear was that lie might not receive him in a perfect!} 
less state, that he might commit sacrilege. To avoid this lie, with 
the other children, endured the . f a time da\ 

of silence, prayer, ami examination. The leader of the retreat 
took great pains with the children, and gave them the ni"st 
startling pictures of death, judgment, hell, and heaven with a 
view to impressing upon them the enormity of -acri!,-c. The 
effect of this retreat on my boy I well understood, for his in- 
most soul was bare to me, and I loved t<> question hin 
the strength of the hold which symbolism had upon him. Hell 
was as real to him as the house he lived in, and he told me that 
it made him afraid sometimes at night when he thought of its 
torments. Death and judgment were not so near to hi- 
but heaven had a good place in his affections. To him it 
the meeting-place for his parents, myself and Helena, when life 
was over, and we should never dread separation more. His 
remarks on the child Jesus were astonishing. They gave me the 
same sense of Christ's existence as if he were talking of a loved 
school-fellow whom I had not seen, but who might be in the 
next room, and was certainly somewhere in the city. This fact 
is to be appreciated the more since Newman and all Catholic 
writers speak with the same naivete. The occasion of the first 
communion calls forth a wealth of symbolism in a Catholic 
church. Lights, flowers, decorations were thick upon the altar 
and about the sanctuary. The manner of the children was per- 
fect, and drew tears from Helena. Their devotion was irresistible. 
Charles looked awed and happy. My whole attention was for 
him, but others were attracted more by one child whose .</>/>/- 
tucllc appearance was striking. 

" He will surely be a priest," whispered a lady near by. I 
compared him with Charles, to discover what quality in a boy 
catches the sacerdotal instinct in a Catholic. There was a lumin- 
ousness in his face which did not shine in the chubby, healthy 
face of Charles. That was all. I would have been more pleased 
if the remark had been made of Charles, etc. 

Note 4. . . . The ordinary Catholic is brought into D 
tact with his bishop but once in his life at the time of receiving 
from episcopal hands the symbol or sacrament of confirmation, 
whose nature I have sufficiently described above. Outside of the 
usual matters connected with the receiving of it, Char more 

impressed with the blow he was to receive from the bishop on 



1890.] VAN HORN s WAY. 595 

the cheek, and with the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, than with 
any other feature of the ceremony. For the former he had deter- 
mined to brace himself in such a way as not to fall under it, 
and thus show himself a true soldier of Christ. The gifts were 
partly a delight and partly a puzzle to him, as he did not quite 
grasp how they were to be used. I had much difficulty with 
him on this point, as his most persistent question was : 

" How did you use yours, godfather ? " 

He was satisfied with my suggestion that he would know 
them well when it became necessary to use them, and that it 
would be better to receive them first and discuss them afterwards. 
The blow on the cheek from the bishop was so soft a tap from 
a gentle hand that his bracing himself to receive it nearly keeled 
him over in the contrary direction. It was a real disappointment, 
as he told me afterwards. But then he had the gifts to console 
him, and they had already convinced him of their presence. 

" Godfather," said he on the way home, " I know now I re- 
ceived the gifts of the Holy Ghost." 

" And what makes you so certain ? " I asked. 

" Because I made up my mind right after confirmation to be 
a priest when I grow up. That was a good thought, wasn't it ? 
And good thoughts come from the Holy Ghost." 

Naturally this remark filled me with delight. He had now 
been properly initiated into the ordinary degrees of symbolism, 
and there was nothing new for him to learn unless he came to 
the priesthood. 

Note 5. Briefly, I am of opinion that symbolism is a neces- 
sity for the multitude, and a necessity which Nature has first 
originated and then provided for. Mother Earth is kindly only 
in her symbolism. We have all felt her harshness. She thrusts 
us above the surface without our consent, helpless, miserable- 
infants ; educates us in pain ; hurries us once more into her own 
depths without regard to human feelings or the fitness of things; 
so that life is a burden and death a shame to many. I am 
bound to say, after fourteen years' study of the Jansens, mother 
and son, that their symbolism has the merit of making life bear- 
able and even beautiful. These simple souls cannot understand 
Mother Earth by direct gaze, and if they could would simply 
die of terror before her. Under the symbols I have described 
they not only understand, but love and worship her. They come 
forth from her bosom with joy, and return with resignation. 
The bread and wine, the baptismal water, oil, and salt, the 
prayers and benedictions at every turn, are all her inspirations, 



/ '.I.Y //(A'.V/-.'.V \\'A y. [.\ 

.{- tl.< y .in- hi i productions. It is unncci.-ss.iry to point out that 
tlu- mi aniiu; I'atholicv .ttt.ii )i to these tilings, sucli as tlic ( 'hrist, 

. ctcinal li' :mr.il, arc t'lir realities any sin 

anything he c.illcd real outride of our e\|iei 'I he me.m- 

! nature is mie. no matter how \ve express it. There U 
nl\- no delusion in symbolism. It explain-, educates, su^- 
tains, and smithes I have even a suspicion that the agnostic 
attitude is but the preparation for a .ymbolism grander than all 
that went before. 

Mr Van Home's observations were interrupted <>n the day 
that Charles Jansen went to college to study for the priesthood. 
Helena had fallen ill, and was compelled to take a Kuropcan 
tour; a few months, a winter in Italy, would put her in 
health, the doctor said; and they bade their boy a cheerful go..il 
by, anil talked for two \\eeks about him and the day when he 
would come back from the seminary ordained. 

"It's a perfect cra/.e with me," said Helena, who had i 
the notes with interest, and even contributed to them. 

Poor Helena ! she never saw America or her boy again 
The first winter benefited her so little that she must try a 
second ; and the second proved clearly that she would have to 
live thereafter in the south of France to preserve her life even 
for a few years. At the beginning of the fourth winter she died 
and was buried at Nice, and Mr. Van Home, after lingerin 
months about her grave with a great and bitter dread nf departing 
and leaving her to the harsh embrace of Mother Karth, finally 
broke away and came home. 

It was a sad home-coming; but it had one joy. He would 
meet young Jansen, who was now nineteen years old a man, 
and within four years of ordination. He would resume his 
observations, and devote all his time to preparing the work in 
which Helena had taken such an interest as to make him pro- 
mise before her death to see to its successful completion. Poor 
Helena! If there were any symbol on earth that would make 
less bitter her absence, K-s dreadful the thought of the grave 
at Nice ! But the sadness which possessed him was purely 1 

He went to a hotel, although his own house was ready 
for him, for he had not the heart to go near it. \Vlun he hail 
dined and rested he called on Mary and her son. It 'was the 
beginning of August, and young Jansen would be at home on 
his vacation He walked quietly into the kitchen where Man- 
usually sat, and where she was sitting now in the light of a 
lamp, her hands lying idly in her lap. her attitude one "t 



1890.] \'AN HOKNE'S WAY. 597 

sorrow and dejection. He could see that she had aged, and lie 
began to tremble. It was not on her husband's account that 
she was stricken; it must be for her boy. He hesitated to enter; 
so broken was he by Helena's death, so homesick to be at home 
without her, so fondly had he promised himself peace and con- 
solation here, that he felt too weak to bear the disappointment 
of fresh sorrow. Mary saw him, and rushed upon him like a 
storm. There was nothing sorrowful in her welcome ; she laughed 
and cried alternately, and was full of affectionate questions about 
Helena. 

" You do not look well yourself, Mary," he said after a time. 
" You look as if you were not happy. Is your husband well, 
and Charlie ? " 

" Oh ! Jansen's the same ould two-an-six, sir, an' dhrinks all 
he aims; but no more, I'll be bound. It's the boy that th roubles 
me more an' more, an' it's not sorry I am ye kem home to say 
a word to him. Like his poor father, he's took to the drink, 
God help us ! " 

" At his age dissipation may not be serious," said Van Home, 
glad at least that the boy was not dead. " How did it 
happen ? " 

"God only knows," she answered ; "perhaps I was blind, but 
until this summer I never saw sign of it on him." Her eyes 
filled up, and she began to rock to and fro. " Ye know, Mr. 
Van Home, what a good child he always was the best an' 
tindherest-hearted that ever lived. Well, he's the same yit. An' 
I dunno," brightening into a laugh and wiping away the tears, 
" why I shud make so much of it, but it frightens me, so it does. 
An' it's I that's glad ye're home to do somethin' for him, tho' 
ye've had yer own sufferin', God knows." 

"Does he drink very hard?" 

" Oh ! he does, for a b'y. It began wid the first night ov his 
comin' home from college. His chums brought him in, just able 
to walk. I thought 'twas an accident like, on'y he didn't seem 
to mind it next mornin', as if he was used to it. Every night 
since he's come home more or less in liquor ; some nights he 
don't come home at all oh ! that's what's killin' me, Mr. Van 
Home, that's what's killin' me " ; and, unable longer to control 
herself, she burst into violent sobbing, as indeed she had done 
many times a day' since the vacation began. Mr. Van Home 
was not discouraged. 

" Anyway he's not dead," he said cheerfully, " and I think 
he can be cured of this, since he is only a boy and has no 



598 f.-f.v //CM-.V/.'.S- H'.-M-. [Aug., 

appetite for liiiuor. I can take him with me to tlu- mountain 
where, .iiul \\ean him in tim.- to -end him back t<i o>l! 

She smiled .it this encouraging remark. 

" l-'or he inii-t be a priest yet," he contiir.iril. " in -piu 
everything, llf uished it once and will again." 

Then he said he would go out and make a call, returning 
about midnight to sec young Jan-en, and bidding her hope for 
the best. Hut hope was not strong in his own In-art after his 
first glimpse of his ward lying in a drunken stupor in his 
bed, with the stricken mother leaning over him. Charlie had 
come in earlier than usual and had gone straight to bed, unable 
to stand on his feet longer. Mary took Van Home in to look 
at him. It was a pathetic sight. The elder man knew from the 
moment he looked into the youthful face that innocence and 
high resolve had left it for ever. But it was necessary to comfort 
the mother, and he hid his convictions. He did not deceive 
her, however. She wrung her hands, and gave him such a look 
as only the forlorn mother can give. It was the agony of lost 
hope before overwhelming sorrow. 

Van Home was incapable of conducting the struggle which 
was made to save young Jansen. Hope and courage alike were 
gone since Helena's death, but his love for the boy forced him 
to make many efforts. Inquiry showed that Charlie's habits ( 
drink had been formed through careless companionship during 
the vacations. Young Jansen would never be a priest. Drink 
and sin had firmly fastened their chains upon him. It was plain 
to Van Home that Mother Earth would soon claim the poor 
victim of bad passions, and that in consequence the best part of 
his great book, its richest experience, would never be written. 
He cared little. Looking at the boy on whom he had lavished 
so much tenderness he did not care how soon the grave con- 
cealed his broken beauty from mortal sight. He was only 
anxious for Mary, whose hair was rapidly whitening, as she 
made up her mind for the inevitable. She was physically so 
strong that sorrow made small inroad on her powers, and she 
spoke calmly of what might happen. 

" If he don't die in the horrors, an' dies in his bed wid the 
last sacraments, I'll be a happy woman," she said, " an' that's 
all I'm prayin' for now." 

But unfortunate Charlie was doing his best to prevent this 
consummation, and after a month of the hardest kind of dissi- 
pation he was found one dark morning lying in the street with a 
fractured skull. The policeman who found him knew him. and 



1890.] VAN HOKNE'S WAY. 599 

brought him home to his mother. Mr. Van Home was quickly 
at her side, with the nearest physician. She received him 
quietly, rocking herself to and fro in the doorway while the 
doctor made his examination. His gloomy face did not seem to 
trouble her. 

"It's the ruin of him," she said with a gesture of indescriba- 
ble pain ; " his head is hurt, an' I know what that is. Thank 
God, he'll die in his bed, an' have time to prepare himself, poor 
boy. How long will he live, docther, d'ye think ? " 

" Some hours three or four," he replied. 

" Me prayers are answered thin. Mrs. Malone, would ye mind 
goin' for the priest. Me boy is dyin', an' I must stay here with 
him," to a neighbor who had come in to assist. The woman 
went off on her errand. " Isn't it good, Mr. Van Home, to 
think that after all he's goin' to die at home with me." 

Mr. Van Home stumbled in his reply, for his heart was 
heavy, and the doctor said, to console her : 

" I am glad you take it that way. It is a good thing ; and 
what is better, he will die without pain. He never knew what 
happened to him, and he never will." 

" Since he must die," said Mr. Van Home, " it is certainly bet- 
ter he should die in peace than return to miserable consciousness." 

The smothered, inhuman sound that struggled from Mary's 
throat at these words blanched the cheek of doctor and friend 
alike. They had never heard any sound of human agony so 
distressing, so full of horrible anguish. When, frightened, they 
looked at her, her eyes were fixed like one crazed. She was 
struggling to speak. 

" On'y a haythen cud say that," she gasped, " knowing the 
state his soul is in this minute. He hasn't been to confession 
God knows whin, an' you know as well as I do what that 
manes for a Catholic. An' to die that way widout knowin', or 
widout makin' an act of conthrition, wid all his terrible, terrible 
sins on him an' drinkin' was not the worst my God, if he 
dies that way ! " 

She threw herself upon her son, and broke into the most 
tender appeals to God and to the dead but breathing body, that 
the last and greatest of sorrows might be spared her. The 
doctor and Van Home gazed at each other in confusion. At 
first they did not understand this overwhelming grief in one 
who had. been so calm up to this moment. She gave up fond- 
ling the boy after a moment and turned to the men. 

" Docther, for the love o' God can't ye do something that'll 



6co /'.-M- 7/(>A'.v/.'.v /r.-fK [Aug., 

wake him fr five minims. < >n'v fur five minutes! < 
another might do it?" 

"If you got liolmway there might be a cli.mce. the 

doctor, not wishing to try her uith the truth, for h< feared no 
skill would ever give his patient omscii HI-IK ~-. Her I. 
bright, and she almost laughed at his reply. 

"Thank God!" she said, but her voice sounded like one i:i a 
death agony. The physician still did not understand her behavior. 

No doctor can save his life," he added. 

"Oh! what matthcr, sir, so that he comes to an.; to 

the priest afore he dies. Me. poor boy ! What sin did I 
commit that this should happen to him? But it won't ha: 
Holmway will come, an' make him sinsible again for five little 
minutes, an' I'll spend the rest o' me days on me bare 
thankin' God for the blessin'." 

Then she roamed from the sick-room and back again, pray- 
ing and weeping by turns in a most pitiful way. displaying such 
bitter anguish as these two men had never before seen, and 
almost wept to witness. They shrank under the keen anguish 
of her moans, her looks, and gestures. Van Home was broken 
utterly. He had seen and felt sorrow, but none of such 
ing horror. He was beginning to understand it, and the fright- 
ful depths it must have for this poor creature. He might 
salt tears for Helena and his boy, but this mother was uc< 
tears of blood from her very heart. His grief stopped at the 
grave, but hers went as far as eternity into hell's abysses, which 
awaited her sin-stained son. Death was his dread, but a joy to 
her compared with what came after death. He could feel faintly 
what she suffered, and was at some pains to explain it to the 
physician. 

" Pure superstition," said the doctor. 

" I don't know," Van Home answered ; " if the boy rece 
the sacraments conscious, she will hardly mourn for him. 
if these symbols were Nature's way of stilling tumults of the 
heart, consciousness ought to have nothing to do with them." 

The physician looked at Mr. Van Home in doubt of his 
sanity, for he did not know the gentleman had given utterance 
to one link in a chain of inferences which were forming in his 
brain. The entrance at that moment of Dr. Holmway and the 
priest prevented explanations. All stood silently around the 
door as the great man made his examination of the wounded boy. 

" Any hope of consciousness ? " said the priest. 

In the quarter minute of pause that followed this profession il 



1890.] I'A.V HORNE'S WAY. 60 1 

question Mary Jansen's life summed up its anguish. Holrmvay 
looked at her before he said, " A fair chance." 

She foil on her knees, and, although the tears gushed from 
her eyes, hope was so strong within her that a faint smile rested 
on her lips. Van Home took the fmest into the kitchen, and 
told him Charlie's story. 

" If he dies without a return to consciousness," said he, "the 
mother will go mad." 

" He will not with such a mother," said the priest confi- 
dently, and he remained saying his breviary to await the happy 
moment. The sun rose, the warm, cheerful August sun, and 
lighted up the kitchen and the room beyond, where Mary knelt 
praying. Mr. Van Home scarcely dared to look at her. His 
own thoughts frightened him. Where was this mother to get 
consolation if her boy died in sin ? What simples had Mother 
Earth for such a sorrow ? Was death or insanity the only 
remedy for this bruised heart? 

"We are mostly fools," he said, thinking of his dead-and-gone 
theories of symbolism, his enthusiasm, his book that would now 
never see the light. 

Presently, after a waiting that had a nightmare horror about 
it, there was a movement and an exclamation in the inner room. 
Holmway came out and said to Mary : 

" Your son is conscious. Will any one tell him that he is 
going to die ? " 

" Let me do it," she said, " he will understand it from me " ; 
and with a passionate gesture she pressed the doctor's hand 
twice to her lips, saying, with a fervor that moved him : " No 
money, nothing, only God can pay you for what you have 
done." 

She beckoned to Mr. Van Home to follow her. He stood at 
the door as she entered. Charlie was smiling up at her, all un- 
conscious of his hurt, of the presence of death ; half-ashamed of 
his weakness, which he thought the stupidity of semi-intoxication. 
And she must tell him on the instant, for the minutes were few, 
that his hurt was mortal, that in an hour he would be standing 
before God with his broken, ruined, sinful life, and his lost voca- 
tion ! She did not even think of faltering, of the pain of it, but 
with heaven-sent gladness bent over him, put her arms about 
him, as of late when pleading with him not to break her heart 
by continuing his bad life, and whispered: "Acushla, ye hurt 
yer head last night, an' ye wor very bad. We had the docther 
for ye." 



602 'Vf.v // \\'AY. 

"The doct.'i! Hurt my head!" lie exclaimed feebly. " I- 
that why I am so weak ? " 

That'- it, son ; an' Mr. Van II>mt- is here, an' the priest, 
,, , ltc " the>e IK cause of the convulsive start and shudder he 
-ave at the nininoiis uords "an' ye must keep quiet and go 
to confession, darlin', ri-ht a\\ay, for yer head is hurt bad; an' 
nay thank God for comin' to yer long enough to 

make a good confession an' receive the last sacraments from the 
priest. I'll stay with ye, asthore." 

lie had put his arms around her in childlike terror, but she 
unwound them, smiling even, and put a little crucifix within his 
tinkers; but he dropped it as if .stuns,', pushed her away roughly, 
and sat up with eyes bla/ing. He could scarcely speak, yet he 

ped out broken senteno 

"I'm not going to die! I'm not hurt! dive me my clothes " 
She handed them to him obediently, but in the act of taking 
them he fell back on the bed from sheer weakness. " My God, 
mother! it is true I am going to die! I'm dying now! Oh! 
save save me ! " 

He groped with his hands like one in a flood feeling for a 
supporting plank. He was in her arms immediately, and she 
was whispering the tenderest, strongest assurances to him. "The 
priest is here, asthore. I'll faring him in, son. Sure no harm 
can come to ye with him in the house." 

No priest for me!" he cried with another spasm of fictitious 
strength, casting her from him and sitting up again. " I'm lost 
oh ! what sins to have, dying no, no, no " as she pressed 
the crucifix on him, " let me die as I lived but I can't die- 
now I won't let me get out of this room my clotli 
where's the doctor O my God! I'm dying." 

He fell back again moaning so pitifully the moaning of a 
soul in despair that Mr. Van Home, unable to endure it, fled 
to another part of the room, and hid the tear's of anguish that 
forced themselves from his eyes. The mother, whose heart was 
lacerated by the sight of her son's terror and despair, stood 
like one stricken with death beside him, praying and Imping, 
her eyes alternately on heaven and her boy. He would not 
have her words or embraces, he would not touch the crucifix, 
his eyes and cheeks were burning, and now he began to cry 
out, one moment for help, and the next to scream his despair or 
moan in agony, being in a kind of delirium. Mary called the 
priest; she was helpless, and with a gesture of hop 
she closed the door on him and his penitent. Van Home made 



\'AN HORNE'S WA r. 603 

her sit beside him, for she was trembling from head to foot. 
He could not briny himself to look a second time at her face, 
for it was pale and pinched, and lines of anguish were written 
on it like pencil lines on parchment. There came, however, a 
momentary relief. Quiet reigned suddenly in the sick-room, and 
for ten minutes its grateful, continuance brought balm to the 
hearts of the two watchers. Then the priest opened the door and 
beckoned to them with such a satisfied air that Van Home almost 
laughed his delight. When they went in Charlie was lying, calm 
and resigned, with the crucifix in his hands. He called Van 
Home, put his arms about him, and whispered : 

" Forgive me, godfather. I never loved -you enough. It's 
the best thing could happen to me to die." 

The man could answer him only with tears, and gave way 
to the poor mother, who would not hear his appeals for pardon 
and self-reproaches. 

"'Tis God alone, son, ye've offended. Mother never had a 
better son than ye," she said. 

The priest was ready to administer the Viaticum and Extreme 
Unction. It was a moving spectacle to Van Home to see this 
sorrowful mother assist in the last offices for her son. Her face 
was radiant as she placed the cloth under his chin, and knelt 
while he received the Holy Communion ; radiant as she un- 
covered his feet for the holy oils ; glorified when the last in- 
dulgence was granted, and her unfortunate son was safe from 
the consequences of unforgiven sins. Van Home would ' have 
left her alone with him, but she bade him remain unto the end. 
What strong, consoling, tender words she poured into the boy's 
heart ! His terror passed, he lay like a child waiting for death ; 
his thanks and love for his guardian were said a hundred times ; 
his appeal for forgiveness to his mother and God saddening 
beyond words. Van Home would have streamed with tears but 
for the radiant courage, the unceasing ministration of Mary. 
He was not only losing his cm'ld, he was % also repeating the 
death-bed scene of Helena. The increasing pallor, the last 
word, the unconsciousness but here he knelt, held the candle, 
and answered the prayers which Mary read aloud. It was only 
a short hour of consciousness until the poor boy lay very still 
in the sleep of death. 

Thus Mr. Van Home's experiment ended J Ended ? Not at 
all. His experiment came to an end in time, as all things do, 
but not with the death of Charlie Jansen, as one would expect. 
VOL. i.i. 39 



il'.iy. [ Aug. 

To him \\ho nail- this history carefully, it will be evident at 
the death-bed of the unfortunate boy that Mr. Van Home hail 
collected the materials ' .irty quarrel with the much-re- 

spected dame. Mother K.irth. He had two questions for her to 
answer, two solemn riddles. If there were no after-life <>\.' 
of her bosom, or none more substantial and comfortable than 
disporting in the air as elemental gases, why should the fi 
of an after-life be allowed to upset nature ~ J And if symbolism 
n of Mother Karth. devised to make herself com- 
prehensible to her children, where was the n of inventing 
Kxtreme L'nction, and of insisting on consciousness in its re- 
ception, when so many people must die unconscious ' ( )f course 
he never got any answer from the old lady, and he thereupon 
acquired a habit of sneering and fleering at her and her 
followers that was very trying to his friends. It would be 
almost worth the space to tell directly what this habit led up 
to, but for the fact that Dr. Holmway told it much better and 
more briefly to his friend Hrown th-j day after the event. , They 
were both members of that club before which Van Horne had 
read his essay on symbolism. 

" I hear that Van Horne made a sensation at the club last 
night," said Brown; "what was it all about?" 

The question relaxed Holmway's grim features into the 
broadest and deepest of smiles. 

" Clever fellow that Van Horne," he said, " and the way 
he laid out the brethren was thorough, compl 

The doctor had not much regard for the brethren, bein., 
man who detested abstract discussion, and he almost laughed .it 
their discomfiture. 

" He read a paper or something," said Brown. " Most inter- 
esting thing I ever heard," declared Holmway ; " the man'- a 
born investigator. What do you think he did? Adopted a 
Catholic boy just to study the giental development of a human 
being brought up in Catholic fashion! Yes, sir, laid himself out 
to follow up that child for thirty years; had him trained 
Catholic, noted every fact in connection with him for twenty 
years, and read the notes to the society last night." 

Wonderful ! " said Brown. 

"Ah! but you should have heard it." 

" Was that the sensation ? " 

" No. The club admired and applauded of course, but the 
end of the essay stupefied them. It seems the boy died. I 
attended him " 



1890.] r.-'-V IfOXXE'S ll'.-iy. 605 

" No wonder," murmured Brown. 

" Fractured skull, broken-hearted mother. Van Home was 
there, and to light the soul out of the world I suppose held a 
candle to the last. This was the end of his essay, and the 
moment of stupefaction for the club. He began twenty years 
ago to study the rites of Catholics up to the thirty- third degree 
not sure now if they have a thirty-third degree or not and the 
boy died at the thirty-second." 

" A close shave," said Brown. 

" Wasn't it ? Then he told the club that at first he thought 
his studies were ended, but after a lot of talk he told them 
again that they were not ended. He said the reason they were 
not ended was because Mother Earth was a hoax, and the 
methods of the club foolish ; that he himself was going in for 
a deeper personal experience ; that he was going to get another 
subject in place of the boy with a fractured skull ; that subject 
was to be guess, Brown ! " 

" Another child," said Brown, " with a fractured skull." 

"Not at all himself." Brown gasped. 

"You don't seem to understand," said Holmway. "Well, this 
is the surprise. He is going to be his own subject, going to 
try the effects of the medicine on himself; in short, he is going 
to be a Catholic." 

"Oh!" said Brown, "I don't wonder the club was surprised. 
His skull must be fractured already." 

"But you ought to have heard him!" continued Holmway, 
"and from the present condition of your face I perceive you 
would have been the most surprised person present. He went 
on to assure the club that it was no longer an experiment with 
him but a fact, this symbolism, and he invited the club to follow 
him ; or at least to study the road he was taking, so that if 
some day they got lost, as he did, they would know what to do." 

" Evidently cracked," said Brown. 

" It didn't sound so," the doctor observed as he was leaving, 
" but it might be insanity. If the new wrinkle lasts, I call it 
madness. If he reads another essay for the club next year we 
might call it ' Van Home's way, you know.' " 

On reflection the members of the club thought it suitable to 
describe the whole matter as " Van Home's way, you know," 
and a very pretty story it made for private circulation. But 
Mr. Van Home never came back to them, and kept steadily on 
in the new way, which he considered a satisfactory result of his 
studies in symbolism. HENRY O'BklEN. 



6o6 



t & I-'IK. s r 



[An-, 



SHAKKSl-KAKK'S FIRST PUBLISHER. 

SllAKl SIM \K1 . great in everything else, seems t" have been 
great in the number f his publishers. Kxclusive if the collected 
editions, which to-day are legion ; exclusive even of the first col- 
lected edition (that of 1623), his writings gave employment to a 
r list of his own contemporary publishers than. I think, any 
author of the present day aspires to. Here is an actual list of 
publishers (stationers or printers, as they were then called i win- 
issued during Shakespeare's lifetime, or shortly after his death 
(at any rate, prior to 1640) editions of his separate plays. Kven 
this list, large as it is, is not complete. In fact, it is impossible 
to make any perfect tabulated list of matters and things relating 
to Shakespeare, since the upset difficulty always is that the 
questions: "Have we all the plays Shakespeare wrote?" "Did 
he write any of the so-called doubtful plays?" and "Did he 
write all the so-called canonical plays ? " will always arise ; and 
as to these questions there will always be disputers. 

However, the table below gives some idea, being confined 
alone to the twenty-one canonical or accepted plays, which ap- 
peared separately in Quarto, and being exclusive of doubtful 
plays, or plays (doubtful or accepted! which appeared in the 
Folios of 1623, 1632, 1664, or 1685. 

(Where the same Quarto is assigned to more than one pub- 
lisher, it indicates that the names of all those mentioned appear 
on its title-page.) 



I'l BLISHER. 


PLAY. KPITION. 


DATE. 


A.M. . . Othello . ... . . 2 g. 


1630 


Aspley. William . Much Ado About Nothing . . i .>. 


1600 


Benson, John . . Henry IV., Part II. 


1600 




The Sonnets . a g. 


1640 


ISonian, Richard 


Troilus and Cressula t Q. 


1609 




Pericles . . . . 


1630 


Durby, Cuthbert . 


Taming of a Shrew . . i g. 


1594 




Love's Labor's Lost . . . i g 


1598 




Romeo and Juliet 


1599 


Busby, John . 


The Chronicle History of Henry V 2 Q. 


1600 


lluttcr, Nathaniel 


King Lear . . . . i < i 


1608 






1608 


Clarke, Sampson 


The Troublesome Kami- . . i g. itn 


159' 



1890.] 



SHAKESPEARE'S FIRST PUBLISHER. 



607 



PUBLISHER. 


PLAY. 


EDITION. 


DATE. 


Cotes, Tho. 


The Sonnets . . ... 


i Q. 


1640 


Pericles ..... 


6 Q. 


I<5 35 


Creede, Thomas . jFirst Part of Contention 




1594 




The Famous Victories . 


I Q. 


1598 




Romeo and Juliet 


aQ. 


'599 




Henry V. . . 


i Q. 


1600 




Merry Wives of Windsor 


i Q. 


1602 


Richard III 


i Q. 


1602 


Cules (or Coules), Francis 


Venus and Adonis " 


13 Q. 


1636 


Danter, John 


Romeo and Juliet 


i '.>. 


1597 


Eld, G. . . . 


Troilus and Cressida 


i Q. 


1609 




The Sonnets 


I Q. 


1600 


Field, Richaid 


Venus and Adonis 


i Q. 


IVW^ 

1593 




Lucrece ..... 


2 Q. 
i Q. 


1594 


Fisher, Thomas . . . 


Midsummer Night's Dream 


i Q,or"Fisher"Q. 


1600 


Gosson, Henry . 


Pericles ..... 


i Q. 


1609 


Harrison, John 


Lucrece 


aQ. 
i Q. 


1609 
I.594J 




Venus and Adonis t . . . 


3Q- 


'S9 6 


Hawkins, Richard 


Venus and Adonjs 
Othello 


SQ- 


1600 


Heyes, Thomas . 


Merchant of Venice . 


2Q,or "Heves"Q. 


1030 
1600 


Jackson, Roger 


Lucrece . ... 


5 Q' 


1616 


Jaggard, W. 


Passionate Pilgrim 


6Q. 
i Q. 


1624 
1599 






2 Q. 




Johnson, Arthur 


Merry Wives of Windsor 


i Q. 


XOI2 
I6O2 


Leake, W. 


Passionate Pilgrim . 


2 Q. 

I Q. 


1619 
IS97 


Ling, N. . . * 


Venus and Adonis 
lamlet 


4 0- 
I Q. 


'599 


Low, Matthew 
Meighen, R. 


Richard III 
Merry Wives of Windsor 


3 Q. 
6Q. 


I608 
1622 


Millington, Thomas 


First Part of Contention 


3Q- 
i Q. 


1630 
1594 




True Tragedies 


i Q. 






The Chronicle History of Henry V. 


i Q. 


l6oO 


N. O. 


Othello .... 


i O 




Norton, John 


Richard 11 


^C " 

5 Q. 


IO22 
1632 


P. S. . 

Pavier, Thomas . 


'ericles .... 
r irst Part True Tragedies 
Parts Land II. of the Whole Contention 


SQ. 
i Q. 
i Q. 


1630 
1600 
ICQ4 




Chronicle History of Henry V. 


i Q. 


D:TT 

1600 


. 


ienry V. 


3 Q- 


1608 


Purfoot, Thomas 


Pericles 
Richard III. 


4Q- 
6Q. 


1619 
1622 



* This poem ran through so many editions that it would unduly swell this table to enter 

Those entered, however, preserve the names of the publishers of all the editions 
According to Mr. Halliwell-Phillips this is impossible, since Harrison had assigned "the 
copyright to Leake in 1595. The title-page of this fifth edition (of which but one copy is 
known to be m existence, in the Bodleian Library) is in MS., so the error cannot be detected 
Harnson printed a second edition in 1598, a third in 1600, and a fourth in 1607 in octavo' 



6o8 



I-'/KST ITi;! 1S11EK. 








1 




,<*S 


i of Venice 


1600 
















ner Nighl ' i 


1600 






RobM"Q. 




nicus 


i i.' 1600 




Hamlet 


1604 


- - . 


. 


t6n 


Short, Peter 


tiling of a Shrc 


1594 


>-imm. Valentine 


Ki.h.ml 11. . 


'597 




Richard III.' 


'.'. 1597 




Henry IV., Part I . 


'597 




Henry V., Pan 11. 


1600 




Mm-ii Ailn ing 


i.i. 1600 


Smithweeke, John . 


Romeo and Juliet 


3 '.' ' 


T. H. . 


\VIM-- . .r \\ lodtor . 


3 Q. i*3 


. 


Lucrece . 


1616 






6 Q. I*** 


Thorpe. Thomas 


The Sonnets 


1609 


Trundell. John 


Hamlet . 


i.i. K>3 


Wakely. Thomas 


Othello 


(,i. i(aa 


Walley. G. 


Troilus and Cressida- . 


i'i. i69 


White. Edward 


Titus Andronicus 


<.i. 1600 


Wise, Andrew- 


Richard II. 


Q. 1597 




Richard III. . 


Q. 1597 




Love's Labor's Lost 


i.i 1598 




Henry IV.. Part I. . 


V 1598 




Much Ado About Nothing 


i.i. 1600 




'Henry IV.. Part II 


o. 1600 




Richard III. 


1602 


Young, R. 


Romeo and Juliet 


5 Q- 1 6 37 



It would thus appear that, in Shakespeare's own days, tli 
were at least forty-five publishers, stationers, and booksellers ifur 
some of the above are mentioned only as keeping the Quartos 
on sale) who were interested in William Shakespeare as a pro- 
ducer of revenue for them ; a fact which, were no others at 
hand, would completely dispose of any doubtful or double author- 
ship of the plays for it would be extremely improbable that 
forty- five business men, with their employees, agents, and cus- 
tomers, should either scrupulously keep so interesting a secret 
or be themselves so completely imposed upon. 

Of almost all of these publishers and booksellers something- 
more or less is known. When, in 1623, Shakespeare's two fel- 
low-actors, John Heminges and Henry Condell, edited the first 
collected edition of his plays, it was brought out at the expanse 
(as we are told by the colophon) of three of the above-named 



1890.] SHAKESPEARE s FIRST PUBLISHER. 609 

publishers viz.: W. Aspley, who printed "The Much Ado About 
Nothing" in 1600; I. Smithweeke, the publisher of the "undated" 
Quarto (probably printed about 1608), and W. Jaggard, who 
printed the "Passionate Pilgrim" in 1599. With these there 
was associated one Ed. Blount, who, with Isaac Jaggard (probably 
a brother of the W. Jaggard above), became the publishers of 
the First Folio, and put their names into the imprint of that 
invaluable volume. We know that James Roberts, who figures 
as the printer of the " Merchant of Venice," printed two editions 
of that play, one to be handled by himself and the other to be 
handled by a rival publisher, Thomas Heyes; that he also did much 
the same thing for another rival, Thomas Fisher, in the case of 
the "Midsummer Night's Dream," and, moreover, that, although 
his name does not appear as either printer or bookseller on the 
Quarto of " Hamlet " of 1603, he was the original owner of the 
copyright of that play, and procured it to be entered as his on 
the books of the Stationers' Company July 26, 1602, and only 
placed his initials in the imprint of the 1604 Quarto. We may 
also see traces of a very brisk rivalry between the above-named 
Bonian, Walley, George Eld, and this same James 'Roberts, as 
to who should issue the "Troilus and Cressida," which play 
finally appeared with the names of the first three in its imprint, 
in 1609; and it was the above-named Thomas Thorpe who has 
sent himself down to posterity as the " T. T." who signed that 
famous dedication to " Mr. W. H.," of the first edition of " The 
Sonnets" which dedication is such a sacred fog to the commenta- 
tors, and out of which they read all sorts of marvellous ro- 
mances about Shakespeare, Southampton, Lady Rich, Mrs. Fytton, 
and nobody can remember who else. 

It will be observed that the output of Shakespeare Quartos 
begins with the "Venus and Adonis" in 1593 and the "Lucrece" 
in 1594, and that the year 1597 appears to be about the first in 
which more than any one publisher seemed to think it worth while 
to compete for the production in print of any of Shakespeare's 
plays. After that year, and until 1640, the struggle was not that 
of Shakespeare or the owners of his plays to secure a publisher, 
but among the publishers to secure a play of Shakespeare's to 
print though they come, for any single year, the thickest in 
1600. We further know that Andrew Wise, above named, a 
stationer, whose place of business was at his residence in St. 
Paul's Church-yard, where he displayed the figure of an angel as 
a sign, secured the manuscript of the "Richard III." in October 



f>!0 -SV/.-/AV-..s/V-:.-U'A'.S //A'.SV /VA/./.SV/. (Aug., 

>f that year, aiul so IHV.IHH- Shakespe. ire's first publisher, cm- 
ploying the press of a bettor-known printer than himself to get 
out the book, all i-f which we learn from the imprint: "At 
London, Printed by Valentine Simms for Andrew Wise, dwell- 
ing in 1'atilc's Church yard, at the Signc of the Angell, 1597." 
Indeed, the sixty or seventy imprints called for by the above 
list are well worth studying by themselves, ami, of th> 
throw a great deal of curious light on the early history of book- 
publishing in England. And if one would have patience to 
study the Stationers' Registers into which the copyrights ot 
these plays were mostly entered and watch the assignments 
and reassignments thereof as entered in those Registers, in con- 
nection with these publishers' names in the imprints of the 
quartos, he would soon become fascinated (if he cared for such 
matters at all) with the vision of the struggle to secure the issue 
and sale of something on the title-page of which the name of 
William Shakespeare could legitimately appear in and about the 
early years of the seventeenth century; and how (as w. 
course, the inevitable result of such a struggle) a great many 
quartos did get into print where the name was so put wi 
fully and illegally. What effect, then, this illegality en: 
we can only guess ; but we know that it has had the effect 
of rendering a great many very worthy gentlemen and scholars, 
in succeeding centuries, quite unhappy and very much perplexed 
as to what William Shakespeare did or did not write, and even 
as to whether there ever was any Shakespeare at all ! If William 
Shakespeare could have foreseen which, he would doubtless have 
left some memorandum or writing to tell posterity what were his 
and what were spurious. But he never did, and possibly a 
many occupations, like Othello's, would have been " gone " if he 
had. But around the name of one of the printers named in the 
above list there is, it seems to- me, a little bit of probability 
which, I think, might legitimately warrant some reasonable con- 
jecture as to Shakespeare's beginnings, his first appearance in 
print, etc., and this without upsetting any of the scant}' records 
and still scantier veracious testimony of which we are already 
possessed. To wit : 

In 1592 there, died in Stratford-upon-Avon one Henry Field, 
a tanner, leaving a will and inventory of personal property, but 
whose estate, for some reason, required the services of an ap- 
praiser to settle. The Court of Probate (or Consistory Court, as 
it was then called) appointed John Shakespeare such appraiser. 



1890.] Sl/AXMSPEAKtiS FlKST PUBLISHER. 6l I 

and he fulfilled his duties and duly filed his report as such ap- 
praiser in August, 1 592. 

This Henry had a son named Richard, who, like young 
William Shakespeare, had left the little village .where his father 
lived, and found his way to London in search of employment, in 
or about 1579. Just about this time a journeyman printer, 
named Thomas Vantrollier, came from France and settled in his 
trade in London. He did neater and better work than the 
London printers, and found plenty of employment in meeting the 
new impulse of literature and literary taste of that wonderful 
period. In 1564 he was admitted to the exclusive and aristo- 
cratic Stationers' Company, which Queen Mary had chartered in 
the preceding reign, and selected Blackfriars as his place of busi- 
ness ; his Patent reading, " Typograpkus Londoniensis in claustro 
vulgo Blackfriars comnwrans," while, as was the custom, certain 
books were made over to him as a privilege to exclusively print. 
Somehow or other this young Richard Field procured work in 
Vantrollier's establishment ; he did not, however, remain there 
long, but found, it would seem, more favorable employment with 
another printer named George Bishop, to whom, at Michaelmas, 
1579, he (Field) was apprenticed for seven 'years. No sooner, 
however, was he out of his time than, in 1588, he returned to 
Vantrollier's office. On Vantrollier's death, in that year, Field 
married his daughter and succeeded to his business of stationer 
and printer. Here, then, we have a fellow-townsman and neigh- 
bor of William Shakespeare's, a printer, stationer, 'and publisher, 
at his very elbow in London. 

It seems to me that the above being matters of easy veri- 
fication we may proceed to judge the drift of circumstances, 
then, as pretty much as it would follow in course to-day. Given 
a young man with literary aspirations, a poet what is the dear- 
est object which would present itself to his heart ? Clearly the 
object of finding a publisher and getting into print. And we may, 
I think, be pretty confident that the lad had not been very long 
in London without haunting the publishers with his manuscripts 
under his arm. Possibly young William Shakespeare would have 
gone to the older and better- known publishers first; those who 
had more capital and a larger establishment than his townsman 
Richard Field, and no doubt young Shakespeare went to one 
and all of them. Possibly he might for a long time have studi- 
ously avoided Field, knowing that a prophet is not without honor 
save in his own country or to his own countrymen. But an tin- 



6l2 Sl/AfCXSrE.lKf-'s I'/KST rrHl.ISHER. [A 

known poet has small chance, and manr.>cripts arc not inviting 
objects to look at, nor arc publishers over-willing to wade into 
thick piles of close chirograph}'. So let us iina-im- that youn^ 
Shake-- nally, in despair, was forced by -hecr necessity to 

have recourse to his fellow-Stratfordian ; prevailed upon him 
put his verses into print, so that he could at la-t secure readers, 
and thereafter rise or fall on his merits as a poet and not on hi> 
success .is a -ccurcr of publisher-. Let u- MC how probable or 
improbable such a theory would now become, in the face of the 
records. 

By consulting the above list we find that : whereas no other 
printer ever touched a Shakespearean manuscript until 1 597, 
Richard Field did in 1593 print a first edition of the '"Venus 
and Adonis," and again, only the year after, a second edition 
thereof, and a new poem, the " Lucrece " (pretty fair proof that 
he did not lose by the " Venus and Adonis," however dubiously 
he might have touched it). Now, the standard theory as to how 
Shakespeare first " got into print " is as different from what I 
have conjectured above as possible. That theory is that young 
Shakespeare early attracted the attention of Lord Southampton, 
and that the two became, at once, fast friends. I have never 
been able for myself to believe in this theory. I remember that 
social lines were being tightly drawn in those days, and that 
Shakespeare was of the class that filled his pit rather than of the 
class that sat on his stage. In our exalted love and worship \\e 
are apt to forget this, and, in the long perspective of three cen- 
turies we couple contemporary names in a single breath. We 
think of Shakespeare, Southampton, and Elizabeth. But the fact 
is that, in those days, it would have occurred to nobody, least, 
of all to Shakespeare himself, to so group those names. Rigid 
as may be the line drawn to-day between peer and peasant, 
courtier, and tradesman, it was still more rigidly drawn then. 
The reverence with which an impecunious scribbler looks upon a 
man of vested wealth, multiplied by the distance between a pro- 
scribed player of interludes and a peer of the realm, would have 
rather prevented. A rich peer and a poor peer might be bosom 
friends. A rich peer and a penniless tramp hardly ! The fiction 
of the brotherhood of these two men is a pleasant one, and there 
is no particular harm in it, of course, but the substitute su;_, r 
tion made above, it seems to me, is rather more in accordance 
with the nature of things. Southampton may indeed have ad- 
mitted Shakespeare to the equality not of brothers who went 



1890.] Sl/AfCESPEAKE's FIRST PUBLISHER. 613 

arm-in-arm, wrote verses to each other, and chronicled each 
other's love affairs but to such gracious familiarity as is depicted 
between the Lord and the Players in the " Induction to The 
Taming of the Shrew," or such courtly and good-natured badi- 
nage as Hamlet took and gave with the Players he employed to 
catch the conscience of the king. But if Damon and Pythias are 
friends, let us know of it from Damon's family archives, as well 
as from those of Pythias. The muniments of the great family to 
which Lord Southampton belonged have met no exceptional vicis- 
situdes of time and chance, and are reasonably preserved. And 
there is no record in them, nor anywhere else, of any such ex- 
ceptional friendship or intimacy between the earl and the play- 
wright as is so confidently asserted by Shakespeare's bio- 
graphers although the noble Southampton family preserved its 
archives, and the plebeian Shakespeare family never thought of 
doing so, even rumor and hearsay having in their case to be 
supplied. 

But, it is said, Shakespeare dedicates his two poems .to 
Southampton. Well, so did dozens of other poets. The young 
nobleman loved to pose as the friend of letters, and every poet 
sought a patron. In England not only then, but for a hundred 
and fifty years later, the patron was as necessary as the poet, 
and the poet always sought the patron, not the patron the poet. 
" Poets vied with each other," says Gervinus, " in dedicating their 
poems to him " (Southampton). The name of Shakespeare did 
not suggest that of Southampton to Francis Meres, writing in 
1598. I shall not travel into the fields of those incomprehensible 
Sonnets at present, which suggest Southampton to so many 
modern commentators ; though why, admitting Shakespeare and 
Southampton to have been inseparable, sonnets written by 
Shakespeare should be a self-accusing monograph of Southamp- 
ton's, I never could learn, either from Mr. Gerald Massey or from 
anybody else. 

The story of Southampton's munificent gift to Shakespeare 
has been traced to Stratford-upon-Avon, and to the year 1759, 
and consists in the mere statement of the fact, but of neither 
the occasion nor the object of the gift. I think the probabili- 
ties are that the Southampton figment is a vanishing one. It 
is only comparatively modern biographers who claim to have 
found in Stratford-upon-Avon, in this comparatively modern year 
1759, somebody who declared that Sir William Davenant had 
said that Southampton gave Shakespeare "a thousand pounds." 



M/'.s I-'/KST rriiUSHEH. [Aug., 

But "a thousand pounds " \v;is in those days an en<>rm<'us >um. 
fully equal tn twenty-five thousand dollars to-day, and South- 
ampton was not a rich man. It si-cms to me that had the 
story of the gift IK-HI authentic it would have been rather fuller 
in detail, and suniethiii;^ of the somve-> where Southampton g>t 
the money, or nf tlie uses t which Shakespeare put it, have 
been supplied. Shakespeare only paid William Underbill sixty 
pounds for New I'lace the most princely residence then in 
Stratford-upon-Avon, with its out-houses, me- rch.mU, 

and great barns filled with corn covering three-quarters of an 
acre of ground, which was twenty pounds more than I'ndcrhill 
himself had paid for it a few year* before; and we h.v. 
rather plentiful record of his other purchases of real estate. Hut 
altogether they do not account for " a thousand poun 

But principally, if Southampton had procured the printing 
of these two earliest poems of Shakespeare's, it is a little queer 
that Southampton should have sent Shakespeare, out of all of 
the scores of publishers in London, to Shakespeare's nwn fellow- 
townsman, and for those two poems only. Any publisher would 
have been eager to have executed an order for Lord South- 
ampton. And it is queer, again, that if Southampton had 
selected Field, Field, who made Shakespeare's reputation by 
first bringing him out, should never have been allowed to print 
any of Shakespeare's works when they became lucrative and 
every bookseller in London was struggling for them. By con- 
sulting the above list, we find that the " Venus and Ad 
was so profitable that in 1636 it actually had reached a 
thirteenth edition, printed by Francis Coules. As early as 
1596 the poem had passed to John Harrison, who turned it 
over for its fourth edition to William Leake (though, of course, 
this might be accounted for by supposing that Field had sold 
the poem at a profit, or that he had died meanwhile, for we 
know nothing of Field's career except the items above stated). 
But the great difficulty is that, if Southampton's own publisher, 
or selection of a publisher, had first taken up Shakespeare, that 
publisher, protected by the name of a powerful lord, would have 
remained in possession of the monopoly, and the reiijn of 
Elizabeth was a reign of monopolies such as has never been 
seen before or since. Indeed, I doubt if another instance than 
that of the Shakespeare plays can be mentioned, in which lite- 
rary matter of the date was not assigned, by the Station, is' 
Company, to some single member of their body to be a per- 



1890.] SllAKESri-.ARE S FlKST Pr H1.1SI1EK. 

pctual right and property in himself and his successors. I d<> 
not think much ought to be predicated from the gratitude for 
favors received expressed by Shakespeare in his second Dedi- 
cation (that of the " Lucrece ") to Southampton, for commoiu-r>, 
especially when they were poor poets, are apt to speak extra- 
vagantly of favors, however small, conferred upon them by 
peers, and the young and unknown Shakespeare possibly con- 
sidered that the permission fa dedicate poems to a noble lord 
was in itself a kindness to be grateful for. It was still a long 
way, in the punctilious Tudor days, from peasant to peer. 

At any rate to an age which cares nothing about South 
ampton and a great deal about Shakespeare it ought to be, it 
seems to me, a pleasant reflection that William Shakespeare 
owed his first appearance in the custody of " the art preser- 
vative " to a fellow-townsman, perhaps a playmate, and that so 
the tranquil little town on the silvery Avon may claim to be 
not only the birth-place of the poet, but of the man who 
launched him on his high road to immortality. 

Of course one ought not to construct theories and theories 
about William Shakespeare quite at random and out of whole 
cloth, but there seems to me something in the above scheme of 
probabilities. At any rate it is better, I think, than to devote 
so much speculation as to Shakespeare's motives in writing his 
plays ; "to lie among the daisies and discourse in novel phrases 
of the complicated state of mind " of William Shakespeare, as I 
suppose Mr. Gilbert would put it. 

APPLETON MORGAN. 



Vug., 



111!-: HUllir.K ! DU( mi >N Fl >R CATHOLIC r.lKI S. 

A RECBN1 writer in tin- Dublin I.yciinii* dealing M>IIIC\\ liat 
pessimistically with the progress of the Church in the SMU->. 
puts boldly into words a good many things about convent- 
schools for girls which have been in the air for a Ion;,' time. I 
have not the writer's evident advantage of knowing the 
American side of the question, but I have the advantage of 
knowing convent-school life from the inside, having been nr 
a convent-school girl. And here I may say that no on, 
named could attack the nuns and their system without keen re- 
morse, because the old life was so sweet and good, and the 
nuns such ideals of purity and gentleness. However, they have 
still things very much in their own hands here, as with you, 
and the efforts some great-minded women among them have 
been making in the direction of progress prove that they have 
realized, at least in part, the necessity for their teaching being 
mended. 

The thing which the nuns with us have failed to do is to 
discriminate. My own school-life had for one of its crosses that 
I was forced to grind at things for which I had no aptitude. 
Accomplishments are as fatally the bane of the convent-school 
of to-day as they were of the ordinary ladies' school of fifty 
years ago. Your convent is a conservative place, and it is the 
comparatively new foundations only which have seemed to 
realize that the nineteenth century woman is a working- partner 
in the world's business. Yet nuns, with their feminine republic 
and feminine dynasty, are themselves the most vivid testimony to 
the capacity of women for affairs. 

At any rate, the convent-school will make your girls good 
religious women and ladies. Every nun is a lady, aud refine- 
ment of feeling within convent walls is, if anything, excessive. 
Therefore I would be very loath to take the girls out of their 
hands. But afterwards ! The nuns hitherto have taken edu- 
cation very lightly. They have gone into the convent with 
just so much knowledge as they received in a convent. They 
are forbidden newspapers, books, and reviews, almost entirely. 
The years advance, but they stand still. They do not realize 

* Some of our readers may not know thai this able and influential monthly i- uonducted 
by Irish Jesuits EDITOR. 



1890.] THE HIGHER EDUCATION FOR CATHOLIC GIRLS. 617 

that for women especially the world has changed, so much that 
a woman's personality has changed with it. It has struck me 
curiously sometimes to consider the difference between the 
women of Leech and the Books of Beauty, with their oval and 
ringlet-framed faces, their arched eyebrows and tiny mouths, 
and the educated woman's face of to-day, clean, undrooping, with 
fine outlines and developed brows. 

The Loretto Order in Ireland, which was founded by a 
woman of rare insight and sagacity, must be taken as having 
done most of late years to educate itself for its task of teaching. 
The convent at Navan, especially, has done brilliantly in com- 
petitive examinations. Some convents of the Dominican Order, 
notably Sion Hill at Blackrock, and Eccles Street Convent, are 
also conspicuous for their advance in teaching. But many of 
our convents, like yours, are dominated by a French mind and 
spirit, which are incapable of understanding the different position" 
and needs of English-speaking women. 

I am sure we Catholics may sometimes fail through other- 
worldliness which sins against itself. It is not loyal to our 
Mother the Church to have the balance of education and power 
and wealth altogether on the Protestant side. May it not be 
one's vocation, as it was Esther's of old, to be a queen for the 
sake of God's people ? Poverty of spirit is very beautiful, but if 
we are all poor in purse and power and reputation our numbers 
will not build up God's house, either actually or in a high 
spiritual sense. In a day of Protestant domination our prayer 
ought to be for the subtlety of the serpent as well as the 
innocence of the dove. 

The Lyceum tells us that Bishop McQuaid, of Rochester, has 
instituted a special order of nuns who are to be trained 
arduously for their vocation as teachers. This is as it ought to 
be, and something of the same kind will have to be done 
universally as regards convent-schools, whether it be done from 
the inside or from without. With so much reform the nuns 
will keep their scholars, but after ordinary school-days the new 
ordinance calls for continued and higher education. The Cath- 
olic cry is for a Catholic Girton or Harvard Annex. 

There is a woman's college here in Dublin, Alexandra Col- 
lege, founded so long ago as 1866. It was founded by Protest- 
ant minds and money, and though its curriculum need contain 
nothing exclusively Protestant, it has Protestant prelates for 
visitors, and Protestants make up the board, and in great part 
the teaching staff. It stands over against the Royal University, 



618 THE HIC.IIEK Em CATIO\ AOA- CATHOLIC (IKI.S. [Aug.. 

\vitli it- annex of red-brick theatre and gymnasium, and beyond 
it the glaring red-brick Alexandra School. Its principal is Mis, 
I. 1>. L.i Ti niche, a member <>f a famous >!<! Huguenot family, 
which settled in Dublin by favor of Catholic tolerance at the 
time of the Revocation of the Kdict of Nantes, and has become 
greatly wealthy and greatly respected. Miss La 'louche is her- 
self a student of Lady Margaret Hall at Oxford, and is .1 m>M 
womanly lady, of great charm of person and character, anil 
cultivation of mind. The system, with its staff of brilliant uni- 
ty men, and women who havt d the men's prizes 
from them, is unexceptionable. The college has no endowments 
except one or tivo scholarships in Trinity College, and two 
scholarships of 25 a year recently given by the Skinners' Com- 
pany. The college so subsists nearly altogether on its fees, which 
are, for the session of three terms, from ,15 to 22 per term 
There is a residence house attached to the college, where stu- 
dents may live at an expense of ,50 a year. There are also 
two or three authorized residences in various parts of the city : 
one of them is held by a Catholic lady recommended by Father 
Del. my, S.J., senator of the Royal University, and intended to 
harbor Catholic girls working at Alexandra for university de- 
grees. 

w, figures and facts speak more eloquently than any 
amount of writing. The calendar of Alexandra gives a mag- 
nificent list of successes. The girls' greatest work has been done 
in the Royal, that democratic university, so called, which, lack- 
ing the dignity of a residential university, has a go all its 
own. Trinity College, Dublin, has not yet opened its degree- 
to women any more than its conservative sisters of Oxford 
and Cambridge. Since the Royal was founded, ten years ago, 
the women, and Alexandra women especially, have covered them- 
selves with glory. Each year a band of from ten to fifteen girls 
go up for the degrees, seldom taken without honors, for a girl 
who means intellectual distinction is generally very thorough. In 
1887, a year made memorable in the annals of feminine ad- 
vance by Miss Agneta Ramsay's taking first place in the classical 
tripos at Cambridge, Miss Mary Story, of Alexandra, carried off 
the big prize of the Royal, the studentship in modern literature, 
worth ,500. At matriculation this clever and beautiful girl had 
won the i$O scholarship in modern literature. This last scholar- 
ship has been taken by Alexandra girls in five years out of six 
Miss Story's studentship meant that in her year she took first 
honors and first place of all the university in her subject 



1890.] THE HIGHER EDUCATION FOR CATHOLIC GIRLS. 619 

Alexandra has six M.A.'s, most of whom are on the teach- 
ing staff of the college or the school. 

Miss Annie Patterson, who received the distinction of doctor 
of music in 1889, is also an Alexandra girl. She was the first 
to receive the degree on her merits. The honorary degree was 
conferred on the Princess of Wales in 1887, and was chosen, 
perhaps, because of the picturesqueness of the white and scarlet 
silk gown in which she looked so charming. Feminine bachelors 
of music are no longer a novelty at the Royal. 

In 1889 Miss Letitia Walkington scored . another conspicuous 
success for her sex in taking the degree of doctor of laws. I 
find no record of her school, which was one or other of the 
Protestant schools. 

At the College of Surgeons two Alexandra girls are emulat- 
ing those achievements. Miss Winifred Dickson, eldest daughter 
of the Protestant Home- Rule member for the Stephen's Green 
division of Dublin city, stands first in the prize-list session after 
session. With her is another Alexandra girl, Miss Maguire, who 
is doing equally brilliantly. 

I have only named the big prizes. The exhibitions, scholar- 
ships, honors, and certificates in the Alexandra calendar are 
beyond cataloguing. As for the girls themselves, the most 
strenuous advocates of the hidden life for women would scarcely 
say their success had spoiled them. They seem to step back 
very willingly into private life after that moment when, capped 
and gowned and looking like charming muses, they stand upon 
the dais of the Royal University to hear the praises of the chan- 
cellor and the wild cheers of the generous male students. A 
gathering of them at Alexandra College was a display of hand- 
some and healthy girls. So far from proving the charge of 
ugliness against learned women, they seemed to me far hand- 
somer than an ordinary assemblage of women. Clear-skinned 
and bright-eyed, straight and slender, they showed the gymna- 
sium and the absence of stays, the twenty miles' walk, which is 
not above the strength of those robust damsels, the happy work 
and endeavor which are the very salt to keep life healthy. 

I do not hold a brief for Alexandra College. If briefs were 
a-going I would far rather take one for my nuns, though I have 
thought fit to echo a little that friendly Cassandra voice in the 
Lyceum. But for the college to which the nuns would send the 
pick of their pupils, I am happy to say one might pick out 
almost a teaching staff from the Catholic girls of Alexandra. Miss 
Mary Hayden, perhaps the most brilliant staying girl we have, is 

VOL. LI. 40 



62O TV/A 1 1 Idll KK /:/',' ^ ///<)//( 1'ilKl.s. [Aug.. 

:hlic, the daughter of .1 distinguished Catholic physician, who 
ilk-il prematurely. Shi- h.i-- t..ken distinctions iniumi T.ihlr. ami 
received her M.A. last war. She is now in perhaps 

thinking of fresh kingdoms t conquer. Mi~> llaydcn might be 
the principal of a Catholic Woman's College. Th<-n there is Miss 
1 anny (iallaher, who is novelist, journalist, ami editor, and 
a professor at Alexandra before the London vortex drew her in. 
Then there is Mi-- 1 i.iwson, who i- at present teaching Latin in 
the college. Again, th< Mary Alacoque White, a signifi- 

cantly Catholic name, a past pupil of Lorett at, N.ivan. 

\\lio took honors in modern literature, with her B.A.. in i 
Miss Hannah Moylan, who won the Wilken's Memorial Kxhibition 
in mathematics at Trinity, taking eighty-five per cent, mark 
also a Catholic, and there are Mi Alberta Gore-Cuthbert. Mi-- 
Agnes Smyth, and others. 

It seems to me that our people cannot much longer be denied 
equal educational advantages with Protestants. If we don't give 
them a Catholic Harvard, or Girton, or Alexandra, they will -> 
to those places. I indeed hold with a certain great Irish bishop; 
now dead, that the danger of universities and such plao 
Catholics lies in a Catholic being isolated in them ; flood them 
with Catholics, and the danger is killed. But if the church will 
not have it -so, then give us a Catholic equivalent. In the case 
of Alexandra, as I have shown, it took neither great wealth 
time to accomplish, though to create a Catholic university might 
be an undertaking of enormous magnitude. 

I am not of 'those who hold secular learning unduly high. 
There are things far better, and I would secure them first of all 
for young people. Afterward, knowing both kinds of women. I 
say that the highly educated are the most simple, the most 
equable-tempered, the most charitable in speech and thought, the 
brightest and freest from weak sentiment. St. Catharine of Sienna 
and St. Catharine of Alexandria were not saints /'// spite of the 
capacity of the one and the learning of the other. 

In conclusion, I would not give the nuns my Harvard or 
Alexandra, because their circumstances forbid it. How could 
they hold intercourse with the secular professor and all the 
whom the affairs of the college would call into being ? I would 
have my college quite free from the restrictions which hamper, 
as her clinging gown does, the woman in religion. But I would 
let the young girls be trained in the convent. They will receive 
there a teaching never to be forgotten ; they will carry thence a 
memory of a dim chapel with a Presence and a throbbing light 



1 890. 1 MINOR TONES. 621 

like a heart ; they will be enfolded their year or two in an atmos- 
phere of purity beyond words. Very bjautiful is a convent, with 
its air where the sunbeam shows up no mote, where there are 
long rooms and corridors full of light and sunshine ; where green 
leaves come tapping against the windows, and the gardens out- 
side have their statues in every nook, with the flowers at the 
feet of them. Something of the poetry, and peace, and spotless- 
ness of the convent I would have for my Woman's College ; 
something of them it is sure to have, for such things gather 
like a cluster of doves wherever good women who are ladies are 
congregated. But my college will be a far busier place and less 
retired than those homes, by green pastures and pleasant waters, 

where * 

" The Brides of Christ 
Lie hid, emparadised." 

KATHARINE TYNAN. 



MINOR TONES. 

To turn the pages of the world's grand story, 
Interpret all the 'stirring scenes it holds 

The pomp of kings, the martyr's deathless glory, 
The long, bright pageant history unfolds : 

To climb the rugged, ever-brooding mountain ; 

To sail the trackless, ever-moving sea, 
And, drinking deep from some inspiring fountain, 

Translate for others was not given to me. 

But, if I sing to you of man's deep longing 

For the eternal of the rack of pain, 
Of homely joys about his footsteps thronging, 

Love, hope, and faith, and daily loss and gain, 

It is because, within my own heart swelling, 
I feel all laughter, and all tears I spend 

One of the thousands now for ages telling 
The same heart-histories that have no end. 

MARGARET H. LAWLESS. 



622 DEATH /.v LihE. [Aug., 



DEATH IN I.II-i:. 

SOMK miles from the hamlet of Monte-gut, in Louisiana, in the 
forest of Tcrrebonne, is a rude board hut, the dwelling of an 
old man who lives there alone, harmlessly mad. The last time I 
saw him was on a cloudy summer afternoon, a year ago. I 
found him seated on the trunk of a felled tree among his melon- 
vines, contemplating with absent ga/.e the green fruit nestled in 
their beds of hairy leaves and curling tendrils. His greeting, as 
always, was full of gentleness, but the serenity of his countenance 
did not conceal that he had sorrowed much, that his sorrow had 
fed on his brain. A pathetic dignity invested the old man 
which called up in one a reverential feeling, tempered, however, 
with a pity that brought unbidden moisture to the eyes. Of 
any such feeling on your part he was entirely unconscious. Nor 
did he betray by any word or action that he suffered, much less 
that he looked for sympathy. I do not believe he needed pity. 
He had ceased to remember the great tribulation through which 
he had passed, and he now waited passively for a heaven he had 
not forgotten, though the only sign he gave of its remembrance 
was a meditative ejaculation, uttered rarely, " The good God ! 
the good God ! " 

On this day I speak of I remained with him but a few 
minutes, for a storm was brewing, and I had a long journey to 
make before I could reach home. After I had bidden him good- 
by and had gone on my way, something impelled me to turn 
and take a last look at him. He still sat on the trunk of the 
felled tree, his hands folded on his lap, his head thrown back, 
his white beard sweeping his bare breast, his eyes gazing long- 
ingly on the pitchy sky seen through the rifts in the laced 
branches of the trees, the sullen reverberations of the thunder in 
his ears. 

I. 

Alcide whistled cheerily as only a light-hearted Creole can 
whistle, and the tune he whistled was " Dixie." We all whistled 
and sang "Dixie" in 1860, and we have not done witli the old 
tune yet. Only a matter of great importance could make happy 
Alcide pause in his whistling. He bent nearer to the mirror 
before which he stood, the whistle grew fainter, his lips un- 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 623 

puckered. After a moment his face broke into a smile, and 
" Dixie " trilled and shrilled again. He had parted his hair to 
his perfect satisfaction, and he hoped to Jeanne d'Naudry's 
also. 

There had been much talk about Alcide B'eriot and Jeanne 
d'Naudry. Jeanne, the prettiest girl in all the La Fourche 
country ; a girl, too, who would have an excellent dot fifteen 
thousand dollars and a good slice of a sugar plantation. She 
did not want for offers, Jeanne. One of the most importunate 
was Armand Lemaire, but him she would not look at. Armand 
was poor, you see, and he was nowhere beside Alcide Beriot 
for good looks. But with all his good looks and devil may-care 
good humor, Alcide was afraid before Jeanne. He had no 
cause to be afraid ; at all times Jeanne had a pleasant word 
for him and a shake of her hand the hand she favored no man 
with unless it were her father or her brother. And the misery 
Alcide would inflict on himself ! There was that love-vine 
You do not know what a love- vine is ? It is a parasitic plant; 
its tendrils a pinkish white, its leaflets whitish yellow, and it 
grows on the branches of trees. Young men gather a tendril 
and throw it on a tree-branch beneath the window of one they 
would woo. If their love is returned, the vine will flourish ; if 
not, the tendril dies. Alcide must needs throw a tendril on a 
branch of the orange-tree that used to look into Jeanne's bed- 
room. Next day the love-vine was a shrivelled thread. Alcide 
could not have taken it more to heart if Jeanne had publicly 
flouted him. How he ever heartened himself to ask her to be 
his wife was a mystery to us all. He did, though, and every- 
body was glad for Alcide's sake except one, Armand Lemaire. 

Although his happiness was but a day old, he could scarcely 
realize that he had feared to speak to Jeanne, so bold of heart 
was he now. His mother and his sisters greeted him with a 
sort of reverence when he passed out to mount his horse, 
arrayed to spend an evening at the d'Naudry plantation. Was 
he not the only son, and was he not about to take a wife ? 

Chee wee, chee wee, chee wee, trip, trip, trip auk, auk, auk, 
pree, pree, pree, White, Bob White, see soo soo oo oo, sang 
the mocking-birds, rejoicing in the light of the round, argent 
moon. The' zephyr stirred through the magnolias and perfumed 
itself with the breath of the flowers it kissed. The stars of the 
South in the deep purple heavens throbbed as they do not in 
the cold North, where they twinkle ; throbbed, keeping time with 
the sluggish flow of the serpentine bayou. Soft was the moon- 



6^4 DKATH i\ /.//A. [Aug.. 

light <>n Jeanne's t'.iir face, soft <>n tlic dan. on the 

breast of tin- distant lagoon. 

Jeanne leaned over the balustrade of the gallery and looked 
down at Alcide, as he looked up to bid her good-night 
"Jeanne," he said in a hushed voice, and for a moment the 
mocking-birds \\ere still as if to listen to him "Jeanne, how 
can you love nv 

Her deep black eyes met his dreamily, and her bosom 
heaved. She did not answer his question, but said: "It i> light 
as day; the road is like a white magnolia leaf." 

"And the cane-fields way off at the end are like the gulf on 
a summer's eve." "Jeanne," he pursued thoughtfully as he un- 
consciously stroked the down on his lip, " that is our road, all 
white, the end smooth sailing over a summer sea." 

Her arm hung listlessly over the balustrade, and he caught 
her hand and pressed it to his lips. She withdrew it gently, 
and reminded him of the lateness of the hour. " You will wait 
till I bring my horse around, Jeanne ? " he asked. 

Away beyond the long, broad fields of billowy, moon-silvered 
cane was the house of Armand Lemaire. A light was in one 
of its upper windows. Jeanne was gazing at the light, and, 
without removing her eyes, she said she would wait. 

It would be hard to picture a handsomer youth than slender, 
graceful Alcide Beriot on his black horse, as, bending down in 
the moonlight, he took Jeanne's outstretched hand to bid her 
good-night. " One kiss, Jeanne," he implored in a whisper. 
She offered him her white cheek, and what man would say she 
was not sweetest to kiss, and what girl would say it was not 
well to be kissed by him ? 

The mocking-birds chorused, Alcide whistled the merry tune 
of the " Bayou Blue Waltz," the hoofs of his horse went thud, 
thud over the loam, and Jeanne, staring after him, let her eyes 
snap, and whispered to herself, " Bctisc!" 

II. 

No one was prepared to say how it came to be that the 
Lemaires were poor. They possessed excellent land, their crops 
never failed, the men were sober, and looked well to it that 
their hands did not slur their work. The truth was, they lacked 
money-sense. Like most folk that lack this sense, they u 
charming family. The widow Lemaire was forty, plump, fair- 
haired, smooth of skin, fresh and hearty as a healthy rhild, 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 625 

and her accomplishments were without end. She could sing, she 
played the organ in the church, the piano at home ; 'and dance ! 
she was the model dancer for half the country round. All 
Creoles make good coffee, but the fragrant aroma of Madame 
Lemaire's coffee once enjoyed, returned to you in your happiest 
dreams. 

In spite of the handsome father who had begotten him, 
and the beautiful mother who gave him birth, Armand Lemaire 
was not remarkable for his good looks. Strong, well-built, with 
regular features, there was something unpleasing in his face. 
Was it the stolid stubbornness of his character that showed 
itself on his mouth and in his eyes ? Yet he was a good fellow, 
had hosts of friends, never quarrelled, and they said if any one 
offended him he never forgave. Just now he was not on the 
best of terms with Alcide Beriot. There had been nothing like 
a quarrel ; only when he met Alcide out riding, or at the house 
of an acquaintance, he barely noticed his sometime friend's 
attempts to draw him into conversation, failing to comprehend 
Alcide's good-natured endeavor not to appear too happy in his 
presence. Madame Lemaire was quick to perceive the change 
that took place in her son so soon after Jeanne promised to be 
Alcide's wife. She did not ask him why it was that he gave 
curt answers when she spoke to him, why he spent so much of 
his time abroad. She did not even ask him how it was that he, 
so temperate, came home one night drunken and abusive. She 
forgave him everything, but her heart was wroth with Jeanne, 
whom she blamed for Armand's wicked transformation. 

Nor did she conceal her anger from Jeanne. " You are a 
coquette, Jeanne," she accused, when, on one of her visits to 
the d'Naudry plantation, she found the girl alone. " For more 
than a year you led Armand on, and all the while you cast 
eyes at Alcide Beriot." For answer, Jeanne burst into tears 
and blurted out that Armand had never spoken to her of love. 
Madame Lemaire watched the girl curiously, her good-natured 
face broadening into a smile. " NLy poor child ! " she exclaimed, 
and the next moment Jeanne's head rested on her sympathetic 
bosom, and Jeanne's secret was confided to her. 

How long the rays of the sun that stretched across the 
fields of sugar-cane to touch the black trunks of the cypress, to 
seek for every crevice in the laced boughs of waxen green 
whereby to gain entrance to the forest ! The gentle wind had 
come far from the gulf, but its breath was still sweet and fresh 



626 DI-.ATII i.\ Lin . [Aug., 

with the odor of cool, briny water. A cow and its calf, that had 
wandered into the road away from herders and herd, stopped 
.i/e stupidly at the tall rose-bushes that formed a hedge 
between the ^ardi-n of the d'Naudrys and the outside world. 
In the orangery adjoining the garden the blue jays flitted and 
balanced themselves on the dark-green branches laden with 
golden fruit, the red top knot of a woodpecker glowed against 
the black trunk of a date-palm as he tappeil on the bark. 

" No, Armand, I cannot tell him," said Jeanne, as she leaned 
against a gnarled orange-tree partly for support, partly because 
the lines of her figure, all in white, showed well against the 
blackish green background. " And if I did, what then ? 
Father would not consent." 

" If you loved me, Jeanne, you would not seek reasons not 
to marry me," remonstrated Armand. 

She looked at him wistfully ; then, drawing a long sigh, her 
eyes closed, her arms fell helplessly. "You must arrange it 
all," she murmured. 

He sprang forward to embrace her, but she shrank aside. 
" No, no," she breathed, " I cannot let you touch me ! Armand, 
Armand, why did you not speak before ? " 

" Because I am poor, because you gave me no encourage- 
ment," he cried bitterly. "My God!" he continued, "you 
treated me that badly the mother had almost to swear to it 
before I would believe that you loved me ; and after all, do you 
love me ? " 

"You know I do," faltered Jeanne, "but I'm afraid." 

" Afraid ! " 

" Afraid of Alcide ; he will " she stopped abruptly. Alcide 
was coming from the house rather, he came dancing down the 
path slender, handsome, light of foot, like a young god re- 
joicing, he came towards them. 

" It was at this moment I spoke of you, monsieur," said 
Armand coldly. Jeanne, the finger-tips of one hand pressed to 
her lips, her head bent, drew closer to her tree. 

" Monsieur ! " exclaimed Alcide laughing heartily. " Why, 
Armand, my boy, what is it?" And he laid his hand affectionate- 
ly on Armand's neck. 

"O Armand, Armand!" cried Jeanne. Armand had struck 
down the friendly hand. 

Alcide's face was white to his very lips, his muscles 
hardened, his speech thickened. " I do not quarrel in the 
presence of women," he said. 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 627 

Jeanne did not understand him. She seized Armand's hand 
and implored him not to come to blows about her. Alcide, 
with great respect but with all of a lover's insistance, com- 
manded her to go to the house. " If you love me, go, 
Jeanne," he said. 

" But I do not love you," sobbed Jeanne. 

The only sound was the preet, preet of the jays among the 
orange-boughs, the suppressed sobs' of Jeanne. 

" Do you love that man ? " Alcide asked, at last. 

Jeanne hesitated. "You must answer me," Alcide insisted. 

Still she hesitated, and it was only the fear of what Armand 
might say that in the end made her bend her head in assent. 

Often afterwards, Jeanne said to Armand she could still hear 
the groan of despair Alcide uttered. It found an echo even in 
the heart of Armand, for he said : " Alcide, my friend, pardon 
my rudeness to you. It is this, Alcide : Jeanne and I have 
loved one another for a long, long time, and I dared not speak; 
you know, my friend, how poor we are at Mignonette plan- 
tation." 

Jeanne wept anew ; Alcide felt as if every drop of his blood 
was rushing to his head. 

" How unhappy I have made you. But you have deceived 
me, Jeanne," he groaned. 

"I will be your wife if you insist," she sobbed. 

" No Jeanne, not that," he said quietly. "Now, Jeanne, leave 
Armand and me ; we wish to talk no, no, there is no quarrel 
we are friends. Armand will go to the house presently." 

Her eyes asked Armand for counsel, and his told her to 
do as Alcide said. 

Jeanne looked earnestly at Alcide ; her cheeks flushed/ and 
she said, " You are good, Alcide how good ! " He srniled,' 
somewhat of bitterness in his smile. Her face now flamed" and. 
she hurried away, but when she reached the garden-gate", "her 
hand on the latch, she turned to look at the two men. They 
were deep in conversation, and presently she heard Alcide 
laugh, and then Armand grasped his hand warmly. Which 
was strange, Armand not being of a demonstrative nature. 

Wonder was expressed when Armand Lemaire paid off the 
mortgages on Mignonette plantation. No one connected Al- 
cide Beriot's trip to New Orleans with Armand's being supplied 
with ready money. When it was known that Armand and not 
Alcide was to marry Jeanne d'Naudry, then people not only 
wondered but talked without exhaustion. 



/>/.- /// /.v Li; [At 

III. 

'\'\K- spring "I iS6l. The square <>f the little town of 
Hoimia ; a tall pule erected in its centre from which flutter> 
the flag of the Confederacy. A crowd of cheering men and 
!M>\-. women and girls; a band playing " Dixie"; horsemen shout- 
tlu-ir horses plunging; vehicles of every description, their 
occupants for the most part, gayly-dressed girls; who laugh 
and sing and clap their hands with an exuberance of joy that 
will not be repressed. Bette Heriot, from her percli 0:1 .1 -.pring- 

;on, c.ills, " Alcide!" He comes running ami she hands down 
to him a great wreath of roses. His arm p.i^cd through the 
wreath, hand over hand he climbs the pole. A great hush 
has fallen over the crowd. Hand over hand once he slips, 
recovers himself up, up, his eyes always looking upward he 
has reached the top, the wreath crowns the flag. Frantic with 
love and enthusiasm for the new-born banner, they cheer, they 
yell, they shout; the band plays, the report of firearms mi; 
with the chant of an improvised choir. Fort Moultrie's guns 
have been heard in far-off Terrebonne, and even as they sin- 
their hallelujahs of victory to come the banners crown of 
roses wilts and withers in the unkindly heat. 

In those days war was the one thing talked of. The very 
boys longed to be in the ranks, and to their rage and shame 
their longings were laughed at. What a consolation it would 
have been to them to know that their time to don the gray was 
near at hand! But the men of all ages: they hurried to join 
the army, their mothers and sisters, their wives and daughters 
rejoicing to see them go. Armand Lemaire held his wife to his 
heart, his mother smiled through her tears, and he was off 
Captain Lemaire to head his company. One of that company 
was Lieutenant Beriot Alcide, who had kept himself aloof from 
his friends for months past. 

IV. 

Alcide Beriot carried with him to battle a wound more 
serious than any the foe could inflict ; a wound that would not 
kill him, that did cause him constant pain. If by any chance 
the pain showed signs of wearing itself out, the sight of his 
captain renewed his torture. Were not the lips that commanded 
or greeted him lips that had given a lover's and a hu-l>. nut's 
kisses to Jeanne? Were not his arms the arms that had held 
her in warmest embrace ? 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 

His sorrow did not make him reckless; he did not shun 
danger, for he was brave ; neither did he court it, for 
when his country was made he would have another duty to 
perform his mother to care for, and something told him that 
.Mignonette plantation would again need his help. Months and 
years passed by, and the days of them that were not scarlet 
were few. News from home, always seldom to come, at last 
came not at all. Louisiana, almost from the beginning, had 
been one vast battle-field. Now the Terrebonne was held by 
the foe, again in the hands of her friends, till at last there were 
none left but boys to defend the homes of their fathers. 

Perhaps it was harder for Armand to endure life without a 
word from home than it was for Alcide. When he had put on 
his coat of gray, Jeanne had been his bride for but two short 
months. It would have been better for these two men if they 
could have talked to one another of home ; but they could not, 
their hearts being too full of Jeanne. 

The splendor of the Confederate flag had taken the shape of 
a cross of stars, in whose shadow a nation wept and prayed 
and fought, when Alcide for a third time was to show his 
great love for Jeanne. He had given up his right to her that 
she might be happy with Armand. He had freed Mignonette 
plantation from debt in order that Jeanne's father should have 
no reason to refuse her hand to Armand. And now he was to 
be called on to risk his life for her sake. It was in one of the 
last struggles of a dying nation, a struggle in which wearied, 
foot-sore, starving, outfought men battled in the shadow of 
defeat, Death the conqueror. 

The night before the battle Armand went to Alcide's quarters 
on business that concerned the morrow. He found Alcide intent 
in prayer, and he knelt beside him ; and the two prayed together 
as, when boys, they had prayed side by side in the chapel ot 
Mary. When they rose from their knees they grasped one 
another by the hand, and Alcide's heart was stirred for Armand 
with the -love of friendship that had once been so warm. They 
spoke together of Jeanne freely, and Alcide received many 
messages to carry her, should to-morrow be Armand's last. 
They had been in so many battles that it could not have been 
the thought of the morrow alone that made them again warm 
friends. Could it in some shadowy way have come to their 
knowledge that for one of them the night would never be again ? 

Before daybreak the dull boom of the cannonade had begun, 
and the April sun rose from behind a rolling cloud of smoke. 



630 I^KATII /.v /./A/-:. [Aug., 

broken by hissing shell that burst anil threw out phosphorescent 
lights where the smoke was blackest. A streak of intermittent 
flame marked the spot where stood the cannoneers. To the right 
a sudden flame shot upward, and scattered broadcast starry 
sparks that faded and died in the skyward coiling smoke. The 
cabin, Alcide's quarters, v as ablaze. Hotter and hotter grew 
the galling fire, the air loud with the detonation of shot, the 
screaming of shell, the crashing of timber, and up rose the rebel 
yell, sturdy and clear. 

Could that battery be taken? "Fix bayonets charge!" 
the order was shouted. On, on, into the face of the storm of 
grape-shot and minie-balls, into the red hell of death. Officers 
and men are falling like cane before the knife of the reaper. 
Alcide bears a charmed life. The color-bean-r is down ; a 
comrade seizes the flag ; " My God ! " his heart shall never beat 
again ; and now it is Alcide who flaunts in flame and smoke the 
cross of stars. Beyond a dense pine underbrush, through rifts in 
the fire storm, were the victory-flushed enemy. This to the 
front. Feebler rose the rebel yell from the thinning ranks a 
hushed cry of dismay. From the rear, and to the right and left, 
shot and shell fell fast. 

" Save yourself who can ! " 'On every side the enemy. Alcide 
stands by his friend ; a sabre flashes downward, eager for 
Armand. Shall Alcide go home to tell Jeanne that Armand is 
dead ? No ! His eyes swim ; keen has the blade cut, nigh to 
his brain. 

And when he woke the night mists from the river were 
falling, and his head was pillowed on the dead heart of Armand. 

V. 

Late on an August afternoon in 1865 a man plodded pain- 
fully along the bayou road in the direction of Mignonette plan- 
tation. He wore tattered rags, his feet bulged from out his 
broken boots, and his hat covered a head about which was 
wound a much-soiled muslin bandage. He looked neither to 
the right nor to the left, but kept his head bent, his eyes cast 
on the ground as he walked.. Only once, when passing what 
had been the d'Naudry plantation, he let his eyes glance at the 
blackened ruins of the dwelling, at the gardens and fields, now 
an easy prey to the weeds. A sob and a groan escaped him, 
he struck his hands together twice or thrice, and then made 
such feeble haste on his way as his sorely tried feet would permit. 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 631 

The land was just recovering from a flood caused when 
the invaders cut the levees. . Here the road was thick with un- 
trodden dust, there ankle-deep in mud and water. The swift- 
blowing breeze scattered abroad miasmatic vapors, and the 
swampy woods were alive with the croaking of frogs. The hot 
sun looked in the bayou, and its waters were red as the blood 
that Alcide had shed for naught. 

The man had gone about half a mile from the d'Naudry 
plantation when he stopped his halting gait to look about for 
the road he knew led to Mignonette. For a moment he 
thought he must have passed it, and then he understood. It 
had changed, as had all things else in Terrebonne. What had 
been a road was now a tangled mass of underbrush. With 
much difficulty he made his way through the brush, for the 
briers caught at his rags as if they would detain him, treacher- 
ous vines tangled his feet. At last he stood in what had once 
been a garden, before a house with a gallery on three of its 
sides. 

A woman who had been sitting on the gallery rose when 
she perceived the man and advanced to meet him, a boy of 
some four years clinging to the skirts of her washed-out calico 
gown. " What is it you want ? " she called, and tried in the 
gathering darkness to make out who the man was. 

" You do not know me, Jeanne ? " asked the man as he 
limped forward to where she stood on the gallery steps. 

She hesitated a moment, then said quietly, extending her 
hand for him to take : " Alcide ? Yes I know you now ; I was 
not expecting any one. Armand, he is coming soon ?" she con- 
tinued, her voice wavering. 

Again Alcide made that motion of beating together his 
hands. By a great effort he controlled himself, and was about 
to speak when she interrupted him to say : " You need not tell 
me if it hurts you Armand is dead." 

He stared at her, helplessly, and no word of comfort came to 
him to say. " Won't you come up on the gallery and rest 
yourself, Alcide ? " she asked absently. He was about to ascend 
the steps when, suddenly, she threw up her hands and cried, 
" Armand ! Armand ! " and fell to the floor. He snatched up a 
gourd half-full of water and laved her forehead and hands, and 
even in his distress he noted that his dust-stained fingers soiled 
her worn face. All the while the boy wept and stormed at 
him for having killed his mother. For some moments he al- 
most believed the boy to be right, that Jeanne was dead ; but 



Dr. A Til IX /./ [Aug., 

after .1 little sin- opened her eyes and -;; fall 

back en his Mipporting arm. 

" le.mnc," he said huskily, " let i; "-\ u-, \ 

cannot ;_;et to your b.-d." Then he r.iis-.-d lier in hi- arm- and 
d with his burden into a sleeping-room opening onto the 
:.-r\, and laid her on the bed. The child clambered up to 
her side, she put her arms about hi.n and let him weep against 
her neck, making no effort to quiet him. 

It u.i- now dark, and Alcide searched for means to mak 
light. Finding nothing, he felt his way to the bedside and 
asked Jeanne where was the lamp or had she candle-. " Pardon 
me for disturbing you," he said ; " 1 am very stupid, but I c 
find nothing." 

At the sound of his voice the boy hushed his \\ecping. and 
Jeanne said: "There is no oil; I have no candles. There i- n 
food either, and you must be hungry," she added. 

11 Now, Jeanne," announced Alcide, striving to impart a 
sprightliness to the tone of his voice, " I am going over to the 
store. Is the store there yet ? " 

"Yes," she answered. "A stranger has it; I have forgotten 
his name. I have no money," she faltered. 

" Never mind, never mind," he said soothingly. " You stay 
as you are till I return." 

More than two hours had elapsed before Alcide returned with 
a little stock of provisions and the small necessaries missing at 
Mignonette. Jeanne had kindled a fire in the dismantled parlor 
the house had been damp ever since the overflow, she explained 
and the child was asleep in the adjoining bed-room. She did 
not appear to have noticed that he had been gone long, that he 
looked weary, that he was lame. Neither did she, absorbed in 
her grief, offer to help him when he set to work to prepare a 
meal, boiling water for the coffee, broiling a slice of ham. It 
was not till he pressed her to eat that she again showed con- 
sciousness of his presence. Then, though she refused the food. 
she thanked him, and roused the child to bring him to the 
table. The boy ate ravenously. " He has had no food to-day." 
she said impassively. 

Though she dwelt deep in his heart, though he longed to be 
able to comfort her, he respected her grief with a great rever- 
ence that forbade him to speak, for he felt that words would 
but torment her. 

After the boy had eaten she made a feint of clearing the 
table, but gave it up, and went to a chair on the gallery, where 



i8yo.] DEATH it\' LIFE. 633 

she sat and let the child slumber in her arms. After a time 
Alcide said: "I'll put the boy to bed; you must be tired hold- 
ing him." 

" No," she answered simply, " he does not tire me ; he is all 
I have left of Armaiul." Then something like a sob choked her 
further utterance. 

It was after this that she asked him how Armand had lost 
his life ; and when he had told her how bravely Armand had 
fought, and how a spent ball had marked him for death, saying 
nothing of how he, Alcide, had offered his life in vain to save 
her man for her, Jeanne's tongue loosened, and she told him 
of the death of his mother, of which he had not heard. Then 
she went on to say that few of the old neighbors were left, that 
those who were left were nearly as destitute as herself. They 
talke'd late into the night, and when she left him Alcide 
stretched himself on a cushioned bench and, wearied out, fell 
into a dreamless sleep. 

VI. 

Alcide set to work with a will to remake a home in the 
desolation he found at his plantation of Azalea. In this he was 
heartened by the thought that success meant comfort and inde- 
pendence for Jeanne and her boy, the little Armand. The first 
thing he did after the miserable night spent at Mignonette was 
to have Jeanne and the boy taken to an aunt of his in Houma, 
where they would be cared for. (Madame Lemaire had opened a 
millinery shop on a small scale in New Orleans.) To this aunt's 
house he went every Sunday, seeing little of Jeanne, but much 
of the boy, to whom he became greatly attached. 

As he possessed but little ready money, he could cultivate 
his plantation in part only. Still, by persevering effort, sheer 
bodily toil, he did make a humble home, did lay by a small 
competency for Armand's widow and son. People wondered, as 
the years passed by, that Jeanne and Alcide did not marry. It 
would be such a good thing for them both, and for the boy. 
Nothing could be more proper. The aunt, knowing what Alcide 
wished, thought that Jeanne showed a mean spirit to suffer 
Alcide to support her and not give him the right to call her 
wife. That is, if Alcide had asked her, as she suspected he had. 
She was right in her suspicion. Two years after he had been 
home-building Alcide did entreat Jeanne to come to the home 
ready to receive her. She heard what he had to say, then told 



634 />/:/ TV/ IN /.///:. [Aug., 

him she would never marry. " When I go to Armand," she 
saul, " I must he as lie left me ; and indeed, Alcide, I am grate- 
ful to you. What would his boy be but for you? Hut, Alcide, I 
cannot, cannot love you in that way." 

As had once before happened, Alcide felt the blood rush to 
his head, and, without a word to urge Jeanne- to change her 
mind, he went back to Azalea. For nearly two weeks he kept 
within doors, seeing no one save Pierre Coreil, who worked tin- 
plantation on shares with him, and Coreil as seldom and for a- 
short a time as the urgency of the business on hand would 
permit. A gradual but marked change was taking place in 
Alcide. Always notable for sweetness of temper, he now was 
subject at long intervals to almost uncontrollable tiN of rage, 
followed Oy hours of moroseness and remorse. On one occasion 
he quarrelled with Coreil, and it was whispered he had drawn a 
pistol on the man. Whether it was that Coreil understood the 
nature of his partner's disease and pitied him, or whether it was 
through policy, he did not resent the outrage put upon him, 
and when questioned about it denied the story, though there 
were witnesses ready to swear that they saw the pistol in 
Alcide's hand. 

On another occasion Alcide's aunt, partly to satisfy her 
curiosity as to whether or not Alcide had spoken to Jeanne, 
partly from a sincere desire to bring the twain together, urged 
on him the importance of Jeanne's position in life being fixed. 
" She ought to marry for the boy's sake, if for nothing else," 
she said ; and added, in a half-whisper, " If you are not careful, 
Alcide, Raoul Danjean will get ahead of you. He is casting 
eyes that way now." 

Then Alcide seized his aunt by the arm so roughly that she 
cried out with pain. " He did foam at the mouth like a dog," 
she related afterwards. " What did he say ? Now, that is what 
I call droll ! He said nothing, only pierced me with his eyes ; 
and I tell you I was glad, yes, when he let me go. I cried 
through fright for an hour afterwards." 

A week after this scene with his aunt Alcide came to her, 
very penitent, and begged her pardon. " Has Danjean been here 
of late ? " he asked when the pardon had been granted gladly. 

The aunt was afraid to answer, for the truth was Danjean 
was at that moment on the back gallery with Jeanne. Did 
Alcide but listen he would hear them conversing. He did hear 
them, for he said quietly, to his aunt's great relief: "Oh! he is 
here; Danjean is a good fellow; I'll go back and see him. 



4890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 635 

And he walked by her, through the broad passage-way, on to 
the gallery. 

Jeanne sat in a low rocking-chair, her hands folded on the 
sewing spread on her lap, her head bent, her cheeks flushed. 
Danjcan sat opposite Jeanne, his eyes eagerly watching her, his 
body bent forward in an attitude of absorbed attention. Out- 
side in the garden the boy, Armand, chased a butterfly, shout- 
ing and laughing at the top of his voice. 

Alcide greeted them abruptly ; dragged a chair forward to 
seat himself; changed his mind, and set it against the wall. 
" What is it, Alcide ? " asked Danjean. " You do not look well ; 
is it fever ? " 

Alcide did not look well, and he began to look savage. He 
drew in his breath and said to Jeanne, " Is it true ? " 

She was frightened. He had been kind to her ; she had 
been unappreciative, and perhaps she might have married Dan- 
jean. Who can tell ? " Is what true ? " she asked, her eyes 
appealing to him to restrain himself. 

"No! I :<.'/// have it out," was his answer. "You are going 
to " he hesitated, and Danjean spoke for her. " You wish to 
know if Jeanne is to be my wife ? I have just asked her. You 
have a right to know, Alcide ; but you have not a right to be 
brutal." 

Alcide gazed apprehensively from one to the other; then 
something like a smile, a smile not without its pathos, trembled 
on his lips. " I beg Jeanne's pardon," he said gently ; " I 
should not have interfered ; I will go away, that she may give 
her answer." 

Danjean sprang to his feet, extended his hand, and cried : 
' " Alcide, there never was a man like you. 'You won't take my 
hand ? " for Alcide drew back. 

" No ! no ! " he shouted. "I will not take your hand ; I could 
kill you, Danjean, but I cannot be another Judas. My little 
Armand." His voice trembled, and he stooped to caress the boy, 
who, attracted by the loud voices, had left the pursuit of the 
butterfly to steal to Alcide's side. Alcide brought him toys and 
sweets, was always gentle with him, had often begged him off 
from a punishment the aunt would have inflicted. 

The presence of the child quieted the storm, and in the calm 
Jeanne said : " I am sorry for all this ; I have so often said I 
shall never marry " Here she broke down. " It is cruel to 
torment me so, Monsieur Danjean," she pouted, after a moment 
to recover herself. 

VOL. I.I. 41 



636 DEATH /.v /./. [Aug.. 

D.mjcan, a shadow of annoyance on his face, strode to where 
she sat. " \\'ill madame pardon me if I say I think she does 
not know her own mind ? " he said with a low bow, and walked 

>' 

The child was now begging Alcide for -\\ " Bonbon-^ 

'Cede ; bonbons," he cried. 

r once lie did not heed the t><>v, t>ut looked sadly at 
Jeanne for an explanation of I (.mje.m's parting won)--. " 1'id he 
have reason to believe you cared for him, Jeanne ? " he asked. 

"Tut! no; as if I could care fur him, after Armand ! " -he 
exclaimed; and added, carelessly: "It it were any <>ne. it would 
be you, Alcide." 

The veins of his neck, his forehead, and clinched h.r 
swelled, and he said, his voice hushed from the emotion he could 
scarcely control: "Will you marry me, Jeanne?" 

Yesterday she would have said no; to-day she felt driven to 
say yes. " I will be your wife after three months," she promised. 

He looked dazedly at her; then, a _ lad smile on his lips, he 
cried: "May the good Gml reward you, Jeanne. You love me .1 
little ? " 

She had been a spoiled child, a spoiled wife, and all her 
troubles had not made her less selfish. " I do not love you, but 
it is proper I marry you, for everything I have comes from you " 

He held up his hand to check her speech. " You h 
spoken enough," he said calmly ; " I shall not come again." And 
having kissed the child, he went away, in the passage pushing 
aside the aunt who would have stopped him to talk. 

VII. 

It was a sickly winter. The land, not properly drained since 
the cutting of the levee, filled the air with fever, and many were 
stricken down among them Jeanne. 

For months past Alcide had not left his plantation, avoiding 
his fellows and avoided by them, for it began to be whispered 
abroad that Alcide Beriot was not right in his mind. Some -aid 
that he had been more or less mad ever since lie had received a 
sabre-cut in the war. But when he heard that Jeanne was 
dying he saddled his horse ami rode to town. I'lm-e who met 
him on the way remarked that he had a strange look a 
haunted look. 

They took him immediately to the chamber where she lay, 
for, as the aunt told him, he was just in time to see Jeanne 



1890.] DEATH IN LIFE. 637 

before she died. " The priest has been," she whispered, " and 
Jeanne has asked for you, Alcide." He heard her gravely, as 
fitted the occasion, but gave no signs of undue distress, and his 
aunt congratulated herself that his heart was not "pierced." 

Unconscious of the solemnity of the time, the boy romped 
on the floor with his pet kitten. At sight of Alcide, he called 
out to him to know why it was he had stayed so long away, 
and had he brought him bonbons ? 

Jeanne feebly stretched out her hand to him, and as he held 
it, one would have said that it was indifference he felt, so little 
of emotion was expressed in his face. " Alcide," she whispered 
laboredly, " my boy, little Armand !" 

" He shall be to me as my son," he replied. 

The smile of thanks she would have given him was inter- 
rupted by death. 

He knelt beside the bed and drew her face to his. Never 
before had his lips touched hers, and their coldness froze his 
heart and his brain. 

VIII. 

Because Alcide Beriot had been looked upon for so long a 
time as a man not in his senses, the aunt demurred when he 
came, after the burial of Jeanne, to take the boy, Armand, to 
Azalea. The child was best with her, she said, and the neigh- 
bors coincided with her, and had it not been for the parish cure, 
Pere Chasse, the aunt would have had her way. " You should 
let the child go to Alcide," argued the good priest ; " it will be 
best for the boy. Alcide has a brave heart; the child will be 
all the better for being with him. And Alcide, too; he loves 
the child ; that is what the brave fellow wants love ; and Armand 
cannot help but love him. You shall see it will be all right." 

So little Armand went to Azalea, and for a time it was as 
Pere Chasse said it would be. The new home, where his will 
was law, was a happy change for the child from the restrictions 
of Tante Louise. In a way he returned the love of his bene- 
factor, and Alcide, no longer morose, youthened in the light of 
the child's countenance, was gladdened by his childish caresses. 
He had something to live for, and as long as he felt that he had 
this something his mind was clear. 

The long, long summers of fruits and flowers and soft south- 
ern gales, the short winters of north winds that lost their chill 
before they reached the Terrebonne, went one by one till Ar- 
mand was sixteen. And every passing year brought less of 






/'A.47'// /.v LIFE. [An- . 

i. mil". TI to Alcidc, for In- -aw the thin},' for which lie lived 

.MIL; "iri- and more c-tran-ed. " lie i- sixteen, In- should LM> 
to tin- college." advised tlic neighbors, and to college he was sent. 

.Alcidc waited anxiously for the vacation-;, the- old in<>; 
sc-i/ing on liini till he was avoided as he had been once be 
In the days before the day on which Armand was to return, he 
spent all his time in preparations for the boy's having happy 
holidays. The watch and silver-mounted ^un .Armand had IOIIL; 
de-ired were bought in New Orleans, and such a horse as \\.i- 
to be the boy's was not in all Tcrrebonne. Rouge et Noir was 
a mettlesome beast, not well used to the saddle. " I'll give you 
a lesson before sundown, my beauty," Alcide declared on the 
morning the horse was brought to Azalea. It wa> a hot day in 
July, and when he returned late in the afternoon from the field, 
where he had been overseeing, he was heated, tired, his head 
burning not at all in a humor for giving the promised \. 

rtheless it would be given, for on the morrow Armand 
would be home. 

No one was about, so Alcide himself led the horse from the 
stable. A masterful animal, the sun forming arcs of light on his 
polished coat as he danced across the bit of greensward, follow- 
ing Alcide's lead. Neither the horse nor the man were in a 
mood for trifling, neither in a mood to be conquered. ROUL, 
Noir reared, his long tail swept the ground viciously, he trum- 
peted his defiance. Alcide set his teeth, grasped the bridle, 
held Rouge et Noir's mouth as in a vice, and with his mad 
strength slowly, surely drew the animal down on all fours. 
Rouge et Noir gave a sudden lunge to the off; Alcide's vice- 
like grasp righted him. Quicker than thought he vaulted on to 
Rouge et Noir's back and dug his knees into the animal's an- 
grily-palpitating sides. Down went his head, aloft he flung it, 
again he trumpeted his rage ; a lunge forward, again erect, and 
then he tore in giddy circles about the greensward. His hoofs 
rooted up the grass, flung the mould ; he swung Alcide against 
the palings of the enclosure, not unseating him, and ever tighter 
and tighter Alcide drew the rein. Less swift and less swift 
Rouge et Noir's gallop of fire. Tenser and tenser the hold of 
Alcide. Slower and slower the trot, with now and again a wild 
spurt for freedom. And now, sighing, and panting, and sweat- 
ing, his flanks steaming and foam-flecked and quivering, Rouge 
et Noir stands head hung and conquered. 

If Alcide succeeded in conquering Rouge et Noir, the con- 
quest finished what had begun years before in the d'Naudry 



1890.] DEATH IN /.///-. 639 

orangery, when he discovered Jeanne's love for Armand Lemaire. 
On that day his reason received a shock. Bitter disappointment 
followed hard on the gangrened heels of trouble, and drove 
Reason, with violence stoutly resisted, from her dwelling-place in 
an honest brain that was subservient to his high-strung, honor- 
able heart, and on this July afternoon, when Coreil came up to 
Azalea to consult with Alcide as to whether or not the gang of 
hands should be added to, he found the plantation's master a-bed 
in the delirium of fever. Alcide arose from this bed of oblivion 
a harmless, witless man, nothing left him save a capacity for 
suffering only less than infinite. 

Armand had returned from college while Alcide lay wooing 
death. He had watched by the bed of the man to whom he 
owed everything in a perfunctory way, but even so little of duty as 
he gave was very wearisome to him. Neither did the knowledge 
that Alcide's recovery was rapid since he watched bring much 
of comfort to him, nor did it rejoice him to know how greatly 
he was loved. It was harder for him when Alcide got about 
and healthened in the delight of his company, more even than 
in the balm of air and sunshine. He was young. What pleasure 
could he find in the companionship of this broken man ? 

IX. 

Coreil now took entire charge of the plantation, and Alcide 
submitted tamely to all he suggested. It was well, for Coreil 
was an upright man. Now it was, too, that the aunt and her 
people in Houma urged that Armand leave Azalea to come and 
live with them. They spoke gently to Alcide of this, and he 
said, Leave it to the boy. But the aunt suggested, Let there be 
a family council ; and Alcide, taking a long while to consider, 
his brain working slowly, agreed. Then the aunt, and her people, 
and Coreil as business manager he was one of the family met 
in the long sitting-room at Azalea. 

They all felt a constraint in Alcide's presence, an awkward- 
ness and a shame for what they were about to do, although 
they were sincere in their belief that Armand should leave 
Azalea. No one spoke ; each waited for another to begin, when 
Alcide rose from his chair and said : " My friends, I do not see 
the need of your putting yourselves to trouble about a matter 
that, after all, concerns Armand alone. Let him be the judge ; 
it is but fair and just." 

They stared at him in amazement. The man- was transformed. 



640 HEATH i\ I. in-:. [Aug., 

His eye> shone witli the light of reason; love for Jeanne's child 
had kindled the flame. He appeared t<> have grown young again ; 
imt that he was so old in years, but trouble had aged him. 
Once more he was the handsome youth who had wooed Jeanne 
under the white moon. 

He turned to Armand, and in a gentle voice, a smile on his 
lips, bade him decide for himself whether it were best that he 
remain at Azalea or go to the aunt in H<>um.i. And he 
cautioned him not to bear in mind that he, Alcide Ik-riot, loved 
him as a brother, or as his father would have loved him had he 
lived, but to decide as would best forward his, Armand's, inter- 
ests in the future. 

Armand looked away from him out of the window, on the 
white road, the swaying oaks and stunted palms ; and the 
music of violins, the sound of tripping feet rung in his ears, 
the laughter of girls and the chorus of boyish voic< 

He did not turn his face as he said : " I do not mind 
for myself, but I think it is best for you all that I go to 
Houma to live." 

The smile that flickered on Alcide's face left it ; but, tuned 
by his gentle heart, the voice was sweet and gentle that ap- 
proved of Armand's choice. 

The next day, when Coreil came to Azalea, Alcide had 
disappeared. A fruitless search was made for him. Months 
passed by, and then a party of hunters for deer came across 
him dwelling in a hut under an old oak-tree. They spoke 
to him of his friends; he remembered nothing. His wits were 
entirely gone, his speech indistinct. When they tried to in- 
duce him to return with them, he entreated them so can 
ly to leave him alone that they desisted. Others who came 
to him were met by the same entreaties. He wished to be 
alone. His property had been settled on Armand Lemaire, he 
was content to be alone, so they granted him his wish, but 
they were careful to see that he did not want. 

The rushing wind sweeps the ever- green foliage of the 
oaks into great swaths ; the storm tosses and swirls the long, 
gray-bearded mosses ; the majestic magnolia sheds a myriad 
of ivory petals over the lush ripe grass, and whitens Un- 
bosom of the turbulent bayou ; the lightning quivers and 
flashes in the dense heavy shadows ; the thunder claps harshly 
jubilant in the far-away distance, and Beriot, unmoved, sits 
patiently waiting. HAI>I.H I)ih>v 



1890.] THE ANT. . 641 



THE ANT. 

I\ the entomological world no insect is so interesting as the 
ant. Such is its marvellous instinct, so near does it come to the 
appearance of reason, that we might well disbelieve the stories 
we hear about it if their truth were not vouched for by natural- 
ists such as Lubbock, Darwin, MacCook, Belt, Bates, Lincecum, 
Biichner, and others, who in different parts of the world have 
studied the habits of widely different species of ants. 

Sir John Lubbock has made experiments on the influence of 
different colored lights upon this insect, and he tells us that 
under a slip of red glass 890 ants gathered, under green 544, 
under yellow 49.5, while only 5 gathered under violet- tinted 
glass. His experiments show that the stained glasses act on the 
ant in a graduated series, corresponding with the order of their 
influence on a photographic plate ; and as most species of ants 
are fond of darkness, it has been suggested that the reason of 
their graduated aversion to different-colored lights may be owing 
to their eyes being less influenced by rays of low rather than by 
rays of high refrangibility. In regard to the ant's hearing, it is 
found that loud noises and musical sounds produce no effect 
whatever upon it. It would seem to depend mainly on the 
sense of smell in following a trail and in procuring food. But 
besides its scent, the ant is very much helped to find its way 
about by the mysterious sense of direction, which it possesses in 
an extraordinary degree. 

Friendship among ants is shown by stroking antennae ; and 
ants of the same nest, seemingly countless as they are, know 
one another and immediately recognize an ant from another 
nest ; him they generally put to death when he dares to come 
among them, even though he may be of the same species. 
Lubbock kept an ant separated from its formicarium for over a 
year. When he replaced it among its kindred they knew it at 
once. But more astonishing than this is the fact that an ant 
taken away from the nest while still immature and in the con- 
dition of pup?e, will be hailed as a fellow and kindly treated if 
after emerging from that state as a perfect ant it be restored to 
the nest whence it had been taken. Naturalists, however, do 
not yet. know the mode whereby ants recognize one another. 



'.42 TV//; .Ivr. [Aug., 



rk -a\ - that "tlu- recognition <>i ant- i- not p ; r-onal and 
iiuliviilual ; tli.it their harmony is not due ID the fact th.it e.u h 
ant is individually acquainted with every other member of the 
community. At the same time the fact that they recognize their 
friends even when intoxicated, and that they know the young 
born in their own nest even when they have been brought out <>f 
the chrysalis by strap <-ms to indicate that tli nition 

is not effected by means of any -i-n or pa-sword" 

Hut that ants are able to communicate with one another by 
some substitute for language is now generally hi Yet this 

power is certainly not by means of sound. Mr. Belt believes 
that they can warn their friends of danger, and tell them where 
booty is to be found, by the intensity or qualit- -.he odors 

they give out. No insect is so pugnacious and rapacious as the 
ant, while among many species tenderness and pity are feebly 
developed. An ant in difficulties will often be neglected by its 
comrades, though when intoxicated they will generally carry it 
into the nest. But all species of ants arc not devoid of. sympa- 
thy. A specimen of Formica fi/sca, mentioned by Lubbock, wa- 
set upon and hurt by an ant of another ip Lubbock 

stopped the fight, and he tells us that another ant bclon 
to the same community as the sufferer presently appeared, 
examined its wounds with the greatest solicitude, after which 
it lifted it upon its back and carried it off to the not. 
And Mr. Belt in Xatnralist in \icaragita says that he 
covered an ant with a piece of clay, leaving only the tips of it- 
antenna? visible. It was soon discovered by its mates, who 
at once began to bite off bits of the clay and finally set it 
free. 

The swarming, or what may be called the wedding flight, of 
ants generally takes place in July or August. When this 
important time has come the mouths of the nest aie wid 
by the workers or neuter ants, while on top of the nest is un- 
common bustle and excitement. Of a sudden the winged male- 
and females rise up in a dense cloud, and for several hours this 
insect nebula hovers round and round some tree or other lofty 
object in the vicinity; and it is during this brief life in the air 
that fertilization is effected. When the honeymoon is ended 
the swarm descend to the earth, where the males fall a prey 
to birds and spiders; for the workers, even of their own nest. 
knowing that their usefulness is over, pass them by as if they 
were strangers ; and most of the fertilized females -hare the 



1890.] THE ANT. 643 

same fate. Hut a certain number of the latter find places of 
concealment, where they immediately pull off their wings and 
lay their eggs. And it is interesting to see the workers nursing 
the eggs, for without this care they would not develop into 
larva;. The nursing consists in licking the eggs, which licking 
causes them to increase in size until in about a fortnight the 
larvae arc hatched out. The workers now feed the young larvae 
by putting their mouths to their own, and throwing up food into 
their intestinal tract. They also carry them up to bask in the 
sunshine, and when it rains they brings them down into the 
nest. When the larvae are fully grown they spin cocoons and 
become what are called pupae. While in this state food is not 
necessary. Nevertheless, the workers see that they are kept 
warm and dry, and when at length the hour arrives for them to 
come forth as perfect ants, the workers bite holes through the 
chrysalis which contains them, and so help their little kindred to 
come out. The first thing the workers now do is to wash, 
brush, and feed the baby ants, after which they drag all the 
empty cocoons outside the nest, where they pile them in a heap 
as far away as possible. But this is not all the workers do for 
the child ants : these have to be educated. Accordingly they are 
led by the workers to the different parts of the nest and are 
made to inspect every nook and corner, so that they may after- 
ward find their way about alone. They are also instructed how 
to care for larvae, and finally the workers teach them how to 
know a friend from a foe. This last lesson is most important, 
for a good part of an ant's life is spent in fighting. 

Just as human beings keep milch cows, so do ants keep 
aphides to milk, as it were. The eggs of these little creatures, 
which live on flowers and shrubs, are collected and cared for by 
the ants with the same care as if they were ants' eggs. Then 
when the aphides are hatched out they tickle their abdomen with 
their antennae, and at once a drop of sweet juice is excreted from 
it, which juice the ants eagerly devour. The better opinion is 
that this action of the aphides is instinctive and not the result 
of experience. The fluid is never excreted unless the proper 
stimulus is supplied by the ants, or unless the fluid has accu- 
mulated superabundantly. It may be asked, How can this instinct 
have arisen ? For while it is good for the ants, it does not seem 
to be of any benefit to the aphides. Mr. Darwin answers : 
" Although there is no evidence that any animal performs an 
action for the exclusive good of another species, yet each tries 



*' //f: A\r. [.', 

to t.ikc advantage of the instincts f others." And he adds : "Al 
the excretion is extremely viscid, it is no doubt a convenience to 
the aphides to have it removed; therefore, probably, they do not 
olely fur the good <>f the ants." Some species of ants 
build --table- for the aphides, by enclosing the stems of the plants 
where the aphides dwell with a cocoon-shaped toy building, with 
doors too small for the aphides to get out, but large enough for 
the ants to get in. And in order to reach the aphides in rainy 
weather without getting wet, the ant- sometimes build a covered 
way from their nest to the stable. 

Three species of ants keep slave-. The ants used as sla . 
are never captured, however, without a desperate battle, in which 
many are killed on both sides. If the slave-hunters are victorious 
they carry off the pupae of the vanquished to their own ne-t, 
where the young slaves are hatched out ; and it is interesting to 
see the fondness which these have for the home of their masters. 
They never try to escape, and will defend their masters' home 
with desperation. When the latter for some reason change their 
abode, they carry their slaves with them in their jaws, and this 
migration is often the only holiday the slaves enjoy. Hut there 
is one species of slave-making ant Formica ntfcsccns which, 
when they migrate, are, on the contrary, transported thr 
the wilderness in the jaws of their slaves. Indeed, so depen- 
dent is Formica rnfescens on its slaves, that it looks to them 
even for food, and unless its slaves feed it, it will die of 
hunger. 

Of the origin of this curious instinct of making slaves Darwin 
says : " As ants which are not slave-makers will, as I have 
carry off pupe of other species if scattered near their nests, it is 
possible that such pupae originally stored as food might become 
developed, and the foreign ants thus unintentionally reared would 
then follow their proper instincts, and do what work they could. 
If their presence proved useful to the species which had seized 
them if it were more advantageous to the species to capture 
workers than to procreate them the habit of collecting pupa; 
originally for food, might by natural selection be strengthened 
and rendered permanent for the very different purpose of raising 
slaves. When the instinct was once acquired, natural selection 
might increase and modify the instinct, always supposing such 
modification to be of use to the species, until an ant wa- 
found as abjectly dependent on its slaves as is the Formica 
rnjcsccns." 



.1890.] THE ANT. 645 

But ants make slaves of other insects besides ants. There is 
a leaf-bug in Brazil which they use as a beast of burden, and 
compel to lug home to the nest certain leaves which they 
require. 

No insect is so warlike as the ant ; its battles are endless, 
and the main cause of war is the plundering of the nests of other 
ants by the slave-making species. When the slave-makers want 
more slaves they first send out a reconnoitring party to find a 
proper nest to attack. Having found one, the reconnoitring 
party carefully inspects it and takes particular pains to discover 
where its gateways are. Now, the entrances to an ants' nest are 
always made difficult to find for ants are good architects and 
engineers and it sometimes happens that a marauding party fails 
from not having been able to discover the gateways. But if the 
scouts bring back a favorable report, battalions of ants closed in 
mass form rapidly in front of the nest (the season is always 
toward the end of summer or in autumn), and good observers 
tell us that the army is sometimes five yards long and half a 
yard wide, and that it may take an hour to reach the nest to 
be attacked. 

Having come to it, a charge is made through the different 
entrances; and now begins a fight in which very many are slain, 
one side trying to steal away the pupae, the other side trying as 
desperately to save them from being stolen. On the homeward 
march the rear of the slave-hunters' army is pursued and harassed 
by furious ants, who plunge into the rear-guard even though it 
outnumber them a hundred to one. Having got back to their 
nest, the slave-hunters hand over the booty to the slaves, under 
whose vigilant care a number of infant slaves soon come out 
from the cocoons, and these little ones, who have no memory of 
the home whence they were ravished, quite naturally and without 
compulsion settle down to a life of slavery. 

We are told that occasionally civil wars break out among 
the slave-making species, and, as might be expected, these wars 
are the most cruel of all. The ants pull each other to pieces 
with diabolical rage, and little black balls of five or six ants 
may be seen locked together by legs and jaws, and rolling over 
and over, biting and tearing until not one is left alive. Yet 
these civil wars may have a happy ending. Biichner tells us, in 
Mind in Animals : "Battles between ants of the same species 
often end in a lasting alliance, especially when the number of 
the workers on both sides is comparatively small. The wise little 



THE A.\r. 

animals under such circumstances discover, much more quickly 
and better th.in nu-n, that they can only <! .ch other by 

fighting, while union would bent/tit both parties I .< t us here 
observe that ants in fighting generally try to sci/c each other's 
antenna-; the antenn.i- are the most seiisiti\e part-, and it is 
through them that the greatest pain is caused. 

Ik-sides keeping other insects to milk, if we may -o -ay. 
ants also keep pets. At least, the best observer- regard a 
species of tiny brown beetle and a very small cricket, found 
dwelling in the nests of several kinds of ant-, as pets. 
'1 hey arc quite at home in the nest, where any other ii; 
would be quickly torn to pieces. And when thc-e ants mi- 
grate they carry their pets with them. Yet these small crickets 
and beetles may, after all, not be kept U pets ; they may, like 
the aphides, be of some use to their hosts, although we cannot 
imagine what this use may be. 

There is little doubt that ants enjoy true sleep at night. 
MacCook, in his interesting account of the harvesting ant of 
Texas, tells us that he often touched the sleeping insects with a 
quill or lead-pencil without waking them. As soon as an ant 
awakes it yawns and stretches its limbs very much as a dog 
does. MacCook adds: "While the ants of one group are taking 
sleep others may be busy at work, and these stalk among and 
over the sleepers, jostling them quite vigorously at tin 
According to MacCook, their sleep lasts about three hours. 
When thoroughly awake the ant cleanses itself. Many other 
insects do this, but it is a curious fact that several species of 
ants help each other to make their toilet. The cleaner first licks 
the other's face thoroughly ; after the face it licks the thorax ; 
then it passes to the haunch, and so on, until it has licked every 
part of the body. The attitude of the insect that i- being 
cleaned is one of perfect satisfaction : it lifts one leg after the 
other to the cleaner, and sometimes it rolls quite over on its 
back with all its limbs relaxed. The toilet is completed by giv- 
ing the antennae a friendly wipe. 

Industrious as ants are, their life is not all work. They cer- 
tainly indulge at times in gymnastic sports. Of a fine day they 
come together on top of the nest, where they may be 
raised on their hind legs, embracing, catching one another by 
the legs and jaws, and tumbling over and over in the jolliest 
way. They have also been observed playing at hide-ami- - 
Huber was the first to give an account of these ant sports. 



1890.] THE ANT. 647' 

and we can hardly wonder that very few believed him. Forel, 
another patient student of the ant, writes : " I found it hard 
to believe Ilubcr's observation in spite of its exactness, until I 
myself had seen the same." Lubbock, MacCook, and Mrs. Hut- 
ton tell us a good deal about the funereal habits of the ant, 
which habits have no doubt been developed as an instinct useful 
to health by natural selection. All ants show a strong desire to 
put their dead out of sight. Strange to relate, the slave- making 
species never deposit their dead in the same grave-yard with 
their slaves. Nor are the dead buried in groups, but separately 
and at a good distance from the nest. Mrs. Hutton's account 
of a. funeral procession of ants is interesting : " I saw a large 
number of ants surrounding the dead ones. I determined to 
watch their proceedings closely. . . . All 'fell into rank, walk- 
ing regularly and slowly two by two until they arrived at the 
spot where lay the dead bodies of the soldier ants. In a few 
minutes two of the ants advanced and took up the dead body 
of one of their comrades ; then two others, and so on, until all 
were ready to march. First walked two ants bearing a body ; 
then two without a burden ; then two others with another dead 
ant, and so on, until the line was extended to about forty pairs, and 
the procession now moved slowly onward, followed by an irregu- 
lar body of about two hundred ants. Occasionally the two laden 
ants stopped, and, laying down the dead ant, it was taken up 
by the two walking unburdened behind them, and thus, by oc- 
casionally relieving each other, they arrived at a sandy spot near 
the sea. The body of ants now commenced digging with their 
jaws a number of holes in the ground, into each of which a 
dead ant was laid, where they now labored on until they had 
filled up the ants' graves." Mrs. Hutton's account may be found 
in the Proceedings of the Lintuzan Society (1861). 

Quite as interesting as the use which ants make of other 
insects, is the use they make of certain leaves in Brazil. Mr. 
Bates after carefully observing the leaf-cutting ants of the 
Amazon, came to the conclusion that the leaves they gathered 
and brought to .their nests were not used as food, but were in- 
tended to serve as soil on which a certain minute fungus, very 
palatable to the ants, might grow. And this has been corrobor- 
ated by other well-known naturalists. 

MacCook, in Agricultural Ant of Texas, tells how this 
species makes a circular clearing among the weeds and thick 
grass sometimes twenty feet in diameter. In the middle of the 



648 TV/A- A.\r. [Aug., 

clearing is a hole leading down into the nest ; while aventi" 
smooth as the ili-c itself, from two to four inches wide and 
perhaps three hundred feet long, lead out in different directions. 
Along these avenues, during harvest-time, there are always 
passing two streams of ants; those going from the nest are 
empty-handed, but every ant coming homeward i '-ring 

under the weight of a seed of buffalo grass as thick and twice 
.is wide as itself. In the nest are well-made granaries as deep 
as four feet under ground, where the -reds are stored. 

Another observer of this species of ant, Doctor Lincecum 
(Journal Linn. Sac., vol. vi.), declares that they sometimes actually 
sow a peculiar kind of grass, called ant-rice, around the circum- 
ference of their clearing. He says: "There can be no doubt of 
the fact that the particular species of grain-bearing men- 

tioned above is intentionally planted. In farmer-like manner the 
ground upon which it stands is carefully divested of all other 
grasses and weeds during the time it is growing." This observer 
studied the harvesting ant of Texas for many years, and is 
positive in his statement about their sowing crops of ant-rice. 
MacCook says this ant-rice is certainly found growing just as 
Lincecum describes; but he does not believe it is intentionally 
sown by the ants. He admits, however, that such a thing would 
not be above the ant understanding. Doctor Livingstone, in 
Missionary Travels, tells of a certain ant in Africa which in- 
habits a flat region where the water for several months in the 
year is deep enough for water-plants to grow. But this does 
not destroy these ants, who skilfully construct little mud houses 
high upon the tall grass, so that the flood cannot reach them. 
He says : " This must have been the result of experience, for if 
they had waited till the water actually invaded their terrestrial 
habitations they would not have been able to procure materials 
for their aerial quarters, unless they dived down to the bottom 
for every mouthful of clay." 

In New Mexico are found three distinct species of ants who 
live harmoniously together in the same nest. The yellow workers 
feed and take care of the yellow honey-makers, who never quit 
the nest, and whose sole duty is to secrete honey in their 
abdomens for their guardians, as well as for the black workers. 
The black workers act as sentries outside, and also provide food 
for the yellow workers. The largest hornet and spider cannot 
break through their double line of pickets, anil their military 
organization equals that of the Ecitons of Brazil. The Katons, 



THE ANT. 649 

whom Bates has so well described, are essentially warriors, and 
differ from all other ants in having no fixed abode, but pass 
their lives wandering and fighting. They move through the 
Amazon forests in dense columns hundreds of yards long. Well 
in the van are scouts, on either side are flanking parties, and no 
insect presumes to make a stand against them ; indeed, every 
living creature flees at their approach. They number millions, 
and swarm like the hosts of Attila, leaving desolation behind them. 
I,t sometimes takes an hour for one of their armies to pass a 
given point. But the most curious ants described by Bates, in 
Naturalist on the Amazons, are the blind Ecitons, composed 
of two species. Like other Ecitons they lead an Arab existence, 
but instead of wandering along the surface, they advance under- 
ground through tunnels, which they make with surprising rapid- 
ity. " The column of foragers," says Bates, " pushes forward 
step by step, under the protection of these covered passages, 
through the thickets, and on reaching a rotting log or other 
promising hunting ground, pour into the crevices in search of 
booty. I have traced their arcades occasionally for a distance of 
one or two hundred yards ; etc., etc." Many instances are given 
by trustworthy authorities of the intelligent mode in which ants 
overcome obstacles. If prevented from climbing a tree by bird- 
lime or other obnoxious matter spread over the trunk, the wise 
little creatures do not despair, but bring up in their jaws bits 
of earth or soft wood, and so construct a causeway over which 
they may pass in safety. Biichner cites a case where the ground 
around a maple-tree (which swarmed with ants) was smeared for 
the width of a foot with tar. He says : " The first ants who 
wanted to cross naturally stuck fast. But what did the next ? 
They turned back to the tree and carried down aphides, which 
they stuck down on the tar one after another until they had 
made a bridge over which they could cross the tarring without 
danger." Mr. Belt tells of a column of ants " crossing a water- 
course along a small branch not thicker than a goosequill. They 
widened this natural bridge to three times its width by a 
number of ants clinging to it and to each other on each side, 
over which the column passed three or four deep ; whereas ex- 
cepting for this expedient they would have had to pass over in 
single file, and treble the time would have been consumed." 

Ants have also been known to make suspension bridges of 
straw, the abutments being fastened with mortar composed by 
themselves. An engineer, writing to Biichner from South Amer- 



650 Tin A\r. 

ribes how ants ferry thcmscK .mi. He 

ttyt ant m>\\ sei/es a hit of dry wood, pulls it into the 

\\.tter, and mounts thereupon. The hiniler rows push the front 
o:ie> even further out, holding mi to tile wood with their feet 
and to their comrades with their jaws. In a short time tin- 
water is covered with ants, and when the raft has grown too 
to be held together by the small creatures' strength, a part 
breaks itself off anil begins the jouniex . while the ants 

left on the bank busily pull their bits of wood into the water, 
and work at enlarging the ferry-boat until it breaks again. 
This is repeated as long as an ant remains on shore." Mr. Belt 
also tells how some ants got from their nest to a grove of tries 
without passing over a dangerous tramway namely, by tunnel- 
ling under the rails ; this they did after they had seen a number 
t their fellows crushed by the wheels of the tram-car. 

In conclusion, let us say that the brain of the ant is lai 
in proportion than the brain of any other insect; it is al-o in 
advance of other insect brains in structure. Nor does anything 
so keenly affect the ant's faculties as an injury to its antenna ; 
if its antenna; be .destroyed, it falls into a condition of idiocy. 
The ant is very small and insignificant to look at ; we crush 
many a one underfoot without knowing it ; and yet Man 
apart in all God's work nothing is more marvellous than 
the ant. 

WILLIAM SI-.TI-N. 



1 890.] THE LIFE o/- FA TIIEK HECKEK. 65 1 



THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER." 

CHAPTER VIII. 
FRUITLANDS. 

WHAT influenced Isaac Hecker to leave Brook Farm, a place 
so congenial in many ways to his natural dispositions, was, plain- 
ly enough, his tendency to seek a more ascetic and interior life 
than he could lead there. The step cost him much, but he had 
received all that the place and his companions could give him, 
and his departure was inevitable. 

His next move in pursuit of his ideal took him to Fruitlands. 
This was a farm, situated near Harvard, in Worcester Co., 
Massachusetts, which had been bought by Mr. Charles Lane, an 
English admirer of Amos Bronson Alcott, with the hope of 
establishing on it a new community in consonance with the 
views and wishes of the latter. Perhaps Fruitlands coula never, 
at any stage of its existence as a corporate home for Mr. Al- 
cott's family and his scanty following of disciples, have been 
truly described as in running order, but when Isaac Hecker went 
there, on July u, 1843, it was still in its incipiency. He had 
paid the Fruitlanders a brief visit toward the end of June, and 
thought that he saw in them evidences of " a deeper life." It 
speaks volumes for his native sagacity and keen eye for realities, 
that less than a fortnight's residence with Mr. Alcott should 
have sufficed to dispel this illusion. 

Bronson Alcott seems to have been by nature what the French 
call a poseur ; or, as one of his own not unkindly intimates has 
described him, "an innocent charlatan." Although not al- 
together empty, he was vain ; full of talk which had what was 
most often a false air of profundity; unpractical and incapable in 
the ordinary affair? of life to a degree not adequately compen- 
sated for by such a grasp as he was able to get on the realities 
that underlie them ; and with an imposing aspect which corre- 
sponded wonderfully well with his interior traits. That, in his 
prime, his persuasive accents and bland self-confidence, backed 
by the admiration felt and expressed for him by men such as 
Emerson, and some of the community at Brook Farm, should 
have induced an open-minded youth like Isaac Hecker to take 

* Copyright, 1890, Rev. A. F. Hewit. All rights reserved^ 
VOL. LI. 42 



Till: I.lll <>/ I'ATIIKK ///.VAV-A'. 

liini fur .1 tiiiu- ;it his own valuation, is not The truth 

is, that i! \\.is one of l-'.ithrr decker's lif-- Ion.; traits to pn>\ 
tilings, that IK.- might find the good and hold fast to it. Then- 
was an clement nf justice in his nuke-up which inablcd him to 
suspend judgment upon any institution or person. however little 
they seemed siuli consideration, until lie \\ as in a 

condition to decide from his own investigations. \Ve shall 
later mi, IKW he tried all the principal forms of Protestantism 
before deciding upon Catholicity, strong as his tendency toward 
the Church had become. \\Y ha\e iu\er known any other man 
who, without exhibiting obstinacy, could so steadfast!'. 
his judgment on another's statement, especially if it were in the 
nature of a condemnation. 

When Isaac Heckcr first made his acquaintance, Mr. Al. 
had but recently returned from l-'.ngland, whither he had 
on the invitation of James P. Greaves, a friend and fellow-laborer 
of the great Swiss' educator, Pestalozzi. Mr. Alcott had gained 
a certain vogue at home as a lecturer, and also as the conductor 
of a singular school for young children. Among its many 
peculiarities was that of cany ing "moral suasion" to such lengths. 
ns a solitary means of discipline, that the master occasionally 
publicly submitted to the castigation earned by a refra 
urchin, probably by way of reaching the latter's moral sense 
through shame or pity. This was, doubtless, rather interesting 
to the pupils, whether or not it was corrective. Mr A I 
peculiarities did not stop here, however, and Boston par 
when he began to publish the Colloquies on tltc Gospels which 
he held with their children, concluded, on the evidence thus 
furnished, that his thought was too "advanced" to make it 
prudent to trust them longer to his care. Miss Elizabeth P 
Peabody, since so well known as an expositor of the Kinder- 
garten system, had been his assistant. She wrote a /\ t \<>rd of 
Mr. Alcott's School which attracted the attention of a sm ill 
band of educational enthusiasts in England. They gave the 
name of "Alcott House" to a school o f their own at Hun, near 
London, and hoped for great things from the personal advice 
and presence of the "Concord Plato." He w.i- petted and i 
among them pretty nearly to the top of his bent ; but his 
would have proved a more unalloyed success if the h aid Scotch 
sense of Carlyle, to whom Emerson had rec mini ilm, had 

not so quickly dbbcd his vaunted depth; deceptive shallows. 

On his return he was accompanied by two Englishmen who 
to be like-minded with himself, a Mr. II. (",. Wright, 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATIIEK HECKEK. 653 

and Mr. Charles Lane, both of whom returned within a year or 
two to their own country, wiser and perhaps sadder men. 
Lane, at all events, who was a simple and candid soul for whom 
Isaac Hccker conceived a long-enduring friendship, sunk all his 
private means irrevocably in the futile attempt to establish Fruit- 
lands on a solid basis. To use his own words in a letter now 
at our hand, though referring to another of Mr. Alcott's schemes, 
his little fortune was " buried in the same grave of flowery rhe- 
toric in which so many other notions have been deposited." 

Lying before us there is an epistle Mr. Alcott's most 
ordinary written communications with his friends must have 
demanded that term in preference to anything less stately in 
which he has described his own ideal of what life at Fruitlands 
ought to be. No directer way of conveying to our readers a 
notion of his peculiar faculty of seeming to say something of singu- 
lar importance occurs to us, than that of giving it entire. Though 
found among Father Hecker's papers, it was not addressed to 
him but to one of his most-valued Brook Farm associates : 

"Concord, Mass., February 15, 1843. DEAR FRIEND: In reply 
to your letter of the 12th, I have to say that as until the snow 
leaves the ground clear, the Family cannot so much as look for 
a locality (which then may not readily be found), it seems pre- 
mature to talk of the conditions on which any association may- 
be formed. 

" Nevertheless, as human progress is a universally interesting 
subject, I have much pleasure in communicating with you on the 
question of the general conditions most conducive to that end. 

"I have no belief in associations of human beings for. the 
purpose of making themselves happy by means of improved out- 
ward arrangements alone, as the fountains of happiness are within, 
and are opened to us as we are preharmonized or consociated 
with the Universal Spirit. This is the one condition needful for 
happy association amongst men. And this condition is attained 
by the surrender of all individual or selfish gratification a com- 
plete willingness to be moulded by Divinity. This, as men now 
are, of course involves self-renunciation and retrenchment ; and in 
enumerating the hindrances which debar us from happiness, we 
shall be drawn to consider, in the first place, ourselves ; and to 
entertain practically the question, Are we prepared for the giving 
up all, and taking refuge in Love as an unlailing Providence ? 
A faith and reliance as large as this seems needful to insure us 
against disappointment. The entrance to Paradise is still through 
the strait gate and narrow way of self-denial. Eden's avenue is 
yet guarded by the fiery-sworded cherubim, and humility and 
charity are the credentials for admission. Unless well armed with 
valor and patience, we must continue in the old and much- 



654 '1' IIK l-in-- OF FATIII-'.K HI-.CKKK. [Aug., 

trodden broad way, and take share of the penalties paid by all 
who walk thereon. 

"The conditions for one are conditions for all. HURT then- 
can be no parley with the tempter, no private pleas lor self- 
indulgence, no leaning on the broken reed of circumstar. 

"It is not for us to preM ribe conditions; these are prescribed 
on our natures, our state of being and the best we can d<\ if 
disqualified, i> either to attain an amended character, or to relin- 
quish all hopes of securing felicity. 

" Our purposes, as far as we know them at present, are 
briefly these: 

"First, to obtain the free use of a spot of land adequate by 
our own labor to our support ; including, of course, a convenient 
plain house, and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard. 

" Secondly, to live independently of foreign aids by being suffi- 
ciently elevated to procure all articles for subsistence in the pro- 
ductions of the spot, under a regimen of healthful labor and 
recreation; with benignity towards all creatures, human and in- 
ferior; with beauty and refinement in all economies; and the 
purest charity throughout our demeanor. 

" Should this kind of life attract parties towards us indi- 
viduals of like aims and issues that state of being itsilf deter- 
mines the law of association; and the particular mi.de may be 
spoken of more definitely as individual C.I.-M-S may arise ; but, in 
no case, could inferior ends compromise the principles laid down. 

" Doubtless such a household, with our library, our services 
and manner of life, may attract young men and women, possibly 
also families with children, desirous of access to the channels and 
fountain of wisdom and purity ; and we are not without hope 
that Providence will use us progressively for beneficial effect 
the great work of human regeneration, and the restoration of till- 
highest life on earth. 

" With the humane wish that yourself and little ones may be 
led to confide in providential Love, 

" I am, dear friend, very truly yours, 

"A. BRONSON \\ < OTT." 

It must be admitted that there is something delightful in the 
naivete of this undertaking to be " sufficiently elevated to live 
independently of foreign aids," after first getting " the free use ot 
a spot of land, . . . including, of course, a convenient plain 
house, and offices, wood-lot, garden, and orchard." Kstablish- 
ments which would tolerably approximate to this description, "and 
to the really essential needs of its prospective founder, have long 
existed in every civilized community. There are certain restric- 
tions placed upon their inmates, however, and Mr. A Icon's desire 
was to make sure of his basis of earthly supplies, while left en- 
tirely free to persuade himself that he had arrived at an eleva- 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER UECKEK. 655 

tion which made him independent of them. Still, though " a 
charlatan," it must not be forgotten that he was "an innocent" 
one. He was plainly born great in that way, and had no need 
to achieve greatness in it. As Father Hecker said of him long 
afterwards, " Diogenes and his tub would have been Alcott's 
ideal if he had carried it out. But he never carried it out." 
Diogenes himself, it may be supposed, had his ideal included a 
family and an audience as well as a tub, might finally have come- 
to hold that the finding of the latter was a mere detail, which 
could be entrusted indifferently to either of the two former or 
to both combined. Somebody once described Fruitlands as a 
place where Mr. Alcott looked benign and talked philosophy, 
while Mrs. Alcott and the children did the work. Still, to look 
benign is a good deal for a man to do persistently in an adverse 
world, indifferent for the most part to the charms of " divine 
philosophy," and Mr. Alcott persevered in that exercise until his 
latest day. " He was unquestionably one of those who like to 
sit upon a platform," wrote, at the time of his death, one who knew 
Alcott well, " and he may have liked to feel that his . venerable 
aspect had the effect of a benediction." But with this mild cri- 
ticism, censure of him is well-nigh exhausted. There was nothing 
of the Patriarch of Bleeding Heart Yard about him except that 
" venerable aspect," for which nature was responsible, and not he. 

Fruitlands was the caricature of Brook Farm. Just as the 
fanatic is the caricature of the true reformer, so was Alcott the 
caricature of Ripley. ' This is not meant as disparaging either 
Alcott's sincerity or his intelligence, but to affirm that he lacked 
judgment, that he miscalculated means and ends, that he jumped 
from theory to practice without a moment's interval, preferred 
to be guided by instinct rather than by processes of reasoning, 
and deemed this to be the philosopher's way. 

In the memoranda of private conversations with^ Father Hecker 
w,e find several references to Mr. Alcott. The first bears date 
February 4, 1882, and occurs in a conversation ranging over the 
whole of his experience between his first and second departures 
from home. We give it as it stands : 

f< Fruitlands was very different from Brook Farm far more 
ascetic." 

"You didn't like it?" 

" Yes ; but they did not begin to satisfy me. I said to them : 
' If you had the Eternal here, all right. I would be with you.' ' 

" Had they no notion of the hereafter ? " 



Tilt /.///: Of- /I. '///A' //ACA'AA'. 

"No; nothing definite. Their i.i liuman perfection. 

Ihe\ :-et nut to demonstrate '.vh.it in. in cm do in the way of 
tin supremacy of the spiritual over tin- animal. ' All right,' 1 
said, ' I agree with you fully I admire your asceticism ; it i> 
nothing new to me; I have practiced it a long time myself. If 
you can get the Everlasting out of my mind, I'm yours. Hut I 
know' (here Father Hecker thumped the table at his bedside) 
' that I am going to live for ever.' ' 

"What did Alcott say when you left?" 

He went to Lane and said, 'Well, Hecker has flunked out. 
He hadn't the courage to pi -i coward.' But Lane 

said, 'No; you're mistaken. Hecker's right. He wanted more 
than we had to give him.' " 

Mr. Alcott's death in 1888 was the occasion of the reminis- 
cences which follow : 

" Marc /i 5, 1888. Bronson Alcott dead! I saw him coming 
from Rochester on the cars. I had been a Catholic missionary 
for I don't know how many years. We sat together. ' Father 
Hecker,' said he, ' why can't you make a Catholic of me ? 
'Too much rust here,' said I, clapping him on the knee. He 
got very angry because I said that was the obstacle. I never 
saw him angry at any other time. He was too proud. 

"But he was a great natural man. He was faithful to pure, 
natural conscience. His virtues came from that. He never had 
any virtue beyond what a good pagan has. He never aimed at 
anything more, nor claimed to. He maintained that to be all. 
" I don't believe he ever prayed. Whom could he pray to ? 
Was not Bronson Alcott the greatest of all ? " 
" Did he believe in God ? " 

" Not the God that we know. He believed in the Bronson 
Alcott God. He was his own God." 

" You say he was Emerson's master : what do you mean by 
that ? " 

" He taught Emerson. He began life as a pedlcr. The 
Yankee pedler was Emerson's master. Whatever principles 
Emerson had, Alcott gave him. And Emerson was a good 
pupil ; he was faithful to his master to the end. 

" When did I know him first ? Hard to remember. He was 
the head of Fruitlands, as Ripley was of Brook Farm. They 
were entirely different men. Diogenes and his tub would have 
been Alcott's ideal if he had carried it out. But he never 
carried it out. Ripley's ideal would have been Kpictetus. 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 657 

Ripley would have taken with him the good things of this life ; 
Alcott would have rejected them all." 

" How did he receive you at Fruitlands ? " 

" Very kindly, but from mixed and selfish motives. I sus- 
pected he wanted me because he thought I would bring money 
to the community. Lane was entirely unselfish. 

"Alcott was a man of no great intellectual gifts or acquire- 
ments. His knowledge came chiefly from experience and instinct. 
He had an insinuating and persuasive way with him he must 
have been an ideal pedler." 

" What if he had been a Catholic, and thoroughly sanc- 
tified ?" 

" He could have been nothing but a hermit like those of 
the fourth century he was naturally and constitutionally so odd. 
Emerson, Alcott, and Thoreau were three consecrated cranks : 
rather be crank than president. All the cranks look up to 
them." 

Beside these later reminiscences we shall now place the con- 
temporary record of his impressions made by Isaac Hecker while 
at Fruitlands. Our first extract, however, was written at Brook 
Farm, a few days before going thither : 

"July 7, 1843. I go to Mr. Alcott's next Tuesday, if 
nothing happens. I have had three pairs of coarse pants and a 
coat made for me. It is my intention to commence work as 
soon as I get there. I will gradually simplify my dress without 
making any sudden difference, although it would be easier to 
make a radical and thorough change at once than piece by 
piece. But this will be a lesson in patient perseverance to me. 
Ail our difficulties should be looked at in such a light as to 
improve and elevate our minds. 

" I can hardly prevent myself from saying how much I shall 
miss the company of those whom I love and associate with here. 
But I must go. I am called with a stronger voice. This is a 
different trial from any I have ever had. I have had that of 
leaving kindred, but now I have that of leaving those whom I 
love from affinity. If I wished to live a life the most gratifying 
to pie, and in agreeable company, I certainly would remain here. 
Here are refining amusements, cultivated persons and one whom 
I have not spoken of, one who is too much to me to speak of, 
one who would leave all for me. Alas ! him I must leave 
to go." 

In this final sentence, as it now stands in the diary and as we 



658 7//A 1.1H: OF I-ATHKK Hl-.l'KIK. 

have transcribed it, <>c< urs one of those which we h.ivc 

spoken, lo obliterate the traces of this early attachment. "Him" 
was originally written "her." but the /- ha- !><< n lengthened to an 
MI, and the c dotted, both with a care which overshot their mark 
by an almost imperceptible hair's- breadth. If the nature of 
this attachment were not so evident from other sources, we 
should have left such pn unquoted; fearing lest they might 

be misunderstood. As it is, the light they cast seems to us to 
throw up into fuller proportions the kind and extent of the re- 
nunciations to which Isaac Hecker was called before he had 
arrived at any clear view of the end to which they tended. 

" I-rnitlands, July 12. Last evening I arrived here. After 
tea I went out in the fields and raked hay for an hour in com- 
pany with the persons here. We returned ami had a conver- 
sation on Clothing. Some very fine things were said by Mr 
Alcott and Mr. Lane. In most of their thoughts I coincide ; 
they are the same which of late have much occupied my mind. 
Alcott said that to Emerson the world was a lecture-room, to 
Brownson a rostrum. 

" This morning after breakfast a conversation was held on 
Friendship and its laws and conditions. Mr. Alcott placed 
Innocence first; Larned, Thoughtfulness ; I, Seriousness; Lam, 
Fidelity. 

"July 13. This morning after breakfast there was held a 
conversation on The Highest Aim. Mr. Alcott said it was 
Integrity; I, Harmonic being; Lane, Progressive being; Larned, 
Annihilation of self; Bower, Repulsion of the evil in us. 
Then there was, a confession of the obstacles which prevent us 
from attaining the highest aim. Mine was the doubt whether 
the light is light ; not the want of will to follow, or the sight to 
see." 

"July 17. I cannot understand what it is that leads me, <>i 
what I am after. Being is incomprehensible. 

" What shall I be led to ? Is there a being whom I may 
marry and who would be the means of opening my eyes ? 
Sometimes I think so but it appears impossible. Why should 
others tell me that it is so, and will be so, in an unconscious 
way, as Larned did on Sunday last, and as others have before 
him? Will I be led home? It strikes me these people here, 
Alcott and Lane, will be a great deal to me. I- do not know 
but they may be what I am looking for, or the answer to that 
in me which is asking. 



1890.] THE LIFE or FATJIER HECKER. 659 

" Can I say it ? I believe it should be said. Here I cannot 
end. They are too near me ; they do not awaken in me that 
sense of their high superiority which .would keep me here to be 
bettered, to be elevated. They have much, very much. I desire 
Mr. Alcott's strength of self-denial, and the unselfishness of Mr. 
Lane in money matters. In both these they are far my supe- 
riors. I would be meek, humble, and sit at their feet that I 
might be as they are. They do not understand me, but if I am 
what my consciousness, my heart, lead me to feel if I am not 
deceived why then I can wait. Yes, patiently wait. Is not 
this the first time since I have been here that I have recovered 
myself? Do I not feel that I have something to receive here, 
to add to, to increase my highest life, which I have never felt 
anywhere else ? 

" Is this sufficient to keep me here ? If I can prophesy, I 
must say no. I feel that it will not fill my capacity. O God ! 
strengthen my resolution. Let me not waver, and continue my 
life. But I am sinful. Oh, forgive my sins ! What shall I do, 

Lord ! that they may be blotted out ? Lord, could I only 
blot them from my memory, nothing would be too great or too 
much." 

"July 1 8. I have thought of my family this afternoon, and 
the happiness and love with which I might return to them. To 
leave them, to give up the thought of living with them again 
can I entertain that idea ? Still, I cannot conceive how I can 
engage in business, share the practices, and indulge myself with 
the food and garmenture (sic) of our home and city. To return 
home, were it possible for me, would most probably not only 
stop my progress, but put me back. 

" It is useless for me to speculate upon my future. Put 
dependence on the spirit which leads me, be faithful to it ; work, 
and leave results to God. If the question should be asked me, 
whether I would give up my kindred and business and follow 
out this spirit-life, or return and enjoy them both, I could not 
hesitate a moment, for they would not compare there would be 
no room for choice. What I do I must do. for it is not I that 
do it; it is the spirit. What that spirit may be is a question 

1 cannot answer. What it leads me to do will be the only 
evidence of its character. I feel as impersonal as a stranger to it. 
I ask, Who are you ? Where are you going to take me ? Why 
me ? Why not some one else ? I stand amazed, astonished to 
see myself. Alas ! I cry, who am I and what does this mean ? 
and I am lost in wonder." 



660 TV/A /./// Ill.K HfiCKKK. [Aug., 



, July 21. Yc sti nlay, alter supper, a conversation 
took place between Mr. Alcott, Mr. I ..me, and myself; tlic sub- 
iny position with regard to my family, my duty, anil 
my positic n here. Mr. Alcott asked for my first impri 

Is tile hindrances I have noted since o>m:n;_; llere. 1 
told him candidly they were: i^t, his want of frankiu ^ ; jd. \\\- 
sition to separaU ness rather than win co-operators with tl.c 
aims in his own mind; j)d, his family, who prevent hU immediate 
plans of reformation ; 4th, the fact that this place ha-, very little 
fruit on it, while it was and is their desire that fruit should he 
the principal part of their diet ; 5th, my fear that they hav> 
decided a tendency toward literature and writing for the ] 

ty and success of their enterpn 

" My relations with my family are very critical at this period 
more so than they have ever been. It is the crisis of the 
state we have been in for this past year. If G< m< 

strength to be true to the spirit, it is very doubtful how far 
those at home will be willing to second it. I have written them 
a letter asking for their own aims and views of li: I am 

anxious for their answer. The question of returning is not a 
wilful one with me, for it is the spirit which guides me. if it 
can live there, I go back. If not, I am governed and must fol- 
low where it leads, wherever that may be." 

The letter referred to in this entry of the diary is too lon^;, 
and covers too much ground already traversed, to be quoted in 
full, but it contains some striking passages. It was written at 
Kruitlands, July 17, '43. After inquiring with his customary- 
directness what are their aims in life and what they are doing 
to attain them, he goes on to say : 

" Although the idea or aim which each one aspires toward 
and tries to realize will be colored by his own peculiar tenden- 
cies, still, in substance, in practice, they will agree if they arc- 
inspired by the self-same spirit." 

Here we have the practical good sens;- which reined in and 
directed Isaac Hecker throughout his life, making it finally im- 
possible for him not to see and recognize the visible Church, 
notwithstanding his mystical tendency, his want of thorough 
education, and his birthright of hereby 

Again he writes : 

"There are all the natural ties why we should not be 
separated, and no reasons why we should, unless there 
such a wide difference in the aims we seek to nali/e that it 



1890.] THE LIFE 01- I-ATIIEK HECKER. 66 1 

would be injurious or impossible for us to live in family, in unity, 
in love. I do not believe this difference exists, but if it does, and 
we are conscious of being led by a higher spirit than our own, 
we should and would sacrifice all that hinders us from the divine 
calling. That demands implicit, uncompromising obedience. It 
speaks in the tone of high authority. The dead must bury their 
dead. That which offends it must be got rid of at all costs, be 
it wife, parents, children, brothers, sisters, or our own eye 
or hand. I do not contemplate a sacrifice of either of these ; 
still, it is well to consider whether, if such a demand should be 
made of us, we are in such a state of mind that we would be 
willing to give one or all up, if they should stand in the way 
of our progress toward God. . . . 

" If you desire to continue the way of life you have and do 
now lead, be plain, frank, and so express yourselves explicitly. If 
not, and you have any desire or intention in your minds to alter 
or make a radical change in your external circumstances for the 
sake of a higher, better mode of life, be equally open, and let 
me know all your thoughts and aspirations which are struggling 
for expression, for real life. 

. " We have labored together in union for material wea'th ; 
can we now labor in the same way for spiritual wealth ? If 
there are sufficient points of accord in us in this higher life, we 
must come together and live in harmony. Since my departure 
from home there has been a change in my mind, or, perhaps 
more truly, a sudden and rapid growth in a certain direction, 
the germs of which you must have heretofore perceived in my 
conduct and life. On the other hand, I suppose there has been 
a progress in your minds, and I feel that the time has arrived 
when we should see where we are, so that we may either come 
together or separate. Our future relation cannot be a wilful 
one. It must be based on a unity of spirit, for the social, the 
humane instincts cannot bind us together any longer. 
Have we the spiritual as well as the natural brotherhood ? 
this is the question which deeply concerns us now. ... I 
do not know what the spirit has done for you since my 
departure. If it has led you as it has led me, there is no 
reason why I should be amongst strangers by birth, although not 
altogether strangers in love . . . Think seriously upon your 
answer. Act true. Life is to me of serious import, and I feel 
called upon to give up all that hinders me from following this 
import wherever it may lead. But do not let this influence you 
in your judgments. We have but a short life to live here, and 



662 Till. 1.IH. (>/ /".-/ 7 '// A A 1 //ACAV-./ 1 . _ Aug .. 

I \uuild offer mint: to M.IIH- worthy end: tliis is all I desire 
My lu-altli is very good. I .1111 still at Frtiitlands, and will 
remain h iv until something further happens. Accept my deep- 
est ! 

While waiting for an answer to this letter, the diary shw- 
hi)\v continuously Isaac's mind was working o\ r er this problem ol 
a final separation from his kindred. It seems probable that it 
was, on the whole, the deepest emotional one that he had to 
solve. Both filial duty and natural affection wen- strong senti- 
ments with him. One notices in these letters how courteous 
and urbane is the tone he uses, even when insisting most on the 
necessity which lies upon him to cut all the ties which bind 
him. This was a family trait. In a letter written to us last 
September in answer to a question. Mr. Charles A. Dana in- 
cidentally refers to a visit he paid Isaac Meeker at his mother's 
house. " It was a very interesting family," Iv writ' s, " and the 
cordiality and sweetness of the relations which prevailed in it 
impressed me very greatly." 

The entry we are about to quote opens with an odd echo 
from a certain school of mysticism with which Isaac about this 
time became familiar: 

"July 22, 1843. Man requires a new birth the birth of the 
feminine in him. 

"The question arises in my mind whether it is necessary for 
me to require the concurrence of my brothers in the vie\\ 
life which now appear to demand of me their actuali/.ation. 

"Can I not adopt simple garmenture and diet without their 
doing so? Must I needs have their concurrence? Can I not 
leave results to themselves? If my life is purer than that of 
those around me, can I not trust to its o-.vn simple influeiu 

"But if there is a great difference of spirit, can we live to- 
gether? Does not like seek like? In money matters things 
must certainly be other than they have been. We must a 
that no accounts shall be kept between ourselves, let the con- 
sequences be what they may. I would rather suffer evils from a 
dependence on the spirit of love than permit that of selfishness 
to exist between us. I ask not a cent above what will supply 
my immediate, necessary wants. . . They may demand ten 
times more than I, and it would be a happiness to me to 
them use it, even if I thought they used it wrongfully. All tin- 
check I would be willing to employ would be that of love and 
mutual good feeling. If I remain as I now am, I' shall require 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FA TURK HECKER. 663 

very little, and that little would be spent for the benefit and 
help of others. 

"July 23. I will go home, be true to the spirit with the 
help of God, and wait for further light and strength. ... I 
feel that I cannot live at this place as I would. This is not the 
place for my soul. . . My life is not theirs. They have been 
the means of giving me much light on myself, but I feel I 
would live and progress more in a different atmosphere." 

On the 25th of July Isaac finally departed from Fruitlands, 
and after remaining for a few days at Brook Farm, he returned 
to his home in New York. Before following him thither, it may 
be well to give at once such further references to this period of 
his life as are contained in the memoranda. The following ex- 
tract is undated : 

" A propos of Emerson's death, Father Hecker said : ' I knew 
him well. When I resolved to become a Catholic I was board- 
ing at the house of Henry Thoreau's mother, a stone's-throw 
from Emerson's at Concord.' ' 

" What did Thoreau say about it ? " 

" 'What's the use of your joining the Catholic Church? Can't 
you get along without hanging to her skirts?' I suppose Emer- 
son found it out from Thoreau, so he tried his best to get me 
out of the notion. He invited me to tea with him, and he kept 
leading up to the subject and I leading away from it. The next 
day he asked me to drive over with him to the Shakers, some 
fifteen miles. We stayed over night, and all the way there and 
back he was fishing for my reasons, with the plain purpose of 
dissuading me, Then Alcott and he arranged matters so that 
they cornered me in a sort of interview, and Alcott frankly 
developed the subject. I finally said, ' Mr. Alcott, I deny your 
inquisitorial right in this matter,' and so they let it drop. One 
day, however, I was walking along the road and Emerson joined 
me. Presently he said, ' Mr. Hecker, I suppose it was the art, 
the architecture, and so on in the Catholic Church which led 
you to her?" 'No,' said I; 'but it was what caused all that.' 
I was the first to break the Transcendental camp. Brownson 
came some time after me. 

" Years later, during the war, I went to Concord to lecture, 
and wanted Emerson to help me get a hall. He refused. 

" Alcott promised that he would, but he did not, and I think 
Emerson dissuaded him. After a time, however, a priest, a church, 
and a congregation of some six or seven hundred Catholics 



//// /./// c/ /'. f ////.v ///<,v//.'. 

grew up in ( oiiconl, and I \\a-> invited t<> lecture, and I \vi-nt. 
Tlir pastor attended another station that Sunday, and I said the 
and meant to ^ivc a homily by uay of sermon. Hut as I 
the altar, all vested fur tl two men came 

into my sul : one, the man who lived in that village in former 
years, a blind man, groping about for light, a --.iiil with every 
problem unsolved; the other a man full of light, with every 
problem solved, the universe and the reason of his 
known as they actually are. Well, there were those two men in 
nvy soul. I had to yet rid of them, so I preached them off to 
the people. Some wept, some laughed, all were deeply m 
That night came the lecture. It rained pitchforks and pineai 
but the hall, a large on completely filled. Multitud< 

Yankees were there. Kmcrson was absent, but AK "it was pre- 
sent. I had my lecture all cut and dried. 'Why I became a 
Catholic' was the subject. Hut as I was about to begin, up 
came those two men again, and for the life of me I couldn't 
help firing them off at the audience, and with remarkable effect. 
Next day I met Emerson in the street and we had a little talk 
together. None of those men are comfortable in conversation 
with an intelligent Catholic. He avoided my square look, and 
actually kept turning to avoid my eyes until he had quite turned 
round! Such men, confronted with actual, certain conviction- 
arc exceedingly uncomfortable. They feel in subjection to you. 
They cannot bear the steadfast glance of a man of certain prin- 
ciples any better than a dog can the look of his master. Like 
a dog, they turn away the head and show signs of un< 

From the memoranda, also, we take this reminiscence of 
George Ripley, the man whom Father Hecker loved best of all 
the Transcendental party : 

"January 23, 1885. Seeing my perplexity at Brook Farm, 
George Ripley said, 'Mr. Hecker, do you think we have no' 
true religion? If you think so, say so. If you have views you 
think true, and which we ought to have, let us hear them.' 1 
answered, 'No; I haven't the truth, but I am trying to get it. 
If I ever succeed, you will hear from me. If I don't, you r. 
will. I am not going to teach before I am certain myself. I 
will not add myself to the list of humbug-.' 

"Ripley was a great man; a wonderful man. Hut he was a 
complete failure. I loved him dearly, ami he knew it, and In- 
loved me; I know well he did. When 1 came back a Kedemp- 
torist from Kurope, I went to see him at the Tribune office 



1890.] THE LIFE of FATHER HECKEK. 665 

He asked me, 'Can you do all that any Catholic priest can do?' 
'Yes.' 'Then I will send for you when I am drawing towards 
my end.' 

" Indeed, if one could have gone to Ripley, at any time 
in his later years, and said, ' You will never return again to 
the society of men,' and persuaded him it was true, he would 
have said at once, ' Send for Father Hecker or some other 
Catholic priest.' I am persuaded that the fear of facing his 
friends hindered George Ripley from becoming a Catholic. He 
sent for me when taken down by his last illness, but his 
message was not delivered. As soon as I heard that he was 
ill I hastened to his bedside, but his mind was gone and I 
could do nothing for him." 

And now, having given so fully such of his own impressions 
as remain of the persons and places which helped to shape 
Father Hecker in early manhood, we will terminate the record 
of this period with two letters, one from each community, which 
were written him soon after his return to New York. No words 
of our own could show so well the hearty affection and implicit 
trust which he awakened and returned : 

" Brook Farm, September 18, 1843 MY DEAR FRIEND : I was 
rejoiced to hear from you, though you wrote too short a letter. 
Your beautiful fruit, enough to convert the direst sceptic to 
Grahamism, together with the pearled wheat, arrived safely, 
although a few days too late to be in perfectly good order. We 
distributed them to all and singular, men, women, and children, 
who discussed them with great interest, I assure you ; many, no 
doubt, with silent wishes that no good or beautiful thing might 
ever be' wanting to you. I am glad to learn that you are so 
happy in New York, that you find so much in your own mind 
to compensate for the evils of a city environment, and that your 
aspirations are not quenched by the sight of the huge disorders 
that daily surround you. I hardly dare to think that my own 
faith or hope would be strong enough to reconcile me to a 
return to common society. I should pine like an imprisoned bird, 
and I fear I should grow blind to the visions of loveliness and 
glory which the future promises to humanity. I long for action 
which shall realize the prophecies, fulfil the Apocalypse, bring 
the new Jerusalem down from heaven to earth, and collect the 
faithful into a true and holy brotherhood. To attain this con- 
summation so devoutly to be wished, I would eat no flesh, I 
would drink no wine while the world lasted. I would become as 
devoted an ascetic as yourself, my dear Isaac. But to what end 
is all speculation, all dreaming, all questioning, but to advance 
humanity, to bring forward the manifestation of the Son of God ? 



'>*>'. ////. l.IFE Oh /'/ 77/AA 1 Hh.CtCLK. [.\ 

( )!i. for men who feel this idea burning into their bone-, ! When 
shall we see them ? And without them, what will be phalanxes, 
groups ami series, attractive industry, and all the sublime words 
of modern reforms ? 

" When will you come back to Brook Farm ? Can you do 
without us? Can we do without you? Hut do not come as an 
amateur, a self-perfectioni/er, an ;esthetic self-seeker, willing to 
suck the orange of Association dry and throw away the \ 
Oh ! that you would com.- as one of us, to work in the faith of a 
divine idea, to t-.il in loneliness and tears for the sake of the 
kingdom which God may build up by our hands. All here, that 
is, all our old central members, feel more .md more the spirit 
of devotedness, the thirst to do or die, for the e.iti^e we have 
at heart. We do not distrust Providence. We cannot believe 
that what we have gained here of spiritual ] will be l^t 

through want of material resources. At present, however, we 
are in great straits. We hardly dare to provide the means of 
keeping warm in our pleasant nest this winter. 

"Just look at our case. With property amounting to $30,- 
OOO, the want of two or three thousands litters us and may kill 
us. That sum would free us from pecuniary embarrassment, and 
for want of that we work daily with fetters on our lim!) An 
there not five men in New York City who would dare to ven- 
ture $200 each in the cause of social reform, without being 
assured of a Phalajix for themselves and their children tor ever? 
Alas ! I know not. We arc willing to traverse the wilderness 
forty years ; we ask no grapes of Kshcol for ourselves ; we 
do not claim a fair abode in the promised land ; but what can 
we do, with neither quails nor manna, with raiment waxing old, 
and shoes bursting from our feet ? 

" Forgive me, my dear Isaac, for speaking so much about 
ourselves. But what else should I speak of? And who more 
sympathizing with our movement than yours 

" Do not be surprised at receiving this letter so long after 
date. Not less than four times have I begun it, and as often 
have been interrupted. Pray write me now and then. Your 
words are always sweet and pleasant to my soul. Believe me, 
ever yours truly, GEORGK 



" Harvard, Mass., November 11, 1843. DEAR FRIKND: Your 
kind letter of the 1st came duly to hand, and we are making 
arrangements to enjoy the benefit of your healthful bequest. 

" Please to accept thanks for your sympathy and the reports 
of persons and things in your circle. They have interested me 
much, but 1 am about to make you the most incongruous return 
conceivable. For pleasure almost unqualified which you have con- 
ferred on me, I fear I shall trouble you with painful relations; in 
return for a barrel of superfine wholesome wheat-meal, I am g"ing 
to submit to you a peck of troubles. Out of as many of the -M 



1 890.] THE LIFE OF FA THER HECKER. 667 

as you lovingly and freely can, you may assist me; but, of 
course, you will understand that I feel I have no claim upon 
you. On the contrary, indeed, I see that I run the hazard of 
forfeiting your valued friendship by thus obtruding my pecuniary 
concerns into our hitherto loftier communings. You know it to 
be a sentiment of mine that these affairs should never be 
obtruded between aesthetic friends, but what can one do in ex- 
tremity but to unburden candidly to the generous ? 

" When I bought this place, instead of paying the whole 
$1,800, as I wished, $300 of my money went to pay old debts 
with which I ought to have had nothing to do; and Mrs. Alcott's 
brother, Samuel J. May, joined his name to a note for $300, to 
be paid by instalments in two years. And now that the first 
instalment is due, he sends me word that he declines paying it. 
As all my cash has been expended in buying and keeping up 
the affair, I am left in a precarious position, out of which I do 
not see the way without some loveful aid, and to you I venture 
freely to submit my feelings. Above all things I should like to 
discharge at once this $300 note, as unless that is done the place 
must, I fear, fall back into individuality and the idea be sus- 
pended. Now, if as much cash is loose in your pocket, or that 
of some wealthy friend, there shall be parted off as much of the 
land as will secure its return, from the crops alone, in a few 
years ; or, I would sell a piece until I can redeem it ; or, I 
would meet the loan in any other secure way, if I can but 
secure the land from the demon usury. This mode seems to me 
the most desirable. But I could get along with the instalment 
of $75, and would offer like security in proportion. Or, if you 
can do it yourself, and would prefer the library as a pledge, you 
shall select such books as will suit your own reading and would 
cover your advance in cash any day you choose to put them up 
to auction, if I should fail to redeem them. Or, I would give my 
notes of hand that I could meet by sales of produce or of land. 
If I had the benefit of your personal counsel, we could contrive 
something between us, I am sure, but I have no such aid about 
me. The difficulty in itself is really light, but to me, under 
present circumstances, is quite formidable. If at your earliest 
convenience you acquaint me with your mind, you will much 
oblige. 

" I have another trouble of a personal nature. I suffer already 
this winter from the inclemency of the weather, so much that 
my hands are so chapped that I can scarcely hold the pen. If 
I could find employment in a more southern position that would 
support me and the boy, and leave a little to be applied to the 
common good, I would undertake it. I think I could at the 
same time be of some mental and moral service to the people 
where I might be located. 

"Another trouble. Young William has been very ill for the 
vol.. LI. 43 



668 TX& LffB Of FATff&X HSCX&Jt. [Aug.. 

la>t in. null, brought on, 1 believe, by excessive work. Hr is 
still very weak, ami lias not sat up for three weeks. 

\11 these, besides sundry -lighter plagues, coming upon 
me at once, have perhaps a little disconcerted my nerves, and 
the advice and assistance ot a generous friend at -;ich 3 junc- 
ture \\ould be indeed serviceable. If the journey were not s< . 
l'ii- and so costly I would a>k you to come. He assured that 
whatever may be your decision in any of these relations, my 
m for you cannot be thereby diminished. My only fear 
is that such encroachments on your good nature will reduce 
your estimation cf, dear friend, yours ii'iost sincerely, 

CMAKI.I s \.\\\ 

" Regards to the Doctor and all friends. The Shakers have 
kindly inquired for you, and they still take much interest in 
our life. Have you seen the last Dial? The Present is good, 
but surely not good enough. I hope to write a more uni\ 
letter in response to your next, for which I wait." 

Poor Lane, failing to find any equally confiding and gen- 
erous friend to shoulder with him the personal debts of the 
founder of Fruitlands, was compelled at last to let the farm 
"lapse into individuality" and to see "the idea suspended." 
In his next and " more universal letter " he announces that 
the experiment is ended in consequence of Mrs. Alcott's refusal 
to remain on the place through the winter. Lane went 
to the neighboring Shaker community, and from there to 
England, where Father Hecker met him during his own re- 
sidence at Clapham, after his ordination. His letters foil' 
Father Hecker for several years, and breathe always the same 
unselfishness, the same simple trust in human goodness, and 
the same fondness for speculations on "the universal." 



1890.] PROHIBITION AND CATHOLICS. 669 



PROHIBITION AND CATHOLICS. 

TIIKRE is an aspect of the liquor problem which friends 
of the temperance cause do not sufficiently insist upon, and 
which enemies of the reform purposely overlook. Prohibition 
of saloons, as here in the United States and at the present 
day they are managed, is an. entirely different thing from pro- 
hibiting the sale and manufacture of drink. In other words, 
every saloon in the country might be shut up, and the sale 
and manufacture of drink go on in such a way that every reason- 
able call for it could be supplied. I would, moreover, include 
the use of liquor as a beverage under the head of "a reasonable 
call"; so that, although there would be no such dram-shops 
as we now have, yet drink, strong and mild, would be sold not 
only for medicinal and scientific purposes, but also for the more 
ordinary use to which it is put. 

And why would I thus do away with our American saloon- 
system. For the powerful reason that, as it is conducted, it is 
an illicit, a morally bad business. " That is Manicheism ! " you 
exclaim with hands raised up. No, it is not. I defy a school- 
man to detect a tinge of heresy in the proposition's complexion ; 
nay, I will give reason why he should support the assertion. 
What is the saloon, hie et mine, as it is with us ? The institu- 
tion which induces men to drink immoderately, to drink fot- the 
mere pleasure of drinking. Drinking, moreover, is held in leash 
by the ethical code which restrains all animal appetites : " Pre- 
cat qui agit propter solani delectationem. Ratio est quia ille agit 
inordinate, pervertens ordinem verum ab Auctore natures inslitu- 
tum. . . In naturalibus autem est delectatio propter operationcin, 
et non e converse "* (Gury, vol. i. n. 28). And this principle, 
which makes drunkenness sinful, illegitimates, servato moderamine, 
taking even one glass of whiskey for mere gratification. 

In THE CATHOLIC WORLD for June, 1889, the present 
saloon-system was indicted as damnable on three counts: I'st. 
The saloon as known in the United States is a proximate 
occasion of sin to the saloon-keeper himself; 2d. As now carried 

* " He that acts from a motive of mere pleasure, sins. The reason is because he acts inor- 
dinately, perverting the order of things ordained by the Author of nature. . . For, by 
nature the pleasure is for the sake of the act, and not the act for the sake ol the pleasure." 



670 v .-.\v> CA : [Aug., 

on i: organi/ei! temptation; 3d. It is inimical to the 

public \vrul. These counts \vuv demonstrated by methods Cath- 
olic thinkers recognize as sound. Not <>ne of the arguments 
given has been invalidated ; so my thesis cannot be anathc- 
mati/ed. A grave difficulty it is, though, that Prohibition, in 
whatever sense restricted under the tutelage of the conglome- 
ration known as the Third Party, has been made objectionable 
to Catholics. Conservative orthodox writers, with good reason, 
warn their brethren " to beware of the extreme views and 
fanatical tenets" of the political association which lays d ,,\\ n 
Prohibition as the king beam of its platform. What is objection- 
able about it ? 

In the first place, its partnerships are, or have been until very 
recently, unfortunate. One can understand that a man can hold 
strong views on socialism, or woman-suffrage, or land-ownership, 
or the currency problem ; nobody would dream of disputing his 
freedom to do so. If, however, a reform is proposed, for instance 
in regard to the ballot, and I am a believer and active agent in 
the cause, it does not follow that I approve the views of my 
radical neighbor outside of this particular question. Should he, 
then, in " zeal for his fellow-man," so fix things that I cannot 
act in the ballot-reform without at the same time voting for his 
other isms, the chances are I will give up the whole bus: 
ballot-reform along with the rest, thoroughly disgusted that my 
freeman's rights have been interfered with, inasmuch as I could 
not do what I wanted, and had a right, to do, without doing 
what I did not wish to. One need not be deemed as opposed 
to other reforms because he wishes the temperance cause to 
stand alone ; far from it. Nevertheless it can easily be that an 
earnest advocate of temperance is not a woman-suffragist, a 
labor- reformer must not necessarily be a communist And when 
a party is organized to bring about a legal enactment which will 
give efficient expression to the people's persuasion that such or 
such an abuse must be done away with, then that organization's 
courses should not be altered, or its gait impeded by unnecessary 
and not acceptable burdens. Such a fate has been that of the 
Third Party. One plank in the building weakens another ; not 
because they are unsound timbers, but for the reason that they 
will not dovetail, are of different dimensions and unlike ni.it> 
Let the truth be spoken: the standing army of crack-braint>l, 
visionary cranks, who here in America take up with every fad 
free-love, anarchism, etc., etc. (you cannot mention an absurdity 






1890.] PROHIBITION AND CATHOLICS. 671 

which they will not insert in their creed) barnacled themselves 
to this movement shortly after its launching ; and there was a 
time when the barnacles appeared to control the vessel's steering 
apparatus. 

Such is a fair statement of what has been one of Prohibition's 
objectionable features. Evidently it is not essential to the re- 
form, and can be done away with without the least damage to 
the great principle, "The present saloon system must be abol- 
ished." 

A second way in which the temperance reform suffers dam- 
age is kindred to this namely, its authoritative propagators 
meddle with matters not of their sphere. For instance, the per st\ 
necessary immorality of making or selling liquor to be used as a 
beverage. What has this to do with them ? Practical reform 
identifies itself with morals only in the here-and-now aspect : Is 
the saloon in America a public nuisance and menace ? As to 
the in se and per se branch of the controversy, that belongs to 
dialecticians. Nevertheless the party will burn its fingers with 
such intermeddling. No later than April of last year the Rev. 
Thomas Conaty, an earnest advocate of total abstinence, felt 
called upon to object to the prohibitory amendment proposed 
in the State of Massachusetts on these, among other, grounds : 
" I believe it to be wrong in principle as good morals. . . . 
The use of intoxicating drink is not an evil in itself. It be- 
comes such to those who abuse it, and against this abuse, as 
against those who produce it, society can and must legislate, 
but only inasmuch as it is necessary to protect the State. . . . 
The fact that some men, or even many men, use stimulants to 
excess does not make the manufacture and sale of them an evil 
in themselves." 

Owing to this grave error, prohibitionists have left themselves 
open to the charge, which Americans can least bear, of violating 
personal rights, since, unless it be granted that selling and drink- 
ing liquor is in se and per se immoral, they deprive the virtuous 
for the sake of punishing the vicious. This climbing over other 
people's fences and strutting about in fields not their own, on the 
part of aggressive temperance proselyters, is the main cause of 
the ill-success and ridicule which is the Third Party's lot; and 
this also supplies timid men with objections to advocating or 
taking up with prohibition in any sense of the term. And men 
generally will not have to do with what their common sense 
repels. The assumption that the sale or manufacture of any 



672 



PKOHIHITIOX A\D CATHOLICS. 



[Aug., 



amount or kind of intoxicating drink is a crime is repellent to 
common >ense. 

Suppose these propositions be dropped from the tempe- 
rance litany, will vital considerations be sacrificed ? By no 
means, for they are excrescences, unnatural growths, not inherent 
defects. The thesis, " The present saloon system is illicit, a 
public menace, and must go," remains whole and intact whether 
selling or drinking rum be /;/ sr wrong or not; whether the 
abuse does outweigh the use of alcohol or not; whether "long- 
haired men and short-haired women " belong to the institution 
whose constitution and by-laws are summed up in the axiom 
just enunciated or not ; and I ask pardon, but for the sake of 
emphasis it is well to repeat this principle it was which dc facto 
begat prohibition as a broad measure of reform, and this is all- 
sufficient for its continued existence. 

Now I come to a leading query : Do Catholics bear them- 
selves in the most commendable way in regard to temperance 
reform ? Suppose that many reformers do say that the manu- 
facture and sale of liquor is in itself wrong (of course, the 
majority assert nothing of the kind), does this settle the matter 
absolutely and irrevocably ? Is the proposed reform the only 
one which has had fanaticism as an accompaniment ? Because 
Flagellantes went to extremes in the use of leather whips, thorny 
sticks, and knotted ropes did the church forbid penitential prac- 
tices ? In truth, the movement I am discussing is in merely a 
formative state ; experience alone can mould and give it endur- 
ing character. Listen to a parable : A child was born, say in 
Jericho, of doubtful parents, and after birth fell into bad hands. 
As the weaning time approached it waxed strong. However, an 
evil genius presided over its nurturing. It had the possibilities 
of a Jekyl or of a Hyde, but circumstances promised that the 
latter would obtain the mastery. Nay, more, ere long it showed 
itself to be actually possessed. But good people came by that 
way, saw the child, and realized its certainly harmful future un- 
less its ways were changed, the evil genius banished, good 
influences brought to bear upon it. What did they ? Curse 
it as a heretical brat, hound it on account of what it had been 
brought to be by others, and finally compass its violent death ? 
On the contrary, they won over the little one, exorcised it, 
treated it as one of their own; and the child's ways mend. 
that it grew to a noble manhood, became an instrument for 
well-doing, and nobly repaid its benefactors. 



1890.] PROHIBITION AND CATHOLICS. 673 

Apply the parable, remembering that parable-fashion it exag- 
gerates ; for temperance reform has not been thus cursed : a 
Catholic priest's work had something to do in bringing about 
the conception of it even as prohibition, and Christian men have 
rocked and are now rocking its cradle. 

Why should not we, then, have part in educating and safe- 
guarding the child, in order that it may in time to come enjoy 
a well-balanced majority ? 

Ah ! but, have I not been begging the question from the 
start ? Is it true that the principle I have been insisting upon 
is the actual basis of the present prohibitory movement ? Bishop 
Spalding of Peoria sees the proposed reforms of our times as 
they are. Here is the way in which he answers : " In fact, one 
great question that is going to be forced into politics we may 
sneer at it now, but it is going to come is the question of 
Prohibition. Mark my words : the saloon in America has become 
a public nuisance. The liquor trade, by meddling with politics 
and corrupting politics, has become a menace and a danger. 
Those who think, and those who love America, and those who 
love liberty are going to bring this moral question into politics 
more and more." To Bishop Spalding, "the question of pro- 
hibition " and the statement " the saloon in America has become 
a public nuisance " evidently explain one another. 

But suppose this idea is not the fundamental notion on which 
the more active movers in the reform base their action, should 
this fact frighten us off from all agitation for statutory temperance 
reform ? Not if Archbishop Ireland's words contain good 
counsel : 

" The tendencies and movements of the age which affright the timid are 
providential opportunities, opening the way for us to glorious victory. That 
modern ideas and movements are under all their aspects deserving of approval, 
I am far from asserting. . . . And yet how much there is in them that is 
grand and good ! The good is the substantial, the primary movement ; the 
bad is but the accident, the misdirection of the movement. The movement 
bubbles up from the deepest recesses of humanity. As it parts from its source 
its tendency is upward : it makes for the elevation of the race, the betterment 
of the multitude, the extension of man's empire over nature. . . . The 
greatest epoch of human history, if we except that which witnessed the coming 
of God upon earth, is with us, and wisdom and energy on our part will make the 
church the supreme mistress of the epoch. . . . We should speak to our 
age of things it feels, and in language it understands. We should be in it, 
and of it, if we would have its ear. . . . Into the arena, I repeat, and do 
the work before us in this age and this country, caring not for the olden customs 
of the dead, or for sharp criticisms from the living fighting at every point for 
justice and perseverance." 



f>~4 HiaiTlON AND CATHOLICS, [An-. 

We have a glorious opportunity of putting this advice into 
practice in the temperance cause. \Ve have hold of the prin- 
ciple which should be the basis of temperance agitation; let u- 
go into the .struggle and make it such. Right-thinking men the 
country over can be induced to put their shoulders to the 
wheel if they but hear it intelligently discussed, especially if 
made to see that the main object of life is not to escape exp 
ing themselves on subjects they wish to keep clear of, or of 
avoiding the narrowing any man's personal rights these may 
easily be secured but solely of suppressing intemperance ami 
getting rid of the blighting influence the saloon system of to- 
day exercises upon our personal, moral, and political weal. 
These works all good citi/.ens will agree in pushing forward. A^ 
Catholics, whatever our party affiliations may be, it is our 
business to place ourselves in the vanguard working with might 
and main to suppress the saloon by every lawful means. This 
does not necessarily mean that the individual is to join one or 
another political party ; but it means that he will use what his 
common sense tells him are the most efficacious weapons for 
obtaining victory. The important point is that every Catholic 
be actively engaged in the fray. What right have we to con- 
stitute a dignified reserve corps, which may never be called on 
to go into action ? Will it be our lot to grumble because we 
may not control after the victor}-, when we have done none of 
the fighting to win it ? This was never the fashion of our 
fathers, and it must not be ours. They wore their laurels 
because they won them ; in like manner must we, unless we 
prefer to go crownless. 

I >-r.!'H V. TKACV. 

Rostoii. 



1890.] ANOTHER \VORD ON CHILDREN'S READING. 675 



ANOTHER WORD ON CHILDREN'S READING. 

DESPITE the wise, brilliant, arid practical things that have been 
said on the subject, it is an indisputable truth that nine children 
out of every ten do not receive the special training demanded 
by the wants of their peculiar natural bent. As a class they 
are profoundly misunderstood. Few parents, teachers, guardians 
are clear-eyed or pure-hearted enough to comprehend the child - 
nature. Grown people are absorbed in their own interests, amuse- 
ments, occupations. They are pressed and hurried by weight of 
business, learning, philanthropy, home and social duties. The 
attitude of many good people towards children is often that de- 
scribed in Adelaide Procter's beautiful verses called A Student : 

" Over an ancient scroll I bent, 
Steeping my soul in wise content, 
Nor paused a moment save to chide 
A low voice whispering at my side." 

In the majority of well-to-do families (the children of the 
very poor are too sorrowful a problem to be here discussed) 
children are regarded from the wholly ornamental or wholly 
useful point of view. It is a case of " little Lord Fauntleroy " 
vs. " the Marchioness." It would be hard to decide whether a 
child is more injured by constant posing or by being made to 
fetch and carry from morning till night. The fact that a child 
is amenable to reason and common sense is seldom considered. 
Enforcement of the easily-comprehended idea of duty is apt to 
be aided by the pin-pricks of nagging. The intensity and im- 
pressionableness of childhood are often forgotten. Never should 
they be more strictly borne in mind than when the choosing of 
juvenile literature is in question. 

For children, much more than for their elders, books are like 
living presences. Whatever explanation be given of the psycho- 
logical phenomena of the attractive or repellent action of one 
mind upon another, the simple fact remains that contact with 
some persons brings out in us all that is good and healthful, 
while contact with others develops all the unhealthfulness that 
may be latent within us. Over children especially books, as 
well as people, hold this power. In spite of the outpourings of 
egoistic sense and nonsense that have lately been the fashion, 



unilcr the titles A'ci'fo ///</ //<;;< Helped .Me or /?<><>& 

Hindered Mf, the majority of parents have refused to see 
the blessings extended to them in the form of these li-t-, and still 
continue to provide for their children's spiritual and mental 
pabulum the best illustrated or best advertised juvenile period- 
icals of the day. The opportunities of Christmas and birthday 
celebrations are still taken advantage of to accumulate, for the 
benefit of the younger members of the family, choice series of 
:e " or "Mildred Keith" books. Fortunately for the rising 
generation, that youth whose perfections have often awakened 
the first murder, ais desire in many voting breasts lias gone 
out of fashion. "Hie Rollo books" are no longer in vogue. 
If we could say the same of the " Elsie " and "Mildred" 
and dozens of other juvenile series of the same ranting, canting, 
hypocritical sort, it would be with a profound A<> grntias. 
Prigs and snobs will be plentiful indeed on our free American 
soil if the influence of a great part of the juvenile literature of 
the day bear its due fruit. 

A child's reading should be chosen with the sole view of 
developing breadth and strength and health of character. What- 
ever it consists of, it should be like a magical broom, called Sun- 
shine, sweeping away the cobwebs of moodiness and broo<i 
and listlessness from heart and soul. Cobwebs may be very 
beautiful when the morning dew sparkles like diamond dust 
upon them, but the old tale of the princess whose escape from 
the enchanted tower was barred and prevented by tangles of 
cobwebs has its moral still. Dreamy-eyed children must be 
given literature, duties, occupations that will teach the blessed- 
ness of action. Then their dreaminess will become a happy be- 
lief in life's ideals. Otherwise dreamy children, left to themselves 
or controlled by unhealthy influences, are almost certain to be- 
come morbid men and women. Dreaminess, which we are apt 
to think so beautiful a thing in the blue-eyed, golden-haired boy 
or girl, is generally an excellent foundation for melancholia and 
hypochondria. 

The first book to which children should be accustomed is the 
Bible. Notwithstanding its obscurities, and due care being had t<> 
avoid contact with what would scamlali/.e unknowing innocence, 
the Bible is at once the simplest and most delightful of books. 
It is the one only book of which it can be said that (ii>d is tin- 
author. The oldest book, the most eloquent, the most intensely 
interesting of books is the Bible. The daily reading in childhood 
of a few verses in the Gospels or in the 1'salms will do much to 



1890.] AXOTIIKK WORD ON CHILDREN'S READING. 677 

make religion a matter of books throughout life, something quite 
a necessity in our day. 

Every healthy child and none need be other has an intense 
love and curiosity for realities. Let it be gratified by judicious 
selections from that delightful field of reading, well-written 
biography. Show children, also, the realities of history not 
as portrayed by Dickens or the compilers of most of the ju- 
venile histories. Give the boy or girl who loves history The 
Story of Ireland, as told by the late A. M. Sullivan; Agnes 
Strickland's Lives; the works of the late S. Hubert Burke; 
above all, the rich gleanings from the field of Catholic Ameri- 
can history which we owe to the learning and tireless labors of 
John Gilmary Shea. 

It is a mistake to suppose that children have no feeling for 
good literature. The editor of a first-class juvenile periodical, 
recently established, neither betokens a knowledge of child-nature 
nor prophesies lasting success for his venture, despite its illustra- 
tions and the imposing array of prominent names among his 
contributors, when he accompanies a request for contributions 
with a printed list of rules for the guidance of his contributors' 
style and thoughts. It is not dwarfed, or pruned, or padded, 
or made-over style and thoughts that children most enjoy. 
Few of them lack that instinct of appreciation of excellence in 
many kinds which, properly developed, will make the broad- 
minded, truly cultured man or woman who, like Edmund Burke, 
like Lady Georgiana Fullerton, is "endlessly interested in every- 
thing." 

No one who understands them will disagree with me in say- 
ing that children are not inappreciative of true poetry. Let any 
mother who would like to try the experiment, and who possesses 
excellent judgment, fine patience, and "a sweet, low voice," 
read aloud, now and then, to her little ones a few verses from 
some musical, simple, true poet. The chances are many that 
her lads and lasses, when they have grown into manhood and 
womanhood, will find an intense pleasure in the form and soul 
of Aubrey de Vere's poetry, of Tennyson's Idyls of the King. 

If novels are given to children and, in moderation, it is 
very desirable they should be let it be only the humanest and 
healthiest class of fiction that is put into their hands. Let 
Dickens be their friend. He can never be to the man and 
woman what he is to the boy and girl. Let the children laugh 
over Pickwick Papers and cry over Old Curiosity Shop to their 
hearts' content; let them grow terrified and breathless over 



678 ./.VO///AA- H'UK/> o.v r////./>AY-..v'.s AV..//v.v<;. (Aug., 

Dickens's masterpiece, J A/,' .': \. dive them /"<;/>/<>/</, 

Cii/lista, />!</ atid the Sybils, those Catholic gems that glisten 
upon the dark robe of the first Christian centuries. Teach them 
ad and admire all the \vork> of I.adv Georgiana Fullerton 
and Mr--. Craven. Make them acquainted with />'<// ffitr and it~ 
author's almost equally fine work, The l-'air (ioii. dive them 
that perfect story, I.orna /A><>// ( -, to read and re-read until its 
manly hero, John Kidd. of brawn and heart equally well tem- 
pered, has builded his earnestness and simplicity upon the 
masonry of character that they are daily raising. There is 
another story I should want to see as well thumbed as I.orna 
Dooiit. The most untutored boy of ten would have an hone-t 
consciousness of the grandeur of character displayed by the hero 
of John Boyle O'Reilly's fascinating Mosmlync. Such boo' 
these can hurt no child, although it is very true that what may 
be an abiding help for one may be a hindrance, almost a mortal 
harm, for another. Never in a child's trusting fingers can 
doubtful literature be honestly or conscientiously placed, f< 
pure is a child's mind that a breath can tarnish its shining 
mirror ; so pure is it, also, that much impurity becomes spotless 
gold in its glowing alembic. Whether the doubtful book will 
leave an ineffaceable tarnish upon that beautiful mirror, or will 
become, through that wondrous alembic, purged of all its dross, 
is a question that can only be answered by being left unan- 
swered. 

If the evidence of two generations of young people be pro- 
phetic of the future, it is safe to say that Sir Walter Scott and 
James Fenimore Cooper will continue to . be as important epi- 
sodes in every boy's and girl's career as P. T. Barnum's " great 
moral show." Stories of war and adventure are almost certain 
to be liked by children. Stevenson's marvellous story-telling 
cannot hurt them, nor W. Clarke Russell's sea-stories, nor Jules 
Verne's science-winged flights of imagination. These romances 
cannot harm, and they may lead, later on, to a deeper int 
in the real marvels of science and discovery. Better still would 
it be to give children a living interest in the living heroes of 
to-day. Teach them to hear the restless throbbing of the pulses 
of the great world around them. Tell them who the men are 
that lead the forlorn hopes of to-day which to-morrow may be 
among the fails accomplis. Set the children's minds in an atti- 
tude of veneration for the heroes of our Republic. Let the 
names of Gladstone, of Parnell, of William O'Brien be some- 
thing more to them than words without other interest or mean- 



1890.] ANOTHER WORD ON CHILDREN'S READING. 679 

ing than notoriety. It would be an easy matter to inspire 
children with lively interest in Stanley, in Cardinal Lavigerie's 
African slave crusade, in that noblest hero of all, the leper- 
priest of Molokai. Stories of saints, living or dead, enkindle 
more quickly than almost anything else the juvenile imagination. 
Every one knows this who has ever tried relating to a group of 
little ones, in lieu of a fairy tale, some simple legend of the 
saints, or who has read to them the beautiful sketches com- 
prising the series of Patron Saints, by that charming and ele- 
gant writer, Eliza Allen Starr. 

Cultivate a child's sense of humor, and let fun play as im- 
portant a part in his reading as it should in his life. The vul- 
garities and bigotries of Mark Twain and Bill Nye should never 
be put in juvenile hands, but they might be given Marshall P. 
Wilder, Burdette, Eugene Field, Anstey the delicious fun of 
whose Vice Versa appeals to everybody the exquisite drolleries 
of Stockton, the writings of a multitude of Irish authors chief 
among them being Gerald Griffin. 

Hawthorne's Wonder Book and Tangle-wood Tales are truly 
beautiful books, and funny enough for any child, while they will 
teach how to admire, later on, the great artist in words, whose 
prime merit was, unfortunately, not cheerfulness. There are other 
wonder books, collections of fairy stories, that are worth giving 
to any child : Hans Andersen's Tales, for instance, or the various 
collections of folk-lore of different countries that are so easily 
obtainable nowadays. The Arabian Nights may not be health- 
ful reading for every child, but I doubt if many could derive 
injury from it. I have in mind a certain bright, sensible, sun- 
shiny woman who is too useful and fine a character to be de- 
scribed by any mere string of epithets the happiest hours of 
whose childhood were spent in a dusty, lumber-heaped attic, 
bending over an old worm-eaten chest in which, amidst rubbish 
of various sorts, a torn old volume of The Arabian Nights had 
been one day discovered. Hers was a good Catholic household, 
in which very little fiction even the fiction within reach of 
ordinary people thirty or forty years ago was tolerated. In 
those days even the excellent Rollo and his most excellent 
parents, and that type of all wisdom and virtue, Jonas, "the 
hired man," had not yet come into existence. Mrs. Whitney's 
New England types of youthful prigism were not then extant. 
Neither Horatio Alger nor Oliver Optic had begun to study, in 
what we all, I am sure, at one time considered that pre-eminent- 
ly skilful fashion, the boy and girl of the street-arab genus. 



680 A\OTJ/KK JI'CAV 0.\- r/////'AY-..V'.V K/-Af>l\G. [Aug., 

Furty year- ago the American child, of good Catholic parer/ 
w.i- in a lamentable plight regarding literary culture. The little 
girl who made the lucky find of Arabian marvels had h.i 
literature opened to her before but Maria Kdgeworth'- writings 
and a particularly fossili/ed edition of the Lives of the S-.iints. 
Many a delightful hour she spent in the enjoyment of the for- 
bidden fruit, that wrought no harm to her pure spirit and 
the first vivifying touch to her strong and sensitive imagination. 
Cold and heat were alike to her there, the mice scampered by 
her unheeded, while, with Hushed cheeks, glowin. and 

rumpled curls, she lived, in fancy, in the wonderful day- that 
never were of good Haroun Alraschid. 

There is very little literature especially written for children 
that is of much value. The Talcs from Shakespeare, however, 
is a treasure-book to every child. In arranging it Charles and 
Mary Lamb followed the right principle, that nothing high or 
noble which can be opened to them should remain closed to 
children. It is to them many children are indebted when the 
immortal bard of Avon becomes to them more than a mere 
name associated chiefly with the managers of first-class theatrical 
stars. The best distinctively juvenile literature that has 
been written is that bearing the signature of Louisa May Alcott 
From her healthy, true, and sensible stories every boy and girl 
can get both profit and keenest pleasure. Knowing the realness 
which Little Women and Little Men, and all the accompanying 
group of stories, have in youthful American eye-, I think it 
would be a wise thing for every mother to put in her children's 
hands the Life of the friend of so many girls and boys. It 
was published not many months ago, and is a vivid, realistic, 
humorous book. None of our little people can afford to be 
ignorant of the "real" career of that believer in realities, Louisa 
May Alcott, who needed but one gift living Catholic faith to 
have been a truly ideal woman. 

The poverty of Catholic juvenile literature is very well shown 
by consulting the list recently issued by the Columbian Reading 
Union. It comprises very few names, though among them are 
the honored ones of Sadlicr, Dorsey, Mulholland, Mary Cathe- 
rine Crowley a new and clever writer who deserves more than 
a passing notice and that always fascinating writer, Maurice 
Francis Egan. The advocates of Catholic literature for children 
must remember the difficulties that have heretofore handicapped 
Catholic author and publisher. Let us be content to give 
children good literature, leaving its Catholicity for the leaven 



1890.] ANOTHER \\'ORD ox CHILDREN'S READING. 68 1 

of its spirit, not the label of its cover. Taking everything into 
consideration, the excellence of our juvenile periodicals must be 
admitted. If they have not the extent ami attractiveness of 
Harper's Young People or the St. Nicholas Magazine, it is not 
the fault of publisher or contributor, but of (non) subscriber. 
Catholic and all other writers for children must remember that 
the maker of juvenile literature should oftcner look up than doi\.<>i 
to his audience. 

One thing is certain : a child's enjoyment of literature, even 
the trashiest kind, is beautiful in its earnest simplicity. Enjoy- 
ment for a child means so much ! In his hour of pleasure there 
is never the half-drawn sigh, the suppressed irritation, the look- 
ing back upon cares that were, the looking forward to cares that 
will be, which must always, consciously or not, characterize his 
elder relations. Therefore would I argue, give children, in 
literature, in music, in all things, only the best. Through their 
reading, as through all intimate influences brought to bear upon 
them, teach them the immeasurable value of life, of work, of 
kindness. It is so easy for a child to get those warped and 
distorted notions of God's fair world and the dwellers therein 
which end in an unconquerable cynicism and indifference, that 
too much care cannot be taken to spare him such wrong-head- 
edness and wrong-heartedness. It should be the constant care 
of those who have charge over them, to give into the youngest 
hands literature that will awaken thought and enthusiasm, that 
will teach children to see things in their true proportions ; re- 
cognizing what life may be made, let them see, with Father 
Faber, that "in God's wide world there is no room for sin, no 
provision for sorrow, not a corner for unhappiness." 

MARIE LOUISE SANDROCK. 

Buffalo, N. r. 



Tut: Sri KIT A\n nit 



THK SPIRIT AM) THK VOK 

'Ni. the riddles which have never been read, and which 
Science and Philosophy never tire of putting to one another, is 
the riddle of thought and speech. Did this power take prece- 
dence of that, or came they together into the field ? Can either 
exist alone, and to what extent ? 

Ordinary, unscientific folk, who lump the geneses into one 
chapter with but a passing notice for that which was withut 
form and void, are content to take the facts of expression as 
they find them. Why do we shout and weep and sing, make 
pictures and carve images ? Are we equal in heirship of the 
power, or is Mother Nature another Mother Rachel, favoring her 
Jacobs at the expense of her Esaus ? These questions are curious 
enough for ordinary folk, caring not a straw for the man of Nean- 
derthal. To such folk this paper, by one of their number, is 
addressed. 

Archytas, the old Pythagorean, used to say the sight of the 
universe from the sky might be uninteresting, but the telling 
about it to a friend would surely be delightful. Two thou 
years have not robbed the saying of its savor. Experiences are 
still of value as they furnish matter for talk. Who has not 
travelled to tell of it ? Or consoled himself for an uncomfortable 
situation by thinking what a capital story he can make of it 
afterwards? The school-girl believes that a secret is made to 
be told ; her mother, the gossip, is of the same opinion. The 
misanthrope inevitably reserves one man out of the many to 
whom he may relate his hatred for the rest. The first faint 
whimper with which little Ego meets the world may be due to 
reflex action, but from that time on he cries to be heard. 

Singular correlate of the desire, no one understands him ! 
His tongue wags one way when he bids it wag another. Or, 
setting up for a wit, a sage, he plays at logomachy with his 
words, shaking them together for those who care to pick out the 
meaning. Or, poor soul, he passes through a Babel, an Exodus, 
and remains for ever after in a state of bewilderment. 

In a recent magazine story these difficulties were all remo<. 
for the hero, who was cast away on an island of mind-readers, un- 
derstood by them, and, in time, understanding them, spared the 
confusing media of expression. To a first glance the vision 



1890.] THE SPIRIT AND THE VOICE. 683 

appears beatific ; to a second, full of ennui. Centuries of opposi- 
tion have produced and nourished a belligerent spirit which is 
impatient of easier conditions. Complain as we may of the 
" unutterabilities in which we are cased," we do not really crave 
their removal. 

There is a hindrance, however, which should be frowned upon 
and fought. I refer to the announcement of certain would-be 
prophets, physiognomists so-called, who publish, forsooth, the 
significance of our eyebrows, the hidden policies of our nose, the 
morals of our chin, so that we are discouraged at the outset 
from trying to express anything more than what our ancestors 
have written upon us. If the start is favorable, well and good, 
although it is odd to think of a man's living up to the capabili- 
ties of his whiskers or of his length of limb. If it is unfavorable, 
alas ! for the unlucky wight whose light eyes proclaim him un- 
truthful in his most honest glances, or whose thin lips betray his 
lack of fervor while they open to protest the contrary ! 

The physiognomists cannot silence us. They are as helpless 
in that respect as are our own mistakes or the misapprehensions 
of others. Stammering, halting, on we go, as hopefully as if we 
had not failed again and again, and were not doomed to further 
failure. The extent to which we are comprehended remains the 
crucial test. Our friends are ours because we fancy that they 
understand us. Our enemies would hate us less, we fondly 
believe, if they would not persist in reading us wrong. 

This does not explain spontaneous artistic utterance, careless 
of recognition, reckless of effect. Argument, discourse, descrip- 
tion arise from the desire to be understood ; poetry, music, and 
art have another origin. Their source is one with that of the 
mysterious fountain which mingles sweet waters and bitter, laugh- 
ter and sorrow. So the full heart seeks relief. 

" She must weep or she will die," said her maidens of the 
warrior's widow. " By God, it is in me and must go forth of 
me," quoth the old painter. 

The sense of fulness from which we must be freed accounts, 
moreover, for our gratitude towards those who utter our thought 
for us. 

It is said : What matter if we were not the mouth-piece. We 
have striven for years to get it out; with what relief we hear it 
uttered even by another. " Hurrah," we cry, and throw up our 
caps. " It is said, at last, this thing which lay like a burden on 
my conscience. I will exult over this man's success, for it is my 
own. I will lift him up on my shoulders, lay gifts at his feet" 

VOL. LI. 44 



684 THE SriKir A\I> THE I '<. [Aug.. 

Si i leaders are made, who bring us out of the F.gypt of 
dumbness, the darkness and bondage. And they, longin. 
experience again the relief of artistic utterance, seek again the 
fulness which precedes and occasions it. Milton steeping him- 
self to the lips in music before he spoke ; Fra Angclico pray- 
ing liimself into an ecstasy and then taking up the brush; Men- 
delsohn drinking the fragrance of flowers that he might dream 
of ar and appoggiatura these are occasional instances of 

the submission of the vessel to the fluid. The stimulus of brother- 
hood avails much. The demand of sympathy creates a supply other- 
wise unyiclded. Somehow, somewhere, each finds what he needs. 

There is a graceful fancy among the many legends haunting 
the pipe and the string: that for every soul a keynote exi-N, 
and, when it sounds, compels an overtone from the listener to 
whom it belongs, an Aiisuin to its gentle call. Until statistics are 
brought forward to corroborate it, we are at liberty to reject the 
theory as a theory. As an allegory its truth is plain. \Ve have 
a keynote. A chance blow upon it sets us throbbing. We dis- 
cover, in a trice, the undeveloped poet, artist, or musician that we 
are. The affair may go no farther ; it need not for the confirma- 
tion of the belief in our own powers. One hears his note in 
silence, and another in the din of crowded streets. What is de- 
lightful to one would jar on another like an angry threat. For 
one the note sounds under sunny skies and in his youth ; another 
waits until his hair is white, and soberly listens amid gray twi- 
lights in a tend of many storms. There is no direction by which 
any one may find his own note. Yet, surely, it exists ! We are 
all potential artists poets as we all possess tear-ducts and the 
anicularis muscle. 

There is an air of magic about the power of expression. 
Now it translates color into sound, so that through the ears of 
the listener his eyes are opened ; and sound into words, so that 
the words of a song take wings and flit after it. Again, it 
changes any one of these into the grave simplicity of sculptured 
forms. "There was a sculptor, who saw the Dawn and felt its 
stillnesses. He made a statue which he called Phosporus. And 
they who looked on it forthwith became silent." Better yet, 
and no less wonderful, is the magic which turns a tearful destiny 
into that which makes a sad world smile, and untimely laughter 
into that which makes a mocking world weep. Probe to the 
root of the rarest humor, and, lo, it fed on heartaches ! Follow 
the weeping prophet, and you meet the objects of his sorrow 
laughing like idiots amid their unconscious tragedies. 



1890.] THE SPIRIT AND TJIE \'OICE. 685- 

With the ability to utilize antagonisms making sorrow an- 
other lens for the eye, turning the discords of fatality into the 
harmonies of Fate expression, like a conscious god, is content 
to bide its time. I saw a pretty sight, once, in a remote village 
street. An organ-grinder had stopped under the swinging elms 
and all the children in the neighborhood had flocked after him. 
Among them was a baby-girl not over two years old. The ex- 
perience was a new one for her. With wide-open eyes she 
listened to the first " piece," a dragging, dirge-like bit from a 
recent opera. The corners of her mouth drooped ; she seemed 
on the verge of tears. Suddenly the music shifted to a gay, old- 
fashioned jig. Presto ! the baby picked up her petticoats and 
stepped out bravely in a bona fide dance, her tiny feet marking 
every note with accuracy. The children fell back astonished. 
Baby had never seen any one do this thing ; where did she get 
it ? The old Italian muttered some unintelligible words of de- 
light, and played on for the pleasure of watching her. And on 
she went, with him, until the wave of music left her stranded. 
But it was done. Some hidden strain of Celtic blood, uncooled 
by Puritan currents, had again found an outlet, and the world 
would never be quite the same again. 

Said Lord Chesterfield to his son : " If you love music, go 
to the opera and hear it ; but I insist on your neither piping 
nor fiddling yourself." The boy must translate into des manieres 
the grace and dignity of the musician's notes. So it goes : we 
take what we will and translate as we can, but take we must 
and translate we must what we have taken. Every living crea- 
ture has the instinct, as every heart beats. This is the throb of 
the world's pulse, that by which it exists and endures, the 
systole and diastole of impression and expression. Dichter, 
Hoir/rtj?, author, creator we call him who takes most and gives 
most, confessing thus that the most human of qualities is also 
the most divine. 

The Greeks were wise enough to have an adjective " unutter- 
able"; they acknowledged that some ideas are beyond the reach 
of form. We make no such concession. If there is no word to 
serve a demand, somebody invents one. Slang, the usurper, is 
ever ready for new worlds where he may set up his harlequin 
banner. There is nothing in heaven or earth undreamed of by 
the Sunday newspaper or beyond the reach of its loquacity. 
But, sometimes an uncomfortable consciousness is ours that we 
are borne upon the vehicle of many words away from the ideas 
they profess to approach. 



686 TV//; Sr/K/r A\I> T/tf-. /"< [.\ 

When early ill uld depict the Saviour, they t<>,.k their 

subjects from the hospital and the lazar-house. trying, in their 
awkwardness, to say tin-re is more of spirit than of body here. 
The ghastly re-ults are of value chiefly as symbols of that which 
more recent art fails somehow to express. For art, like langi: 
wanders from accuracy in elaborate detail. 

The naked symbol carries more of truth. With the sudden- 
of a gesture, arresting the attention and holding it, it gives 
its warning, its command, its good news. Yet, all its ghostly 
superstructure of significance rests upon it a^ upon a corner-stone. 
The dare manns of the Romans, the attitude of submission and 
supplication, is in the clasped and uplifted hands of prayer. The 
cross holds all the subtle meanings which marked its develop- 
ment from a pagan emblem of physical life to a Christian emblem 
of immortality. 

The symbol, after all, is the alpha and omega of expression. 
The savage makes use of it from poverty of resource, and the 
savant returns to it after learning how inadequate is all the 
wealth of form he has acquired. Words are a human invention. 
The fire leaping skyward is a joyous messenger borrowed from 
the gods. Flash of color, reverberation of sound, were taught by 
those Titans, the elements. 

But this borrowing from the ultra-human brings questionin 
What mean these symbols in the language to which they actually 
belong ? Like children making guesses on the contents of a 
book whose pictures they have seen, men bewilder themselves 
with conjectures about the fugitive signs. 

"The birds write unseen words of warning with their wings," 
declares the soothsayer. 

" There is an unscored music of the winds and the waves," 
affirms the poet. 

And they who look for signs of a divine Personality, believe 
that every sight of beauty and every sound is an expression of 
beneficent Love. 

ALICE WARD BAII.KY. 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 687 



TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

Two books having the same general theme, though treating 
it in widely different manners and from opposite points of view, 
have reached us at the same time : Pere Monsabre's conferences 
on Marriage (New York, Cincinnati, Chicago : Benziger Bro- 
thers), and Count Tolstoi's Kreutzer Sonata (Boston: Benj. R. 
Tucker). Mr. Tucker has been Tolstoi's translator as well as his 
publisher. The French sermons have been done into excellent 
English by M. Hopper. 

Each of these authors is a man aspiring to be the teacher of 
a high morality ; each is the apostle of what signifies Christian- 
ity to him. The one is a French Dominican who for many 
years has preached the Lenten discourses at Notre Dame, Paris, 
in such a way as to carry on worthily the tradition of Lacor- 
daire and Ravignan. He addresses himself in these conferences 
to men reared in the true Christian and apostolic doctrine ; to 
men, moreover, who belong to the French upper or well-to- 
do middle classes, whose customs in marriage, besides being 
based on the old and solid ground occupied in common by 
Catholic peoples, have the still further distinction of their 
national peculiarities with regard to what might be called the 
running-gear of family life. Their ordinary ways and habits of 
thought on the subject differ more or less from those of English 
or American men of the same general class. In speaking to 
them, Pere Monsabre's care has been to bring out clearly the 
fundamental teaching with which he supposes them already 
familiar. He emphasizes its sound philosophy almost as a con- 
dition of its orthodoxy. He has great confidence in the in- 
structed reasop of his audience, providing they will let it rule 
them. His fear is lest passion and self-indulgence may lead 
them so to compromise with conscience as to seek to mitigate 
the rigors of Christian marriage by legalizing divorce. He 
scarcely touches the question from the woman's point of view ; 
at all events, from that of the modern, non-Catholic woman. 
And as things go in England and America, the two countries 
where, above all others, marriage daily becomes a more burning 
question, every one is aware that it is also a question in which 
men are ceasing to have more than an equivalently weighty voice. , 

Many things have tended to bring about this result, but the 
two factors most important in it we take to be the lessening 



688 TALK ABOCT Xi-.w /.',< >A-.V. [A 

In -111 f the Christian tradition on consciences trained outside ot 
Catholicity, and the greater freedom conferred mi women, both 
married and single, by their forced competition with men in the 
simple for the means of life. They learn self-reliance while 
laboring for their own support, and they learn something mure 
than that in laboring for that of their families. One has but to 
watch current literature to see that the view of women con. 
ing their own status and the conduct of life, is changing. 
Perhaps it would be truer to say that it has long been changing 
in a slow but half-perceptible fashion, while now it has reached 
a point where the turn is obvious and patent. 

The factors have not been quite the same in France, where 
a certain equality of privileges has always existed aloni;-i<i 
a recognized code of duties. The Frenchwoman, protected in 
her family life, on one hand by her own faith, and on the other 
by legislation originally based upon the faith of her natimi. has 
not so often been forced to learn the easy lessons deduced by 
natural reason from the theories called Darwinian. Conduct in 
her circle is based on principle ; there is a standard by which 
aberrations can be measured. And that is so distinctly an 
advantage to society at large, that the legislation which 
abrogate it can only be characterized as short-sighted, even 
from the purely natural point of view. 

The author of The Kretitsci Sonata is a Greek schismatic by 
training, a Christian of his own school by development. For 
centuries the Greek Church, which once taught the strict Cath- 
olic doctrine concerning the indissoluble character of Christian 
marriage, has implicitly denied it by permitting divorce with 
liberty to remarry to the innocent party in the case of adultery. 
No stream vitiated at its source continues to run pure. Count 
Tolstoi' professes in this latest of his novels to describe a state 
of things which exists among the wealthier classes of his country- 
men, men who, as he says, have ceased to believe in marriage 
as " something sacramental, a sacrament binding before God." 
Marriages have existed and do exist, he affirms, for those who 
build upon that old foundation, but for his own class, who have 
lost the intellectual basis which Christian faith supplies to Christian 
morals, they are "only hypocrisy and violence. If lie has 
not in this instance lost the close hold on realities for which he 
has hitherto been chiefly praised, Tolstoi must be admitted to de- 
scribe a condition of domestic life which a sentence from I'ere 
Monsabre's conference on Divorce would fit exactly. The ]>n. 
is warning his hearers of certain inevitable con-sequences which 
follow from abandoning the religious conception of marriage, its 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 689 

duties and its ends. He says: "The domestic hearths will be- 
come only courtyards and kennels ; and in the race formed by 
the decay inaugurated by divorce, marriage will only be defined 
as the union of male and female for the propagation of animals 
formerly called the human species." What the preacher predicts 
as possible for France, the novelist describes as actual in Russia. 

The Russian, take him by and large, at all events as he 
appears in the books written by his countrymen, is perhaps at 
best half a savage without religion he seems to be a whole 
one, though with a veneer of civilization. Tolstoi is himself a 
wild man who places his dissecting table at the street-corner. 
It remains a dissecting table, nevertheless, in spite of its 
position. There are reasons which must occur to those in whose 
way it comes to read this novel as a matter of duty, why 
many men who have admired Tolstoi hitherto, and who still 
admire books very much worse than this, both by reason of their 
motive and because of the literary charm which they throw over 
a mass of intentional vileness, should grow squeamish over The 
Krcutzer Sonata and seek to cast it into the limbo of books un- 
readable. We know, indeed, of no reason why it should not be 
debarred from the general reader. It will not amuse, it cannot 
please, it would be better that it should not instruct. The 
dissecting table is for surgeons ; the street-corner is not its place. 
Yet Tolstoi' has laid open a real cancer ; its stench is sickening. 
The trouble is that having exposed it he cannot cut it out. 
When a people who have once been Christian have lost their 
faith and sunk into semi-civilized savagery, they must endure 
the penalties of a second fall of man greater than the first by 
so much as the grace of Calvary was greater than that of Eden. 
One says Russia ; but in this sense Russia stands for a vaster 
space than is enclosed between its geographical boundaries. 

As pleasant a novel as we have read for many a day is 
Molly Elliot Seawell's Tkrockmorton. (New York : D. Appleton 
& Co.) It is sparkling, cheerful, entertaining, and if it can 
hardly be said to have a moral or to teach any lesson, its senti- 
ment is healthy none the less. What the author describes as a 
Virginian prejudice against divorce may possibly, in its existing 
stage, be not much more than that, but it is the outcome of 
something better, and it still does duty as a breakwater against 
the advancing tide which has swept away so many desirable 
social possessions from other parts of the country. 

The scene of the story is laid in Virginia ; the time is a few 
years later than the termination of the civil war. People are 
still mourning everywhere the loss of their kindred and their 



690 TALK AJiciT AV.n "Aug., 

n-.. \Yhen Major Throckmorton returns to his nativi 1 
rn, Imping t<> renew in middle life the pleasant relations 
he formed there in his youth, he finds that to have remained 
triu- to the allegiance he swore on entering the regular army 
\\.i- .in ottence unpardonable in th- "f his early frieii'i- 

They regard the scruple of honor which kept him true to the 
nation as treason against his native State. He is a pariah; he 
is put under taboo ; people barely recognize him at church, .uu! 
his dearest friend, Mrs. Temple, is ready to visit upon him the 
responsibility for the death of her son, for whom she intends 
that herself and her household shall be wrapped endlessly in 
funereal gloom. 

The Temple family are admirably well described, from the 
General down to Simon Peter, from Mr-. Ti-mple to Delilah. 
Each has individuality, each has charm, all are comprehensible 
in their motives and their actions. Even little Miss Jacky, who 
" allus cotchcs de beaux" by a spell of which she is inn 
and unconscious, and who is herself caught like a moth by the 
baleful flame of Temple Freke, belongs to the recognized order 
of things feminine. Judith is entirely admirable, and her little 
Feverley stands out with a distinctness which six-year-olds do 
not often attain in print. What is rarer in a woman'- n 
the men are real men, not women in disguise. Altogether, the 
book is a delightfully taking picture of Virginian life, drawn by 
an observer with a sharp eye, a sound heart, and a ready and 
incisive pen. It is written in fluent, colloquial and unaffected 
English. 

Mrs. Parsons' Thomas Rilcton : His Family ami Friends (New 
York: Catholic Publication Society Co.) is a. most affecting and 
pathetic story. In style it is plain to absolute simplicity, and 
gains its only color from the matter it encloses. It is an English 
tale, the hero being a miner, a fine, handsome, stalwart fellow, 
newly married when one makes his first acquaintance, but a 
blasted wreck of humanity long before one leaves him. The 
story of his passage from despair to the love of Jesus Christ, 
and from that to the knowledge of the true faith of Jesus Chri-t, 
is told in such a way that the very bareness and poverty of Mi-. 
Parsons' style come to assume almost the dimensions of premedi- 
tated and successful art 

Mr. Appleton Morgan furnishes to the series called " Fact 
and Theory Papers," published by N. D. C. 1 ! liin > (New York), 
an essay called The Society and the " /<?</," in which he makes 
prominent the distinction he perceives between the raisin d'etre 
of the Shakspere Society, of which he is president, ami 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

Browning Society, to which he would probably scorn to belong. 
The " young ladies' magazine picturesquely called Poet Lore," 
which furnished him the occasion for his essay, will doubtless feel 
complimented by the unexpected attention he has paid its 
coupling of Browning and Ibsen as " the only really dramatic 
authors of their century." Mr. Morgan has some true things to 
say concerning the student of Mr. Browning who " goes at him 
with pick and spade, just as a twenty-second century grammarian 
might do," but who ought to be aware that in doing so he 
" should not expect the yield he unearths to be any secret of his 
own century anything not already his own property in common 
with Browning himself." " The student of Shakspere," he adds, 
at all events if he belong to the New York Shakspere 
Society, is not bent, like the Browning " faddist," on a mere 
study of expression, but is " an antiquarian who has limited his 
researches to the age in which the modern institutions we prize 
most art, manners, letters, society, the common law which pro- 
tects all these were all springing to birth ; of which institutions 
\\illiam Shakspere epitomized the very life, fibre, being." Mr. 
Morgan holds that Shakspere, having put his meaning into 
perfectly intelligible words, and his meaning having endeared and 
commended itself to successive generations, it is his entourage 
which needs study, and which gains it because of his already 
secure hold on the Human heart. His opinion of Browning, as 
may be surmised, is not so flattering, but we incline to believe 
it not less just. 

Dr. James M. Ludlow's interesting historical novel of the 
times of Scanderbeg, The Captain of tlic Janizaries, which was 
published four years ago by Dodd, Mead & Co., has been re- 
issued in a new edition by Harper & Brothers (New York). It 
is both entertaining and instructive. 

From Cassell's Publishing Co. (New York) come Written in 
Red, by Chas. Howard Montague and C. W. Dyar; Vivier, of 
Vivier, Longman & Company, Bankers, by W. C. Hudson, and 
two translations from the French, Theophile Gautier's Jiianclio the 
Bull-Fighter, and An Artist's Honor, by Octave Feuillet. Mrs. 
Benjamin Lewis is the translator of Gautier, E. P. Robins that 
of Feuillet, and both renderings are made into easy and correct 
English. The American novels belong to the class in which the 
detective flourishes in great force, and have no importance or 
interest as literature. Jnancko is a study of the passion of love 
as it exists in the breast of a bull-fighter who is but slightly 
above the level of the beasts he torments in the ring. The book 
is intense but not offensive in a vulgar way ; the heroine, Mili- 



692 T.-t//c .-fAcr/ .\'/ n [Aug., 

is virtuous, and luandio's love is hopeless. Hut it ends in 
suicide, the bull-fighter allowing a bull to impale him on its horn 
in the piesence of Militmia a ml her husband. 

.-/// .-/ rtist's Hsnor shows that the stream of Feuillet's invention 
is running very low. I'erhaps it was never very copious. His 
strength .1 great strength, too lay in his power to express the 
very e-sence of passion, stripped almost entirely of its accident-;. 
He seldom wasted words; he was guiltless of padding; his 
stories contained few characters, few incidents, but each told for 
all that it was worth. His books were not often healthy reading, 
although, so far as our personal knowledge of them goes, he 
was careful to avoid indecency, and, in honoring virtue, to trace 
it to its fountain-head in religious faith. In Tin- History of Sibyl 
he produced a masterpiece, and in his novel of four or five 
years ago, La Morte, he once more threw all his strength into 
the effort to show the natural effect of the denial of God and 
immortality upon the character and actions of intellectual 
women. But in the book now before us there is nothing to 
be commended save the old skill of handling and of concen- 
tration. The motive is, perhaps, the same as ever, but the 
result is not to be commended. As usual, not only with Feuillet 
but with almost every French novelist of the day, the climax of 
certain woes is inevitably suicide, either disgrace or guilt leading 
the faithless soul as surely to that end as they would bring the 
faithful, though guilty one, to repentance and to hope. 

Lncie's Mistake (New York : Worthington Co.) is another 
translation by Mrs. J. W. Davis from the German of \V. Heim- 
burg. Like its predecessors, it is healthful in sentiment, and will 
prove entertaining to young readers especially if they have 
been kept as carefully as they should have been from more 
exciting forms of entertainment. The photogravure illustrations 
are very good. 

From Mr. Benjamin R. Tucker (Boston) comes a second trans- 
lation to which he puts his own name, 77/4- Rag- Picker of Paris, 
by Felix Pyat. The English of it is unlike that of his version of 
The Kreutzer Sonata, and we are unable to congratulate the 
translator upon his differing styles ; or, for that matter, upon 
his selection of authors. The Rag- Picker of J'aris is an exten- 
sion of the well-known drama of the same name, and was made 
by Pyat shortly before his death. It is a book so bad as to 
have absolutely no redeeming features. A portrait of the author, 
with wild, half-insane eyes and the hollow cheeks of nervous 
wear and tear, fronts the title-page. So much sympathy we 
have for the proletariat of any people, that the socialist who is 



iSgo.J TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 693 

sane, even though he seem to us not well-advised as to the best 
remedies for admitted evils, is sure of a sympathetic study from 
us. But Pyat was not merely a wild man, like Tolstoi ; he was 
more like a once rational animal who had lost most of his 
rationality. To him there appeared to exist no virtue except 
among the very poor, and seldom any even there. Nothing was 
sacred to him except his own fantastic notions. Even for the Sis- 
ters of Charity he had a stone, while the priesthood, the church, 
and God himself were targets which he bedaubed with mud and 
filth. Mr. Tucker, if he will allow us to say so, seems to have 
the ability, and ought to have the sense, to be in better busi- 
ness than that of- translating Felix Pyat. There is no good to be 
done for socialism by the publication of such rottenness as this. 
But what, then, says the reader of the critical notices which 
appear as an advertisement of this novel, can have been the 
occasion or the motive of the praise bestowed on The Raff- 
Picker of Paris by such men as Heine and Sainte-Beuve ? Their 
praise was bestowed on the drama, not on a novel which they 
never saw. The salient points of the play were such as fitted it 
perfectly for the melodramatic stage ; it had the aid of great 
actors ; it was adapted to the temper of an epoch at its culmi- 
nating point. In a drama full of action great gaps are left to 
the imagination, which fills them with its own materials and in 
accordance with its own laws. When Pyat elaborated a . novel 
from his successful play, he took the contract for these gaps 
himself, and he filled them indiscriminately with the "refuse of 
Parisian sewers. Let him who doubts this, and has the stomach 
of a scavenger, trace at his leisure the career of Pyat's hero, 
Camille, whom he describes as having been kept pure and noble 
by his reverence for the memory of his mother, "a beautiful and 
good creature, a daughter of the French revolution," who had 
learned to read in mile, broken with the Bible, and given her 
son a Roman name. For a chapter or two the reader is able 
to keep the illusion that Pyat intends to illustrate false prin- 
ciples by true morality, but he is speedily undeceived. Take the 
Mazdegran episode for a characteristic specimen of the honor and 
purity which Pyat extols. And as to Father Jean, the virtuous 
rag-picker, what havoc is wrought on such verisimilitude to 
nature as the drama gave him by these merciless pages which 
draw out the sketch to full proportions! He abandons drink, he 
slaves for twenty years in unselfish industry, in order to protect 
and aid the virtuous Marie ; and to what purpose ? His hands 
are as useless and his pockets as ill-lined in her behalf as 
though he still spent all his gains for brandy; he saves her at 



TALK ABOCT NEW Bv L Au 8-- 

List by trickery; lie reaches the climax of unselfish virtu 
I'yut imd< rstands virtue, when he throws himself into the Seine 
:>are his adopted child, in her new riches, the shame of 
having a rag-picker for a friend. As far as details go, it is true 
there are many French novels still more offensive than thi> 
but for utter rottenness of conception, and thoroughly wrong- 
headed notions as to what makes for truth and purity, we do 
not know the equal of The Rag- Ticker of Taris. 

Mr. \V. 1C. Henley's I'ic-^-s atui Reviews Literature (New 
York : Charles Scribner's Sons) have an entertaining quality 
which is somewhat out of proportion with the weight one 
attaches to the judgments they express. True, many of these 
brilliant little essays manage to evade a deliberate judgment on 
the authors they are concerned with. -Mr. Henley's ordinary 
method is to condense in a few pungent sentences the opinions 
of those who unduly admire a novelist or poet ; then, he sums 
up what the too censorious have to say about him, and finally 
endeavors to swing like an exhausted pendulum to the ju-t 
middle between these two extremes. Ordinarily we find that our 
personal preferences go with him, but not always. Scales and 
balances, so necessary when one has weighing to do, must yet 
be changed to suit the different products which are to be 
weighed. The hay-scales are for hay, the apothecaries' weight 
for drugs. Why may not one swallow his Dickens almost whole, 
and yet have an unbounded stomach for his Thackeray ? Why 
should even a Tory, in professing admiration for the Disraeli 
novels, find it essential to "'eave a 'alf brick" at Gladstone, stand- 
ing inoffensive by? One would like to submit Mr. Henley to 
the penalty of reading, say Endyinioii, or even CoiHHgsby, aloud 
to some other reviewer of kindred politics and equal discernment. 
as a test of Lord Beaconsfield's claims to consideration on the 
purely literary side. What yawns ! what interchange of furtive 
smiles! The augurs bending solemn faces and crossing glances 
over the sacrificial entrails would be like it. 

Mr. Henley is, nevertheless, not only a most readable writer. 
but an ordinarily trustworthy judge. Take the papers on Balzac 
and the elder Dumas, for instance. He is often so delicately true 
in, his appreciations that one not only renders him the testimony 
of entire acquiescence concerning the author whom he is prais- 
ing and it is in praise that Mr. Henley, to his own praise be 
it spoken, is most felicitous but longs to know how some chief 
favorite of one's own would fare at his hands. So it was that 
we came with great pleasure to the brief words in which, while 
writing of Austin Dobsoii, Mr. Henley found his only 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 695 

to rank Coventry Patmore. He has been praising Dobson for 

"a certain artistic good breeding whose like is not common in 
these days. We have lost the secret of it : we are too eager 
to make the most of our little souls in art, and too ignorant to 
do the best by them; too egoistic and 'individual,' too" clever and 
skilful and well informed, to be content with the completeness 
of simplicity. Even the Laureate was once addicted to glitter for 
glitter's sake ; and with him to keep them in countenance there 
is a thousand minor poets whose ' little life ' is merely a giving 
way to the necessities of what is after all a condition of intel- 
lectual impotence but poorly redeemed by a habit of artistic 
swagger. The singer of Dorothy and Beau Brocade is of an- 
other race. He is the ' co-mate and brother in exile ' of 
Matthew Arnold and the poet of Tke Unknown Eros. Alone 
among modern English bards they stand upon that ancient way 
which is the best : attentive to the pleadings of the Classic 
Muse, heedful always to give such thoughts as they may breed 
no more than their due expression." 

One finds this high praise even while reflecting that it might 
well have been more than a trifle higher. Has either ^Austin 
Dobson or Matthew Arnold, whatever the admitted perfection of 
their form, ever so completely crystallized sound and sense, 
high thought and deep feeling as Coventry Patmore has done 
in "The Toys," in " Legem Tuam Dilexi" in "The Day after 
To-morrow," and " Wind and Wave " ? 

We commend Mr. Henley's brief essay on George Eliot to 
the study of her more extravagant admirers. It leaves something 
to be said, of course, on the credit side, but, on the whole, 
the smile it causes is sympathetic. We quote its final para- 
graph, which Mr. Henley calls " Appreciations," though leav- 
ing his reader in some doubt as to how many of them he 
is personally responsible for : 

" Epigrams are at best half-truths that look like whole ones. 
Here is a handful about George Eliot. It has been said of her 
book ('on several occasions') that ' it is doubtful whether they 
are novels disguised as treatises, or treatises disguised as novels' ; 
that ' while less romantic than Euclid's Elements, they are on the 
whole a great deal less improving reading '; and that ' they seem 
to have been dictated to a plain woman of genius by the ghost 
of David Hume.' Herself, too, has been variously described as 
' An Apotheosis of Pupil-Teachery ' ; as ' George Sand pins 
Science and minus Sex ' ; as ' Pallas with prejudices and a. corset ' ; 
as ' the fruit of a caprice of Apollo for the Differential Calculus.' 
The comparison of her admirable .talent to 'not the imperial 
violin but the grand-ducal violoncello ' seems suggestive and is 
not unkind." 



696 WITH READERS x.\v> (TV/,. rs. [.\ 



\\'\l\\ RI.ADI-KS AM) CuKRKSI'oNDKNTS. 



i in OKI i K- \ i 

IT is told of a famous Virginian that he once called on a lady, who cnter- 
t lined him during his visit by recounting to him her etl'm: < 1 and 

d. 'thing to be sent to some distir^nl r.reek-, whnse miseries the 
had dwelt upon at great length : and she further displayed her generosity by 
signifying her willingness to have tier raller share in the good work by making 
a liberal contribution. When the gentleman bade her good-by upon her 
hospitable threshold his eye fell on a group of half-naked, hungry-looking 
1 in the grove awaiting her ord' 

Madame," said the great man, pointing to them, " the Greeks are at ; 
" 

The circumstance and the speech have recurred to more than one 
when, alter we had listened to some stirring appeal for aid for foreign missions 
or read some thrilling account of 'the work of devoted men in carrying the 
< iuspel to the heathen, we chanced to glance out of our window and see passing 
by on the street ragged and degraded representatives of a race our ancestors 
brought from savagery, and for whom the light of Christianity has but shone in 
faint glimmerings. 

Doubtless it is a meritorious and heroic thing to preach the saving truths of 
faith to those who " sit in darkness " in distant lands, nor is it devoid of that 
element of adventure and danger which lends a fascination to otherwise most 
arduous work; but meantime what are we doing for the (i reeks at our door? 

The negro question has occupied the attention of statesmen, has agitated 
politicians, has served as a hue and cry to keep alive sectional animosities and 
party-strife for well-nigh half a century, and is likely to continue to do the same 
for many a year to come. But serious and perplexing as is the problem in it's 
civil and social aspect, there is another phase of it which must seemofvastlv 
more importance to those who believe that in each one of these ignorant de- 
scendants of the African savage there dwells an immortal soul on which God 
himself has seen fit to impress his own image and likeness. 

To us of the South it has seemed possible that the failure of the various 
Christian denominations to do any permanent and general work towards 
Christianizing the negro, may arise from their failure to understand the charac- 
teristics and needs of this puzzling factor in Southern life. The negro is intensely 
religious, and to their emotional and reverential minds nothing, if > " 
phrase it, seems more natural than the supernatural. Their belief in an 
Almighty and all-pervading power is implicit, and thy recognize in every 
phenomenon of nature some direct manifestation of an awful and mysterious being. 

" Miss F.," said one of them to me in awe-struck tones during a recent 
thunder-storm, " what does you b'lieve 'bout dat lightnin'? Some fokeses says' 
de heat 'casions it, but doan you b'lieva it's de way Ole Marster has to show 
hisse'f to us? An' seem lak ter me it's cr mighty gre't sin fer we all ter keep on 
workin' while de storm is on, "ca'se it's >.u.ie e/ tellin' de Lawd we an't | 
him no 'tention." 

The spirit world is around them, and they .in- constantly on the look-out for 
visitors from it; few of them who have not had personal communication with a 
" harnt." Even the lower animals ar,.- to their iin.iginations endowed with certain 



1890.] WITH READERS AXD CORRESPONDENTS. 697 

human and often superhuman qualities; and Uncle Remus, in the well-known 
stories of Mr. Joel Chandler Harris, believed more than half of the tales he 
told by his cabin-fire concerning the cunning and the scheming of " Brer 
Rabbit" and "Brer Fox." 

Nothing can exceed their reverence for the Bible except, perhaps, their 
misapprehension of it. As I write there rises before me the memory of an 
earnest little girl who aired her erudition and gratified her oratorical instincts by 
reading and expounding some chapter of Holy Writ to a circle of rapt and 
admiring listeners, whose dusky faces, full of emotion, and whose groans and sighs 
of assent and approval, might have furnished inspiration to a much less youthful 
preacher. But to an older mind the elation of such instruction would be swallowed 
up in the sadness which must come when one realizes that these blessed teach- 
ings of the Holy Spirit arc [taken as a license to sin and an encouragement of 
superstition to the majority of the colored people of the South. 

They would have delighted the soul of Calvin himself by the views they hold 
concerning predestination. " Once on the elect bench, always there," the 
"converted" will tell you, and they will glory in their freedom under the 
blessed law of grace ; yet their exercise of this liberty is of so peculiar a kind 
that whenever there is a great revival and plentiful getting of religion at one of 
their churches the white people in the neighborhood find it advisable to double- 
lock their chicken-coops, set nightly watchers to protect their water-melon 
" patches, " and put spring-guns at their barn-doors. 

Those who know the negroes best will agree in the statement that there are 
few of them who will not steal, especially articles of food and drink; fewer still 
who have any idea of the meaning of personal purity, and almost none who will 
not lie. That wholesome check which we call public opinion does not operate 
against these vices ; a man who has been sent to the penitentiary or a woman 
who has given birth to illegitimate children loses no prestige among his or her 
associates. " By their fruits you shall know them " is a means of recognizing 
the followers of Christ which is wholly disregarded by the negroes. The Gospel 
of Works has yet to be preached to the colored man. Is the picture so dark as 
to appear exaggerated ? It is bright beside the reality. And is there no remedy 
for this deplorable spiritual condition of millions within our gates ? Is there no 
room in the Church of Christ for these souls for whom Christ died as surely as 
he did for the greatest saint in the calendar ? 

Modern writers on education lay greater and greater stress upon the fact 
that impressions reach us through the senses, and they deduce from this the 
law that true education jnust begin with the cultivation of the senses, with ap- 
peals to them in various ways. Thus the teaching world is beginning to see what 
the Catholic Church recognized more than eighteen hundred years ago, when she 
began the formation of her soul-lifting liturgy, and surrounded it with all that 
is calculated to attract the eye and please the ear ; when by the plentiful use of 
whatever was beautiful and good in nature or in art she told her children that 
nothing was too precious to be cast at the feet of her Lord. She has shown 
herself through the ages as able to meet the needs of the ignorant barbarian as 
she was to satisfy the longings and silence the doubts of an Augustine, and she- 
alone has within her those elements which are necessary to impress and instruct 
the negro and to permanently benefit the spiritual condition of these people, who, 
in a dark-lantern sort of way, already believe in Him from whose sacred lipj the 
church received her commission to " teach all nations." 

There is no denying that the conversion of the negro will be attended by- 
innumerable difficulties. A drawback to the advancement and diffusion of the 



698 WITH . \ A\r> i /.v. ug., 

faith even among white Aim TIC .IP.- i- the I'.u i th.it so many nl' OUT 
and pious though they li ^nci- and fail to understand and toappr 

the char. u-ter of the )ieo|ile around them. These priests are utterly at 
dealing with the negro; and besides, valuable as precept is. mstru- - -,mple 

and earnest sermon ma\ lie. precept .mil preaching will not do the work : the indi- 
\ must be reaelied. A I'u -In teri.m minister, whose success in reclaiming 
treit I notorious!;, liail lio\ -. o| e\ ci , n plit.-nomen.il, was 

asked l>y .1 fellow-minister the seeret ol' In- great influence over them : whereupon 
he declared that the Bible had taught it to him, for our Lord limit,;! the num- 
ber to Ihrct- when he promised to lie in the midst of those gathered together in 
his name : and following thk novel interpretation of Scripture, the missionary 
declared that he never left .1 place until he had had opportunity to talk privately 
with each boy within his reach, nor did he ever allow the number at one inter- 
view to exceed two. Hi- pleaching, he added, w.is well-nigh useles- 
a first attraction. 

Whatever we may think of the good man's orthodoxy as an interpreter of 
Scripture, we must sec the reason anil good sense in his pract: u the 

direct grace of God, there is nothing so potent to produce a lasting and effective 
change of life as a heart-to-heart talk with one who earnestly and tenderly seeks 
a soul's salvation, and this is what i -t accomplishes in the sacrament of 

Penance. 

There is one way to catch the attention of the negro offer him an education : 
and the surest means of reaching them would be __ the establishment of free 
schools for both sexes. The industrial clement should enter largely into 
these, and the girls should be first provided for. As I have said before, there 
is no idea of personal purity among them ; scarcely one colored girl in twenty 
reaches the age of eighteen without being acquainted with vice, and so long as 
this state of morality exists among the women, it is useless to attempt to elevate 
the race. Yet it will exist until the women are sufficiently paid for their daily 
labor as servants to, in some degree, render them independent ; and still, so in- 
efficient and negligent are they, that it recpjires three of them to do what one 
competent servant could accomplish with ease, and therefore*! is impossible 
to pay them any but small wages. If there could be established schools where, 
at the same time that they were hearing the truths of faith and, by God's help, 
were becoming good Catholics, they could be trained to be neat and efficient work- 
ing-women, self-supporting and self-respecting, a long step forward would have 
been taken. No fear that they would fail to find good homes and good H.I 
though an employment bureau should be attached to each school for the pi: 
of securing these for so widespread is the need of competent domestics in the 
South it would be impossible to meet the demand for them. With religious 
education and industrial training there would not be in the world better nurses 
for children, or better cooks and laundresses, than the negro women ; as it is, the 
problem of servants is appalling even the bravest of Southern housekeepers. 

Truly, this would seem a pitifully small beginning for so great a work as the 
conversion of millions ; but Catholics are generous, one school would grow into 
many ; wherever a school was there would be a chapel, to which the older negroes 
would come, from curiosity at first but afterwards from a nobler motive. And 
thus, humbly and slowly, a foundation would be laid, and some future genera- 
tion might behold the Southern negro, once a slave bodily, still worse than a 
slave spiritually, at last a free man with that glorious freedom which is promised 
when we are assured that " the truth shall make , 

K. C. KAKINHOLT. 



J890.J WITH READERS AND. CORRESPONDENTS. 

THE COLUMBIAN READING UNION. 

THE PUBLIC LIBRARIES OF WASHINGTON, D. C. 

GOVERNMENT (General]. 

Library of Congress, Ainsworth H. Spofford, Librarian, 590,000 volumes. 
State Department Library, 50,000 volumes. 
Treasury Department Library. 
Interior Department Library, 9,000 volumes. 

GOVERNMENT (Technical). 

Library of the Surgeon-General's Office, 200,000 volumes ; Medical. 
Patent-Office Library, 100,000 volumes ; Scientific, Practical. 
Library of the Museum of Hygiene, Navy Department ; Medical, Hygienic. 
Library of the Ordnance Bureau, War Department. 
Library of the Smithsonian Institution ; Scientific. 
Library of the National Museum ; Scientific. 

CATHOLIC (exclusive of parochial, sodality, and convent libraries'). 
Library of Georgetown University. 
Library of Carroll Institute, 601 F St., N. W., N.T.Taylor, Librarian, 

3,500 volumes. 

Library of St. Matthew's Institute, 1424 K St., N. W., 700 volumes. 
Library of Georgetown Catholic Union, 264 High St., Georgetown, T. R. 

Fullalove, Librarian, 800 volumes. 
SECTARIAN. 

Library of the Scottish Rite, 1007 G St., N. W. 
Masonic Library, Masonic Temple, 2,450 volumes. 

Oddfellow's Library Association, Z. W. Kissler, Librarian, 5,000 volumes. 
Protestant Y. M. C. A., 1406 New York Ave., 1,000 volumes. 

OTHER LIBRARIES. 

Peabody, 3233 Q St., Frank D. Johns, Librarian. 
High School, Dr. F. R. Lane, Principal, 10,000 volumes. 

The total number of volumes in these libraries is said to be about 1,100,000. 

The Congressional Library receives, under the copyright law, two copies of 
every book published in the United States. It contains large numbers of Cath- 
olic works published in foreign countries or before the above-mentioned law took 
effect. It is an interesting fact that several years ago the Catholic philanthro- 
pist and scholar of this city, Dr. Toner, donated to it his private library of 
25,000 volumes, which are, we believe, to remain together under the name of 
the Toner collection. The Law Library of the Supreme Court, a branch of the 
Congressional Library, is under the charge of Assistant-Librarian Hoffman, who 
is a Catholic, like several of the other assistant-librarians of Congress. 

The State Department Library is designed especially for the use of the 
diplomatic service, and consists largely of works on history, biography, and 
international law. It has a few thousand books of poetry and general literature, 
with a sprinkling of Catholic authors, among whom we notice Coventry Pat- 
more, Marion Crawford, and W. H. Mallock. A large section is devoted to the 
history of England. Almost every name is there which one could suggest : 
Macaulay, Ranke, Pearson, Green, Martineau, Mahan, Hallam, May, Adol- 
phus, etc. , ad infinitum ; but good old Dr. Lingard is conspicuous by his ab- 
sence. Stranger yet, the librarian, thoroughly qualified as he is by education 
and culture to preside over so fine a collection, had never heard of such a 
person ! A cursory examination of a History of England from 1830 to 1874, by 
the Anglican clergyman Molesworth, was repaid by the discovery of a very kind 
VOL. i.i. 45 



700 WITH READERS A\r> CoKKEsro\i>i-:\rs. 

anil appreciative discussion of the Oxford movement, and of Cardinal Newman, 

It leader. 

Although we were assured that religious controversy was rigidly excluded, 
one of the historical alcoves is adorned with a work on AVw<i/.f/ <M // ll'irJts in 
Ireland, written, mirabilt liiitu. by Martin ' I'Sullivan, I). I'. 

In the section of French history we observed the memoirs of the Abbe 
Georges, and works of Lam.irtine, Droz, De Tocqueville, and Dulaure. 

I AO thousand dollars a year are appropriated for enlarging the diplomatic 
library, and any surplus is expended at the end of the fiscal year in the purchase 
of miscellaneous works of poetry .ind fiction. 

The Treasury Department Library ha-, sever. il of Cardinal Newman's works 
and a few other Catholic books, ino-t of them purchased several on the 

recommendation of a Catholic literary gentleman employed in the department. 
The library of the Interior Department has only a sprinkling of books by 
Catholic authors, and the librarian, Mrs. Mary Fuller, informs us tint there is 
never any demand among the employes of that department, for whom it is 
designed, for distinctively Catholic works. Among those which I noticed were 
the poems of Father Ryan (purchased by direction of the late Secretary I.amar) 
and Aubrey de Vere, the novels of Marion Crawford, Kathleen O'Meara, Mrs. 
Admiral Dahlgren, Anna Hanson Dorsey, and Christian Reid, and several works 
by Brownson and Mallock. 

The library of the United States National Museum is for the exclusive use 
of the curators in charge of exhibits, and other scientific specialists ; but one 
section is devoted to works on popular science, travels, etc., for the benefit of 
all the employes of the institution. The latter section is possessed of a number 
of works by Newman. Balines. Mivart, Lilly, Gmeiner, Formby, Donoso Cor 
and Lord Arundel of Wardour, the gift of a gentleman whose Christian modi 
I will not offend by naming him, as I would like to do, but who is one of the 
very foremost business men and dilettanti of the capital, and a most liberal 
patron of Catholic literature as well as of every other good work. 

The library of Georgetown University is very large and valuable, and a 
handsome and commodious hall is being fitted up in the grand new building of 
the Department of Arts and Sciences of that most ancient and renowned college 
of the Society of Jesus in the United States. A great Catholic banker has 
surr.ed personally the entire expense of this work, which will probably be be- 
tween fifteen and twenty thousand dollars ; and the magnificent collection is 
hereafter to be known as the Riggs Library. 

The library of Carroll Institute is well selected, and contains many rare and 
valuable books. Upon its shelves the original and collected works of Orestes A. 
Brownson, and such monuments of Catholic learning and chivalry as Kenelm 
Digby's Ages of Faith and Broadstone of Honor, as well as the writings of our 
great American prelates, like Archbishops Spalding and Kenrick, and Bishops 
Engtend of Charleston and Spalding of Peoria. Newman, Manning, Hecker, 
Mivart, Lilly, Ozanam, Montalembert, and scores of other names great in the 
annals of modern Catholic literature, are here, besides an extensive repertoire of 
controversial works, commentaries on the Holy Scriptures, and works of fiction, 
the latter including Thackeray, Lytton, Scott, Dickens, and Cooper, as well as the 
Catholic novelists. The prominent non-Catholic writers in other lines are by no 
means neglected, and the writings of the fathers of the Republic are deservedly 
prominent. The Institute has also a large collection of works of reference, 
government reports, and bound volumes of THK. CATHOLIC WORLD and other 
i magazines. 

The art of indexing and cataloguing is a verj difficult one, and its import- 



1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 701 

ance cannot be too much insisted upon. Many valuable libraries are disgraced 
by catalogues thrown together by inexperienced amateurs, who have no idea that 
anything more could be expected of them than a mechanical enrollment of the 
titles of volumes or authors. Happily, that of the Carroll Institute Library was 
prepared by a thorough master of the art, and no young librarian could study a 
safer and more perfect model. The Institute is indebted for this elegant catalogue 
to the skill of its former librarian, Major Edmond Mallet, well known throughout 
the United States and Canada as, next to Dr. Shea, the most accurate living au- 
thority on the early settlements and explorations of the great Northwest. 

The library of the Scottish Rite Free Masons is, as might be expected, the 
richest repository of works on occultism of every form, including theosophy, 
spiritism, Rosicrucianism, alchemy, astrology, orphic and phallic worship, etc. 

The large circulating library formerly carried on by the Young Men's 
Christian Association of this city gradually dwindled down until within the past 
few years it has been represented only by a reference library of no great size and 
rather out of date. The most noticeable works which it contains are old editions 
of Appleton's Cyclopedia, Rees' Cyclopedia, and the Cyclopedia Americana; the 
complete works of De Quincey and Thomas Jefferson ; the " Evangelical Family 
Library," Barnes' Notes and other Scripture commentaries, and bound volumes 
of the American Biblical Repository, Bibliolheca Sacra, Blackwood's Magazine, 
Atlantic Monthly, the New Englander, and the North American Review. The 
only works of an offensively Protestant character are D'Aubigne's History of the 
Reformation, Bungener's History of the Council of Trent, Gillctt's Life and Times 
of John Huss, McCrie's Reformation in Italy, McKinney's Romanism at War 
with Governments and Public Schools, an anonymous work on the British 
Reformers, and a History of Persecution, by William Howitt, of the Society 
of Friends. The last-named we suppose to be the same who was the husband 
and early co-laborer of the more talented and famous Quaker writer Mary 
Howitt, who a few months ago, after returning from her memorable visit to Leo 
XIII., ended in the bosom of Holy Church a decade of true faith and spiritual 
joy, and a long life of literary activity. 

These anti-Catholic works are off-set by a set of Butler's Lives of the Saints, 
the works of the apostolic Fathers, Agnes Strickland's biographies of the Queens 
of England and Scotland, Lamartine's History of the Girondists, and Snell's 
Hints on the Study of the Sacred Books, besides several works by well-disposed non- 
Catholic writers, such as The Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles V., by William 
Stirling, and The Ancient Monasteries of the East, by Hon. Robert Curzon, Jr. 

It is probable that the Yourig Men's Christian Association will soon greatly 
enlarge its collection of books and change it again into a circulating library. 

The library for the use of the railroad employes is under the charge of P. A. 
Byrne, who is a Catholic and a Vincentian Brother, though the proportion of 
Catholic books in the collection is not large. 

Your present correspondent hopes to make a careful study of these libraries 
in the interests of the Columbian Reading Union, and will see that its book-lists 
and other publications are placed in the possession of their officers. In the 
meantime he would suggest, as a powerful auxiliary to the work of the Union, 
the formation in each large city of a Catholic Librarians' Guild, consisting of 
the librarians of all parochial, sodality, school, convent, and other Catholic 
libraries, and of the Catholic employes of non-Catholic libraries. Such Guilds 
could be of great local advantage, and might ultimately unite into a national 
Librarians' Guild and be able to co-operate very effectively. 
Your obedient servant, 

U. S. COMMISSION OF FISHERIES. MERW1N-MARIE SNELL. 



702 -V/ 'i ' / V -/U.ICA /'A | A iifj. 



Ni:\V PUBLICATIONS. 

It- .\\likii \l\- (Hi/ I-'.i \. I'.ir Madame \..\ M.mju 

Pedroso. Paris: Librairic <le l.i Nouvelle Revue, 18 Boulevard Montmar 
1890. 

There an: a hundred little Americas in the groat Amcrira. \Ve. nai 
can hardly be acquainted with all of them, and with the various kinds of Ameri- 
cans and their differing phases of life. \Vhenwe travel extensively in our own 
country we come among scenes and people which nrc more foreign to us than 
some parts of Europe. Of course, a foreigner can only describe some ph.i- 
American life with which he has become familiar. Madame La Marqu: 
San Carlos is a half-American by birth, and has lived several years in this 
country. 

What she has seen here she has observed intelligently, and describes in 
a very lively and picturesque manner. She is most completely at home and 
most successful in depicting fashionable life in New York City and the summer 
resorts of the gay world. The life of the active men of business who belong to 
the social circles of the upper-tendom is equally well sketched. Besides these 
topics, which attract the attention of an American reader as likely to be pre- 
sented in some new light from the point of view of a foreigner, many others are 
lightly and graphically handled, which European readers will find new and 
instructive. The tone and spirit of the book are excellent, and it betokens not 
only a faculty of vivid and playful description of the surface of things in Anv 
but also a power of serious thought and reflection, in the accomplished au- 
thoress. 

A CODE OF MORALS. By John S. Hittell. Second edition, revised. San 
Francisco : The Bancroft Company. 

A small book with a big title. Mr. Hittell tells us in his preface that he h.i-. 
tried to do for his age what Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius did for theirs; that 
he has striven to appropriate the knowledge of our time and to put himself in 
harmony with its spirit. If Jeremy Bentham, Emerson, John Stuart Mill, Herbert 
Spencer and companions are the sole possessors of knowledge, he has appro- 
priated largely. He is entirely in harmony with the spirit of the age he would 
teach. His ignorance of his being a harmonious note in the discordance of self 
is naive and amusing. 

Mr. Hittell, page 12, $ 6, says our own enjoyment is the highest purpose 
and duty in life. On page 13 of the same paragraph: " A large part of con- 
troversy is the result of differences in definition " : and he contributes to contro- 
versy by saying on page 54 : " < >ne of the common hopes and chief pleas-.! 
to do something that will benefit all our fellow-men, including those to whom 
we are not bound by any tie of blood, personal acquaintance or country." 
And again : " Virtue is the only road to the highest pleasure in life. 1 ' 

Mr. Hittell is tormented with the notion that our a>;e needs to be counselled 
against fasting and flagellation. Again and .i^.iin lie exhorts us not to fast, not 
to scourge our " holy bodies.'' \\'e can assure Mr. Hittell that liis exhorta- 
tions are unneeded. Even the best of us are little given to of mortili- 






8c/o.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 703 

cation so highly commended by that great philosopher, Paul, the Apostle of the 
Gentiles. . 

We are entreated most earnestly not to seek martyrdom. What a good 
opinion Mr. Hittell must have of the age to think an entreaty of this nature 
necessary ! On this point the " Code of Morals " tells us : " You can do more 
good teaching that will please them " (your neighbors) " than by offending them 
so that they would at once burn, banish, or avoid you.' 1 "Do not assert that 
you live for others, or that you love your neighbor as yourself. You do not and 
cannot." What a poor opinion Mr. Hittell has of man ! Wretched is the man 
who is not in himself a refutation of this dogmatic declaration. L'nmanly as is 
this dogma, it did not originate with the author of a Code of Morals, nor does he 
himself believe it, for he tells us : "When our action is to affect another, we 
should consider how, if he were in our place and we in his, noble justice would 
require him to treat us, and we should comply with that requirement." Which 
cannot be done if we love not our neighbor as ourselves. 

$ 3 1 ) P a g e 4') advocates murder, or it is meaningless. It says: " Do not 
allow infants born blind, deaf, idiotic, monstrous or seriously deformed to 
live." 

$ 13 contradicts this Spartan measure; it declares: "Our obligations are 
greater to the weak than to the strong." 

It is a foregone conclusion that Mr. Hittell should ordain that we " require 
proofs that the recipients of our philanthropy are worthy of it." Highly ad- 
visable this. Whilst we wait the proofs, the object of our charity may die or 
disappear. In either case we are so much in pocket. If the good God were a 
modern philanthropist where would we and Mr. Hittell be? "If all the 
world got their deserts, who'd escape a whipping? "asks Shakspere the philoso- 
pher. 

The book abounds in quotations from Franklin, whose philosophy is Mr. 
Hittell's high-water mark. Maxims good as far as they go, but how short is 
their distance ! Maxims closely followed that may bring a man to a certain 
material prosperity, but at the sacrifice of how much that is gentle, ennobling,, 
and of a good heart ! 

Like all self-constituted teachers, the author of this Code of Morals is no- 
thing if not dogmatic and contradictory, less than nothing if not self-sufficient. 
There is nothing new that is elevating in his code, there is much to dishearten, 
much to be sorry for. 

MANUALS OF CATHOLIC PHILOSOPHY (Stonyhurst Series). General Meta- 
physics. By John Rickaby, S.J. New York : Benziger Brothers. 

The author has endeavored to produce and we think he has succeeded a 
common-sense metaphysics which would approve itself to the most thorough 
philosophic analysis, and at the same time bring it into comparative popularity. 
Not being productive of tangibilities in the shape of dollars and cents, meta- 
physics have been unpopular ; unpopular, too, for the abuse they have suffered 
in the hands of writers whose speculations at the best have been opaque. Gen- 
eral metaphysics, as treated in the Manual, takes for its task to assign the uni- 
versal ideas of Being, Existence, Cause and Effect, and so on, a clear signifi- 
cance, which secures consistency throughout the whole treatise, and the author 
carefully refutes all erroneous opinions. In this way he has made it apparent 
that the science, instead of being mystical or unreal, is little more than a pains- 
taking attempt to make clear to the mind its own every-day conceptions, nol 
by means of some deeply penetrating intuition to which the common run of 



704 JVir J'f/i/./c.-ir/o.Ys. [Au-., 

LS can lay no claim, but by a patient exercise ol the common understand- 
ing. However unavoidable, it i-. to IK- i that so large a portion of the 

discourses goes to setting aside misconceptions and cot ' 

c author has performed his huge t.isk in a m.iniHT that enforces 
the lesson, " There is much art in simplicity.' 1 



Ix.-ri \ SANCTORUM KI DminKtM; <>u. IKI-.I \NI>'S ANIIKM 

HOI vk-. By the Most Krv. John Healv, D.I).. I.1..I)., M.R.I. A., 
Coadjutor-Bishop of Clonfcrt, Con: the Publication of the 

Brehon Laws, e\-l'rffert of the Dunboyne Kstablishment, Maynooth Col- 
lege. Dublin: Scaly, Bryers & Walker. M. II. C.ill Ov. Son'; London: 
Burns Ov. < i.ites ; N\-w York : Sold by the Catholic Publication Society Co. 

A charming book, full of delightful reading in lucid English, not a few 
strong periods, much of metonymy, little of metaphor, never antithetical, 
and yet withal, at times, an unfortunate air of special pleading, too much ol 
what is legendary, and not enough of hard I'.ICN. A tremendous amount of erudi- 
tion displayed in monastic and folk-lore, a hearty and just appreciation of the 
noble men and women who made Ireland a land of saints, leave the author 
too insufficient space in which to reveal to our nineteenth century gaze the fer- 
tilest fields of Irish scholarship. A perusal of the book made us most intimately 
acquainted with the heroes who sanctified Ireland, but it has made us no better 
acquainted with the same heroes who made it a land of schools and scholars 
than we were before. That is to say, one side of these men has been for 
centuries enveloped in the clouds of mysticism, and we believe the learned 
author has failed to pierce their envelopment. 

In spite of its bulk, the book will have, and ought to have, a large circle of 
readers. It cannot fail to endear itself to many a loyal heart, and will pall on 
none. It is not, however, what its second title claims it to be, a history of Irish 
schools and scholars. 

A\ ESSAY CONTRIBUTING TO A PHILOSOPHY OF LITKKAITHK. By Brother 
Azarias, of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. Sixth edition, revised 
and enlarged. New York : P. O'Shea. 

This is a revision of a work already noticed in our pages. It claims to be 
an essay and it is much more. It is in itself a philosophy; a philosophy, to quote 
with the author from Dr. Brownson, " of no particular school." It is original 
enough to be called Azarian, and little exception can be taken to the author's 
principles or views. His definition of Literature is the only one thit has come 
near to satisfying us. We say this because we feel grateful to the philosopher 
for having given form and body to what we have felt but could not express. We 
thank him, too, for having touched fiction with a kindly, reverent, and loving 
hand, for we take fiction to be a high development of literature in our age ; some 
place it above poetry pure and simple, for every true work of fiction contains 
a poem of the heart and soul of man. 

We owe so much of gratitude to the Philosopher of Literature that it is with 
real pain we take exception to one of his remarks. In a passage of beauty he 
speaks of Shakspere's healthful balance of soul, and says : " Then.- is joy running 
through the pages of Walter Scott as refreshing as the morning dew," and then 
contrasts this soul-balance, this joyousness with the " nightmares of Poe," going 
on to say, " It is not the whole man who speaks ; it is passion, prejudice, i \- 
aggerated feeling." 



1890.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 705 

Poe was passion personified ; he was an evocation of passion. Passion feels 
deeply and is exaggerated only as compared with the barrenness of feeling in dis- 
passion. And what is natural, as deep feeling is to passion, is not exaggeration ; 
and exaggeration is lacking in truth, and what lacks truth is not natural, for nature 
is always true. What has been felt by one man, it is perfectly natural another man 
should feel, the conditions given him that evoked the feeling at first. There is a 
depth of passionate despair in " The Haunted Palace" and in " The Raven, " as 
there is a height of passionate love in the "Helen" that has been seldom 
touched or reached. Neither the despair nor the love is exaggerated, for Poe not 
only felt every word he uttered, he felt more that was beyond utterance. 
Passion if it be real, and it is not denied that Poe's passion was real, is always 
beyond its completes! utterance. Poe's utterances are an exaggeration, as the 
full flower is an exaggeration of the bud. "The soul-response cannot be 
healthful." A passion in itself may not be healthful to its possessor ; it may be 
health-giving, and therefore healthful, to the one who analyzes the workings of 
passion, as one must do who would understand Poe's utterings. The lesson of 
temperance in "The Haunted Palace," that of purity in "The Raven," are 
healthful indeed, none more so. 

"It is not the whole man who speaks." The whole man spoke in Poe. 
To recur to the poems we have taken as typical of all the man wrote, in one we 
have virgin love (" Helen") and little else. 

Is not this the whole of many a youth, and not a worst whole by any means? 
In " The Raven " a man whole and entire, albeit not the best manner of man, 
has lost purity ; he regrets it, he despairs for it, he hopes, in a blind way but 
still he hopes, for a purification. And he cries out his implication, in words that 
burn, as no word burns not lit by passion : " Youth, if you would have peace, if 
you would rejoice in the eternal hope, keep your soul clean." 

The inherent vitality that has kept Poe living, that year by year has brought 
him into juster and higher appreciation, forbids any such generalization as the 
"nightmares of Poe." 

Brother Azarias says something most appropriate to that of which we have 
been speaking, says it so much better than we could say it, that we here repro- 
duce it : " Prim phrasings may be good ; but the thought that burns for utter- 
ance does not express itself in prim phrasings. It sweeps through the soul, 
making a music all its own, in language possessing a rhythm and force all its 
own." 

We have not meant " to find fault," " to pick flaws." We have but offered 
our little strength to help remove an unconsidered obloquy thrown into a para- 
graph to bajance a period. 

ELEMENTARY CHEMICAL TECHNICS : A Hand-book of Manipulation and Ex- 
perimentation for Teachers of limited experience, and in Schools where 
Chemistry must be taught with limited appliances. By George N. Cross, 
A.M., Principal of the Robinson Female Seminary. Boston: Silver, 
Rogers & Co. 

The office of this little book is expressed in its title. There has been no 
attempt, the author says, to write a text-book of chemistry. No effort has been 
spared to make all statements and definitions brief. By this something of clear- 
ness has been lost, not to an expert, but to one inexperienced, and for such the 
book has been written. There is no doubt the book will be serviceable to many, 
but we fear that, like too many of our text-books, it tends to a fostering of what 
is eminently a fault of our times, superficiality. 



706 NH- l>fi<ucATh [ Aug., 

: MI MVMIiKk- t I Ml Sni.Ai.m "I IHl 

VIRGIN M\RV. Affiliated to the Mother Sodality in Rome. Baltimore: 
Foley Broth* 

This excellent manual is a collection of the various offices and pr.>' 
used by the Sodalists of. Mary, to which arc added an exceptionally fine collec- 
tion of hymns, the rules and constitution of the sodaht), and a concise, well- 
voided account of its origin. It compares more than favorably with other 
mam; > kind, and it is worthy of notice that the Office of the I'. 

Virgin is in lar^e, clear print, and that there is an index in alphabetical order. 
Both the compiler and the printer deserve the gratitude and prayers of all good 
sodalists. 

WREATHS OF SONG FROM Fn i.n- i l'mi.~'i'HY. Dublin: M. H. Gill 

& Son. 

We know of nothing with which the ll'r,-aths i>f Seng is comparable un- 
less it be the wonderful poem entitled " Aminta." Like the work of his Grace 
of Halifax, it is for the "cultured few." \\'r,-aths of Song is dedicated to the 
students of the author. No doubt they will appreciate the compliment paid 
their understanding. In one of the flowers of the wreath, called " Through the 
Glen," is a fine epitome of the entire garland : 

No view to the left, no view to the right. 

But little before or behind ; 
Yet again and again this glen to sight 
Shows glorious of its kind." 

NEW PRIMER; NEW FIRST READER; NKW SECOND READER. By Rt. Rev. 
Richard Gilmour, D.D., Bishop of Cleveland. New York, Cincinnati, and 
Chicago : llenziger Brothers. 

Nothing has been spared to make these Readers what they are, equal to the 
best in quality of illustrations, type, paper, printing, and binding. The matter 
for the lessons has been well selected ; the English such as our children should 
be accustomed to. As they are intended for Catholic schools only, their 
Catholicity is apparent throughout. 



A notice of the translation of Hettinger's great work, Natural Religion (Fr. 
Pustet & Co.), is unavoidably postponed. 



a 890.] WITH THE PUBLISHEK. 707 



WITH THE PUBLISHER. 



WE have many evidences that this department of the maga- 
zine is appreciated by our readers. It has done within the past 
few months a great deal of good. If it accomplished nothing 
more than the establishment of a better understanding between 
our readers and the Publisher (and this it certainly has done), 
it would certainly justify this " new departure." But it has done 
more : it has made the magazine known more widely through 
the means of sample copies ; it has added to our subscription 
list ; it has been the means of help to us through letters of 
suggestion and encouragement. We regret that these are so 
numerous that personal replies are impossible, but we are none 
the less grateful for the assistance they bring and the interest 
they manifest. Don't let the .summer heats bring drought on 
enthusiasm ; don't send in your subscription without a word or 
two of some kind, even though it be a good-natured growl. 



* 
* * 



And speaking of growls reminds the Publisher that he has 
certain privileges in this direction, and he takes this place on 
the page to make use of them. He growls, not because it's 
August, not because he is bad-tempered, but because he is good- 
natured, and wants to help some people to understand a thing 
or two more clearly. And for the sake of brevity and clearness, 
the Publisher will incorporate his growls in a series of " Don'ts," 
even though a recent article in these pages inveighed against all 
such forms of advice. These " Don'ts " have been printed here 
before, but, then, with some people it can be said, "Millies 
repetita placet." 



* 
* * 



Don't forget that THE CATHOLIC WORLD is a magazine 
and not a newspaper. Many MSS. come to this office contain- 
ing matter, such as local Catholic intelligence, etc., suitable only 
for a newspaper. 

Don't send business letters to the editor, and don't send 
.letters on editorial matters to the business manager. 

Don't send checks, drafts, money orders, or registered letteis 
4o any one but Rev. W. D. Hughes. 



7 o8 \\'ITH THH rrn/./sr/Kti. [Aug., 

Don't wait till you receive a bill before you pay for your 

subscription. Look at the printed label on your copy of the 

i/.inc; the date tells you when your subscription will expire, 

and it should then servi- as a bill for the year in adntiu;-. 

That's the theory of the address label ; it's a beautiful theory. 

Don't fail to ^ive your present address in full when you 
wish to have the ma^a/ine sent to a new address. Write 
your name and address in full on all lett 

Don't be cross when mistakes occur. Like the organist in 
Texas, we're "doing our best," and if we do make blunders in 
spite of our efforts, remember that a little patience and a little 
care to explain matters clearly will do more than a thunder- 
storm to "clear the atmosphere." 



Another " Don't," and a good one to bid good-by to 
growling: Don't fail to look over the pages of this department 
next month. Unless we are very much mistaken, you'll find 
some very good news there news of an enlarged magazine, 
uniform typography, and new departments; news, we hope, of 
increased prosperity and consequently of greater efficiency in 
this particular plot in the Lord's vineyard, the cultivation of the 
truth through the Catholic Press. 

* 

* * 

In answer to an inquiry made by one of our readers we 
regret that we cannot give any definite information concerning 
the date of publication of Father Harper's fourth volume of the 
Metaphysics of the Schools. From all we could learn we believe 
its publication has been indefinitely postponed. 

* 

* * 

A friend makes a valuable suggestion, which, while it is un- 
available for THE CATHOLIC WORLD, is worthy of consideration 
by our Catholic publishers. Miles Keon is known to American 
readers as the author of Dion and the Sibyls, a novel which was 
first presented to American readers in the pages of this magazine, 
and which has not been inaptly termed "a Catholic classic. 
But he is also the author of a novel as yet, we believe, unknown 
in this country Harding, the Money-Spinner. We hope the 
suggestion will bear fruit, and that we may soon be able to 
announce the publication of the book in this department. 




* 



Mr. P. D. Murphy, 31 Barclay Street, New York, announces 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 709 

the publication at an early date of a pamphlet entitled A Re- 
trospect on Invents which made possible the late Haiti more Con- 
tention, and a complement to the same. By the Rev. E. A. M., 
of the Diocese of Vincennes, Indiana. 

The Catholic Publication Society Co. announce new editions of: 

Spiritual Retreats, by the late Dr. Porter, Archbishop of 
Bombay. 

Little Manual of the Third Order of St. Francis (third 
edition). 

The Love of God, Vol. II. of the Works of St. Francis de 

Sales ; and 
A Life of the Blessed Thomas More. By the Rev. T. K. 

Bridgett, C.SS.R. 

Following the Guidon is the title of a new volume of army 
and frontier reminiscences, by Mrs. Elizabeth Custer, soon to be 
published by Harper & Bros. The same firm have just issued, 
in cloth and in their " Franklin Square Library," Walter Besant's 
new novel, Armorel of Lyonesse. 

Benziger Bros, have issued the Principles of Anthropology and 
Biology. By the Rev. Thomas Hughes, SJ. 75 cents. They 
announce : 

The Rights of Our Little Ones. First principles on educa- 
tion in catechetical form. By the Rev. James Conway, 
S.J. 15 cents. 

The Sacred Heart Studied in the Sacred Scripture. By 
the Rev. H. Saintrain, C.SS.R. Translated from the third 
French edition, $2. 

D. Lothrop Co. have issued in the past month T/ie Hermit 
Island, a story of island life on the Maine coast, by Mtss Kathe- 
rine Lee. Bates, and new editions of Poets' Homes, compiled by R. 
H. Stoddard and others; Uncle Titus and Swiss Stories, by 
Madame Spyri ; and A Half Year at Bronckton, by Margaret 
Sidney. 



7io BOOKS Rt.ci.n-ED, [Aug., 1890 



^ KM 1 IV! 
Mr*nn ff books in Ha flatt dots Hal fruludr e\trnJrJ neH(t in mhffufnt 

LES> CKirf KK-. ! La valeur de la raison dans le Catbolicisme ; L'Eplise 

enseignante ; Irs < 'mu -lies j,'nu r.u>\ U- I'ontifc KOMI. mi p.irl.ml ex cathedra ; la croyance 
univcrselle ; 1'enseignemcnt rn forme positive; I'cnseifjnement en lonne negative; les 
preceptes doctrinaiiN ; l.i Tr.iiliMon ; 1 rr.ulition. I Kc riture ; 

rfiftisek "-ili M.trtoln, duciriir nuiiain 

cnthtfologie et en droit canonique, membredc I'.V atomic de religion catholiquc de Rome, 
de 1. \i\ulrmie Koyale dcs Lrttrcs. Sdem-- Palcrme, et de 1 

linque dr Hruxcllcs. Ouvrage traduit dc I'ltnlien par un pretre de 1'Oratoire de Rennes. 
sur la seconde edition revue et amelioree parl'auteur. Cam Men-he ct Tralin. (For sale 
by Benziger Mros.) 

ELEMENTS OF STRI-CTURAI. AND SYSTEMATIC BOTANY. For high schools and elementary 
college courses. By Douglas Houghton Campbell, I'h I'.. Professor of Moiany in the 
Indiana University. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

JESUS OF NAZARETH: I. His Personal Character ; II. His Ethical Teachings; III Hi- 
Supernatural Works. Three Lectures before the Y. M C. A. of Johns-Hopkins ' 
versity, in Levering Hall. By John A. Broadus, D.D., LL.D., President of the Southern 
Baptist Theological Seminary. New York: A. (' Armstrong & Son. 

THI-: KKI.ICIOI-S ASPECT OF Evoi.fTins. My John McCosh, D.D., LL.D., Litt.D., ex- 
President of Princeton College. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF GENERAL GRANT. With an Account of the Presentation of the Portraits 
of Generals Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan at the United States Military Academy. ' 
Point. By George W. Childs. Philadelphia: Collins Printing House. 

CARMEL IN AMERICA. A Centennial History of the Discalced Carmelites in the I'nitcd 
States. By Charles Warren Currier, Priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy Re- 
deemer. Baltimore : John Murphy & Co. 

PRACTICAL SANITARY AND ECONOMIC COOKING. Adapted to Persons of Moderate and 
Small Means. By Mrs. Mary Hinman Abel. The Lowell Prize Essay. New York : The 
American Public Health Association. 

PAMPHLETS. 

REFUTATION OF SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. By Rev. James 
C. Byrne. The Catholic Truth Society. American Series, No. I. 

How CATHOLICS COME TO BE MISUNDERSTOOD. A Lecture by Rev. Thomas O'Gorman. 
The Catholic Truth Society. American Series, No. 3. 

THE VAIL-BURGESS DEBATE. A Religio-Educational Discussion between O. F. Burgess, 
Minister of the M. E. Church, and Roger Vail, Vice- President of the Catholic Truth Society. 
With a Preface by Rt. Rev. James McGolrick, P.O., Bishop of Duluth. The Catholic 
Truth Society. American Series, No. 2 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. LI. SEPTEMBER, 1890. No. 306. 



CARDINAL NEWMAN. 

1 To the last 1 never recognized the hold I had over young men." Apologia fro I'ita Sua. 

No more the sun may know the strength it hath 
To stir the bark in Spring with quickening blood ; 

No more a storm controls its giant wrath, 
Or knows the measure of its scattered flood ! 

There is a quality of lasting youth 

That knoweth not the force that gave it birth ; 

Some souls God points the subtler ways of truth, 
As highest tribute to their lasting worth. 

He hath in souls like thine deposited 

A quenchless flame as calm and strong as dawn ; 

Across the world thy potent fire is shed, 

Born of the " kindly light " that leads thee on ! 

MEREDITH NICHOLSON. 



Copyright. ftsV. A. P. HttWiT. 



CAKDI\AI. \KU-.\IA\. [Sept., 



CAKIUNAI \F.\VMAN. 

1 HA VK been familiar with the writings of the late illiistriiui- 
C'ardinal Newman since the year 1842. In 1867 I spent a tew 
days as his -nest at the F.dgbaston Oratory, and have had 
some correspondence with him by letters since that time. I do 
not, however, feel myself specially qualified to write an epitome, 
of his life and works, or to give an estimate of his character and 
r. I have undertaken the present sketch because I have 
been requested to do so, and I expect merely to write some- 
thing which may answer the purpose sufficiently for the occasion. 
No doubt, friends and admirers in Kngland, who are competent 
and furnished with all the requisite materials, will furnish abun- 
dant and satisfactory memoirs which will have a lasting value 
and interest, and be worthy of their great subject. 

John Henry Newman was born in London, February 21, 1801. 
His father was a banker in easy circumstances. His parents 
brought him up carefully and religiously, and gave him all the 
advantages of an excellent education. He took great delight in 
reading the Bible in his childhood. At fourteen he dabbled to 
some extent in infidel reading, and his mind wandered for a 
while into the region of sceptical speculation. At fifteen, he 
himself informs us that he was the subject of a decided ".con- 
version," which was a permanent one, from which his whole 
subsequent religious life was a development. His first doctrinal 
and practical religious phase was the so-called " evangelical " type 
of belief and piety, after the manner of Thomas Scott, Romaine, 
Bishop Wilson and their peculiar section of the Low-Church 
party in the English Episcopal Church. He was not, however. 
a Calvinist. He was entered at Trinity College, Oxford, gradua- 
ting in 1820, was ordained in 1824, in iS25 he was appointed 
by Dr. Whately, the Principal of Alban Hall, his Vice- Principal 
and Tutor. He had been elected a Fellow of Oriel College in 
1822, in 1826 he was appointed a Tutor in the same, and in 
1828 Vicar of St. Mary the Virgin, Oxford. During this early 
period of his residence at Oxford he became gradually indoc- 
trinated with the High-Church opinions, and when the famous 
Oxford Catholicising movement began and progressed, he went 
into it heartily, became one of its lead. -rs and its most brilliant 
ornament, and gained an influence over the minds and hearts of 



1890.] CARDINAL NEWMAN. 713 

thousands, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of 
the world where English is the mother-tongue, which was truly 
fascinating. This movement was necessarily progressive, and the 
minds of those who were in it underwent in process of time 
many and very great changes, in different directions and with 
different results. The mind of Newman steadily advanced towards 
a deeper and wider sympathy and harmony with ancient Cath- 
olicism, with mediaeval Catholicism, with the present and living 
Catholic Church, considered in its diffusive character, and finally 
with the Roman Church, the mother and mistress of churches. 
Newman began by believing that the Pope was the Antichrist 
of prophecy, and this spectre did not finally cease to haunt his 
imagination until the year 1843. .His view of the Papacy became, 
however, by degrees modified as time went on, so far as it was a 
mental conviction ; and from looking at it as the Antichrist, he 
came to regard it as one among many powers having certain 
characteristics of Antichrist, as having something Antichristian 
mixed with it, as a great Christian institution needing to be re- 
formed, as the great church of Christendom, but not exclusively 
of other churches, and finally as what it claims to be, in the fullest 
sense. The Oxford movement dates its beginning from the year 
1833. From that time Newman remained twelve years a mem- 
ber of the Church of England. Replying to the accusation that 
for the ten years between 1835 and 1845 nc na ^ been a "con- 
cealed Romanist," he says : 

" For the first four years of the ten (up to Michaelmas, 1839) I honestly 
wished to benefit the Church of England at the expense of the Church of Rome. 
For the second four years I wished to benefit the Church of England, without 
prejudice to the Church of Rome. At the beginning of the ninth year (Michael- 
mas, 1843) I began to despair of the Church of England, and gave up all cler- 
ical duty ; and then, what I wrote and did was influenced by a mere wish net 
to injure it, and not by the wish to benefit it. At the beginning of the tenth 
year I distinctly contemplated leaving it, but I also distinctly told my friends 
that it was in my contemplation." * 

In 1838 the Bishop of Oxford, in a charge, made some ani- 
madversion upon the " Tracts for the Times," which caused Mr. 
Newman to offer to the bishop, to whom he was extremely 
loyal and obedient, to stop their publication. Dr. Bagot did not 
accept the offer. But in 1841 Mr. Newman published the " Tract 
No. 90," on the vexed question of subscription to the Thirty nine 
Articles. He says : 

* Hist, of My Rel. Opin.. Ed. Lond.. 1865, p. 186. 
VOL. LI. 46 



714 CARDINAL Xi- \VMAN. [Sept.. 

" The- main thesis then of my essay was this : the Articles dn not oppose 
Catholic teaching ; they but partially oppose Roman dogma ; they for the most 
part oppose the dominant errors of Rome. And the problem was, as I have 
-..in!, to draw the line as to what they allowed and what they condemned." * 

A storm of opposition immediately arose. The Tracts \\ 
stopped, and Mr. Newman, feeling that confidence in him '.\.i- 
lost, that his own confidence in the movement was gne, with- 
drew from all active share in it. He rein. lined from this time 
mostly at Littlemore, taking care of that part of his parish, and 
leaving St. Mary's in charge of a curate until 1843, when he 
resigned St. Mary's, and lived in retirement with a few com- 
panions in his own hcuse at Littlemore. The studies which he 
made in the works of the Fathers and the history of the Ancient 
Church, the arguments of Dr. Wiseman against the Anglican 
position, the numerous and severe censures of bishops on the 
Tracts, especially No. 90, and on the Oxford movement, with 
other causes, had the effect of shaking and undermining his 
belief in the Church of England as a branch of the Church 
Catholic. The establishment of the "Jerusalem Bishopric," in 
concert with the Prussian government, which was an alliance 
with Lutherans and Calvinists in an aggressive movement 
upon the Eastern churches, was, perhaps, the severest bid'.' 
all to his waning confidence in the Church of England. He 
began to look upon it as no better than Samaria and 1 
after the revolt of Jeroboam, a mere schism, in which, neverthe- 
less, there was an extraordinary dispensation of grace, so that 
individuals, who in mind and heart were Catholics, might re- 
main in it as a provisional and tolerated state, awaiting better 
times. In the early part of 1845, finding his conviction nearly 
matured that this last position was untenable, and that it was 
his duty to join the Catholic Church, he set about writing the 
Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, a work which 
he left at last unfinished, having found as he 'proceeded that 
his reason and conscience had attained to a complete certitude, 
that joining the Catholic Church was an imperative obligation. 
On October 9, 1845, he was received by Father Dominic. Mr. 
Newman took his final leave of Oxford, Monday, February 23, 
1846: 

" On the Saturday and Sunday before, I was in my house at I.ittlcmore, 
simply by myself, as I had been for the first day or two when 1 had originally 
taken possession of it. I slept on Sunday night at my dear friend's, Mr. John- 
^on's, at the Observatory. Various friends came to see the last of me : Mr. Cope- 

* Hilt, of My Kit. Of in., p 79. 



1890.] CARDINAL NEWMAN. 715 

land, Mr. Church, Mr. Buckle, Mr. Pattison, and Mr. Lewis. Dr. Pu'sey, too, 
came up to take leave of me; and I called on Dr. Ogle, one of my very oldest 
friends, for he was my private tutor when I was an undergraduate. In him I 
took leave of my first college, Trinity, which was so dear to me, and which held 
on its foundation so many who had been kind to me, both when I was a boy and 
all through my Oxford life. Trinity had never been unkind to me. There 
used to be much snap-dragon growing on the walls opposite my freshman's 
rooms there, and I had for years taken it as the emblem of my own perpetual 
residence, even unto death, in my University. On the morning of the 23d I left 
the Observatory. I have never seen Oxford since, excepting its spires, as they 
are seen from the railway." * 

From Oxford Mr. Newman went to Oscott College, and thence 
to Rome, where he received all the orders up to the priesthood 
inclusively, one year and some months after his reception into the 
church. At the end of the year 1847 ^ e returned to England 
where he founded an Oratorian community, which in 1849 was 
definitely fixed in its present location at Edgbaston, and in the 
same year, another in King William Street, London. In 1852 
an infamous apostate priest, an Italian named Achilli, brought 
a suit against Dr. Newman for libel, on account of a denuncia- 
tion of his crimes uttered in a lecture. The truth of Dr. New- 
man's allegations was fully proved in the trial, yet a verdict of 
" guilty " was rendered, and although the fine in which he was 
mulcted was small, the costs of court which he incurred, together 
with the expenses entailed by bringing witnesses to England, 
were enormous. The whole amount was promptly raised by a 
subscription in England and on the Continent, and the moral 
effect of the trial was ignominy for the abettors of Achilli, and a 
great -increase of admiration and sympathy for Dr. Newman. In 
1854 Dr. Newman was elected Rector of the new Catholic Uni- 
versity of Dublin, and he remained in that office four years. 
Resigning in 1858, he returned to Edgbaston, and there, in a 
modest but delightful religious house, surrounded by a small and 
choice group of Oratorian priests, he passed the remainder of his 
long life. The incident of Mr. Kingsley's attack which called 
forth the Apologia pro Vita Sua occurred in 1864, and re- 
sulted in a signal triumph for Dr. Newman. In December, 1877 
some of the statutes limiting the election to fellowships having 
been already repealed, Di. Newman, who had forfeited all his 
university privileges on becoming a Catholic, by a most .graceful 
and honorable act of Trinity College, Oxford, was elected an 
Honorary Fejlow of the college. In 1878, the city and the world 
applauding, the reigning Sovereign Pontiff, L?o XIII., created thii 

Hist, of My Rel. Of in., p. 236. 



CARDINAL NEW. MAX. [Sept., 

t and illustrious priest and champion of the Catholic Church 
.u-dinal Deacon of the Holy Roman Church. In so doing he 
not only crowned him with a great and befitting gl"ry, hi.' 

lustre upon the Sacred College and upon his own pontificate, 
l-'ew great and good men have received during their life time so 
it and universal a meed of honor as that which has been 
awarded to Cardinal Newman. For many years all F.ngland has 
admired him as one of its chief glories in this a;^f. Throughout 
the Catholic Church he has been venerated and loved to a d 
v.hich has few examples in this century, and among non- Catholics 
\ell his name and his writings have been honored and cher- 
ished in a way which has often found a warm and emphatit 
pression. That they will live so long as the Knglish language 
endures is, I think, beyond a doubt. 

To make an analysis of the intellectual and moral character 
of the written works, and of the great life work of John Henry 
V wman, is no easy task. I, at least, feel that it would be 
above my ability to fulfil it. And in so short a space it would 
be, of itself, impossible. I can only pretend to make a few 
remarks which have a bearing towards such an object. 

I think I am warranted in expressing the judgment that 
Newman was a man of genius, and holds a high place in this 
small number of the elect of mankind. A striking feature of his 
genius which impresses my mind vividly, is his extraordinary 
originality and individuality of character. He says of himself, 
that even in boyhood he was accustomed to " rest in the thought 
of two, and two only, absolute and luminously self-evident beings, 
myself and my Creator." A similar statement is repeated several 
times in some of his writings, and one who keeps it in mind 
will find an explanation of a great deal that is peculiar in his 
history and his works. He drank of his own fountain, and of a 
divine source which flowed directly into it, and this surely is 
genius and originality. 

Intellect and imagination, sensibility and common sense, were 
very equally combined in his make-up. He had the elements of 
the theologian, the historian and the poet, with a decided t 
and capacity for mathematics and for music. The qualities which 
distinguish the metaphysician, the orator, the savant in the phys- 
ical sciences, and the ruler of men, I have not discerned in him 
in any remarkable degree, though I do not profess to have a 
clear insight into all the latent powers which he might have 
ioped under a different education and in another sphere of 
action. 



1890.] CARDINAL NEWMAN, 717 

In respect to his attainments as a scholar, Cardinal Newman 
was certainly' in some departments a deeply learned man, and 
outside of these possessed of a wide and general literary culture, 
but I cannot speak with a thorough and precise knowledge on 
this head. 

In the art of writing he excelled, and his style was his 'chief 
instrument of power to persuade and charm the multitude of his 
readers. I cannot attempt a critical analysis of its peculiar char- 
acter and qualities. One thing I will mention which has always 
especially attracted my attention, the wonderful art of marshalling 
facts from all directions and sources, as illustrations of his theme,, 
and casting new and strange side-lights upon it. His mind was 
a kaleidoscope, and his intellect was served by his imagination in 
a wonderful way, embodying or symbolizing his abstract ideas in 
concrete forms and example?. 

His writings belong to several different classes. As works of 
art, I am inclined to give the preference to the historical works 
and the specimens of character-painting which they contain. In 
theology there are some masterpieces ; for instance, in the exposi- 
tions of the dogmas of the Trinity and the Incarnation, and the 
analysis of the several phases of the Arian heresy. I will not 
delay upon a notice of Newman's various and miscellaneous writ 
ings. There are two essays in the collection of his works on . 
which, perhaps, his signet is the most Distinctly stamped, and 
each of which is sui generis. These are the Essay on Develop- 
ment and the Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent. The first is 
a key to the whole system of his ideas respecting divine revela- 
tion as the object of the assent of faith. The second holds a 
similar relation to truth in general as the object of rational assent. 
They are a commentary on the larger portion of his works, aid- 
ing one to an understanding of their scope and import in regard 
to these two great topics. 

The Grammar of Assent, I confess, I have not been able to 
comprehend fully, although I have carefully read it several times, 
yet I find in it many rare gems of thought, beautifully cut 
and set, and partially assent to what I can understand of its 
argument I have been, at an early period of life, much in- 
debted to Butler's Analogy, one of the greatest and best works 
in the English language. Newman's mind received a determining 
and permanent impress from this work. The influence of that 
great genius Kant seems, also, to be perceptible in Cardinal 
Newman's Ideology and Theodicy. I must think that there is a 
shortcoming in all these great thinkers and centres. I find the 



CAKDIXAI .\f:n:vAtf. [Sept., 

scholastic metaphysics ami psychology f.ir superior to any of the 
IK-MIT philosophies, though what is true and good in these de- 
Ncrvcs a fair appreciation, and can be made available in philo- 
sophy. And with this remark I dismiss this part of my subject. 
In the /:'.v\<i_r on Dmkpmfnt Newman set about arran^inj; 
and summing up the results of the development of Christian doc- 
trine which had been s, r oin;j on in his own mind during thirty- 
years, but especially during the twelve years between 1833 and 
1845. The mental and spiritual process by which, starting from 
a few dogmatic and practical principles which orthodox 1V- 
its have with more or less clearness and consistency pro- 
1, Mr. Newman advanced into the Anglican Via .!/< <//</, and 
along that road to the Catholic position, is the most interesting 
and important part of his history. The lesson of his example, 
and of his exposition of the reasons justifying his course and its 
conclusion, is just that which is the most significant and valuable 
in his life and in all its work. 

I will endeavor to make an analysis and statement of this 
process of development as clearly and briefly as possible. 

What is genuine and complete Christianity, and the w iy t>> 
attain or approach certitude of belief and conviction in regard to 
every part of it, so far as necessary or useful for the great end 
of life ? This is the great question to be answered. 

Several things are supposed to be known and believed at the 
outset. Christianity is a dogmatic religion. Original sin, redemp- 
tion by the cross and divine grace, the Incarnation, the Trinity, 
the inspiration of the canonical Scriptures, are among its dogma-. 
The whole of the divine revelation is contained in the inspired 
Scriptures. The common Protestant notion is that each true 
believer is to find divine truth by his personal reading of the 
Bible, and to obtain divine grace by an immediate communication 
of the Holy Spirit. 

The first step away from the Protestantism of Luther and 
Calvin into the Via Media led Newman to the position that it is 
" a proposition self-evident as soon as stated, to those who have 
at all examined the structure of Scripture, that the sacred text 
was never intended to teach doctrine, but only to prove it." 

This was an abandonment of individualism and the theory of 
the invisible church, constituted of those who are already justified 
by faith, and becoming partly visible by a common profession of the 
faith. The teacher can only be a visible, corporate church. Thus, 
the visible church is the medium between God and the individual, 

//ill .'/ .!/> Krl Oft*., p. 9. 



1890.] CARDINAL NEW. MAX. 719 

in respect to the indication of faith, consequently of justification, 
which is by faith, and therefore of the increase of faith, of sanc- 
tification, and of salvation. 

It is not necessary to show how easily and naturally one who 
was brought up in the Church of England would go on, after this 
first step, to the doctrines of Apostolical Succession, sacramental 
grace, the authority of tradition, and the rest of the High-Church 
system. 

This system, or the Via Media, sets up a counterclaim 
against that ol the Roman Church. It is Episcopacy versus 
Papacy. It is the English Episcopal Church, with its offshoots, 
represented as identical with the Ancient Church, against the 
modern Catholic Church, represented as having departed from 
antiquity. The so-called Greek Church, though it disdains the 
alliance, is considered as substantially an ally, because of its fall- 
ing back on antiquity according to its own measure, and in the 
autonomy of the episcopate, in opposition to the authority of the 
Roman Pontiff, and of the councils coming after the Seventh 
General Council, held at Nicaea. 

There are many issues in this controversy. In the case of 
Mr. Newman the controversy turned upon the Faith and the 
Church. 

" This was my issue of the controversy from the beginning to the end. 
There was a contrariety of claims between the Roman and Anglican religions, 
and the history of my conversion is simply the process of working it out to a 
solution.'' * 

In order to see distinctly what the precise issue is, it is 
necessary to define the notion of the church in the Anglican 
theory, as to its essence, and its office as the Teacher of the 
Faith. This notion rests on the assumption that all bishops are 
independent and supreme, each within his diocese, where he is 
the head of a body which is a complete and separate whole of 
its species, viz.j a church existing in organic unity and integrity. 

"I contended that the Roman idea of Catholicity was not ancient and 
Apostolic. It was. in my judgment, at the utmost only natural, becoming, expe- 
dient, that the whole of Christendom should be united in one visible body ; 
while such a unity might, on the other hand, be nothing more than a meie 
heartless and political combination. For myself, I held with the Anglican 
divines, that, in the primitive church, there was a very real mutual independ- 
ence between its separate parts, though, from a dictate of charity, there was in 
fact a very close union between them. I considered that each see and diocese 
might be compared to a crystal, and that each was similar to the rest, and that 

* ffist. of My Rtl. Ofia., p. 112. 



720 CARDINAL .VAHMM.V. [Sept., 

11 w.is only a collection of crystals. The unity of the 

church l.u in-ill^; .1 pclity. 1 ut in it^ bein^ a family. .minj; 

down by Apostolical descent from it> lirsi founders and bishop 

One Anglican principle, therefore, is that "the Apostolical 
Succession is a sufficient guarantee of sacramental g] :hont 

union "cit/i the Christian Church throughout the n*orld" 

Anotlu-r Anglican principle is "taking Antiquity, not tlic 
existing Church, as the Oracle of Truth." 

According to this theory, then the Apostles, having taught the 
fiith t<> their disciples, and having left to them the oracles of 
God in the Scriptures, their successors were charged with the 
office of preserving, witnessing to, and preaching this Apostolic 
Tradition. Go back to Antiquity, find that " t/uoti semper, quod 
ubiquc, quod ab omnibus, traditum cst" which from the beginning 
continuously, in every place, by all churches has been held as 
Apostolic teaching or institution, and which can be proved by 
Scripture, and you will find genuine and complete Christianity. 

The first six councils are supposed to have uttered the com- 
plete testimony of the Universal Church to the Faith, spoken by 
the bishops' and ratified by the general consent of the faithful. 
Besides these are the concurrent testimonies of the Fathers ol 
the first six centuries, and many other monuments of tradition 
as well as extraneous evidences and testimonies, all concurring to 
prove what was Ancient Christianity. 

The Anglican Church is represented by its devoted adherents 
as the Primitive Church restored. 

" Ours is a church reform : and now no more 
Is aught for man to mend or to rcstop 
Tis pure in doctrines, 'tis correct in creeds, 
Has naught redundant, and it nothing needs; 
No evil is therein no wrinkle, spot, 
Stain, blame, or blemish, I affirm there's not."f 

This is the extreme view, less or more modified in the minds of 
individuals, but held approximative^ by thorough Anglican-. 

The theory makes a dignified and imposing appearance, but 
it crumbles on two sides, when its solidity is tested. The Ancient 
Church was not constructed in accordance with this theory, and 
the Church of England does not correspond to the ideal pre- 
sented on paper by its advocates. It is nurely th in >st re- 
spectable among the several forms of Protestantism, but it is 
not in any way Catholic. 

///j/. ./ My Rel. Ofir., p. 167. iCmlbti Talti ; Tale i. "The Dumb Oraton." 



1890.] CARDINAL NEWMAN. 721 

According to this theory, there is no One, Holy, Catholic, 
Apostolic Church existing in concrete reality as an organic body. 
It has only an abstract existence, like that of the state in gen- 
eral, the family in general, the army and navy of Europe, etc. 

There is no trace of such an idea in the New Testament, 
or in ancient Catholic authors. In the New Testament the idea 
of the Universal Church as one body, in Christian Antiquity the 
idea of the One Catholic Church, stands forth with the utmost dis- 
tinctness. The Anglican Church has no counterpart in the early 
centuries, except in the Arians, Nestorians, Monophysites, and 
Donatists. They denounced the living and universal church which 
was the church of the present in their day, as having fallen away 
from its primitive state, and they appealed from it to Scripture, 
Antiquity, earlier councils, and their own pretended synods. 

Mr. Newman was in a miserable predicament when he found 
the Via Media to be no thoroughfare. On the one hand, he had 
lost faith in the Anglican Church ; on the other, he still sus- 
pected the Roman Church of having altered the Apostolic Faith. 
There was no resource for him except in the Lutheran doctrine 
of the Invisible Church, and .in fact the abyss of rationalism was 
gaping before him. To one whose Catholicism is ideal only, 
proving Canterbury wrong does not prove Constantinople or Rome 
to be right. " The Church of Hierusalem hath erred, and the 
Church of Constantinople hath erred, and the Church of Rome 
hath erred, and the Church of Canterbury hath erred." Christen- 
dom, as well as Protestantism, is but a sea covered with the 
scattered and damaged ships of a squadron which have fallen 
into a mutual and internecine conflict, and have also suffered from 
a violent tempest. 

It does not appear that the Scripture, interpreted by tradition 
and antiquity, is much easier and more certain as a rule of faith 
than Scripture alone. 

The Evangelical Protestant says : " Go to the Bible as your 
only and sufficient rule of faith." The Bible does not affirm itself 
to be this rule, but points to a Teacher, and presupposes a tra- 
dition external to its inspired text. Besides, it does not teach the 
so-called evangelical doctrine. " Go to the Successors of the 
Apostles, who have handed down what they have received, Scrip- 
ture, its true sense, and- a creed which sums up Apostolic doc- 
trine." Those who claim to be successors to the Apostles differ 
and dispute among themselves. I have to decide among several 
separated bodies of bishops, not only as to the question which of 
them, if any, teaches the pure doctrine, but which of them is the 



CARDINAL XKH-.MAK. [Sept., 

true churcli. " Go back to Anti(]iiity, and find that quod sftiift-r, 
quod ubiqiif, quod ab omnibus, traditum cst, that is the genuine, 
unaltered, truly Catholic doctrine." But, for learned men even, this 
is a long and arduous t.i-k. and they do not agree with each 
other in their conclusion-;. How much more difficult must \: 
then, for those of only ordinary learning and little leisure, and 
how impossible for tin- unkarned. 

The Catholic rule is entirely different from this. It was only 
when Newman understood this rule, was convinced that it was 
the rule of antiquity prescribed by the Apostles, and adopted it, 
that he was enabled to come out of the fog into the sunlight. 

He beautifully explains and illustrates the difference between 
the Catholic rule and every form of the Protestant rule. The 
controversy, for him, turned on Faith and the Church. He was 
working out a solution of the question concerning the contrary 
doctrines, Roman and Anglican, respecting the relation of the 
Church to the Faith during the twelve years preceding his con- 
version. When he fully renounced the Anglican and fully 
embraced the Roman doctrine on this head, he became a 
Catholic, without waiting to investigate all the other doctrines in 
detail. 

" In 1838 1 illustrated it (the.contrariety of doctrines), by the contrast pre- 
sented to us between the Madonna and Child and a Calvary. The peculiarity of 
the Anglican was this, that it supposed the Truth to be entirely objectiv. 
detached, not (as in the theology- of Rome) lying hid in the bosom of the Church 
as if one with her, clinging to and (as it were) lost in her embrace, but as being 
sole and unapproachable, as on the Cross or in the Resurrection, with the Church 
close by, but in the background." 

With some change, this statement can be applied to every 
form of dogmatic Protestantism. And with a further change, it 
applies also to what may be called the more sound rationalism, 
i.e., that philosophy which recognizes objective truth and rises to 
the height of a pure Theism, and an elevated view of the spiri- 
tual and rational and immortal nature of the human soul. 

Such a theory places the criterion in the individual. Whether 
it is natural reason only, or the light of the Holy Spirit in his 
soul only, or both together, by which he perceives and judges, 
the faculty is his own individual propriety. He directs this in- 
strument upon objective truth, whether it' be the intelligible in 
itself, the realm of nature, a divine revelation, the Bible, the 
teaching of the Ancient Church, the doctrine of modern churches, of 

Hut. of Uy Kel. Ofix.. p. 112. 



1890.] CARDINAL NEWMAN. 723 

schools, of private teachers, whatever it be which claims his atten- 
tion and credence as a concrete form of objective truth, naturally 
or supernaturally disclosed, as intelligible or credible. It is his 
own subjective conviction which he identifies with philosophical 
truth, with the revealed truth contained in Scripture, in Scripture 
and Tradition, in Catholic antiquity, in the universal Christian 
consciousness, in whatever he recognizes as a sphere in which 
truth resides. Let him go on, then, and embrace doctrine after 
doctrine which is contained in the complete circle of th; dogma- 
tic teaching of the Catholic Church, short of the genuine, authen- 
tic doctrine of the infallible and supreme authority of the Roman 
Church as she herself holds and imposes it; his criterion is still 
his own private judgment, he is not a Catholic, and he is a 
Protestant. 

He is made a Catholic by an inward and outward act of 
submission to the authority of the living, present, infallible 
Catholic Church, and receiving all that she proposes as of faith, 
as the revealed truth of God, to be believed on the divine 
veracity. 

This was the last step which Newman had to take at his con- 
version. The last difficulty which he had to overcome was a 
notion, surviving from prejudices of education, that the Roman 
Church has altered the faith of the Primitive Catholic Church. 
It was to clear his mind from obscurity on this subject that he 
sat down to write his Essay on Development. The principle which 
is the topic of the argument in this essay is one which, Dr. 
Newman told us in 1864, had been in his mind, and gradually 
working itself out, since the end of the year 1842. He briefly 
states it to be : that all the Christian ideas " were magnified in 
the Church of Rome, as time went on. ... The whole scene 
of pale, faint, distant Apostolic Christianity is seen in Rome as 
through a telescope or magnifier. The harmony of the whole, 
however, is of course what it was." * 

This remarkable essay is not to be regarded as the work of 
a Catholic theologian, or as a complete, finished, and carefully 
revised production of Mr. Newman's mind. Therefore, the critical 
tests which would be properly applied to every sentence and 
word of a treatise by a Catholic theologian cannot be justly used 
in this case. There may be inaccuracies and ambiguities in the 
sense or in the phraseology in certain passages. In its general 
drift and scope, however, and in its main course of argument, it 
is in accordance with the doctrine of approved Catholic theo- 

* Hist, of My Kel. Of in., p. 296. 



; -4 CAKDIXAI. AV. \r.\tA\. L Se P t -. 

a-;. It is, h i piece of profound, wide-reaching philo- 

<ophic.il reasoning. 

The pivotal point, s.> f.ir as tin: Faith is concerned, is simply 
this: that what is implicitly contained in the divine revelation is 
really revealed truth, and can be made explicitly Catholic dogma 
by the definition of the supreme, infallible teaching authority of 
the Catholic Church. 

I am obliged by want of space to cut short what I wished to 
it greater length on this subject, and to hasten to a con- 
clusion. 

Many efforts were made to diminish the weight of the ex- 
ample and the argument of John Ik-nry Newman after his con- 
version. It was said that his intellectual and moral vigor had 
suffered a collapse. That he had become a kind of amateur 
Catholic of a peculiar and individual kind, but not a genuine and 
thorough Roman Catholic. That he had become sensible of 
having made a false step, and would probably retrace his way 
into the Church of England. The wind has long since blown 
away all these dry leaves. 

God gave to Cardinal Newman a long Catholic life, more 
than forty years in the priesthood. His firm, undoubting faith, 
his devoted zeal, his ripening wisdom and sanctity have grown 
during this time into a stately and majestic symmetry and a 
rich fruitfulness. In extreme and venerable old age, his dust 
has been gathered to the sacred heap which bygone generations 
of martyrs and confessors have left to hallow the soil of Kngland, 
and his soul into their blessed and glorious fellowship. 

I have owed very much to him as a religious teacher, and 
have felt honored by his personal friendship. With love, gra- 
titude, and reverence, I lay this wreath on the tomb of the 
great and good Cardinal Newman. 

A. F. Hi-: WIT. 



1890.] CATHOLICISM AV MODERN DENMAKK. 725 



CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 

I. 

WHEN King Frederick VII. gave Denmark a constitution, in 
1849, religious liberty was restored to the little northern country, 
whence it had been banished for well-nigh three hundred years. 
It is true that for some time before this historic event the Cath- 
olics, with some of the sects, could find an asylum in the litt'e 
town of Fredericia, in the province of Jutland ; freedom of wor- 
ship had been established there by the royal founder of the city 
in the vain hope of attracting thitherward the population it 
lacked. But the City of Refuge has never answered these expec- 
tations, and to-day Fredericia is a quite unimportant and thinly- 
populated place, with little effect upon the fortunes of the church. 

It was from contact with European culture that the renais- 
sance of Catholic truth had its origin. Among the few Danes of 
wide learning and great intellect who had been blessed with that 
gift of faith which made their exile a home-coming (for they 
were banished the kingdom) among these heroes there was at 
least one who is entitled to the rank of genius ; this was the 
famous anatomist and the founder of the science of geology, 
Nicolaus Steno (Steensen). It is to the cathedral at Florence 
that the Danes must repair to find the tomb of one of their 
greatest fellow-countrymen. When the congress of geologists 
was assembled in Florence a few years ago one of their first 
duties was to march thither in a body to crown with laurel the 
bust of their renowned predecessor.* 

There were other notable Danish converts before 1849; but, 
as a whole, the Danish people until that year, and, indeed, a 
gocd many years after, remained in the Lutheran body, at times 
with a tendency to stricter pietistical observance, at times with 
rather rationalistic and latitudinarian tendencies. It so happened 
that just at the date when the country got its political liberty a 
war was going on in its southern provinces, the duchies of 
Schleswig and Holstein, where a faction endeavored to set up 
an independent state. All the forces of the people, moral as well 
as physical, were for a couple of years absorbed in the issue of 
this war, and it was only after bringing it to a successful con- 

* V. W. Plenkers, S.J. : Der DSne Nits Steensen, tin Lebensbild, ii. vols. Herder, Frei- 
burg, 1884. . 



CATHOLICISM i.\ MODEK.\ Di. \.MAKK. [Sept., 

elusion tli.it the Danish government and tin- representatives of 
the people could set about putting into practical operation the 
newly acquired political privileges. 1'hrse considerations naturally 
engrossed the minds of statesmen ami eiti/ens for some time, but 
still the elements of religious development were not inactive, and 
changes were generally foremen, though the lines along which 
the development afterward worked were unlocked for at that date. 

Toward the close of the last and at the beginning of the 
nt century, rationalism had an overpowering effect upon the 
popular mind in Denmark as elsewhere, and made itself felt in 
the pulpit as well as in other fields of thought. Hut (ierman 
Romanticism, with its appreciation of mcdi.i-val and Catholic cul- 
ture, soon alter the dawn of the nineteenth century acquii 
considerable influence upon Danish literature, just then passing 
through a period of rapid and exuberant growth ; it was, then, 
impossible for theology to escape this movement now reaching 
out toward something more satisfying to the human heart and 
mind than what the cold and shallow conceptions of rationalism 
could offer. So that even before 1848-50, when the victories 
of the Danish arms gave birth to a strong, self-reliant national 
feeling, there had been a noticeable tendency toward the recon- 
struction of the existing forms of Lutheranism ; thereafter it was 
to receive fresh impetus from various souro 

As usual among non-Catholics, it was not long before the 
"movement" separated into different currents. Among the scien- 
tific theologians, the foremost representative and the first to avail 
himself of the Hegelian terminology in the interest of Christian 
dogma, was H. L. Martensen, who died in 1884, having for the 
greater part of his long and industrious life enjoyed the highest 
ecclesiastical dignity in his count . u Bishop of Seelaiul. 

Among the numerous and ponderous works which he has left, 
his Dogmatics and Ethics still possess a measure of popularity in 
Denmark and in Germany. Martensen is more orthodox than 
most of his German contemporaries; his style is eloquent, often 
poetically modelled, and, indeed, certain parts of his Ethics would 
make pleasant reading for Catholics were it not for the author's 
bitter tone whenever he touches upon the history or the tenets 
of the Catholic Church. In this feature he reminds the reader 
of those fierce anti-Catholic fanatics of the sixteenth century; the 
very words "Catholic,' " !'>;." "Council." etc, arc quite suffi- 
cient to deprive him of his self-control, and as it is the nature 
of such fits of passion to grow more frequent and violent from 
over-indulgence, so we find him, in one e-f his last works, speak- 






1890.] CATHOLICISM JN MODERN DENMARK. 727 

ing of the Holy Father in language which we should not expect 
from any clergyman ; indeed, one of his fellow -bishops, Monrad, 
considered it his duty publicly to condemn his colleague's lan- 
guage as unjustifiable and unseemly. 

Though Martensen's influence was powerful both with the 
Lutheran clergy and the educated laity, yet his elaborate and 
speculative method had nothing about it that could appeal to the 
sympathies of the masses. It was precisely from this point of 
view that his greatest adversary, N. F. S. Grundtvig. may be 
said to have succeeded. In the latter's doctrinal efforts there is 
what seems a queer enough mixture of Puseyism with something 
like muscular Christianity. On the one hand, he points to the 
necessity of clinging to the idea of " the church " ; this word 
comes into use every other line, while he tries to prove that 
Roman Catholics, Lutherans, and Anglicans (the Greek and Cal- 
vinistic communions he rejects on formal grounds) are all mem- 
bers of one and the same spiritual body ; but, on the other hand, 
he does not appear to be very particular about dogmas, seeming 
to find the essential note of Christianity in a certain light-hearted 
confidence in God's loving-kindness. His ideal religious character 
is largely to be attained by living much in the open air, giving 
plenty of time for athletics and innocent merry-making, together 
. with a patriotic devotion to the study of old Danish mythology 
and folk lore. His adherents were generally called Grundtvigians, 
or the Merry Christians. Their and their master's published writ- 
ings abound in contradictory arguments and vague, unintelligible 
utterances ; only once in a while, in Grundtvig's own works, es- 
pecially in his powerful hymns, glimpses of true genius will 
gleam through the wordy vapor like rays of sunshine on a foggy 
morning. 

Certainly no one denies that Grundtvig and his disciples have 
done a great deal for the enlightenment of 'Denmark ; great num- 
bers of the farmers and peasants, who actually make up the ma- 
jority of the population, continue to swear by his teachings and 
yearly attend the so-called high-schools or summer-schools, erected 
by Grundtvigian teachers the country over, where young men and 
women are instructed in history, literature, folk-lore, and kindred 
studies. 

However, both the Martensians and the Grundtvigians greatly 
over-estimated the value of the systems they respectively accepted 
from these new leaders of Danish Protestantism, and there was 
one man, at least, who ventured to tell them to their faces that 
such makeshifts had pitifully little to do with real religion, at the 



728 CATHOLICISM i\ M V.V.-/A-A-. [Sept., 

same time putting before them a type of Christian conduct so 
high as tn remind one of the noblest teachings of Catholic asceti- 
cism. This man was Soeren Kierkegaard, the only great phi! 
pher that this little land, whose roll of honor can show so many 
I, composer-, painters, and sculptors, has ever produced. Ac- 
cording to Kierkegaard, the essence of Christianity is self-humil- 
iation, self- abnegation and suffering for Christ's sake fassio 
Christiana. And of this he finds nothing in contemporary 
Danish Protestantism. He dcspisis and derii! s any attempt to 
compromise with modern thought and manner-. ( >ne of his works 
bears the significant title, Either Or! For him there is not, 
as for so many so-called Christians, any Both And, any both 
serving of Christ and of the world. Over and beyond the depth 
of thought and masculine strength which distinguishes his works, 
Kierkegaard's prose style is unsurpassed for qualities of pa 
and grandeur, intermingled with merciless sarcasm. Grundtvig 
he derided as "a singing fun-maker and bellowing blacksmith," 
while the whole weight of his crushing satire was levelled at the 
segment of the Lutheran state-church, represented by Martensen and 
his friend and predecessor, Bishop Mynster. In his eyes both these 
dignitaries were but nicely educated and faultlessly dressed gentle- 
men who understood only too wall how to adapt their Christianity 
to the demands of a shallow and wanton society. Such teachers 
Kierkegaard considers little better than the dancing and fencing 
masters who alter their styles to suit the tastes of wealthy young 
patrons. When he is once launched upon this great evil his al- 
ways incisive prose waxes wonderfully strong and passionate 
indeed, to a degree that no Catholic would think of imitating. 

His writings undoubtedly created sensations in their day ; but 
it would not be true to say that they made any very lasting im- 
pression upon the easy-going Danes, who were never yet given 
to philosophical speculations. Accordingly Kierkegaard had his 
season of success ; but a fleeting season it was, to be sure. 

II. 

In 1864 Denmark became involved in a new war, which re- 
sulted in the seizure of Schleswig and Holstein by Prii-^a and 
Austria. This great blow to national integrity and sentiment, so 
unexpected and so unprepared for, shattered many of thj I' 
fondest illusions, religious as well as political. One wcll-kn.-wn 
Grundtvigian minister strove to console the people by telling 
them that " God cannot do without little Denmark," but such 



1890.] CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 729' 

specious phrases could not comfort his sad-hearted countrymen, 
and in the gloom of disaster many minds began to meditate 
more seriously than had been their wont. Some few returned to 
the study of Kierkegaard's philosophical works, others became 
rationalists and free-thinkers, while a very few found themselves 
drawn toward Catholicism, and finally after convincing themselves 
from their careful, patient study that there, and there only, was 
the truth, the way, and the life, these earnest seekers after light 
were given the grace of faith and were received into the Mother- 
Church. 

Among these was H. Kofoed-Hanssn, an author of high re- 
pute for his achievements in the different lines of theology and 
fiction. He had for many years occupied an important ecclesias- 
tical position in the Lutheran Church. It was not, in fact, until 
1888 that he was received into the church, albeit the logical 
course of his conversion can be traced back to causes more than 
twenty years' distant from that date. 

As time went on, however, the result of that tremendous 
shock to Denmark's dream of national security became apparent, 
showing that the popular spirit had been overwhelmed, and the 
dull lethargy it superinduced was notably apparent in the people's 
indifferentism and spiritual sloth. This was the atmosphere in 
which they thought and wrote until some time after 1870, when, 
with the new influences stirring European minds, that sense of 
oppression seemed to be lifted from the land. That the Franco- 
Prussian war should end in the defeat of France came as another 
disappointment to blight the hopes springing up in the new era, 
for Denmark had not renounced the cherished dream of regaining, 
with the help of Napoleon III., at least the northern, Danish- 
speaking part of Schleswig. 

Among the changes which came in with the new decade, 
1870 or thereabouts, were many which declared the beginning of 
the political struggle between the two parties that still contend 
for the mastery. Originally the Democrats were for the most 
part peasants who sent up Grundtvigian representatives to the 
Parliament, and these naturally were opposed by the conservative 
members ; but it was not long before a third party, the Socialists, 
entered the national arena, especially in Copenhagen, where 
socialistic unions were organized and a daily paper started. A 
young, talented, and eloquent critic, Dr. Georg Brandes, began a 
course of lectures on modern literatures at the University of 
Copenhagen, using this as a medium for the wider dissemination 
of his materialistic and atheistic ideas. Soon a throng of young 
voi. LI. 47 



730 CATHOLIC, SM ix MOI>/-.K\ P* \.v.ixx: [Sept., 

\vriti-r-. Danish and Norwegian, with, after a time, many of their 
elders,* had gathered .iluuit him, and Brand fortluvith re- 

eoiMii/ed as the accredited loader of the radical wing, made up 
principally of Danish youths, most of them students. A-; will be 
seen, the hitherto comparatively <|iiiet little Denmark in a short 
time was transformed into a microcosm of the L;re.it European 
nations, with all the modern destructive forces at work. Fortu- 
nately the positive tendencies had their repre~eiitati\ 

Another event of the H ir in which Brand his 

first lectures (i<V 2 ) was the publication by its author, Count 
Holstein-Ledreborg, of a pamphlet with the title Evangelical- 
Lutheran, a negative definition. This young nobleman \\. 
convert to the church, and his brochure is a witty, trenchant 
exposure of Martenscn's and Grundtvig's fallacies. It called forth 
a reply from the hapless Bishop M.irtenscn which was not of a 
nature to restore confidence even among his own folio wer-v 
Kxtraordinary as it may seem, the aged primate of the national 
church had not taken the precaution of rea ling in original! the 
historical documents involved, such as the Definition of Papal 
Infallibility: this and other documents of similar importance he 
quoted from those cheap German publications in which, by the 
familiar devices of verbal omi-sions and alterations, the sen- 
altogether perverted. This characteristic effort of sincere partisan- 
ship was met by a masterly refutation from the pen of a talented 
Westphalian, the contemporary prefect-apostolic, 11. (irii ler. Be- 
sides ventilating Martensen's abuse of controversy and refuting 
his misstatements, the author's work, The Catholic and the Pro- 
testant Principle of Faith, is an admirable example of scientific 
accuracy, brightened by a vein of dry, well-sustained sarcasm. 
These qualities were relished even by adversaries, and as Mar 
tensen could not afford to acknowledge his misquotations, this 
work remains unanswered to mark the close of a brief but vigor- 
-ous controversy. 

Meanwhile the rapid spread of radicalism and agnosticism 
had aroused the conservative elements. At the appearance in 
book- form of Brandcs' first course of lectures the author was 
violently attacked by the conservative press of Copenhagen. At 
this .onslaught, the witty doctor feigned great surprise, averring 
that .he had never had any idea that the faith of the Danes was 
so strong as it now pretended to be, and he was so far right, 
inasmuch as the opposition he met with was to be ascribed to 

Among whom was the well-known playwright il Xorwegian. 

has his books published in Copenhagen. 



1890.] CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 731 

political rather than religious motives. It was clear to others 
besides Dr. Brandes that the conservative editors, whose scruples 
had never before troubled them much, were mainly incited by 
their plan of making the established church a bulwark against 
the rising tide of socialist and radical tendencies. Unquestionably, 
at this period, Lutheranism in Denmark was in decadence. The 
series of poets who had done much for literature from the 
beginning to about the middle of our century, and who, if not 
precisely devout Protestants, were yet imbued with the Chris- 
tian spirit these were either dead long before or, if still living, 
were old and without influence on the popular mind. With but 
a few noteworthy exceptions, the younger men, as has been 
said, followed the guidance of Brandes, and in a surprisingly 
short time not merely the radical sheets but even a ma- 
jority of the conservative papers had literary and critical contri- 
butors, whose agnostic, yea, even nihilistic opinions were more or 
less openly avowed. But it was not long, either, before many 
of Brandes' brightest adherents became wearied of his aggressive 
radicalism and retired from the ranks, while still retaining their 
infidel notions. So that to-day we find that, although Dr. 
Brandes has lost his direct influence upon them for the Danes 
are far too easy-going and light-hearted to accept his stern reli- 
gious and moral nihilism yet the young people are generally 
without any positive religious belief and Protestant orthodoxy in 
Denmark has not one talented or even tolerably brilliant cham- 
pion in the world of letters. 

Finding themselves, therefore, utterly unable to withstand the 
attacks of Brandes and his associates, the theologians of the 
university and the Lutheran clergy in general, have of late tried 
to give some evidence of vitality by periodical fits of frenzy 
anent the Church of Rome. Since 1870 there has, indeed, been 
a considerable increase in the number of Catholics in Denmark. 
As has been said, there had been some conversions before that 
date, and that not only among the educated, but still more 
among the poor and the middle classes of Copenhagen and other 
cities; but in the following years, up to the present date, the 
church can point to a record of noble achievements which is 
altogether creditable and encouraging. Bismarck's war waged 
against the church was the means of sending some of the Society 
of Jesus into Denmark, where in the beginning of the seventies, 
aided by a wealthy and benevolent lady, a convert (Mrs. Berling>, 
they founded St. Andrea's College, with a beautiful situation 
some few miles outside the capital. The good Jesuit fathers 



732 CATHOLICISM IN MODERN />/ \MM.VA-. [Sept., 

have already many happy results of their labors to boast of. if 
they were so minded; certainly they have some excellent scholars 
in their staff of teachers. Not long ago one of them, Father 
Peters, was awarded the gold medal offered by the University 
of Copenhagen for a philosophical treatise. According to the rule 

t.itions .ire sent in anonymously, and the astonishment ol 
the two professors of philosophy may be fancied when th. y found 
that the prize-winner was a Jesuit. Another of the father 
St. Andrea's, trie late Rev. W. Plcnkers, was a distinguished 

rian and a valued contributor to Danish and German scien- 
tific reviews. His biography of Nicolaus Steno is a work of pro 
found research and admirable impartiality. 

But besides their work at the college these fathers have been 
active in many other quarters. Father Stniter, a most energetic 
missionary, collected a Catholic congregation in Aarhus, the second 
largest city in the kingdom ; this was in the seventies. Before 
the arrival of this zealous priest there was not one Catholic in 
Aarhus where to-day the faithful, numbering several hundred. 
assemble in their beautiful Gothic edifice, consecrated in 1880 by 
the famous Swiss bishop Mermillod. While Father Striiter was in 
Denmark he is no longer stationed there his striking person- 
ality and winning manners made him a general favorite, while 
his unaffected manners and sincere character were peculiarly 
fortunate traits for the missionary in his field ; for the Danes are 
quick to detect and ridicule any affectation of dignity or sweet- 
ness. Furthermore, the good religious was something more than 
an amateur in architecture, and his skill is evidenced by the 
admirable buildings he erected in different parts of the country. 
From time to time the Danish public still hear of striking 
conversions among their most prominent personages. For 
instance, there is the present Danish minister to Paris, Count 
Moltke-Huitfeldt, a nobleman in any and every sense of the 
word ; another is the Baroness Rosenoern, a woman honorably 
known in the world for her intelligent interest in all charitable 
affairs, as well as for her personal accomplishments. Only a few 
years ago, Prince Valdemar, the youngest son of the Danish 
sovereign and a brother of the Empress of Russia and of the 
King of Greece, as well as of the Princess of Wales, took for his 
wife a Catholic princess, Marie of Orleans. All this and more 
than this has been quite enough to make the Copenhagen pro- 
fessors of theology lose their temper, and, growing daily more 
hopelessly exasperated, their attacks have increased proportionate- 
ly in violence. Thus, for the last three years there have been 



1890.] CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 733 

broadsides of pamphlets and leading articles directed against 
"1'apists" and "Jesuits." The princess or the high-born con- 
verts arc sheltered by their positions, but no indirect way of 
poisoning the public mind against all Catholics is neglected. Such 
ammunition as they possess is so cheap that it is safe to pro- 
phesy that the war will last as long as there are men capable 
of using such contemptible weapons. 

As a significant illustration of the methods ^of these men an 
incident of recent date may be in point here. The parish of St. 
Ansgar can claim the oldest Catholic church in Copenhagen ; it 
was built in 1842 as a private chapel for the Austrian embassy 
and enlarged later on. The prefect-apostolic makes the rectory 
of St. Ansgar his residence. There are besides this but a few 
little chapels in the capital, and the Catholics are in sore need 
of a new and larger building. It so happened that a fervent 
German convert, who knew something of the church's struggles 
against great odds, about three years ago started ,a subscription 
among his countrymen in the Tyrol. This collection came under 
the notice of a German Protestant authority, who forwarded it 
to one of his faithful friends in Denmark ; forthwith the latter, a 
Lutheran minister, rushed into print with his prize, commenting 
with something like fierce triumph on the modest prospectus. 
Its charitable author had really but related one or two facts out 
of the Danes' religious records ; the statement which our dominie 
saw fit to combat with so much heat was that when, in the 
sixteenth century, King Christian III. imprisoned the Catholic 
bishops, seized all church property and abolished Catholic worship, 
his immediate object in so doing was his pressing need of money 
wherewith to carry on a war in which he was just then engaged. 
The attention at once given to this and kindred points of his- 
tory irritated the Lutheran patriots to a pitch of indignation 
almost incredible, and for weeks their organs fairly groaned 
under the columns of evangelical wrath though evincing little 
of gospel spirit withal and the mention of King Christian's 
motive was denounced as infamous. But the anti-climax came 
with the publication of an open letter from one of their ow.n 
scholars and best historians, a son of their great Grundtvig, 
wherein he says frankly that to dispute such patent facts of 
history is far from creditable to the learning of Danish theo- 
logians: now the original documents, which state the reformer 
king's motives quite explicitly enough, had been published some 
years previous by Mr. Grundtvig himself. 

This same controversy called forth a series of articles in an- 



;-,4 CATHOLICISM i\ MODF.HX III- \.MARK. [Sept., 

swer to other such attack> upon the church from the pen of the 
\\. H.insen, D.D., secretary to the prefect-apostolic. Those 
loved that in Dr. Hansen the church p- i polem- 

ical writer of erudition and dexterity ; they were first published 
in a prominent conservative daily of Copenhagen ; this and other 
tokens of liberality going to show a notable spirit of fairness on 
the part of the press. Many other articles from both sides con- 
tinued to appear,, proving that the public interest had been thor- 
oughly awakened. Another token of a better spirit occurred only 
the other day, on the occasion of the christening of certain new 
streets by the city council of Copenhagen. It appears that the 
residents of one of these thoroughfares were almost all Catholics, 
who petitioned that their street might bear the name of \icolaus 
Steno. Inasmuch as besides building upon the property they had 
erected a pretty Gothic school-house with other improvements, 
and since it was customary in such cases to consult the wishes 
of the landowners, their request seemed modest enough ; never- 
theless it called forth a loud outcry against perpetuating the name 
of any Catholic, even a convert and one of their best-known 
countrymen. Let it be recorded to the honor of the Protestant 
majority in the council that tiiey refused to listen to the fan 
clamor, and the little street was graciously allowed to take the 
name of a world-famous Dane. 

But the liberal spirit is not beyond the reach of such sec- 
tarian attacks even yet, and the Lutheran ministers are no Us-. 
active than of old. Denmark is not without its representatives 
of the Justin Fulton variety ; one of them, Schepelern by name, 
can fairly rival anything that Germany has produced in the line 
of unclean and nauseous pamphleteers. It would really seem 
that these publications, with sundry denunciations from the pulpit 
and rostrum, make up the only weapons of the Lutheran shep- 
herds, who are so fearful of Catholic wolves finding their entrance 
within their fold. The "Horrors of the Inquisition," "Jesuit 
Crimes," with all the well-worn stock of penny dreadfuls, arc 
punctually exhibited, and cultured congregations still seem to 
enjoy hearing the early ages of Christianity accused of every 
crime, while the institution which, humanly speaking, civilized 
Europe, including Denmark, raising the moral and intellectual 
standard to an extent never dreamed of by Jew and pagan this 
fair creation of the divine Wisdom, the Catholic Church, is tri'-d, 
convicted, spit upon, and scourged with unabated fervor by those 
who bear the name of Christian. Yet she lives, for they may 
not serve her as of old they served her divine Founder. 



1890.] CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 735 

It would seem that this fashion in Protestant polemics had 
displayed its culminating extravagance with the production (1889) 
upon the stage of the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen of a play 
entitled " Brother Rus." The importance of this " social event " 
will be duly appreciated when it is stated that the author of the 
" comedy " was a young theologian who had but recently grad- 
uated with all honors from the university ; but when this bur- 
lesque is studied, one knows not how to characterize the mad 
partisanship which got this thing a presentation upon any decent 
stage, to say nothing of the royal playhouse, supported by the 
state. Brother Rus is no less a personage than the devil, incog., 
who as a monk enters a Danish monastery in the beginning of 
the sixteenth century. Herein both the monks and their abbot 
are, as we might expect, already so vicious and hypocritical that 
the devil finds it easy enough to allure them into nameless 
abominations, such as could not be repeated here ; let it suffice 
to say that a ballad is sung which alludes to St. Elizabeth as a 
sly wanton, while in another scene the drunken abbot begins to 
pronounce the baptismal form as he tries to pour water on the 
head of Brother Rus. Abbot and monks alike totter through the 
play, clad in the sacred vestments, only bent on dissipation. One 
young monk there is, however, over whom Brother Rus has no 
power. This single just soul, you might imagine, is trying to 
lead a saintly life, with, perhaps, Protestant, aspirations forsha- 
dowing the happy Reformation to come ; this simply for contrast, 
for scenic effect. But no, the unconscious satire strikes a note 
that is truer to actual history ; for the virtuous Brother Kay 
runs away from the monastery, and, sans priest or minister, con- 
tracts a " sacred union," or free marriage rather, with a sixteenth 
century maiden who declaims upon the rights of nature and 
kindred topics as eloquently as if she wrote for our North Amer- 
ican Review. The moral seems to be that the ancient immorali- 
ties of the Catholic ages are vulgar and degrading, but that our 
newer styles of modern licentiousness have an intrinsic loveliness 
born of subtle lies and soothing nastiness. 

The* really serious aspect of the thing is in the fact that it 
was so generally approved of. Incredible as it may seem, even 
the conservative press swelled the chorus of praises which greeted 
" the young playwright and his delightful work." Indeed, Poli- 
tiken, the radical organ of Dr. Brandes, was the only one to 
condemn the play upon purely aesthetic considerations ; however 
hostile to Catholic truth this paper may be, its reputation for in- 
dependent and trenchant criticism on literary and dramatic affairs 



736 CATHOLICISM IN MODERN l^i \MAKK. [Sept., 

has been justly acquired. The Catholics were content t<> let the 
unsavory bu>iness ]>,iss with only a dignified protest from their 
little weekly journal. 

111. 

The intellectual development of Denmark lias turn considered 
thus at length in order to make it evident that the church, in its 
dealings with this little country, must n. 

great patience, while great confidence and hope are largely justi- 
fied by the present state of affairs. What Kduard von Hartmann 
calls the inward disintegration, the self-dissolution, of Christianity 
(Die St&stxersetUUHg dti CkristtHtkums), which is indeed but the 
dissolving by natural processes of I'miesuntism, this phenom- 
enon is nowhere more plainly discernible than in the land of St. 
Ansgar and Absalon*, of St. Canute and Nicolas Steno. Th 
old order has sustained no violent changes, no storms of revolu- 
tionary passion have convulsed the moribund body politic; but 
though the new society wears a self-complacent >mile, the 
of disease are consuming its life, noiselessly but inevitably. One 
happy result, however, of this logic development of heresy is the 
better understanding of the tendencies of our times. In other 
words, greater clearness, and to the eye cleansed and purified by 
faith, to those who would walk the path of righteousness, clear- 
ness means Catholicism. 

Soon, we may hope, all the old fog, unfair anil ambiguous 
talk and double-dealing, will be swept away, and in the sharp, 
merciless daylight no one will be left in uncertainty as to the 
whereabouts of those two great features in our voyage the Abys-; 
and the Rock. 

At present, modern indifferentism with the re.nnants of old 
prejudice are too widespread to admit of many conversions in the 
near future. But the conquests already made by the few soldiers 
of the cross show that there is hope of arousing the Danes from 
their spiritual lethargy. Of one thing we may be sure : Luther- 
anism, as a living factor in the national existence, is no mre. 
The thinking men of Denmark acknowledge freely that as u* moral 
and educational power it has signally failed, where it had the 
amplest opportunities to exercise unrestricted sway. Denmark is 
one of the very few European countries where Protestantism lias 
remained for three centuries sole and undisputed possessor of the 
whole field, without the slightest trace of antagonism and without 

' A great Danish bishop, the founder of Copenhagen, in the twelfth and thirteenth ccntu- 
rta 



1890] CATHOLICISM IN MODERN DENMARK. 737 

interference. As a result of this regime \vc find that to-day Den- 
mark is in the foremost rank as regards the percentage of sui- 
cides, illegitimate births, and drunkenness ; in the proportion of 
suicides, indeed, she tops the official figures for any other Euro- 
pean country. For further information as to the moral decadence 
of this northern country the student can refer to the work of a 
well-known Protestant minister, the Rev. Mr. Ilafstroem, who in 
1889 published the results of his patient researches in this branch 
of science.* His book was a revelation to the optimistic Protes- 
tants. Moral purity, he tells them, is well-nigh unknown in many 
sections, as well among the women as among the men. Even 
this wretched state of things seems worse to us when we learn 
from Mr. Hafstroem that many of the most zealous church-goers 
give open example of a corruption which makes Mormondom 
seem pure by comparison. This writer has consulted the highest 
authorities, ministers, physicians, lawyers, the country over, and 
so far as is known his strictures excited no serious contradiction 
from any source. 

There is, then, in Denmark, a wide field for Catholic missions. 
And already, though wofully poor, they have brought forth 
great fruits from their labors. The present prefect-apostolic, 
Monsignor I. von Euch, a Westphalian nobleman of impressive 
personality, great learning, and winning manners, has consecrated 
during these late years several churches in the different cities. 
Besides building a hospital, he brought to Denmark in 1888 the 
good Brothers of the Christian Schools, who are about to build 
a school for orphan boys in Copenhagen. Monsignor von Euch 
is a man who commands the respect of his strongest adversaries ; 
his wise and moderate policy will doubtless prove most effective 
in the long run. 

When Bishop Mermillod was in Denmark, a few years ago, 
in a brilliant and fervent sermon he alluded to the national flag 
of Denmark, a white cross in a red ground : " Long since Caesar 
cried out to the sailors : ' Fear not, you carry Caesar and his 
fortune!' So Christ, the bishop exclaimed, is crying out to the 
Danish people : ' Fear not, you carry the cross, you carry Me 
and My fortune ! ' ' 

Thus the hope is still nourished in Catholic hearts that a day 
will come when the Danes will realize that only under the cross 
of Christ can be found the way, the truth, and the life. 

* Om Sacdelighcdstilstatuitn i Danmark. Kioebenhavn, 1889. 

A. T. 

Copenhagen, 



THE SALI-ATJO\ AKMY. [Sept., 



THi: SALVATION ARMY. 

1 NC.LAND is probably the only country in the world where 
such an institution a-; thr Salvation Army could be developed. 
And its success in other countries besides England is due to the 
fact that it is English. All the world knows tin- eccentricities 
of the English, so far as their infinitely varying Pr >!< -t.mtisin is 
concerned ; so that all the world looks on a new religion from 
V. upland as it looks on a new toilet-fashion from Paris, or on a 
new opera-song from Venice or Milan. England is the mother- 
country of " religiosities." And as England happens to be power- 
ful and world-wide, other countries receive her missionaries with 
politeness, while they smile at the curiosities of their teaching. In 
England itself the Salvation Army "holds its own," for three 
reasons which are all good in their way: first, because it h. 
much right to exist as any other of the one hundred and tweiits Pro- 
testant sects ; next, because it probably does quite as much 
as any of its rivals in ranting or revivalism ; and thirdly, because 
it is so noisy and demonstrative that it is quite as divertin 
instructive. When it first began to shout and beat the drum, 
people thought that its career would be brief; but after a few 
years of trial it took its place as an established fact, and a fact 
that might not be prejudicial. Besides, the English soon re- 
cognized that there was a warmth about its proceedings which 
contrasted, not unfavorably, with Church of Englandism. "These 
people at least seem to be in earnest," said the casual looker- 
on in the public streets ; " at all events they do not go to sleep 
over their religion ; they may cogibine a vast amount of sheer 
hypocrisy and cant with their aggressive and indeed offensive 
campaigning ; still, the country wants rousing, and if the Church 
of England cannot rouse it, well, we must put up with this 
latest bubble of sectarianism." Such was the sort of comment 
which might be heard twenty years ago. before the country had 
grown habituated to the new militarism. The Salvation Army 
i- now too old to excite comment. Its itinerancy, its uniforms, 
are matters of course. Its combativeness, though chiefly admired 
as being amusing, has come to be recognized as a normal feature 
in street life. No one now sneers, scoffs, or laughs; people lay, 
" Oh ! it's only the Salvation Army." 

Now let us admire all the real good in this institution ; and 



1890.] THK SALVATION ARMY. 739 

a certain amount of real good there is in it. We need not dis- 
cuss the material, charitable work it does, because such phil- 
anthropy is perhaps common to all the sects. It is as a religious 
organization we would speak of it. And religiously it has got 
hold of a right idea. The idea may be travestied, but it is a 
right one. Some people are too much given to obscuring their 
sense of what is valuable by indulging their keen perception of 
what is absurd ; and in this spirit they will not allow that the 
Army can be commended, since its proceedings are quite as 
grotesque as they are salutary. Yet we would say in its justifi- 
cation that the idea of " out-door preaching " is, in itself, 
thoroughly Christian, thoroughly Catholic. We all know that the 
crusading or martial spirit was the spirit of the old preaching 
orders of the middle ages ; and that even in earlier centuries the 
crozier was as a sword, which was used in a soldierly sense by 
saintly bishops. Catholics, therefore, can recognize that there is 
a "right idea" in this new Army, in regard to going out into 
the highways and byways, and seeking to compel sinners to 
save their souls. No amount of travesty of either doctrine or' 
practice can make us blind to this one merit of the sect. And 
if we consider the special plea of the Salvation Army which we 
know to be reaching the numerous classes of the population who 
would not be reached by decorous Church-of-Englandism we 
must admit that the Army is justified in its Apology : " We go 
into the streets to preach to sinners, because sinners will not go 
to church or chapel. You, Church of England people, ring the 
bells of your churches, and you think that that is your all-suffi- 
cient invitation ; we, Salvationists, know that the masses of the 
towns-people care no more for your church-bells than for your 
Form of Prayer; and so we march through the thoroughfares, 
and say, ' If you won't go to a House of Prayer, come and listen 
to our warm talk about religion.' " We admit at once, the Sal- 
vationists are right. Within the compass of their singularly 
meagre " theology " they do the right thing in a painfully equi- 
vocal way ; not necessarily from perverseness of spiritual vanity, 
but only because they do not know better. 

Before we speak of the details of Salvationist bathos (and we 
regret that there is an immense deal to be reprehended in this 
fictitious system of apeing a divine commission) let us add that 
street-preaching, as a principle, has been approved in all Cathoii" 
countries. The only question is, What do we mean by street 
preaching ? It is obvious that there are many kinds of out-door 
preaching besides the " holding forth " in public thoroughfares. 



740 Tut. SAI.I-AT;O.\ AKMY. [Sept., 

Whatever tends to tlic manifestation of religion is, in real 
a preaching to the public. !" >i i-\ample, in Catholic countries. 
when the oppressive influence of the governm.-nt is not used in 
overt hostility to Catholicism, the " processiooi of the Blessed 
unent," "the proc ssioiis mi any feast day, or even the pro- 
ns which may ordinarily accompany a funeral, are didactic 
of some of the truths of Christianity. In Italy. Spain, Portugal, 
France, it has always been the custom to "preach" Chri-tianity 
by demonstration ; and though " ;i ' n k r - " m them 

. would have been utterly uncall -d for, utterly superfluous, 
in all thoroughly Catholic towns or country places because all 
the inhabitants would go to church as a in ttt T of course it has 
been approved and has been practised in sonic Catholic neigh- 
borhoods, where an admixture of free-thinking made it desirable. 
(The present writer well remembers \\ itn uch preaching a 

quarter of a century ago in some of the provincial town 
France ; and it was marvellous to .see with what respect the free- 
thinkers listened to what they knew to be the voice of authority.) 
Again, it must be remembered that, in all thoroughly Catholic 
countries, the signs and symbols of the Catholic faith are to be 
everywhere; crosses, images, way-side shrines " preaching " to 
every passer-by with an eloquence not less penetrating because 
mute. In Protestant countries the pagan coldness of the public 
thoroughfares, in respect of their not witnessing to Christianity, 
is as unnatural, as revolting to the Catholic conscience as the 
out-door confession in Catholic countries is congenial. If you 
a Madonna, with a lighted lamp, over a cottage-door, what is this 
but a "street-preaching" of a moving kind? If, when you are 
entering the harbor of Boulogne straight from the chilling 
worldliness of Protestant countries you see the vast crucifi 
the first object, what is this but to tell you that the heart of 
France is still Catholic, and that you are expected to raise your 
hat in revet ence ? If the peasant in a Spanish village ben. Is his 
knee when he hears the tinkling of the little bell close at hand, 
and so knows that "His Majesty is coming" (a priest carry- 
ing the Blessed Sacrament to a sick person), what is this but the 
recognition of the principle of public preaching, not necessarily 
by word of mouth but by demonstration ? Thus we have the 
admittedly Catholic practice of out-door didactic sermoning, 
whether by processions, by symbols, by tinkling bells, or 
by the statutory holydays of obligation. For remember that 
the recognition of priestly authority is the overt acceptance <>f 
the teaching of that authority ; Catholics, unlike Protestants, know- 



1890.] THE SALVATION ARMY. 741 

ing the doctrines of their faith, and confessing them by their 
homage to their teachers. And this reflection leads to the corol- 
lary that, in thoroughly Catholic countries, street-preaching, in the 
modern sense, is quite unnecessary ; while in such countries as are 
much disturbed by modern free-thinking, there is every reason 
why street-preaching should be practised. A fortiori there is more 
reason why in Protestant countries Catholic street-preaching should 
be looked upon with favor. The present writer has witnessed in 
London some tentative but successful efforts in this direction. 
An early hour of Sunday morning was prudently chosen, so as 
to avoid the risk of inebriate interruption. Profoundly respectful 
was the attitude of all the listeners. Nor is there any reason to 
apprehend that in London, or in Liverpool, or in any of the 
densely populated English towns, out-door Catholic preaching 
would result in unseemly conflict, or would expose the preachers 
to discourteous retaliation. If it did so there would be no serious 
harm done. Prudence is a virtue, but it is not all the virtues. 
As some one has well put it : " The journey of life is not 
made in a train which carries three hundred brakemen and three 
passengers ; three brakemen for three hundred passengers would 
be better, sufficient prudence being more salutary than too much 
of it." We must not be always thinking of what might happen. 
Had the martial preachers of the middle ages been so hyper - 
prudent their converts would have been restored by writs. Speak- 
ing of England, it may be observed that " the masses " can al- 
ways distinguish between " preaching " and " ranting " ; and if 
one person in a crowd behaves badly when a sensible man states 
his opinions with gravity, he is soon brought to book by the 
majority. It is only the twaddlers who risk the indignity of in- 
terruption. An English crowd not, of course, late in the even- 
ings, when the public houses have somewhat demented their ar- 
dent clients always listens with its true instinct, if not with its 
honest conscience, to the addresses of sensible and educated men. 
So that, just as the principle of out-door preaching is con- 
sistent with Catholic precedent, so can it be adapted to the 
modern needs of the Protestant masses, and this, too, without 
the hazard of any unseemliness. When we have got so far as 
this, we have only the task of drawing the distinction between 
the right ways and the wrong ways of street-preaching. Granted 
that the right way is that properly appointed Catholic preachers 
should prudently choose the best times and the best places, we 
have only to regret that such a fine field of labor should be 
usurped by the incompetent and the superficial. In the brief 



74- THE SALi'jno.v AK.UY. [Sept, 

space that is left to us fur \vc might unite a long essay on the 
subject let us summari/e tin- five princi]>al objections to the 
doubtless well-meant aspirations of General Booth. In doing this 
hall best show how properly organixed Catholic preaching 
would fill the vacuum which is created by I'rotcst.mt ranting. 

(1) Coa: sinews of style ; (2\ morbid emotionalism ; (?) the en- 
couragement of spiritual pride; 14) the total absence of Christian 
doctrines ; and (5) the affectation of creating a new Catholic 
Church minus every essential of its constitution, are the five 
principal objections to that fictitious, missionary body which Gen- 
eral Booth has successfully evolved out of nothing. \\Y would 
speak respectfully, but it is also necessary to speak frankly. 

A- (i) as to coarseness of style, we have to remember, 
apologetically, that the Salvationists do not teach, do not believe 
in the governmental system of the Catholic Church ; they have 
no altar, no pricsthcod, no mysteries ; they may be said, indeed, 
to have no creeds and no formularies ; nay, they have not so 
much even as a doctrinal catechism. Consequently, their religion, 
being utterly shorn of the supernatural save in the sense of 
what is called "believing in Christ" there is no reason why they 
should be reverend or grave ; why they should be fearful in their 
mention of (natural) truths, or shy of using conventionalisms in 
their talk. Thus, much must be said in the way of apology for 
that " coarseness," which is really not ill adapted to such ends as 
are held in view, of which the chief is the converting a wild man 
into a decent one. 

(2) As to ' emotionalism" which must be distinguished from 
Christian sentiment, a very beautiful and very fruit-bearing disposi- 
tion it is obvious that a religion which is spasmodic ; which is like 
mercury when exposed to rapid changes ; which does not rest on 
the basis of Catholic truth, but is rather sensuous than serene and 
intellectual ; is a mood of the temperament which has no sub- 
stantive character, and is not unlike "religious intoxication." For 
example, we take up the War Cry and we read column after 
column of such .gratifying announcements as ' eight souls saved," 
"twelve souls saved," ''six souls saved"; yet, curiously, the two 
graces which, in the Catholic apprehension, would be inseparable 
from the idea of a true conversion, namely, sorrow for sin, and 
humility, are not insisted on by the missionaries, and are not cher- 
ished by the new converts indeed, are scarcely so much as al- 
luded to. A penitent seems to jump straight out of his moral 
inequalities into the ripened fitness for a preacher, if not a teacher. 
He is commanded to proclaim his "emotion" as a "conversion." 






1890.] THE SALVATION ARMY. 743 

And this leads us to our third point, the encouragement of 
spiritual pride, which is a serious, indeed a markedly pernicious 
evil. 

(3) A convert may have been ignorant of even the natural 
proprieties when he accidentally strolled into a Salvationist hall ; 
but he issued forth two hours later an exemplar of that Christian 
spirit which eager audiences acclaim as quite typical. Now this 
is, of course, exciting, and perhaps interesting, but what it means 
is complacency, not conversion. So that when the new "saved 
one" immediately gets into the "Salvation Lift" (the slang, 
perhaps, is excused by the fatuity), and is urged by his spiritual 
captain to become a " boomer " (here again we recognize appro- 
priate language), we feel naturally inclined to suggest a litt'e 
modesty, a little shrinking from the applause of the young 
women ; in short, we should say to such a convert, " Don't be 
conceited and silly, but learn your catechism, and prepare to go 
to confession." But then, as we have said, when the conversion 
is all emotion, consequent on the tickling of the natural ears, it 
is only consistent that the emotion should be " passed on," and 
" preached upon " as a moving text to the emotionable. Thus 
spiritual vanity takes the place of all reality ; in short, conceit is 
the main gospel of the penitent. 

(4) But here we have to remember that the penitent has a 
good apology, in the fact that there is no Christian doctrine to 
be learned. The captain and the lieutenants of the Salvation 
Army call for no assent to Christian doctrine ; they would no 
more think of making allusion to confession, to holy Communion, 
or even to baptism, than to the obligation of being in com- 
munion with the Holy See. Their whole gospel is a whirl of 
natural excitement, with a determination to keep the mercury up 
to summer heat; and consequently there is no room for Christian 
dogma, any more than for quiet repentance and humility; indeed, 
such weaknesses would unfit the soldier for boisterous work. 
"Blood and fire" are not favorable to meditation; and the Army 
is theatrically fond of blood and fire. Thus we read in the War 
Cry that " an Irishman, unregenerated, is an enthusiastic poli- 
tician ; as a Salvationist, he is a blood-and-fire soldier." We can 
well imagine the sect of the Irishman so referred to ; especially 
when we read afterwards that the high authorities of Queen 
Victoria Street "decided to send a handful of Hallelujah Lasses 
to invade Ireland and win it for their Christ." Such pitiful 
twaddle fully explains why Christian doctrine is of no account 
with the apostles of emotionalism. Christian doctrines would oust 



744 THE SALVATION ARMY. 

m from the "converted" soul; and egotism is the back- 
bone doctrine of tlie Salvationist-;. 

(5) ND\V \\e come to our last point: the affectation ot aval- 
ing a new Catholic Churdi, niinu- ever) il of its institu- 

tion. It is not generally known that the Army affects to : 
church, while it affects also to be non-ecclesiastical. Tin- incon- 
sistency is got over in this way: the .Army teaches no <! 
but the Army is an autocratic institution, under the headship of 
its sovereign pontiff. General Booth, and under the iltvt final 
infallibility of his teaching. Hut we have just said there are no 
doctrines. Kxactly : we shall see directly how this works, and 
works sternly. The Army is, in itself, a Catholic Church; ><> that 
within it is all truth and all salvation. \\Y tike this fact from 
the publications of the "War Office," as authorized by the supreme 
pontiff, General Booth. "If," says one of the hand-books, "by 
organization is intended that discipline or uniform obedience of 
all officers and soldiers which secures uniform action, then we 
think that the Army is organized beyond most other bodies of 
Christians. . . . From one central head (General Booth) its 
authority reaches through varied grades of office, controlling and 
directing all." Here then we have a pure religious autoo 
But, as we have stated, the autocracy extends over the doctrine 
quite as fully as it docs over the discipline. " In doctrine," 
the same authority, " the Army has ever been absolutely one. 
There has never yet been any sign of possible divergence. The 
entire abstinence from any unimportant questions, and the entire 
concentration of thought and teaching upon the few essentials of 
saving faith, leave the enemy no chance of sowing dissension 
successfully." In other words, " We banish all doctrines from 
the Army, leaving the fact only of Redemption to take tii ir 
place, and we thus arrive at a spiritual unity of belief by a 
dozen or two of the heresies of unbelief." A very original idea 
of a Protestant church! No such system has ever been wrought 
to such perfection. All sects, up to the birth of the Salvation 
Army, had been started with the avowed purpose of maintaining 
one or more doctrines ; whose " importance " was thought so 
great as to fully justify the sin of schism, or rather so great as 
to render schism a virtue. The " entire abstinence from any 
unimportant questions" (including baptism, holy Communion, and 
'all that teaching of the Bible which is merely theoretical, spec- 
ulative, and controversial "), is the new invention of this so-called 
Salvation Army; which is a sort of mock little Catholic Church, 
united in negations, and professing only what it is impossible to deny. 



1 8 90. ] THE SA L VA TION A RM Y. 745 

Enough. We need not wind up with any reflections which 
are not suggested by this brief paper unless perhaps we venture 
to add just these two, which we would beg the Army to consider 
at their leisure : First, to teach the multitudes that all Christian 
doctrines are "speculative"; that the whole compass of revelation 
goes for nothing, save in regard to the historic fact of man's 
redemption; that no Christian need be baptized, need receive any 
sacrament, need adopt any rule of faith save General Booth's 
(which is simply, "Be sure that you are saved because you fancy; 
it, and do not trust to anything but your sentimentality "), is a 
curious compound of almost infinite heresy with the assumption 
of personal perfectness or sanctification. In connection with this 
point, we would remark that, as to infallibility, no Roman pontiff 
ever approached to General Booth in the claim to define the 
teachings of Revelation. No Roman pontiff ever proclaimed a 
Christian verity, unless it was certain that the Christian Church 
had always believed it. General Booth proclaims all doctrines to 
be " unimportant," because all Christians have been perpetually 
occupied with their importance. So that the infallibility of 
General Booth must be taken for granted in the whole sweep of 
his negations of Christian doctiines; no doctrines being impor- 
tant, because General Booth says so, and the Salvation Army 
on the same infallible authority being the ark of perfect safety 
as of all truth. And, secondly, we would suggest to the Salva- 
tion Army, that the Christian religion is a deep (divine) philos- 
ophy, not a childish and emotional tickling of the sentiment ; 
and that in the Army there is nothing to fall back upon but 
natural feelings the most delusive and the most purely human 
of tribunals. Backbone there can be none in such a religion. 
The intellect is completely swamped in sensibility. The Army 
must be able to realize this every day, by their observation that 
their preachers are obliged to humor expectant audiences with 
graphic and piquant stories and similitudes ; appealing always to 
the warmly- kindled imagination, not to the still, anxious depths 
of the conscience. The Catholic religion is the pure science of 
the soul, using sentiment only as the hand maid of the intellect. 
" Salvationism " is the morbid excitement of the sentiment, and 
leaves intellect to be wholly employed in worldly affairs. This is 
an inversion of the relations of the church and the world ; and it 
accounts for the vapid twaddle of Salvationism. A lot of young 
men shouting out in the streets, " Come to Heaven," and thus 
puffing themselves up with spiritual conceit, would indeed be a 
disgusting spectacle to the Catholic were it not known to be the 
VOL. u. 48 



746 FAME, THE ENCHANTRESS. [Sept., 

hysterics of amiability. We do not blame the young men, we 
blame their pontiff and their directors, who ought to teach them 
that to degrade religion to buffoonery is to mock both the 
Creator and the creature; and that the divine philosophy of the 
Incarnation is a^ much above pious twaddle as the Catholic 
Church is above the Salvation Army. A nurse coddling a man 
of mature years would be a similitude of the pranks of the 
Salvation Army, when its boys and girls vex the spirits of grave 
persons by their levity and spiritual complacency. 

A. I-'. MAKSMAU.. 



FAMP:, THE ENCHANTRESS. 

As wanton bird that hastens to the fowler's snare, 

As sportive hart to panther's lair, 

She lured him with her love-deep eyes, 

\Yith languid sighs, 

Ambrosial smile, 

And step and grace luxuriant while 
Were rapt his senses in a trance. 

He saw her watch with passion's glance 
A red cup in a cloud of gold ; 
And then he saw the cloud unfold 
Before her reach ; she kissed the cup 
With amorous lips and feigned to sup 

Then offered it ; delirious he drank : 

With death in every vein, he 'sank 

In swoon ecstatic on the ground, 

A slave with ears brimmed deep in sensuous sound. 

HENRY KDWAKD O'Ki 



1890.] MRS. S/Mpfc/Ns' BALL. 747 



MRS. SIMPKINS' BALL.* 

" LAWS ! child, you an't never goin' to wear that disrespect- 
ful thing, an' the beautiful dress I got you !" cried Mrs. Simp- 
kins. 

"That robe is not respectful, tia," faltered her niece, Claud- 
ina Rusk, as she took up a fold of a frock carefully spread out 
on the bed. She has no idea that the epithet applied to the 
frock should be "respectable," not "respectful." Her aunt, who 
has unconsciously coached her in the misuse of the English lan- 
guage, her authority for the last. She was rosy and beautiful 
of a beauty subordinate to a spirituality that usually showed 
itself in the contented peace of her face, that gave a subtly 
delicious charm to her every gesture. To be in her pres- 
ence was like being in a garden of white roses. Perhaps much 
of this contented peace is due to Claudina's having had a great 
trouble. A man she was to have married, one she loved very 
much, had jilted her in so shameless a manner as almost to 
break her 'heart. To quote Mrs. Simpkins : " She jest drooped 
and drooped ; she didn't complain ; she an't one uv thet sort ; 
but all I could do wouldn't bring a smile t' her face, though she 
tried hard t'. Ev'ry whipstitch she was off t' th' church, an' I 
mus' say thet did her a heap uv good, fur one day I notice' she 
look' a bit chipper, an' little by little she was more like the gel 
she was when I fust come out t' Santa Fee,- an' then uv a sud- 
den one day she comes and cuddles me an' says en her Spanitch 
an' English all mixed, thet she hes been a undutiful gel an' been 
a trouble t' me, an' thet she warn't goin' t' be so no more, an' 
a mess uv stuff, tell I shut her up, fur uv all the dutiful gels I 
ever come acrost, Claudiner's. the dutifullest." Claudina, never- 
theless, or rather Claudina's disappointment, had been a soutce 
of much trouble to Mrs. Simpkins. She loved her niece dearly, 
as may be evidenced by the fact that having come from St. Louis 
to Santa Fe for a few months' stay she had lengthened her visit 
for Claudina's sake to a year and a half ; " An' a beautiful house 
a-spoilin' en Sane Louis for want of occipation," the good lady, 
at times, would wail to herself. Now, however, in a few days 
she would be on her way home Claudina her companion ; but 

* This story, though complete in itselt, is a sequel to "Mrs. Simpkins' Instincts," pub- 
lished in Ihe September, 1888, number of this magazine. EDITOR. 



748 .l/A'.S. 5/.l//'AY.vy li.41.1.. fSi-pt., 

before she left Santa l-Y Mr-. Sinipkm> u.i- to -ive ;i ball, Claud 
.n i'- ball-dress being the subject of the present conversation. 

" \"t !i -]H Ttful ! \Vliat lies til' gel ^ot ento her head /.' 
cried Mrs. Simpkins, throwing back her cap-string's with her tw>. 
pudgy hands 

Met lias no body," Claudina stammered. 

"Oli! et an't no fit; es thet it?" inquired Mrs. Simpkin-.. 
vimewhat mollified. 

" Met is sn little," again stammered C'laiulina in h- 
; - make herself understood. 

"Then you'll hcv t' wear cossets fur once; will. et 

won't be too little; but when a gel pessists en bavin' n< 
any sort uv dress ed be too leetlc," sniffed Mr> Simpkins. 

"You no understand, tia niia ; the robe it have no body at 
all at all," said Claudina, emphasizing her explanation. 

"Th 1 Lord be prais' ! " ejaculated Mrs. Simpkins, proceeding 
to ask, a spice of asperity in the tone of her voice, at the sain 
time taking up a shred of silk, not roughly but almost rever- 
ently : "An" what d' you call tlus ? " Claudina not replying, 
Mrs. Simpkins continued solemnly : " Claudina, do you know 
thet there dress es a confection ? " 

" I do not know what that ees, tia," confessed Claudina. 

" Et's French fur a Parrus dress, an' et's so call' from confec- 
tionary you know what thet es because et's sweet ; es one says, 
a sweet costoom," explained Mrs. Simpkins. 

The explanation was lost on Claudina, deep in thought, Mrs. 
Simpkins eyeing her with a solemnity befitting the occasion. 
Suddenly the girl clapped her hands and cried: "I to know 
now, tia ; I weel wear the robe." 

"Humph!" interjected Mrs. Simpkins, an interjection that sig- 
nified her niece had made no great concession. She was pK 
nevertheless, that no issue had been raised to combat her au- 
thority. 

At this time Santa Fe possessed a society much more exclu- 
sive, and still more limited in number, than that of the much-dol- 
lared Macallister clan a society composed entirely of the families of 
the officers of the garrison stationed there. Mrs. Simpkins sweated 
the sweat of one who toils for a great reward to gain admittance to 
the parlors of the pretty cottages that formed a square, one side of 
which fronted on Palace street, where she had her abode. " Claud- 
iner ought er hev company, an' es she cs t' have all I die pos- 
sess' uv, she lies a right t' th' bes", fur Claudiner won't be no 
pauper," she argued to herself, honestly believing that it was lor 






1890.] MRS. SIMPKIN& BALL. 749 

Claudina's sake she wished to make acquaintances. The good 
woman did not know whether she should leave her card at the 
doors of the exclusives or wait till cards were left for her. .\ 
a time, no cards having been left at her door, she concluded 
that she was the one, as she expressed it, " to set the steamer 
goin'." (Her husband in his life-time had owned many Missis- 
sippi steamboats the cause, probably, of her strange association 
of ideas.) It never entered Mrs. Simpkins' head that these people 
wished to have nothing to do with her. Every one knew of her 
wealth, and she believed, experience being the author of her 
creed, " money will take you anywhere." Broad, gilt-edged cards 
bearing Mrs. Simpkins' name in copper-plate, with Claudina's 
written finely in a corner, were distributed to the cottages, and 
they brought nothing in return. Mrs. Simpkins could not under- 
stand it. She talked incessantly of the slight put on her, but 
beyond dutifully listening to her aunt Claudina could give no 
consolation. So, Mrs. Simpkins having nothing else to do, went 
to detail her woes to Father Mark at the cathedral. 

" Why do you bother your head about these people, since 
they don't want to know you ? " inquired Father Mark, when he 
had heard Mrs. Simpkins' lamentation. 

" Et's not thet, father, but Claudiner she oughter be ac- 
quainted with folks ; with no company but a old woman like me 
she'll get to mopin', an' a reppytition uv all I've gone through 
es jest more'n I can bear," declared Mrs. Simpkins, mindful of 
Claudina's heart troubles, now happily over. 

"Mrs. Simpkins, would you like to hear the truth?" asked 
Father Mark gravely. 

" I reckon es you've somethin' t' say es I won't want t' hear," 
temporized Mrs. Simpkins. 

" Mrs. Simpkins, you have some new dresses you want to 
show off," accused Father Mark. 

Mrs. Simpkins gave her fat body a shake, clasped her pudgy 
fingers and 1 said severely, " I an't no such a thing ! An' me 
goin' on t' fifty ! " she added in reproach. 

As the ladies of the garrison would not visit her, Mrs. Simp- 
kins went off to the hot springs of Jemez, Claudina with her. 
Whether the fact, which she learned from the Santa Ft! Courier, 
that General Crane and his family, two majors and a captain, 
with their families, were at Jemez, had anything to do with her 
trip cannot be said positively. Whether it had or not, Mrs. 
Simpkins was amply recompensed for all the slights she had suf- 
fered by the adulations of the host and hostess of the hostelry at 



7jO -I/A'.S. .S'/.WAYA'V KALI. [Sept., 

which she put up. Tin- best rooms were given to her and her 
The servants were constantly in attendance on her, to the 
I, it is to be feared, of the officers' families, they not 1. 
lavish of tips. Kven the bill-of-fare was made conformabl 
Mrs. Simpkins' tastes. This conforming to Mrs. Simpkins' 
of what goes to 'make up a go.>d dinner on one occasion came 
nigh ruining her host. As every one knows, the inhabitan! 
all countries now under, or that have been under, the dominion 
of the Spanisli crown are dispensed from the Friday abstinence. 
Mrs. Simpkins did not hold to this dispensation. " Kt's heathen- 
ish, an' of a pope did give et, he oughter hev known better," 
she declared. Possessed of this view of the dispensation, slu 
.1 fine opportunity on the first Friday spent in the hotel of 
which she was the virtual mistress, of putting down once and 
for all what she stigmatized as an outrage on Christianity. 
When, on this particular Friday, the hotel keeper received her 
orders that no meat was to appear on the table, he expostulated. 
begging the seiiora to consider that he had nothing to take the 
place of meat. To this the sefiora declared that if her host 
must have meat, she could go elsewhere. " Thanks be t' good- 
ness, there's enough uv hotels an' hot springs, too," she threat- 
ened. As Mrs. Simpkins was worth something like twenty 
dollars a day to him, the host thoughtfully scratched his head 
and went down to the piazza, where were congregated the offi- 
cers and their families, together with a certain Mexican family 
by the name of Valverde. (The son of this family had had the 
honor to be refused the hand of Claudina.) There the host, his 
face all smiles, made known that there was to be a grand fish 
dinner that day, hypocritically receiving a gush of thanks, for 
fish is a rarity in New Mexico. "A rara avis," Mrs. Major 
Rambo said. But when dinner was served, and the fish turned 
out to be salted cod and American smelts in tin boxes with 
lying French labels declaring them to be sardines, a storm of 
indignation nearly overwhelmed the host. 

Before dinner Mrs. Simpkins and Claudina had gone to the 
piazza., and the officers' wives had spoken to Mis. Simpkins, and 
their sons and daughters had been very kind and attentive to 
Claudina, in particular Horace Rambo, the son of a major, not 
to mention the young man who had been rejected, .^ 
Vincente Valverde. So it was that Mrs. Simpkins went to 
table in high good humor with herself and her neighbor, ami 
when the storm broke she remembered that after all the church 
knew better when and for what to dispense than she did ; eon- 



1890.] MKS. S/MPA'fNg BALL. 751 

vinced of this, she called the host to her, ordered mutton-chops 
to be brought quickly, and mutton put on to roast. Her reward 
was great; did not she now receive affable patronage? 

The stay at Jemez was a continued delight to Mrs. Simpkins, 
for she was now in society. Nor would her delight have been 
lessened had she known that she was tolerated because of 
Claudina. Every one liked Claudina, that was evident, and there 
were two young men who more than liked her, young Rambo 
and the rejected suitor, Vincente Valverde. " Claudiner es fas- 
cinatin', I can't deny," mused Mrs. Simpkins. '"Here be two 
men t' marry her to-morrer ef she was thet way disposed, but I 
an't a-goin' t' interfere an' meddle; let Claudiner fix et herself; 
though, seein' how unfort'nate she was en her las', I'd jest es 
lief there was no quetchen uv her marryin' et all, an' of course 
et an't thet Valverde, an' I don't den"y thet Rambo 'd be a 
mos' respectful marriage, an' I wouldn't allow the children t' be 
brought up Protestant accordin' t' th' wishes uv Mrs. Rambo." 
Here Mrs. Simpkins fell asleep in her chair, for this was an after- 
dinner meditation. 

Although Rambo and Valverde had been very attentive, their 
attentions were received with a coldness that was something more 
than the natural shyness of a Mexican maid. Claudina returned 
with her aunt to Santa Fe without either of the young men 
having asked her to wed. 

Before leaving Jemez, Mrs. Simpkins was warm in her invita- 
tions to the garrison families to visit her, so warm, indeed, that 
she did not notice that they were not reciprocated. It was dif- 
ferent with the Valverdes, invited for Claudina's sake. The 
Senora Valverde, a charming gentlewoman did Mrs. Simpkins but 
know it, not only promised to visit Mrs. Simpkins, but entreated 
Mrs. Simpkins to visit her. Now that she was again in Santa 
Fe she found herself almost as much alone as ever. Whether 
Mrs. Simpkins was or was not to be ignored had been a mooted 
question with the mothers of the garrison. They would be 
delighted to make of Claudina a companion for their daughters, 
but they could not tolerate Mrs. Simpkins ; and as it was not 
possible to have the niece without the aunt, both would have to 
be excluded from their society. So they all declared, with one 
exception, Mrs. Major Rambo. The Rambos were poor; it was 
an open secret to the exclusives that the hope of the Rambos, 
young Horace, was smitten with Claudina Rusk, and Miss Rirjk 
would have a great deal of money some day. In view of this 
Mrs. Major Rambo stood up stoutly for Mrs. Simpkins. The 



752 -J/A-i-. .SV.i/7'A '/.\-s' BALI.. [Sept., 

rxclusivcs found no fault \vitli this particular standing u;> ; they 
all *aid tin-}' knew how it was witli pour dear Horace; that as a 
muttiT of course Mis. Rambo niu^t receive Claudina's ,iunt; 
promising to receive tlie objcctiimable lady thcni>.elves when 
Claudina became Mrs. Horace Kan 

" Of course it will be a great tiling fur Miss Rusk t marry 
Horace; she U uncultured, but when n-moveil from her aunt's 
influence she will be readily formed," said Mrs. Kambo with 
much dignity. Not one of the families of the five generals. 
including brevets; three colonels; of the a;iy number of m.ijors, 
captains, and inferior officers who commanded the army of ni 
odd men stationed at Santa Fc indeed no one in the whole 
great American army held their heads higher than the Major 
Rambos. It must be admitted, however, that high and mighty 
as the exclusives undoubtedly were, their C". of Mrs 

Simpkins' idiosyncrasies of manner and speech was t<> ' si 
For, though the good woman had no more culture than a 
pasture, she was wholesome ami tender of heart, her heart fresh 
as any herbage that ever grew in field 

Mrs. Rambo did call on Mrs. Simpkins, had Mrs. Simpkins 
and Claudina to tea, and that was all the social intercourse with 
which Mrs. Simpkins was favored. It is true the S< 
Valvcrde came to see her ; but as the senora spoke in an 
unknown tongue, her visit was provocative of as much interest 
to Mrs. Simpkins as would have been a visit of the Sphinx ; 
rather much less so, for the Sphinx would have provoked her 
curiosity, whereas the Valverde bored her. Horace Rambo and 
Vincente Valverde were constant in their visits to Claudina ; tlu-ir 
visits of little profit to her aunt, for whenever Horace Rambo 
came to the house Mrs. Simpkins, American fashion, left the 
parlor to her niece and would-be suitor. She had done the 
same thing when Vincente Valverde first visited Claudina, but 
she soon found that when she left the parlor Vincente, Spanish 
fashion, left too. " Es the man afraid you'll bite him ? " she 
asked her niece, as she spluttered over with pent-up laugh: 

It would have amused an American girl to hear Rambo con 
verse with Claudina. On one occasion he made an attempt at a 
sentimental speech more than bordering on the champagoe-aod- 
str.iwberry speeches of Valbezene. It did not startle Clatidin, 
it would have done a year before the American girls at Jenie/ 
had partly civilized her; but she made Rambo to understand 
.plainly that that manner of speech was distasteful to her. Alter 
that Rambo stuck to an inexhaustible subject himself and he 



.1890.] MRS. SIMP KINS' BALL.. 753 

found Claudina charming because she listened to him with real 
or apparent attention. 

It was at this time that, seeing there was no field for her in 
Santa Fe, Mrs. Simpkins declared her intention of returning to 
St. Louis. Before she left for home she would do one thin 
make her departure felt. "I'll give a ball such es was never 
seen," she said, " t' teach them folks what their loss es en me." 

Diagonally from the old palace of the governor stands, or 
stood, the hall in which Mrs. Simpkins gave the dance and sup- 
per that eclipsed anything of the kind the little town had ever 
seen. For a week beforehand the Courier had daily items con- 
cerning the ball items that, it was maliciously said, were prompted 
by Mrs. Simpkins unloosening her purse-strings. The truth was 
the editor of the Courier was only too glad to have news (?) to 
print. Orders had been given the man who superintended the 
decorating of the hall not to spare expense, which he did not, 
but to make the rooms beautiful ; whether he did or not is a 
matter of taste. 

It was on the morning preceding the night of the ball that 
Mrs. Simpkins sat watching her niece try on her ball-dress. The 
confection had been carefully laid aside, and Claudina had resumed 
her house-dress, when Rosaa, a maid-servant, entered the room 
and handed Claudina a visiting-card. " Who es et ? " asked 
Mrs. Simpkins. Claudina handed her the card. It would be un- 
pleasant to state of a girl amiable as Claudina that there was 
an angry look on her face. It would be better to call it a look 
of annoyance mingled with resignation. 

"Horace Rambo," read Mrs. Simpkins. "What can bring 
him here thes mornin' ; won't he hev enough uv us thes evenin' ?" 

" Tia" faltered Claudina, "I have no wish to see him." 

" You mus'," said Mrs. Simpkins, " fur et's reel kind uv them 
Rambos t' be so neighborly." . 

Claudina gave her skirt a quick twitch, drew a long breath, 
looked as if she were about to speak, turned about and went 
down to the parlor, where Rambo awaited her. If ever a young 
man in a faultless suit of clothes looked ill at ease that young 
man was Horace Rambo. He generally had a great deal to say 
for himself; to-day, whether it was because Claudina's manner 
was several degrees colder than usual, or that some trouble lay 
on his mind, he was at a loss. Yet he was making an unpar- 
donably long visit; Claudina almost began to believe that he had 
come to spend the day. He uttered some inanity about the ball 
that gave Claudina an opportunity to say with more truth than 



;;j MRS. S/.WAY.V.V' KAI.L. [Sept., 

politeness, nnd with no grain of malice, " The tia and myself we 
make much work all these clays"; at the same time she gave 
the clock a thoughtless glance. 

" 'Thank you, I am going presently." said Horace with much 
stiifn 

.iiidina had a hook of Hnglish phrases, an.! one of tl 
phrases now ran in her head, deluding her into the belief that it 
was the remark she should now make. "Do not let me de- 
tain you," she said, giving her hands a slight outward motion. 

k.unlx i stared at her, amazed. To him this was downright 
coquetry. Was Claudina Rusk, after all, a coquette? he thought. 
not knowing whether to be pleased or displeased at his supp 
discovery. "You'll let me detain you; I came here today to 
speak of something," he said nervously, with an attempt at a 
laugh, that turned to a cough that sent the blood rushing to his 
face, giving it an apoplectic appearance. 

Claudina did not consider this a very brilliant speech, and ^In- 
looked at him as much as to say that what he proposed to him- 
self in his visit was not very original. 

" Yes, but something in particular," he replied to the look. 
" You must know I'm sure you understand what my coining here 
means " he hesitated in his speech, then broke down completely ; 
yet he was an adept in the finest grades of the art of flirtation. 
Claudina did understand. He was in love .with her, or thought 
himself to be not so great a difference as it appears to be. 'There 
had been so much of love-making in her short life that she had 
become inured to it, and the knowledge she possessed did not 
frighten her as it once would. It annoyed her though, ami more 
than ever she disliked the customs of her aunt's people. Why 
did not this man speak to Mrs. Simpkins. and let that lady have 
the trouble of refusing him for her. Her ignorance of what the 
words she now spoke implied was sublime. " You had better 
to speak to the tia, the Senora Seempkins." 

" Claudina, how happy you have made me ! " he cried, start- 
ing forward as if to embrace her. 

"Senor!" 

A little abashed and a little doubtful, he said: "You love 
me a little, Claudina ? " 

Genuine surprise lit up her face. " No, not at all," she re- 
plied emphatically, without hesitation. 

"But you told me you will be my wife, Claudina?'' 

"No!" There was a heartiness in her negative that would 
have dashed the most sanguine hope. 



1890.] Mxs. SiMpfCJNtf BALL. 755 

" But you told me to speak to your aunt. Why did you tell 
me to go to her if you don't love me and you won't be my 
wife ? " he asked aggrievedly. 

" Eet is now no necessary you make me to tell you. Sefior, 
I will to wish you buenos tardes." It was morning when he 
came, it was now afternoon. Again Claudina spoke without 
malice ; she did not reflect. 

After this series of misapprehensions nothing will ever con- 
vince Rambo that Claudina is not a coquette. He rose from his 
chair and said hotly : " I have no doubt but that you would be 
delighted were I to tell you that my heart is broken, and all 
that sort of thing. It is not, I assure you." 

Claudina looked puzzled, considered ; being enlightened, let a 
shy glance penetrate him, then said warmly, " You are not dis- 
please, you do not to care ? " 

"No, not at all"; his negative not quite so hearty as the 
one he mimicked. 

" Oh ! I am so please," she cried with unfeigned delight. 

Rambo reddened with anger and strode hastily out of the 
room, leaving Claudina to go to her aunt to relate the result of 
his visit. 

For some hours after this the success of Mrs. Simpkins' ball 
hung in the balance. Horace told Mamma Rambo how shame- 
fully Claudina Rusk had treated him ; mamma, at first, refusing to 
believe that her " Horry " had been refused by what she cul- 
turedly called a half-breed. Convinced of the truth of her son's 
statement, she vowed and declared that she would straightway 
see the wives of the generals, etc., tell them of Claudina's per- 
fidy, " And then," she said wrathfully, " we'll see how many of 
us will be present at that awful Simpkins' ball." Horace vowed 
and declared that his mother should do nothing of the kind. "I 
won't have every one know she refused me," he cried ; adding 
warningly, " If you let your legs carry you about on such an 
expedition, you'll be metaphorically kicking yourself the rest of 
your days." Mrs. Rambo was so cultured that, like a cer- 
tain _queen of Spain, she had no legs, and the vision of her 
kicking herself was appalling. Nevertheless, she could not resist 
the temptation to sound her friends as to the possibility of per- 
suading the.m not to attend the much-talked-of ball. She did 
not have to take very deep soundings before she was convinced 
of the futility of any such attempt. At General Crane's, her 
dearest friends, she ventured to ask the daughter if after all it 
would not be the better part for the garrison people to keep 



756" .lAv.s. A'/.WAY.VS' PALL. [Sept , 

aloof frnin the ball. In response the young lady -crvam; <!, and 
declared with much empliasis : " You must be crazy, Mr-;. R.imbo; 
after we've got our dresses, too Why, yon were the first to 
id the motion when our going or staying was debated. 1 
suppose Claudina has giv<.n I lorry the sack." " Kosina," said 
Mrs. Rambo gravely, " they call you a belli- ; take care they do 
not say it is because of your Ion;.; tongue." 

Mrs. Simpkins heard without interruption Clatidina's recital of 
her. refusal of Horace Rambo's hand It did not astonish her, 
she had looked for nothing else, and she could not say she was 
\er\ sorry. "P'raps you're right, Claudiner," sh 1 Clau- 

dina had nothing to say to this, nor did her aunt pursue the 
subject in words, then, or at any time after, however much it 
might occupy her thoughts. " There's thet Valverde, je 
sure es I'm setten en this cheer; he's a-goin' to propose a secon' 
time. Beyon' doubt, he's the nices' young man I ever come 
acrost, an' ef et warn't thet I've made up my min' not to 
inte'fere, I'd give him fair warnin' 'twarn't no use." This she 
thought late in the afternoon, dismissing the subject for the more 
important one of dressing for the ball. She was waddling to her 
room when she met Claudina, blushing very much and carrying 
a bouquet of white roses. Holding up the flo.vers for her aunt to 
view, she said simply, " He sent to me the ro> 

Mrs. Simpkins shook her fat forefinger warningly at Claudina. 
"What! Mr. Rambo?" she asked. 

" Oh ! no, tia, not him ; Senor Vinccnte Valverde," answered 
Claudina, with a half-ashamed laugh. 

"An" what's thet paper you've got? He an't been writin' 
you ? " questioned Mrs. Simpkins, pointing to an open letter 
Claudina held in her hand. 

"A leetle," said Claudina, handing the letter to her aunt. 

" Et's Spanitch. What es et about?" inquired Mrs. Simpkin,. 
as she returned the sheet of paper to Claudina, after a vain 
attempt to decipher the few words written on it. 

" He hopes I will do to him the honor to make fragrance to 
the roses if I will carry her to-night," translated Claudina. 

" En th' name uv sense, gel, what do you mean ? What her.'" 
demanded Mrs. Simpkins somewhat irately. 

"The rose, tia," returned Claudina, a little frightened. 

" Well, why do you speak uv a rose es ef et were a human ? 
That an't no her. Et, et," cried Mrs. Simpkins. 

" Pardon, tia, cct and the roses, tia ? " 

" What about 'cm ?" 



1890.] -I/A-.S. SiAfpfif.vs' BALL. 757 

"I am to have them?" 

" Why not ? " queried Mrs. Simpkins with a sniff. 

About an hour after this Mrs. Simpkins, at her toilet, felt the 
need of assistance, and went to Claudina's room, where she found 
the girl on her knees before a little oratory. Seeing her aunt, 
Claudina rose hastily, and Mrs. Simpkins observed with keen eyes 
that there were traces of tears in 'her eyes. Yet she appeared 
to be happy, and was now entreating her aunt, with many jocose 
remarks, not to scold her for not having begun to array herself 
for the ball. 

Unheeding her little sallies of wit, Mrs. Simpkins asked 
seriously, " What you been crying about, Claudina ? " 

For answer Claudina hid her face on her aunt's shoulder. 

Mrs. Simpkins was not to be put off. " What es et ? " she 
demanded. 

" The Sefior Valverde will again to ask me to be his wife," 
was answered in a tremulous whisper. 

A stout arm was put about Claudina, and she was asked, 
" Do you care for him ? " 

"A vary leetle," was the response. 

" Ef he asks you, will you say yes ? " 

" Of course," answered Claudina, raising her head and gazing 
at her aunt in some astonishment. 

The look was returned with interest. '' You're past my 
readin'," said Mrs. Simpkins ; " never min' thet, though, jest et 
presen' ; you come do my back hair; Roser an't no sort of use." 

At ten o'clock that night Mrs. Simpkins had every reason to 
congratulate herself on the success of her ball. Of all those who 
had been invited Horace Rambo was the only one absent. Mrs. 
Rambo concluded to come ; she was anxious to see, she said, 
how the Simpkins would carry herself. Her weight taken into 
consideration, Mrs. Simpkins carried herself very well. Aware of 
the fact that she was a stranger to the ways of the exclusives, 
she did not put herself forward ; she sat in the supper-room, 
where she could see the dancing, and there, as she said, like the 
mouse that hid in the cheese to escape the cat, found security 
and comfort. Her greatest delight was to watch Claudina, be- 
yond question the most beautiful girl in the room, in her black 
mantilla, the lace folds of which covered her shoulders. That 
was Claudina's way of covering the defect in the confection. 
When Claudina had presented herself for inspection Mrs. Simp- 
kins had been inclined to .find fault with the mantilla, but felt 
herself obliged to say, " Et's outlandish, but et's becomin' get 



,-5.s J/A'.S-. SfMrKixs HALL. [Sept., 

along with you, gel," and so had driven her niece before hi r to 
the carriage waiting to carry them to the ball. Claudina had all 
her d.uu il ; not many, for there were dances she could 

not (l.iiu-e, others she would not. To Valverdc she had given 
three three times as many as she had given any other man. 
She had not favored him above the others be> 
particularly for him ; what she' had told her aunt was true she 
liked him a little, and what she liked most in him was that he 
did not make soft speeches. She had never known a man ~hr 
could find so little fault with. She understood that he loved her, 
had loved her for a long while, that he was faithful. She had 
sought counsel of Heaven as to what she should say were he 
again to ask her to be his wife, and it seemed to her that she 
had been counselled to marry this man. The thought of marry- 
ing him caused her no unhappiness ; on the contrary it made her 
quietly happy the happiness arising from the thought that at last 
she would please her aunt, who was so kind to her. 

Claudina was going through a minuet with a young officer 
when Valverde made his way to where Mrs. Simpkins was sit- 
ting. " He comes an' he sets hisself aside me," related Mr>. 
Simpkins to a friend in after days ; " an' I knowcd jest es well 
then what he come fur es I did after, but I wasn't goin' to mix 
myself up with no such wool-gathern's es I once did afore, an' 
got my purgatory en thes life fur so doin'. ' Good evenin', 
senorer,' he says, an' goes on to say es how I hed brought 
parerdise ento Santa Fee, en how well I was lookin', en then he 
fiddles with his mustache. I was mindin' Claudiner more'n I 
was mindin' him, an" he seen which way I was lookin', an' then 
he began, an' uv all the talk I ever did hear, his'n beat it. 
I an't a- goin' t' say he didn't make some nice compairasons, but 
he might a put et en few words en said, ' I loves Claudiner.' 
Then he aisks may he send his par and his mar t' me. ' No,' says 
I, ' you won't send your par, neither your mar t' me, fur 1 an't 
got nuthin' to say one way or t'other. Ef you wants my niece, 
go to her, I says, an' say, Claudiner, I loves you an' I want you 
for a wife; ef you will, I'll make you a good husban" ; ef you 
don't, I don't give a darn.' I wouldn't hev said es much only I 
was en sech sperrets, th' party a success, an' everything. Vin- 
cente, he didn't seem t' like it, fur he says sharp an' quick, 
'May I hev th' honor uv callin' on Miss Rusk to-morrcr 
mornin'?' 'You may,' I says, 'an' th' mornin' after ef you've 
a min 1 to ' ; an' he did call an' you know th' r 

Claudina. was tiredly getting to bed, the night of the ball, 



1890.] MRS. SIMP KINS' BALL. 759 

when Mrs. Simpkins put her night-capped head in the room and 
said: " Vincente Valverde es comin' here to-morrer mornin'." 
Claudina cast down her eyes, her aunt looked intently at her for 
a moment, then bade her get to bed and sleep well. 

When a girl goes to meet a man who, she knows, is about 
to ask her to marry him, for whom she has no love to speak 
of, and yet has made up her mind to accept, it is not strange 
she should hesitate and ask herself, though she may have asked 
and answered the question a thousand times before, whether she 
is taking the right step to secure her future happiness. Fully 
ten minutes have elapsed since Claudina was told that the Senor 
Valverde is in the parlor waiting to see her, and she makes no 
move to go to him. (To-day he has omitted the ceremony of 
asking for her aunt.) Much as she disliked to, she could not 
help comparing the love she once had for the man who jilted 
her with her liking for Valverde. She committed a great blunder 
in making this comparison, entirely forgetting that besides a real 
liking, she had a respect for and trust in Valverde, while she 
never had respected or trusted that other man. She did not 
know that when a woman likes a man, and respects and trusts 
him above every other man who has crossed her path, she is 
dangerously near loving him. Yesterday she had felt sure that 
she had been counselled by Heaven to marry this Valverde ; 
now she had doubts, she may have deluded h'erself. Of only 
one thing she was sure having no one to decide for her, she 
would have to decide for herself. She was still thinking when 
the sound of her aunt's voice in the next room roused her. 
Catching up the train of her skirt, she tripped lightly out of the 
room and down-stairs. 

It should have been more difficult for Valverde to make 
a proposal of marriage than for Rambo. He had no traditions 
to guide him, whereas Rambo had. The fact is, he made no 
difficulty of it at all. He asked after Mrs. Simpkins, if Claudina 
had gotten over the fatigues of the night before, then plunged 
into the matter that brought him there by asking Claudina in 
fewest words if she would be his wife. Claudina thought a little 
while, sighed, and said faintly, " Yes, senor." In its severe sim- 
plicity a model asking and accepting, all would have gone well 
had it ended there. Unfortunately, it did not end there. Val- 
verde knew of that other man, and Claudina knew that he knew 
of him. Valverde believed he had won Claudina's love, but he 
wanted to hear her tell him so. " You love me, dear one ? " 
(Of course they spoke in Spanish.) 



760 J/AX .SV.i//'A v.v.s 1 A'.-///. [Sept., 

Claudina raised her frank eyes to his and said softly : " I 
don't know a littli 1 , perhaps." 

Immediately the thought of tliat other man came into his 
head. " You love no one else?" lie asked in a strained voice. 

"No, no, no!" deniid t'laudina, giving a greater emphasis to 
each succenling negative. 

He was silent for a moment, then said: "I love you; yon 
are everything to me ; but, dear one, if you do not love me, do 
you think you should marry me?" 

"I have asked myself that question very often" here Claud- 
ina halted, blushing violently. She had confessed to having de- 
bated the possibility of his asking her in marriage. 

" And you told me yes," he said, his voice a trifle husky. 

" You are good. I like you better than any one, and my aunt 
would be very glad if 1 married you," returned Claudina almost 
in a whisper. 

He loved her with all his heart his faithfulness was proof 
enough of that and he said : " Dear one, you must not marry 
to please any one but yourself; perhaps I am not so good as you 
think me to be, but I love you enough not to wish to make you 
unhappy, and that you would be as my wife if you did not love 
me. Am I right, dear one?" 

"Oh, yes!" answered Claudina, with disheartening sincerity. 

" You see," he proceeded, " much as I want you to be my 
wife much more, dear one, than I think you can understand " 

" Yes, I do understand," broke in Claudina innocently, hav- 
ing in mind her past sufferings. 

Valverde smiled pitifully, continuing as if he had not been in- 
terrupted : " I desire your happiness more than my own " he 
hesitated before he said : " If you do not love me, we will say 
good-by, not, to-day, for all time, for I shall come again before 
you go to St Louis." 

" I am sorry, sorry ! " burst out Claudina. 

"You must not be sorry," he said, rising to leave the room; 
" you have done right to tell me you do not love me ; and let 
it be a consolation for us to remember, no loveless marriage can 
be blessed of God." 

Claudina's conflicting emotions would not let her speak. She 
knew Valverde was leaving her, that she was losing him, and the 
knowledge did not make her happy. She threw out her hand 
with a gesture which he mistook for a dismissal, whereas she 
meant to detain him. A look of pain crossed his face, and he 
left the room. 



1890.] MKS. SIMPKIN& BALL. 761 

She should have been satisfied ; she could not decide to her 
satisfaction whether she should or should not be Valverde's wife, 
and now the difficulty had been removed by her lover taking the 
decision into his own hands. She was not satisfied, however, 
although he had decided as she herself had been minded to decide. 
She was not only not satisfied, she was exceedingly unhappy. She 
felt something like the old pain she had once suffered wringing 
her heart, and it made her afraid. It had not come yet, but she 
feared, unless she could put Valverde out of her life utterly, that 
the time would come when her heart would tell her that she did 
love' him. She had no doubt now as to the counsel given her 
in her prayers. Already she was metaphorically beating her 
breast for not having listened more attentively to the Divine 
whisperings, and real tears came into her eyes, tears she quickly 
wiped away, for presently she was to be exposed to the pene- 
trating gaze of her aunt. 

Slowly she went up the stairs to the sitting-room where her 
aunt was dozing over a book. Mrs. Simpkins gave her eyes a 
quick rub, the better to view her niece, and asked, shaking with 
laughter : " Well, when es et t' be, Claudina ? I'll stop fur th' 
weddin' ef I never gets back t' Sane Louis." 

Claudina tried to smile, only succeeded to distort her face, 
and said, making a strong effort not to cry : " Eet is not to be, 
tia." 

" Not ter be !" ejaculated Mrs. Simpkins in consternation. 
" Why, you told me yourself you was goin' t' have him : you 
told et decided ; you said, of course." 

"I did say yes to him, tia," stammered Claudina. 

" Ef you said yes t' him, what you mean by sayin' there an't 
t' be no marriage ?" questioned Mrs. Simpkins sharply. 

" The senor think eet best not for us to marry," said Claud- 
ina coldly. She was now a little angry with Valverde. Why 
had he questioned her so closely ? 

" Am I borned, am I livin', or am I gone clean crazy ? " 
cried Mrs. Simpkins frantically, rubbing her fat palms together. 
" Who'd a thought Vincente Valverde such a unhung rapscal ? a 
worthless good-for-nothing fellow " 

"He is a grand man!" interrupted Claudina vehemently in 
Spanish, continuing in a calmer tone in English, her eyes moist : 
" Do not say of him bad, tia ; he is a good man ; eet is when I 
tell to him I love him vary leetle, he say I will never lose his 
wor d s God, he will never to bless a marriage where love is 
not." Tears were now raining from her eyes. 

VOL. Ll. 49 



762 J//-.S-. .SV.I//-A /.\'.s' BALL. [Sept.. 

" Clatuliner," interrogated Mrs Simpkins in 
"did vMi tell him you don't love him?" 

"Yes, till," answered Claudina, sobbing. 

"Whatever induce' you t' say thet ? Why, gel, you're iii\t,i 
en love with him," cried Mrs. Simpkins triumphantly. 

C'laiulina had no idea of the depth of love attributed to her 
or she would not have answered : " Yes tia." 

Mrs. Simpkins sat for some moments lost in thought; sud- 
denly she turned to Claudina, who was aim col- 
lection of different-colored wools in a basket. " Claudiner," she 
said with some severity, "you an't no more sense then I don't 
know v, hat, an' I don't understand your ways no more to-day 
than I did th' first day I laid eyes on you; an' with all th 
made up my min' thcs time to have nothin' whatsumever t 
with your gettin' married or your stoppin' single. Now, what 
am I t' do ? Here comes along a man en every way your ekel, 
fur he's a fool ef ever there was, or he wouldn't been quctchen- 
ing you es t' how much you love him, fur all the worl' like a 
grown human quetchening a chile an' th' chile stretchin" out et's 
arms t' show how much. An' you do love him, an' he loves 
you, an' you breakin' uv th' commandment, bearin' false witness 
agen your own self, an' sayin' you don't. Claudiner, Sapphirer 
es a canonize' saint t' you after thet." 

Mrs. Simpkins pausing to take breath, Claudina, intensely in- 
terested in her wools, said in an off-hand way : " Tia, the 
will come to say good by." 

"Now, there!" exclaimed Mrs. Simpkins, "you are an in. 
cent, an't you! Why, Claudiner, there an't words t 1 ex 
how artful you are. You've got en a quandry an' you wants me 
t' get you out ; thet's th' long an' th' short uv et, an' th' up- 
shot es, I an't a-goin' t' meddle en any no concerns es I an't 
acquainten with th' managin' uv. I've took thet resolution, an' 
I holds t' et ; an' now ct's time t' go t' dinner; I'iller's ringin' 
th' bell." 

The next day Mrs. Simpkins informed Claudina that she v 
going to say farewell to Father Mark (as this was her sixth fare- 
well she may be likened to a prima donna}. She was gone a 
long while, and Claudina took advantage of her absence to press 
a white rose between the leaves of a manual of prayer. Mrs. 
Simpkins spoke, on her return, as if she had been .>n a visit to 
a sibyl, all her utterances enigmatical. Claudina showed no dis- 
position to read the riddles proposed to her, complained of a 
headache, and soon after supper went to bed, leaving her aunt 






1890.] MRS. S/MPKJNS' U A LI.. 763 

to laugh at a joke the point of which she could not per- 
ceive. 

Marly on the following day Father Mark paid a visit to the 
Valverdes, fifiding Vincente laid up with a dislocated arm, the 
result of a fall from the corn-crib a few days before. That 
afternoon, on his return from a sick-call, the priest had a brief 
conversation with Mrs. Simpkins. " You can put off your journey 
for a few days, can't you ? " he asked as he was leaving. 

" The budwhirr car es engage fcr to-morrer " 

" Bother ! " interrupted Father Mark, " what are a few dollars 
to a girl's peace of mind ! " 

" She'll get a piece of my min' when et's all settle', an' then 
we'll see how th' pieces goes together," cried Mrs. Simpkins, ex- 
ploding into a loud laugh. 

If to avoid an illegitimate action and choose the legitimate, 
it would be enough to know the one and the other, it would 
have availed Claudina nothing. She was thoroughly convinced 
that Valverde was suffering as she had suffered, that her own 
heart was not without its pain. Had she known what legitimate 
move to make to set straight the crooked path she and Val- 
verde had cut out for themselves, she could not have made it. 
To-morrow she was to be taken far away, and, as yet, Valverde 
had not come to bid his promised farewell, nor did he come 
this last evening. Something else happened of so serious a 
nature as to put Valverde out of her mind, for a time. About 
dusk Mrs. Simpkins fell sick, so sick, she said, that her trip 
would have to be put off. Strange to say this woman, who was 
a liberal income to her physician, would not allow him to be sent 
for in her present disorder. " He'd jest dose an' dose me, an' 
ef I'm t' die, I'll die comfortable," she sighed. If she was so 
very ill should not the priest be sent for, suggested Claudina. 
" No, don't se"nd for him," her aunt commanded, again sighing. 
" I'm conwince' I won't be a co'pse before to-morrer evenin' 
anyhow.'' Groaning frightfully, she ordered every one to leave her, 
and when alone laughed under the bed-clothes till, exhausted by 
sheer good humor, she fell asleep. 

In the morning Mrs. Simpkins declared herself sufficiently 
recovered to come down to breakfast, and whatever the nature 
of her complaint was it did not affect her appetite, much to 
Claudina's surprise and comfort. She was still more surprised 
when her aunt, over a third cup of coffee, announced that she 
was going out for a walk after breakfast. " You are not well, 
tin" Claudina objected. "Shall I to accompany you?" " Th' 



764 .I//.'. 1 -'. ^/.i//'v/.v.Y HA/.I.. [Sept., 

walk '11 do me good, ;in' you'd bo-' -lay t' home, an' any bit 
u v packing Ljot t' do, you can finish up," said 

Simpkins. 

Claudina found the morning very long, and she was not sorry 
when Rosa came into the room to sweep and dust. In 
>t leaving Ros;i to do her work, she set about to help her not 
to do Rosa a good turn, rather that Rosa do her a good turn ; 
. ii'oiild talk, she spoke in Spanish, and the sweet in-<-. of that 
sweetest tongue never cloyed on Claudina. Mistress and maid 
had, each, one of the bronze knights that stood at either end 
of the mantel-piece, wiping them with cloths, when Rosa uttered 
a little sigh and remarked what a pity it was Sefior Valverde had 
broken his arm. Claudina looked up quickly, and the bronze 
knight nearly got a fall, so nervously tremulous were his 
squiress's hands. Yes, Rosa continued, it was quite true, and 
Pilar had told her that now fever had set in and most likely he 
would die. " So sad ! he so young and handsome, so noble a 
young senor." 

Claudina suddenly remembered that she had something to do 
in her room in her room where was her little oratory. The 
white statuette with its flimsy lace veil, the lamp dimly burning, 
the bit of crimson carpet before our Lady strown with the \<. 
of wilted flowers, wilted as Claudina felt her heart wilting within 
her. She threw herself on her knees before our Mother and 
rocked to and fro, lacing and unlacing her fingers, sobbing and 
weeping, her heart wrung with praying to that good Counsellor 
for the man she had said she did not love. Ah ! they of the 
South they who never have lost, never can lose the Faith, for 
out of the South came the Light of the world they can feel. We 
talk pitifully of their passionate natures, and those passionate 
natures, and by God's grace because of their passionate natures, 
gave the priceless gift -of faith to the nations of the cold North. 
In what esteem have they held the gift the Southron has not 
lost ? And while she prayed, taking heaven by violence, she 
grew calmer, and it came to her what to do. She did not pause 
to think whether it was the legitimate thing to do, but set to 
work to do it. 

The yellow sunlight danced in the Valverde courtyard, sur- 
rounded on all sides by four walls ; it played over those yellow 
walls, set fire to the cactus flowers that rose like tong-ies of 
flame from out their beds of glittering green needles; cli 
the shadows cast by the wooden balconies, diamonded the 
lozenges of glass in the closed lattice windows. Claudina, the 



1890.] MRS. SIMPKINS' BALL. 765 

black silk shawl she wore to cover her head drawn close about 
her face; her black dress, grimed with dust through which she 
had walked, held up by one hand, stole across the dark portal 
of the courtyard into the yellow haze of light. There she stood 
still, neither advancing nor retreating. The child had come far 
afoot to perform what she felt to be a duty to a dying man, and 
now she had reached her journey's end she feared she would not 
be permitted to finish what she had begun. It was not that her 
heart failed her, that she thought herself unmaidenly in coming 
to drive away an unhappiness from Valverde's death-bed. She 
feared the Senora Valverde, who was one of her people, and 
was not she, Claudina, going very contrary to time-honored 
customs ? Perhaps, though, the senora being one of her people, 
tender of heart, would understand her, the girl thought. Bang ! 
a gust of wind had driven to the door of the portal she had left 
open, and at the same moment, as if the same gust of wind 
had driven it open, a door at the opposite side of the courtyard 
unclosed, and the Senora Valvtrde came out on the threshold, 
threw her head back and drew in long draughts of the fresh, 
rare atmosphere. This pantomime was perfectly clear to Clau- 
dina. " She is just from his drug-tainted room," she thought, " and 
needs pure air." The senora now let her eyes fall, and she saw 
the girl clad in black standing before the entrance to the court- 
yard. Claudina moved to meet her, but the senora was quicker 
than she ; already she was standing before her, gazing curiously 
into her face. " Senorita ? " she said interrogatively, and Clau- 
dina not responding, she took, her by the hand gently and led 
her to a room pervaded by a faint odor of pine from the great 
bough of green pinon in the fire-place. "Is your aunt with 
you, dear ? " she began to ask, pausing abruptly when she saw 
that Claudina was weeping. ' 

" I am alone. Is the Senor Vincente worse ? I have come 
to see ? " said Claudina, quietly, her voice unshaken, though her 
tears felt fast. 

The senora gazed steadily at her. They of the South are 
quick to understand the heart, and she soon read Claudina's. 
Gently, with a sort of tender reverence for the girl's innocence, 
she said, "When he knows this, he will be very happy." Her 
arm was now about Claudina. "Dear friend," she continued, 
" he is very ill, perhaps dying ; will you come with me ? " 

She did not say where, nor did Claudina need to be told. 
She bowed her head, and, the senora holding her hand, they 
passed together through a succession of rooms, in one of 



766 -l/A-.v. .SV.WA-/.V.V 1 BAH. [Sept , 

which a great white cat stretched <>n a rug raised its head in- 
dolently curious to see them pass, into a darkened chanih: i. 
where a ray of sunlight streaming through a bowed shutter 
1 on a vial <>f medicine and made a star of light in the 
darkness, that was more akin to the lost Pleiad than to a star ol 
Hope. 

"He is the light of my old heart," the sefiora wliispered to 
Claudina; "if he gets well. I'll gladly give him to you"; adding, 
unable to restrain herself, " but how long you have taken to 
discover his worth." Then Claudina, her tears blinding her, 
led to a bed-side. There she knelt, and the mother placed his 
hand in hers, and Claudina bowed over it, and it was moistened 
by her tears. 

" I never was thet mad en my life never ! " Mrs. Simpkins 
asserted to a friend, some months after the above-related events. 
" Father Mark an' me, we hed made jest th' most beautiful 
plan. Father Mark was jest es much en fur et es I 
Vincente was to hev come t' th : house, an' all was t' be made 
right betwixt them two, an' what does thet Claudincr do an' 
who'd ever guessed she'd be up to such carry'n's on she goes 
trapesin' down t' Valverde's an" without askin' me a solitary word 
et was all fix' ; and all my trouble went fur nothin.' What's 
thet you say ? Yes, et was a mos' beautiful weddin', an' I don't 
believe I ever did look better then en that yaller silk, though 
genually speakin' yaller an't my color." 

HAROLD DIJON. 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 767 



STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 

I. In the year 1265, under sinister auspices, and in the house 
of an exile, a child was born Dante Alighicri. Memorable events 
surrounded his cradle : the crusade of Tunis, the end put to the 
great interregnum by the election of Rudolph of Hapsburg, the 
second Council of Lyons, the Sicilian Vespers, the death of 
Ugolino such were the possible topics of conversation to which 
his ears were first opened. He saw his country divided between 
the Guelfs and the Ghibellines : the former were the defenders of 
Italian independence and municipal liberties ; the latter were the 
champions of feudal rights and the old suzerainty of the Holy 
Empire. His family traditions and his own inclinations attached 
him to the cause of the Guelfs;* he donned the garb of man- 
hood fighting in their ranks at Campaldino, where they were 
victorious (1289). Soon after he shared in the dissensions which 
divided the dominant party, when, under the stormy tribunate of 
Giano della Bella (1292), the constitutions of the city were mod- 
ified, the nobles excluded from the magistracy, and the interests 
of the republic placed in the hands of the plebeians. Entrusted 
successively with several embassies, when he returned to his own 
country the highest honors and the greatest perils alike awaited 
him. When he was made prior (1300) he found the nobles and 
the plebeians recommencing the struggle under the new names of 
Neri and Bianchi ; his sympathy with the latter procured for him 
the enmity of the former. While he was on the way to Rome 
to oppose their influence, they called to Florence Charles of 
Valois, brother to Philip the Fair ; it seemed that a prince of a 
reigning house was none too exalted a personage to be employed 
in the struggle against the influence of a great citizen. The 
prince carried the day, but he dishonored himself and the French 
name when he caused a sentence of proscription to be pro- 
nounced against the chiefs of the Bianchi. Under the shadow of 
the French lilies two solemn iniquities, in the lapse of a few 
months, were accomplished in Italy : the exile of Dante and the 
seizure of Boniface VIII. f Dante uttered maledictions upon his 
judges, but not upon his country; the memory he retained of her 
accompanied him as he wandered from city to city, and as lu 

' Pclli, Memorie ff r la Vita di Dante; Lionardo Aretino. Vita di Dante. 
tGiov. Villani, lib. vii., ann. 1292; Dino Compagni, in Muratori. 



768 STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. [S 

sat by the be irth- stones of the marquise-; of I.uni^iana, of the 
Scali^eii at Verona, or of the lords of Polenta, a sombre ;. 
always finding the bread of hospitality bitter. Now by force, and 
anon by entre.itv. by every way except by such as might imply 
a loss of self-respect,* he attempted to re-enter within the dearly 
loved walls, the fold that had sheltered his early years. t A IK), 
when his disappointed hope left him no other resource, if he 
seemed to pas< into the camp of the Ghibellines, it was because 
he thought there to find that very cause of liberty to aid which 
he had fought against them; in fact, the intervention of France, 
solicited through the imprudence of the Gtielfs, menaced Italy 
with a new peril. Or rather, these two name-; of rival factions 
had several times changed meaning amid intestine stnu; -les ; they 
continued as words of ominous augury, inscribed on standards 
which thenceforth rallied round them little more than selfish 
interests, passions, and crimes. Dante never ceased to blend in 
a common reprobation the excesses of both parties,! and to look 
to some loftier sphere for social doctrines worthy of his devotion. 
The urgent call he experienced to intervene in the affairs of his 
time, which had brought upon him such singular misfortunes, 
never left him; he had just returned from the fulfilment of a 
diplomatic mission to Venice, when he died at Ravenna (1321). 
The tumult of men and things was not lacking to his later 
days: there were the revolutions which changed into sei.Miiorial 
governments the greater number of the Italian republics, the 
popular triumphs in Flanders and Switzerland, the wars in Ger- 
many, the strife between France and England, the pontifical 
majesty outraged at Anagni, the condemnation of the Templars, 
and the removal of the Holy See to Avignon These tragic 
spectacles, which would have left profound images in the memory 
of Dante if he had remained merely a witness of them, must, 
when he took part in them, have powerfully affected his con- 
science ; for the moral sense, which is awakened by the aspect 
of the just and the unjust, is exalted by adherence to the former. 
as also by experiencing the oppression of the latter. He had 
known evil through suffering, the chief school in which virtuous 

Mtmorie . M. Villcmain was the first to make known in France the admirable letter 
wherein the poet refuses to re-enter his native city under humiliating conditions. Itm n 
has the history of his exile been traced in a livelier and more lucid way than in the biography 
issued by M . F.iuriel . See also the learned work of Balbo. Vita di Dante, and the Yu <U Dante. 
by M. Artaud. 

\Paradiio, xxv. 2. lx>ngfellc. s u 

"The fair sheepfold, where a lamb I slumbered." 
} Pintdito. vi. 34 : 

So that 'tis hard to sec which sh 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 769 

men learn it ; he had known good by the joy felt in doing it ; 
he had willed it with an ardent, and consequently with a com- 
municative will. In after years the remembrance of his gener- 
ous intentions was for him as a companion of exile, in whose 
converse he found the justification of his political conduct, and 
the excuse for, as well as the consolation of, his misfortunes.* 

II. But, to be conceived in exile and therein to die, to oc- 
cupy lofty positions, and to undergo great misfortunes, has 
been the lot of many ; these are the points which Dante has in 
common with the crowd of men, and he might be confounded 
with them if, amid the agitations of his public life, other circum- 
stances had not procured for him a life of the heart, into the 
mysteries of which we must penetrate. In fact, according to the 
laws regulating the spiritual world, to lift up a soul there is need 
of another soul ; this attraction is called love ; in the language of 
philosophy, it is known as friendship, and in that of Christianity, 
charity. Dante was not to be exempt from the common law. 
At the age of nine years, an age of which the innocence guar- 
antees the purity, he met, at a family festival, a young child 
endowed with grace and nobleness.f The sight called forth in 
him an affection which has no name on this earth, and which he_ 
preserved still more and more tender and chaste through the per- 
ilous season of adolescence. There were dreams wherein Beatrice 
showed herself all radiant ; there was an inexpressible desire to 
find himself where she was about to pass ; it was a salutation 
from her, an inclination of her head, in which he had placed all 
his happiness ; there were fears and hopes, sadnesses and joys, 
which worked upon and purified his sensibility, until it reached 
an extreme delicacy, disengaging it little by little from ordinary 
habits and cares. But above all, when Beatrice quitted the earth 
in the full splendor of youth, he followed her in thought into 
that invisible world of which she had become an inhabitant, and 
delighted in adorning her with all the blooms of immortality; he 
surrounded her with the canticles of the angels ; he seated her on 
the highest step leading to the throne of God. He forgot her 
death while contemplating her in this glorious transfiguration.! 
Thus the beauty that had shown itself to him under a real form 

* Inferno, xxviii. 39. 

t Boccaccio, Vita di Dante ; Dante, Vita Nuova. 

} Vita Nuova, C. E. Norton's translation : 

" Unto the high heaven hath Beatrice gone, 
Unto that realm where peace the angels have. 

And dwelleth glorious in a fit abode." 



770 Srr/>A.vr LIFE OF DANTE. (S-pt.. 

hccanu- an ideal type which interpenetrated his illumination, that 
imagination which was to mount higher and higher until it flowed 
over upon the outside world. He knew how to tell what v, 
passing within him; he knew, according to his own expression, 
to take note of love singing within: Dante had becom a |>et. 
\Vhen once ins|)iration had visiteil him, lie found, amid the fa- 
vorable circumstances of his position, no difficulty in retaining his 
visitor by his side : the contemporary of Guido Cavalcanti, of 
Giacopo de Todi, of Dante da Majano, of Cin > <la 1'istoia, men 
whose poetic utterances called forth similar strains from their fel- 
lows, and were re-echoed among themselves as if in endless con- 
cert ; the friend of the musician Casella. of the architect Arnolfo, 
and of the painter Giotto, he lived in the days when Florence 
raised three of the monuments which have caused that city to be 
surnamed "The Beautiful," the Palazzo Vecchio, Santa Croce, 
and the Cathedral, and all this under an enchanting sky over- 
arching a land where every art flourished. 

III. All this was not yet enough, and Dante was to offer 
himself to the wonder of posterity under still another aspect. 
Hrunetto Latini, who had known him from his birth and had 
drawn his horoscope, felt desirous of verifying its predictions ; he 
became his master, and filled the place of the father lost at an 
early age ; he taught him the rudiments of the different sorts 
of learning collected in his Trcsor.\ Through his care Dante 
was early initiated into familiarity with the languages. He was 
not wholly ignorant of Greek, and, if he had not acquired in it 
sufficient proficiency to be able easily to read the original texts, 
translations were not lacking. \ Latin literature was familiar to 
him ; among the authors whose daily converse accompanied his 
solitude he counted Virgil, whose ^Eneid he knew from begin- 
ning to end, Ovid, Lucan, Statius, Pliny, Frontinus, and Paulus 
Orosius. The different Romanic idioms had occupied his atten- 

* Purgatorio, xxiv. 19. 

t Inferno, xv. 19, 28, 41, Gary's translation : 

" ' If thou.' be answered, follow but thy star, 
Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven ; 
Unless in fairer days my judgment erred. ' 
' In my mind 

Is fixed, and now strikes full upon my heart, 
The dear, benign, paternal image, such 
As tbine was, when so lately thou didst teach me 
The way for men tu win iMrrnity.' 

I commend my Trr.isure to thee.' " 

J He quotes Greek etymologies quite happily in Ins ! 

idc, and in the Coitvito. lib. iv. cap. vi. See also the sonnet Ixiv.. Fr.ui aHl'l c-<l : 
" Morning and evening place ilicc at tin 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 771 

tion ; he quoted Spanish verses and wrote Provencal poetry ; * 
there is no'doubt that he knew French, "the speaking of which 
was already accounted most delightful to hear, and the most' 
common to all nations." f But it was especially in exploring 
the dialects of Italy that he exerted his indefatigable persever- 
ance ; to have consecrated the use of the vulgar tongue was by no 
means the least glorious of his achievements. \ Rhetoric and 
history, physics and astronomy, which he pursued down to the 
latest discoveries of the Arabian observers, claimed also a por- 
tion of his time. Obliged to choose among the various arts 
under which the inhabitants of Florence were classified, he in- 
scribed himself in the corporation of physicians. This rank was 
not wrongfully assumed, and yet the variety of his acquirements 
would have permitted him to take without injustice the title of 
jurisconsult. 1 ^ His youth had passed away amid these wide-reaching 
preparations; the death of Beatrice (1292) induced him to seek 
consoling thoughts in the writings of Cicero and Boethius. He 
there found more the first vestiges of a science to which he had 
not yet attained, which apparently was thus lying in wait for 
him at the close of . his preliminary studies philosophy. From 
that period he pursued this study by attending the public discus- 
sions of such as were accounted philosophers, in monastic 
schools, in reading so assiduously that his eyesight was for a 
long time injured by his excessive application, and in medita- 
tions which no outside tumult could distract. || The two trans- 
lations" of Aristotle, perhaps some of the dialogues of Plato, St. 
Augustine and St. Gregory the Great, Avicenna and the book 
De Causis, St. Bernard, Richard of St. Victor, St. Thomas 
Aquinas, yEgidius Colonna such were the guides whose foot- 
steps his indefatigable thought eagerly followed. And yet, at 
the very entrance of metaphysics, the mystery of creation 
stayed him a long while, occasioned him at first some disquiet, 
and made him turn in preference to ethics.^ At the end of 
thirty months philosophy had become his exclusive mistress, to 
use his own form of speech, the lady of his thoughts. Then he 
began to find the intellectual sphere wherein he had essayed his 

t 

* Dante, De Vulgari Eloqumtid, passim. The second canzone of book ii. of his collections 
is in Provencal, Latin, and Italian. 

t Brunetto Latini, preface of the Trifsor. 

! This is the special subject of his treatise, De Vulgari F.loquentid. 

Memoneperla Vita di Dante: Purgatoi., xxv. See the learned dissertation of Varchi on 
this passage, and the whole book De Monarchid. 

|| Dante, Convito, lib. ii. cap. xiii. ; lib. iii. cap. ix. 

1[ Convito, iv. i. 



5rr/>/-..\-/ I.H-K OF DA.VTE. [Sept . 

first flight too restricted ; he visited the unive f It.ily and 

of the lands beyond the Alps, in search of that exchange of the 
living word, the benefit of oral teaching, which, better than the 
dead letter of the most renowned writin -sses the gift of 

fecundating the mind. Similar motives had led the sages of 
t'ireeee to the schools of I'ho-nieia an.l F^ypt. However, the 
d.its -s anil the limits of Dante's travels elude all certain determi- 
nation. Several cities of the 1'eninsnla, Padua. Cremona. Hologna, 
and Naples, claim the honor of having counted him in the 
number of their students, and the most illustrious provinces of 
Christendom, Germany and Frame, Flanders and Finland, have 
given testimony of their desire that he should have passed their 
way. There is apparently a possibility of tracing in his writ- 
ings an itinerary which, passing through Aries, I'.irU. Km . 
and London, may have extended as far as Oxford.* Hut we can 
scarcely doubt the fact of his sojourn in Paris. There, in the 
Rue du Fouarre, and seated on the straw which served as bencl. 
to the crowd of students, he, an immortal disciple, attended the 
lessons of the professor, Sigier, whom his mention alone rescued 
from oblivion, until, in our day, a learned hand appeared to re- 
trace the nearly obliterated memory, f There, doubtless after long 
vigils, when he deemed he had won the right to aspire to the honors 
of the school, he sustained, with the customary solemnities, a theo- 
logical dispute, de quolibet, wherein he replied without interrup- 
tion upon fourteen questions, drawn from divers subjects, and 
proposed, with their arguments for and against, by skilful doctors. 
He also read and commented in public the Master of the Sentences 
and the Holy Scriptures, passing through all the probations re- 
quired in the department of theology. Admitted to the highest 
rank, he lacked the means necessary to defray the cost of re- 
ception, t The doors of the university were closed against him, 
as were the gates of his native city, and thus even science had 
for him a rigorous treatment. If he left Paris without the title 
of which he had been judged worthy, he was at least in pos- 

i 

Infcnw, ix. 38 ; xii. 40; xv. a; Paradise, x. 47, etc., etc. 
t Paradise, x. 46 : 

" It is the light eternal of Sigier, 
Who, reading lectures in the street of Straw. 
Did syllogize invidious verities." 

The biography of Sigier, which Italian learning had despaired of elucidating, has been 
recovered with rare precision by the researches ol M. Victor Leclcrc, prcsidi-nt of the com 
sion of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-lettres for the continuation <>f the Histoirt 
litt/raire dt Fnoue. It is to be lound in volume xxi. of that collection. 

t Boccaccio. Vita di Dante. John of Serravalle, bishop of Imola, in his commeman 
quoted by Tiraboschi, vol \ 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 773 

session of an incontestable erudition and a love for serious study ; 
and if, as we may well believe, the lustre of academic triumphs 
was not indifferent to him, his wishes were gratified in the end. 
After twenty years of exile (1320), grown grey with age, sur- 
rounded by the twofold majesty of renown and of misfortune, we 
find him in the chur:h of St. Helen, at Verona, in presence of 
an admiring audience, sustaining a thesis de duobus dementis 
aq^^<z et terra. One yea.r later, when his obsequies were cele- 
brated at Ravenna, Guido Novello, Lord of Polenta, his last 
protector, caused a crown of laurel to be placed upon his bier.* 
Dante had then lived, so to speak, a third life, which was de- 
voted to scienlific labors, and which also had its unequal phases, 
its sad and its serene days. Political passions and the affec- 
tions of the heart had not sufficed to occupy his whole being; 
there remained in his soul a large place, inaccessible to the tu- 
mult of opinions and the seduction of the senses, within which 
his intellect retired as within a sanctuary, and rendered unto 
truth an exclusive worship. This devotion was not restricted to 
the limits of any bingle order of knowledge ; it embraced truth, 
absolute and complete. Universality of knowledge and elevation 
of the point of view are not these the constituent elements of 
the philosophic mind ? 

IV. Thus in the person of Dante were found the three faculties 
which, united in certain proportions, constitute genius, namely, 
intellect to perceive, imagination to idealize, and will to execute. 
The task still remains to tell by what mysterious bonds these 
faculties were interwoven into a perfect unity ; how three des- 
tinies weighed upon a single head which they might bow but 
could not crush. While our ordinary education, by giving to 
each one of our faculties a separate and sometimes an exclusive 
cultivation, often divides and enfeebles them, Dante, a bold and 
independent genius, allowed his to grow and develop all to- 
gether, to borrow resources from one another, and occasionally to 
interchange roles in a way to present the most interesting con- 
trasts. Now it is the statesman who speaks with the tongue of 
the sage or the muse to princes and to nations that have closed 
their ears to their customary counsellors.! Again, it is the 
poet, who, amid the austere occupations of science, has not lost 
the delicate sense of the beauties of nature, the quickness to 
generous emotions, the ingenuous credulity which provokes a 
smile he bends in loving reverence before the classic virtues of 

* Memorie per la Vita di Dante. 

t DC Monarchic ; Purgatoiio, vi. ; Pjradiso, vi. etc. 



Srr/'f.yr I. IFF. OF DAX : [Sept., 

Cato ; he believes in the bucklers which Nunia saw falling from 
heaven, and in the geese of the Capitol.* nut especially do we 
find him a philosopher, bearing with him a religious gravity to 
aid in the accomplishment of his poetic work, in the seclusion 
of studious habits waiting for inspiration, concealing a learned 
reminiscence or the conclusion of a long chain <>( reasonir 
under the boldest images, ready to give a reason for every line 
that has ever flowed from his pen : his scruples carried him 
far that he desired to explain ex-profcsso, by a rigorous logical 
analysis, the ballads and sonnets wherein his youthful vigor hail 
made its first essay, f Strong with that real strength which is 
not rigidity, which is supple because it is living, Dante kn> 
how to take his share in the needs and duties of life, and then 
to make his wide experiences converge in unwearying devotion 
to his more especial occupations. He never deemed that appli- 
cation to letters constituted a species of priesthood exempt. from 
public burdens ; he did not deprive his country of his time that 
he might make for himself a life of selfish leisure. His eloquence, 
never prodigally expended, flowed freely forth in the councils, 
as did his blood under the standard, of his native city. It was 
this desire to multiply himself in a certain fashion for the general 
good, ordinarily confided to inexpert hands, which made him 
exclaim, when hesitating whether or not to accept a certain di- 
plomatic mission : " If I stay, who goes ? and if I go, who 
stays ? " \ He also knew how to fulfil the gentle requirements 
of social life. Fiiendship found him faithful to its demands; his 
melancholy countenance brightened in the society of women and 
young people ; friends vaunted the grace of his manners and the 
courtesy of his speech amid such surroundings. As he did not 
hide himself in haughty retirement, neither did he intrench 
himself in the domain wherein he was sure of reigning ; he did 
not disdain to cultivate arts, such as music and drawing, in which 
he could readily meet with others more skilled than himself.^ 
However, a rare temperance, a self-possession that could seize 
upon the most fleeting opportunities tor learning, an intention so 



Purgatorio, i.; Cmvity, iv. 5, 28 : O most sacred breast ol Cato. who will dare to - 
of thee ? " DC Munanhid, ii. 

t Vita NUOIKI, passim. Lionardo Arctino, / '//<; Ji Dante. 

{Boccaccio, I'itadi Dante: "t>'io sto chi \n: .ista?" 

$ Boccaccio, Vita di Dante. Villani. somewhere mentioning him. e;i!N him (History. Hk. 
in. chap, cxxxiv.), " An ungracious philosopher. Uut we may well believe liiat he repr 
the poet in his darker moments; those, for instame. whuli lie 

courtiers and buffoons, at the courts ol some of thr great lords. See also Mtaiorie per /.; I'ita 
di Dante. 1'clli. 



1890.] STUDENT LIFE OF DANTE. 775 

rapt that nothing could deprive it of its prey, and, finally, a 
memory to which the mournful necessity of re-learning anything 
was unknown, permitted him to pursue his favorite studies, and 
made it seem as if time were less avaricious of hours to him 
than to other men. Thus he was seen sitting in the principal 
street of Sienna, bending over a book, totally absorbed during 
the entire continuance of a public festival, of which he seemed 
not even to be aware. 

But, as human nature must always betray in some spot the 
original wound by which it has been weakened, the noble quali- 
ties of Dante were occasionally dishonored by their own very 
excesses. Amid civil feuds his hatred of iniquity became a 
blind rage which could no longer grant pardon even to mistakes. 
Under such circumstances it is said that, in the confusion of his 
thoughts, he would throw stones at women and children whom 
he heard calumniating his party. Or again, when in a philosophic 
discussion he foresaw certain objections on the part of his adver- 
saries, he gave vent to his indignation by saying: "Such brutal 
doctrines ought to be met, not with arguments, but with a knife."* 
Likewise, his extreme sensibility, although protected by the 
memory of Beatrice, made but a feeble resistance to the seduc- 
tions of beauty: the collection of his lyrics has kept the traces 
of these passing affections, which he vainly endeavored half-way 
to veil by ingenious interpretations.! Even study, the refuge of 
so many sorely tempted souls, had snares for him. The 
knowledge of one's self, so highly recommended by antique wisdom, 
is not without danger for great men; it exposes them to share by 
anticipation in the admiration of posterity. The friends of Dante 
have regretted that he did not leave to them the entire care of 
his fame ; we are pained when we see him anxious for honors 
scarcely worthy of him. It is impossible not to recognize in his 
writings a learning sometimes inopportune, which solicits applause 
by occasioning surprise, and locutions voluntarily obscure which 
humiliate the simplicity of the reader. These faults bear their 
own penalty with them; for, by rendering their author less acces- 
sible, they sometimes deprive him of the familiar and affectionate 
homage proffered by the lips of masses of his fellow-beings. \ 
And yet these weaknesses, to make themselves forgotten, are 
possessed of a wonderful secret repentance. In the thirteenth 

* Boccaccio, Vita di Dante ; Convito, iv. 14. 

t Canzoni, passim; Convito, ii. Dionisi gravely maintains the hypothesis which makes of 
the loves of Uanie so many allegories, and of Gentucca, simply a figure of the party of the 
biani_hi. 

\lnfenio, xxxiv. 30; I'urgatorio, ii. I, etc., etc. 



776 5; / A/.\ [Sept , 

century the art, now so common, <>f endeavoring to legitimate 
by the advancement of easy-going doctrine^, \va^ but little 
known. Men then came, sooner or later, to ask at the hands of 
religion the expiation and th of which she is the ever- 

during di>pensatrix. And thus our poet did. In one of liis iiioNt 
beautiful cantos he represent-, himself " with downcast eyes like 
to a child confessing its faults," acknowledging in the face of all 
the ages the errors of his youth.* Later, he left as his last will 
and testament the hymn to the Blessed Virgin wherein lie otier-> 
from his heart as the ransom of the evil days that he had 
lived. He wished to be garbed on his bier in the habit of St. 
Francis.f Anything further is the secret of God, who alone 
could judge that character, one of the greatest that ever came 
forth from his creative hand to play its part here below. His 
contemporaries failed to comprehend him. Their wonder found 
expression in fabulous tales, and Dante had his legend. A pro- 
phetic dream was spoken of, sent to his mother on the eve of 
his birth ; the reality of his journeys through the realm of the 
dead was positively affirmed ; a double miracle was said to have 
preserved his poem, twice lost; several days after leaving the 
earth he was announced as having appeared, crowned with a 
luminous aureole. J If he was not permitted to share in the 
incense offered to the saints, that due to poets was never lacking 
to him. 

* Purgatorio, xxx. 36; xxxi. la, 23, etc. See also t'Ul., 14. He confesses himself inclined 
to pride, ibid., xiii. 43; and Co anger, xv., in fine. 

t See the sonnet, " O mother of virtue ! " See also Memotie ptr la Vita di Dante. 
t Boccaccio, Vita; Benvenuto da Imolt, Pnefatu ad Divin. Conued. 

LUCIA D. PYCIIONVSK \. 



1890.] FIRST EVENING AT SEA. 



777 



FIRST EVENING AT SEA. 

GRAY in the fading skies, 
Gray in the deep sea under ; 
And dark on its wide white wings 
The good ship quivers and springs, 
Dipping across the gloom and cleaving the waves asunder 

As a sea-gull circles and flies. 



Loneliness half and deep peace, 

Twins of the silence, draw near me ; 
Soft as the cooing of birds, 
Kisses and lovingest words 
From lips that I touched last night come through the dark to 

cheer me. 
And ere their whisperings cease 



Blend with each lingering tone 
Voices and words more tender ; 
That long in the church-yard sod 
Have kept the sweet silence of God, 

And now, looking backward to earth from heaven's more boun- 
teous splendor, 
Are speaking to me alone ! 

MARY ELIZABETH BLAKE. 



VOL. I.I. SO 



778 Tin I.: IF. of FATIII-.K HI-CKI K. [Sept ., 

I III I II- 1. <>! FAT! 1 1. R IIIX KKR.- 

CHAPTKK IX. 

r-QCl E I lONIN 

NOT finding any solution of his spiritual difficulties at either 
Fruitlands or Brook Farm, Isaac Hecker turned his face once 
more toward the home from which he had departed nearly a 
year before. He expected little from this step, but his state i 
mind was now one in which he had begun to anticipate, at any turn, 
spme light on the dispositions of Providence in his regard which 
might determine his course for good and all. And, meant ini 
patient waiting was all that lay in his own power, it seemed 
the wisest course to yield to the solicitations of his kindred and 
abide results in his own place. He did not go there at < 
however, after quitting Alcott's community, but returned to Brook 
Farm for a fortnight. His journal during this period offers many 
pages worthy of transcription. 

It is possible that we have readers who may deem us too 
copious in our quotations from this source. But, if wearisome to 
any, yet they are necessary to those for whom this Life is espe- 
cially written. The lessons to be learned from Father Hecker 
are mainly those arising from the interaction between God's super- 
natural dealings with him, and his own natural characteristic 
This fact, moreover, is typical as well as personal, for the great 
question of his day, which was the dawning of our own, was the 
relation of the natural man to the regenerating influences of 
Christianity. This being so, it is plain to our own mind that no 
adequate representation of the man could be made without a 
free use of these early journals. They seem to us one of the 
chief Providential results of the spiritual isolation of his youth 
He was in a manner driven to this intimate self-communing, on 
one hand by his never-satisfied craving for sympathetic compan- 
ionship, and on the other by his complete unacquaintance with 
a kind of reading which even at this point might have shed some 
light upon his interior difficulties. In later years he enjoyed, in 
the study of accredited Christian mystics, that kind of satisfac- 
tion which a traveller experiences who, after Inn.; wanderings in 
what had seemed a trackless desert, obtains a map which IMI 

* Copyright, 1890, Rev. A. I-. Hrwit. All rights reserved 






1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 779 

only makes his whole route plain, but assures him that he did 
not stray from well-known paths even during his times of most 
extreme bewilderment. 

That the diary has the character we here claim for it, and is 
not the mere ordinary result of a morbid and aimless introspec- 
tion, is plainly shown by the speedy cessation of excessive 
self-analysis on Father Hecker's part, after he had actually 
reached the goal to which he was at this period alternately 
sweetly led and violently driven. But it is also shown by the 
deep humility which is revealed precisely by this sharp probing 
of his interior. Though he felt himself in touch with God in 
some special way, yet it was with so little pride that it was his 
profound conviction, as it remained, indeed, throughout his life, 
that what he had all had or might have. But the study of his 
interior thus forced upon him was far from a pleasing task. "It 
is exceedingly oppressive to me to write as I now do," we find 
him complaining; "continually does myself appear in my writing. 
I would that my / were wholly lost in the sea of the Spirit 
wholly lost in God." 

We preface the subjoined extract from the diary with the re- 
mark that Father Hecker's reading of signs of the Divine will in 
men and events often brought him to the verge of credulity, over 
which he was prevented from stepping by his shrewd native 
sense. Though he insisted all his life on interpreting them as 
signal flags of the Divine wisdom, this did not hinder him from 
gaining a reputation for sound practical judgment : 

"Brook Farm, July 31, 1843. Man is the symbol of all mys- 
teries. Why is it that all things seem to me to be instinct with 
prophecy? I do not see any more individual personalities, but 
priests and oracles of God. The age is big with a prophecy 
which it is in labor to give birth to." 

" My experience is different now from what it has been. It is 
much fuller ; every fibre of my being seems teeming with sensi- 
tive life. I am in another atmosphere of sentiment and thought. 
I have less real union and sympathy with her, and with 
those whom I have met much nearer heretofore. It appears as 
if their atmosphere was denser, their life more natural, more in 
the flesh. Instead of meeting them on my highest, I can only 
do so by coming down into my body, of which it seems to me 
that I am now almost unconscious. There is not that sense of 
heaviness, dulness, fleshliness, in me. I experience no natural 



THE LIFE OF FATIIKH HECKER. [><-pt . 

desires, no impure thoughts nur wanderings of fancy. Still, I 
more intensely, and am tilled to overflowing with love, and 
with desire for union. lint there is no ,->m- to nn--.-t me where I 
ti:i, and I cannot meet them where they are." 

All his life Father Hecker was on the lookout for the g: 
human influences which run across those of religion, either to 
svell their volume or t> their force. These are mainly 

the transmissions of heredity, and the environments that are racial, 
temporal, epochal, or local. This enduring tendency is fore- 
shadowed in the following extra 

"August 2, 1843. I have been thinking much of late about 
the very great influence which nationality and the family progen- 
itors have upon character. Men talk of universality, impartiality, 
many-sidedness, free judgment, unbiased opinion, and so on, 
when in reality their national and family dispositions are the 
centre and ground of their being, and hence of their opinions. 
They appear to be most themselves when they show these traits 
of character. They are most natural and earnest and at home 
when they speak from this link which binds them to the pist. 
Then their hearts are opened, and they speak with a glow of 
eloquence and a peculiar unction which touch the same chord in 
the breasts of those who hear them. It is well for man to feel 
his indebtedness to the past which lives in him and without 
which he would not be what he is. He is far more its creature 
than he gives himself credit for. He reproduces daily the senti- 
ments and thoughts of the dim and obscure before. There are 
certain ideas and aspirations which have not had their fulfilment, 
but which run through all men from the beginning and which 
are continually reproduced. There is a unity of race, called 
Humanity; one of place, called Nationality; one of birth, called 
Kindred ; one of affinity, called Love and Friendship. By all 
these we are greatly influenced. They all make their mark upon 
the man." 

" The faculties which take cognizance of the inner world h 
been awakened in only a few of the human race, and the 
distinguish them, have been called prophets, miracle-workers, 
Providential men, seers, and poets. Now, their privilege is that 
of all men in a greater or less degree, just as is the case with 
regard to the faculties which relate to the outward world. For 
when men in general were .is ignorant about the exterior world 
as they now are about the interior, the men of science, the 
::omers, the mathematicians, the founders of the arts, were 



1 890.] THE LIFE OF FA THER HECKER. 78 1 

held to be miraculous, gods, and they were deified. What any 
one man (and this is a most comfortable and cheering thought i 
has been or has done, all men may in a measure be or do, for 
each is a type, a specimen of the whole human race. If it is 
said in reply, ' These miracles or great acts, which you hold as 
actual, are mere superstitious dreams,' I care not. That would 
be still more glorious for us, for then they are still to be per- 
formed, they are in the coming time, these divine prophetic 
instincts are yet to be actualized. The dreams of Orpheus, the 
inspired strains of the Hebrew bards, and, above all, the prophe- 
cies of Christ, are before us. The divine instincts will be realized 
as surely as there is a God above who inspires them. It is the 
glory of God that they should be so; it is His delight. This 
world must become heaven. This is its destiny ; and our destiny, 
under God, is to make it so. Prophecy is given to encourage 
and nourish our hopes and feed our joys, so that we may say 
with Job, ' I know that although worms shall eat this flesh, and 
my bones become dust, yet at the latter day I shall see my 
Redeemer face to face.' ' 

The sentences which follow can be paralleled by words taken 
from all who have truly interpreted the doctrine of Christ by their 
lives or their writings: 

" To him that has faith all things are possible, for faith is 
an act of the soul; thy faith is the measure of thy power." 

" If men would act from the present inspiration of their souls 
they would gain more knowledge than they do by reading or 
speculating." 

" No man in his heart can ask for more than he has. Think 
of this deeply. God is just. We have what we ought to have, 
even according to our own sense of justice." 

" The desire to love and be beloved, to have friends with 
whom we can converse, to enter society which we enjoy is it 
not best to deny and sacrifice these desires ? It may be said 
that, gratified, they add to life, and the question is how to 
increase life, not how to diminish it. But by denying them, 
would not our life gain by flowing in a more heavenly di- 
rection ? " 

" We are daily feeding the demons that are in us by our 
wicked thoughts and sinful acts ; these are their meat and drink. 
I make them gasp sometimes. My heart laughs quite merrily to 
think of it. When I am hungry, and there is something tempt- 



;S/ TV/A l./FK Of 1-ATHKK IlKCKEK. [Sept.. 

ing "'i the table, hunger, like a serpent, conn- creeping u\> into 
my tlirc.it ami laps its dry tongue with eagenu-ss for its prey, 
but it often returns chagrined at its discomfiture." 

That which tempts us we should deny, no matter how 
innocent it is in itself. If it tempt--, away with it, until it tempts 
no more. Then partake of it, for it is then only that you can 
do so prudently and with temperance." 

"All our thoughts and emotions are caused by some agent 
acting on us. This is true of all the sense- and the spiritual 
faculties. Hence we should by all possible means purify and 
refine our organism, so that we may hear the most delicate, the 
sweetest, the stillest sounds and murmurings of the angels who 
are about us. How much fuller and richer would be our life if 
we were more acutely sensitive and finely textured! How many 
exquisite delights nature yields which we are not yet aware of! 
What a world surrounds us of which none but holy men, 
prophets, and poets have had a glimpse ! " 

"The soul is a plate on which the senses daguerreotyp.- 
indelibly pictures of the outer world. How cautious should we 
be where we look, what we hear, what smell, or feel, or taste ' 
And how we should endeavor that all around us should be made 
beautiful, musical, fragrant, so that our souls may be awak 
to a divine sense of life without a moment's interruption!" 

" O God, be Thou my helper, my strength and my redeemer! 
May I live wholly to Thee ; give me grace and obedience to 
Thy Spirit. May all self be put from me so that I may enter 
into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. Awaken me, raise 
me up, restore me, O Jesus Christ, Lord, Heavenly King!" 

In reading what next follows it must be remembered that at 
the time when it was written Isaac Hecker had absolutely n > 
knowledge of Catholic mystical theology. It is since that day 
that English-speaking Catholics have had access to the great 
authorities on this subject through adequate translations. Hut 
what little he had learned from other sources, combined with 
his own intuitional and experimental knowledge of human capa- 
bilities for penetrating the veil, had already furnished him with 
conclusions which nothing in his devoted study of Catholic mys- 
tical writers forced him to lay aside : 



1890-] THE LlFE OF FATHER HECKEK. 783 

" Belief in the special guidance of God has been the faith of 
all deeply religious men. I will not dispute the fact that some 
men are so guided, but will offer an explanation of it which 
seems to me to reconcile it with the regular order of laws estab- 
lished by God. My explanation would be that this guidance is 
not a miraculous power, specially bestowed upon some men, but 
merely a higher degree of ordinary divine guidance. Our ordi- 
nary life is inspired ; the other is only a higher degree of what 
is common to all. The evil which arises from the contrary 
opinion is this: men who have received a higher degree of 
insight believe that it is a special miraculous gift, and that all 
they may say is infallibly true, whereas they still retain their 
own individuality though raised to a purer state of being. 
They have not been so raised in order to found new sects, or 
to cause revolutions, but to fulfil the old, continue and carry it 
on as far as they have been given light to do so. In forming 
new sects they but reproduce their own individualities with all 
their errors. So Swedenborg did, and Wesley, men of modern 
times who were awakened in a greater degree than the mass of 
their fellows. Their mistake lay in their attempt to make 
universal ends out of their individual experiences. In the ordi- 
nary state no man does this, but these, being lifted a little 
above the mass, became intoxicated. The only one, so far as I 
have read, who has had humility equal to his inspiration was 
Jacob Boehmen. Luther, Calvin, Fox, Penn, Swedenborg, Wesley, 
had self in view. Selfism is mixed with their universalism. None 
has spoken truth so pure and universal as Boehmen. Me is the 
most inspired man of modern times. He had more love and 
truth than all the other mystics put together, and fewer faults 
than either one of them taken singly." 



CHAPTER X. 
AT HOME AGAIN. 





IT was the middle of August, 1843, when Isaac Hecker once 
more took up his residence with his family in New York. His 
first endeavor was to sink back again as far as possible into the 
old routine of business. 

" To-morrow I commence to work," he writes on the evening 
of his return. " My interior state is quiet and peaceful. I have 
not met any one yet. My dear mother understands me better 
than any one else. How far business will interfere with my inner 



784 TV/A /,/AA OF FATHEH UI-.CK. [Sept., 

life remains to he sun. <> Lord! help me U> keep my rev/Iution, 
which is not to let the world enter my heart, but to keep it 
looking towanl Thee! My heart has been in a constant pr 
ful state since I ha\. l.een at home. It is busy in its own 
'-.iiK-tuary, its own temple, God. O Lord! presi rve it." 

One of the first noteworthy things revealed by the diary 
which from this time on was kept with less regularity than before 
is that Isaac not only maintained his abstemious habits after his 
return, but increased their rigor. For a robust man, working 
hard for many hours out of every twenty-four, and deprived <>f 
all the pleasant relaxations, literary, conversational and musical, 
to which he had been accustoming himself for many months, the 
choice of such a diet as is described in the following sent 
was certainly extraordinary : 

"August 30. If the past nine months or more are. any evi- 
dence, I find that I can live on very simple diet grains, fruit, 
and nuts. I have just commenced to eat the latter; I drink 
pure water. So far I have had wheat ground and made into un- 
leavened bread, but as soon as we get in a new lot, I shall try 
it in the grain." 

He had evidently at this time a practical conviction of tin- 
truth of a principle which, in after years, he repeated to the 
present writer in the form of a maxim of the transcendentalisis : 
" A gross feeder will never be a central thinker." It is a truth of 
the spiritual no less than of the intellectual order. A little later we 
come upon the following profession of a vegetarian faith, which 
will be apt to amuse as well as to edify the reader: 

" Reasons for not eating animal food. 

" It does not feed the spirit. 

" It stimulates the propensities. 

" It is taking animal life when the other kingdoms offer suffi- 
cient and better increment. 

" Slaughter strengthens the lower instincts. 

" It is the chief cause of the slavery of the kitchen. 

"It generates in the body the diseases animals are subject to. 
and encourages in man their bestiality. 

"Its odor is offensive and its appearance una;sthetic." 

The apprehension under which he had labored, that city life 
would present many temptations which he would find it difficult 






1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 785 

to withstand, appears to have been unfounded. Some few social 
relaxations he now and then permitted himself, but they weie 
mostly very sober-toned. " Last evening I attended a Methodist 
love-feast," is his record of one of these. " In returning I 
stopped at the ward political meeting." Then he notes that 
although the business he follows is especially full of temptations 
as no doubt it was to a man keeping so tight a rein over his 
most natural and legitimate appetites he feels deeply grateful 
that, so far, he has had no need to fear his being led away. 
" What yet remains ? " he adds. " My diet is all purchased and 
all produced by hired labor. I suppose that slave labor pro- 
duces almost all my dress. And I cannot say that I am rightly 
conditioned until all I eat, drink, and wear is produced by love." 

It was a vivid recollection of these early efforts after an ascetic 
perfection which had neither guide nor definite plan, which 
prompted the following vigorous self-appreciation, made by Father 
Hecker two years before his death. He had been speaking of 
some of his youthful experiments in this direction, and ended 
with an amused laugh and the ejaculation, 

" Thank God ! He led me into the Catholic Church. If it 
hadn't been for that I should have been one of the worst cranks 
in the world." 

Here are two expressions taken from the diary of a per- 
manent fact of Father Hecker's individuality. They help to 
explain why he was misunderstood by many in later years : 

" Men have fear to utter absurdities. The head is sceptical 
of the divine oracles of the heart, and before she utters them 
she clothes them in such a fantastic dress that men hear the 
words but lose the life, the thought." 

" We often act to be understood by the heart, not by the 
head; and when the head speaks of its having understood, we 
deny its understanding. It is the secret sympathy of the heart 
which is the only response that is looked for. Speech is cold, 
profane." 

This must recall, to those who were intimate with Father 
Hecker, how often he arrived at his own convictidns by discuss- 
ing them with others while they were yet but partially formed. 
It is a custom with many to do so, mind assisting mind, nega- 
tion provoking affirmation, doubt vanishing with the utterance 
of the truth. In Father Hecker's case his perfect frankness led 



786 ' THE LIFE OF PATH EH HECKI-K. [Sept., 

him, when niiMiit; his own friends, to titter half-formed i<' 
Mum-times sounding startling and erroneous, but s|)oken with a 
view to yet them into proper shape. At surh times it required 
patience to know just what he meant, for he never found it the 
easiest to employ terms whose meaning was convention 

I'.y the first of September such faint hopes as Isaac had 
entertained of adapting himself to the conditions of his home in 
New. York were well-nigh dissipated. But a certain natural 
timidity, joined with the still complete uncertainty he felt .1 
what his true course should be, made him dissemble his disquiet 
so long as it was bearable. After a month or two, by a mutual 
agreement between his brothers and himself which :.ited 

him from much of the manual labor which they still shared with 
the men in their employment, he devoted himself to an occupa- 
tion more accordant to his mind. II set to work to make 
single beds and private rooms for the workmen, contriving various 
conveniences and means of occasional solitude for them, and in 
other ways doing all in his power to achieve for them the pri- 
vileges he found so necessary for himself. Of these eitorts we, 
get occasional glimpses in the diary. But it is, in the main, 
devoted to more impersonal and larger topics, and the fact 
his daily employment, as just given, have been gained from other 
sources. 

"September i. There are two ways in which the spirit may 
live itself out. One is to leave all these conditions, purchase a 
spot of ground, and live according to its daily dictates. The 
other is to make these conditions as harmonic as possible by 
giving the men " (workmen) " an associative interest in the 
accumulations of our associative labor. Both extremes require 
renunciation of property and of self. Love, universal love is the 
ruler, and only by it can the spirit find peace or be crowned 
with the highest happiness." 

" The mystery of man's being, the unawakencd capacities in 
him, we are not half aware of. A few of the race, the prophets, 
sages, and poets, give us a glimpse of his high destiny. Alas ! 
that men should be on the borders of such mighty truths and 
stand as blind and dumb as lower animals before them ! " 

" Balaam sometimes, but ignorantly, utters true prophecies. 
A remark I heard to-day leads me to say this. Speaking of 
diet a man said: '\Vhy, what do you intend? At last you will 
have men to live on God.' We must become God -like, or God- 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 787 

full. Live as He lives, become one with Him. Until we arc 
reconciled with our Father we are aliens, prodigals. Until we 
can say, My Father and I are one, we have not commenced to 
be. We must fulfil what the Apostle said (and it means, per- 
haps, more than we commonly imagine) : ' In God we live and 
move and have our being.' ' 

" The deeper and more profound a truth is, the less proof 
can you give in its support." 

" September 8. On the evening of the 6th I went to see the 
French Opera Company in Auber's ' Black Domino.' It did not 
please me as well as some music I have heard, though parts of 
it were very beautiful. The hymns of the nuns were very 
sweet. The thought occurred to me that if the Church does 
not provide religious gratifications for the true wants of humanity, 
she must be silent if men feed them profanely. It is because 
the Church has not done her duty that there are so many 
secular societies for Reformation, Temperance, and so on. The 
Church has provided for the salvation of the sinner's soul by 
means of spiritual acts, such as prayer, penance, the Eucharist 
and other sacrame.nts. But now she must provide terrestrial 
sacraments for the salvation and transfiguration of the body." 

" We should strive constantly to actualize the ideal we per- 
ceive. When we do realize all the beauty and holiness that we 
see, we are not called to deny ourselves, for then we are living 
as fully on all sides as we have capacity to do. Are we not in 
this state? Then, if we are sincere, we will give up lower and 
unnecessary gratifications for the sake of the ideal we have in 
view. 

" I would die to prove my immortality." 

"At times we are called to rely on Providence, to be im- 
prudent and reckless according to the wisdom of the world. So 
I am willing to be thought. Each of us has an individual char- 
acter to act out, under the inspiration of God, and this is the 
highest and noblest we can do. We are forms differing from one 
another, and if we are acting under the inspirations of the High- 
est, we are doing our uttermost; more the angels do not. What 
tends to hinder us from realizing the ideal which our vision sees 
must be denied, be it self, wealth, opinion, or death." 

" The Heart says, ' Be all that you can.' The Intellect says, 
' When you are all that you can be what then ? ' 



,-xs Tin 1 l : Aiiii'K Hi-(Ki.K. [Sept.. 

" Infinite love is tin- KIM- uf tin smallest act of love, and 
when we K>ve with our uhole IK-MIL;, we are in and one 

with (ii'il." 

"Increase thy love by being true to that thuu hast if thou 
\\mildst be nearer to God." 

"To love .is to lose one's self ami gain (1ml. To be all in 
love is to be one with God." 

"When the Spirit beget * us we are no more; the Spirit i-. 
and there is nothing else." 

" There is much debauchery in' speaking wilfully. 

" Every act of self is sin, is a lie. 

" The Spirit will lead you into solitude and silence if it lias 
something to teach you. 

"You must be born again to know the truth. It cannot l>< 
inculcated. 

" To educate is to bring forth, not to put in. To put in is 
death ; to flow out is life." 

Lest the reader may have got an impression, from any of 
the extracts already given, that Isaac Hecker was puffed up by 
the pride of his own innocence, we transcribe what follows. It 
shows that he did not fall under the Apostle's condemnation : 
" If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the 
truth is not in us." It was written on the last Sunday of Sep- 
tember, and, after this long outpouring of confession, longing, 
and weakness, the diary was not again resumed for nearly a 
month. The desire expressed in its second paragraph for the 
kind of spiritual refreshment which in after years he so often 
enjoyed under the name of a " retreat," seems noteworthy. 

"September 24, 1843. The human heart is wicked above all 
things. The enemy of man is subtle and watchful beyond con- 
ception. Instead of being on the way of goodness, I am just 
rinding out the wickedness of my nature, its crookedness, its im- 
purity, its darkness. I want deep humility and forgetfulness of 
self. I am just emerging out of gross darkness and my sight is 
but dim, so that my iniquities are not wholly plain to my vision. 

"At present I feel as if a week of quiet silence would be tin- 
means of opening more deeply the still flowing fountains of divine 
life. I would cut off all relations but that of my soul with the 
Spirit all others seem intrusions, worldly, frivolous. The in- 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 



789 



pouring of the Spirit is checked by so much attention to other 
than divine things. In the bustle and noisy confusion its voice 
is unheard. 

" I feel that one of my greatest weaknesses, because it leads 
me to so much sin, is my social disposition. It draws me so 
often into perilous conversations, and away from silence and 
meditation with the Spirit. Lately I have felt almost ready to 
say that good works are a hindrance to the gate of heaven. 
Pride and self-approbation are so often mixed with them. I feel 
that nothing has been spoken against the vain attempt to trust 
in good works which my soul does not fully accord with. This 
is a new, a very new experience for me." 

The foregoing must be understood in the sense of good 
works hindering better works. Isaac Hecker felt his noblest as- 
pirations to be, for the moment at any rate, towards solitude 
and the passive state of prayer ; and in this he was hindered by 
the urgency of his zeal for the propagation of philanthropic 
schemes and his great joy in communing with men whom he 
hoped to find like-minded with himself. The time came when 
he was able to join the two states, the inner purifying the outer 
man and directing his energies by the instinct of the Holy Spirit. 
This entry goes on as follows : 

" By practice of our aspirations, ideals, and visions, we con- 
vert them into real being. 

"We should be able to say, 'Which of you convinceth me 
of sin ? ' before we are fit to preach to others in such a way 
that our preaching may have a practical effect upon society. 

" Did all our efforts flow into realizing the teachings of 
the Spirit, we should do much more good and be greater in 
the sight of God than we are now by so much speaking and 
writing. But let us be watchful that the pride of good works 
does not take the place of that of speaking and writing. 

" By our sins and many weaknesses we are prevented from 
entering the Promised Land, and must die just in sight of it. 
Instead of being humble, willing, and self-denying in our youth, 
and being led by the Spirit of God, we keep on in the spirit 
of the world and give all the substance of our being to its 
service. And when we are nearly worn out we flee to God, and 
die, perhaps, in sight of heaven, instead of having been among 
its inhabitants, living in it upon earth, in the full bloom of our 
youthful joy of life. . '. . 



790 THE LIFE OF FATIU-.K HECKI-.K. [Sept., 

"The Lord has been good to me and my In-art is filled 
with His warm love. Blessed be Thou, O God! for Thou hast 
given me a ta-,te of Thy sweetnes>. Thou hast given me gra- 
titude and thankfulness and an oversowing heart of praise. I 
would stand still and shout and bless God. It is God in us that 
believes in God. Without the light of God we should be in 
total darkness, and He is the only source of light. The more 
of God we have in us, the more we >ee beyond us. 

" Thy inspiration, O God! is love and wisdom. In Thee 
they are one, a's light and warmth are in the fire. 

" Thou art the true, eternal food of life, and he that has 
tasted Thee can never be at rest until he is wholly filled with 
Thee. Lord, when we are without Thee we are lost, dead, in 
darkness. It is in and by Thy presence that we live and move 
and have our being. 

" Ever more, O Lord, increase Thy Spirit in us until betw< 
us there is no more we or Thee, but Thou, O Father, art all ! 

" Like the fixed light in a crystal which flashes back the light 
of the sun, so does the soul' of man reflect God. 

A good life consists in passive as well as active virt 

" O Lord,, so fill me that nothing shall be left but Thee, and 
I may be no more." 

One would be tempted to believe that none but a master in 
the spiritual life could have written the sentences which imme- 
diately follow this outburst of love and praise. Yet remember 
that Isaac Hecker was not yet twenty-four, and that he knew 
nothing of the ways of the Spirit except what the Spirit Him- 
self had directly taught him : 

" The reason why men are perplexed and in darkness about 
their being and the questions which their being often asks, is not 
that these are insoluble, but that the disposition and spirit in 
which a solution is attempted is so contrary to that in which they 
may be solved, that they appear as hidden mysteries. 

" When we come together to converse, it should be to learn 
from each other what good we can and ought to do, and so 
mingle the brightness of one with the dimness of the other. 
Our meetings should be such that we should go away feeling 
that God had been with us and multiplied our blessings. The 
question should be, ' Brother, can you teach me the way of the 
Lord in a more perfect manner than that in which I tread it, 
so that my soul may be increased and God abide in me more 
and more?' Oh! he is my brother, my' master, who leads me 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 791 

to do more and more good and to love and live more of God. 
He that does not increase my heart in love or my mind in true 
godly wisdom, is unprofitable and negatively injurious to me. 

" Wilfulness locks up while willingness" (docility) "unlocks 
the portal to the divine mysteries of God. I would not at- 
tempt to solve a mystery by intellect, but by being." 

"October 17. It is some time since I have written in this 
book. All my spare time has been occupied in writing letters to 
my friends, meditating, feeling, arranging matters with my brothers 
regarding our relations with each other, and attending to t he- 
business. I have had little time to read and to visit my friends. 
Since I have written my feelings have become more definite, my 
thoughts clearer and more distinct, and my whole mind more 
systematic. 

" The settlement which has been made with my brothers gives 
me the opportunity of doing what my spirit has long demanded 
of me. This afternoon I have been working on their bedroom, 
making it larger and more pleasant for their minds. This is the 
first movement I have made toward ameliorating their condition. 
I hope that God will give me strength to continue." 

" October 18. I feel this afternoon a deep want in my soul 
unsatisfied by my circumstances here, the same as I experienced 
last winter when I was led from this place. It is at the very 
depth of my being. Ah, it is deeply stirred ! Oh, could I utter 
the aching void I feel within ! Could I know what would fill it ! 
Alas ! nothing that can be said, no, nothing, can touch the aching 
spot. In silence I must remain and let it ache. I would cover 
myself with darkness and hide my face from the light. Oh, 
could I but call upon the Lord ! Could I but say, Father ! 
Could I feel any relationship ! " 

" November 3. All things considered, could I, under any cir- 
cumstances, have more opportunities for self-culture and for 
doing good than I have in my present position ? 

" For one thing, there is too much demand on me for phy- 
sical action. My heart and head have not their share of time. 
But when I consider, I am at a loss to know how we can possibly 
diminish our business in any way without a still greater demand 
on us for physical labor in consequence of diminishing it. 

" Yesterday afternoon I went alone in my bedroom and I 
was led to pray, and to think what more I can do for the 
friends around me than I now do. This morning I arose and 



792 Tin-: /,/// oh I-'ATIIKK HKCKER. [Sept. 

prayed, and felt determined not to let any outward event disturb 
my inward life ; that nothing should ruffle my inward peace, 
and that this day should be one of interior life, let come what 
would. 

" Often I think of my past life and my present with such a 
strength of emotion that I would cry aloud, '() Heaven help 
me from my course ! This is not the life I would lead, but how 
shall I change it ? O Lord ! wilt Thou guide me and k-ul me, 
no matter what pain or distress I may have to pass through, to 
the true path Thou wouldst have me go in ? Oh ! I thank 
Thee for all Thou hast in any way inflicted on me ; it has been 
to me the greatest blessing I could have received. And, () 
Lord ! chasten me more, for I need it. How shall I live so that 
1 may be the best I can be under any conditions? If those 
in which I now am are not the best, where shall I go or how 
shall I change them ? Teach me, O Lord ! and hear my humble 
prayer.'" 

The following account of his curious inner experiences tells 
of the positive interference of God and His angels, supplement- 
ing the calmer moods in which Isaac longed for and struggled 
towards the settled condition only to be attained after his entering 
the Church. 

" November 5. How is it and why is it that I feel around 
me the constant presence of invisible beings who affect my sensi- 
bility, and with whom I converse, as it were, in thought and 
feeling, but not in expression ? At times they so move me that 
I would escape them, if I could, by running away from where 1 
am. I can scarcely keep still ; I feel like beating, raving, and 
grasping 'what I know not. Ah ! it is an unearthly feeling, and 
painfully afflicts my heart. How to get rid of it I do not know. 
If I remain quietly where I am, by collecting its scattered rays 
it burns more deeply into my soul, bringing forth deep sighs, 
groans, and at times demanding all my energy to repress an un- 
natural howl. 

" How shall I escape this ? By remaining here and trying 
to bear it, or by travelling ? To do the latter has often oc- 
curred to me of late. By such a cause I was driven from 
home last winter. What the result will be this time I cannot 
tell ; but if I did know, I would not wait, as I did then, until it 
came on me with such power as to be torturing in the extreme. 
Ah, what nervous strength and energy I feel at such times ! 
If I speak of it to my brothers, they cannot understand me, never 



1890.] THE LIFE OF FATHER HECKER. 793 

having had the same experience. My timidity, which does not 
wish to be thought of as desiring anything extra on account of 
my life, makes me bear it until it is unendurable. Hence I am 
silent so long as it does not speak for itself, which extremity 
might be prevented were circumstances other than they are. 
Since they are not, let it be borne with, say strength and resig 
nation united with hope. Tis this that is fabled in Prometheus 
and Laocoon and how well fabled*, too." 

It is significant that after every extraordinary disturbance, 
such as the above, he experienced the impulse to study the 
credentials of claimants in the outer religious world, the envoys 
of the Deity to man ; and this especially concerning the Cath- 
olic Church. He goes on at once to say : 

" Of late I have felt more disposed to look into church 
matters than for six months past. Last evening I made a visit 
to the Rev. Mr. Haight " (an Episcopal clergyman) " and con- 
versed with him about that subject for an hour and a half. 
We differed very littlei in our opinions. If the Church of Rome 
has fallen into corruptions from her over-warmth, the Anglican 
has neglected some of her duties through her coldness. And 
if the Anglican receives the first five or six councils as legiti- 
mate and rejects the Council of Trent as not a full one, still, 
as an individual, I think Rome did not establish or enjoin any- 
thing in those decrees " (the Tridentine) " which was not in 
harmony with the Spirit of Christ, the Scriptures, and tradition. 
But the Anglican thinks she has, and hence, in his judgment, 
they are unwarrantable and unnecessary." 

"November 15. How does Jesus commune with Humanity 
through the Church ? Does He now commune with the Church ? 
Was the life given by Him to His immediate disciples all that 
has been given and transmitted to us, or does He now co.nmune 
with the visible Church ? . And how ? He promised to be with 
His disciples even unto the end of the world, to send the Com- 
forter who should lead them into all truth, and to intercede for 
us with the Father. The Church holds that its sacraments and 
forms are the visible means for communing with the invisible 
that grace is imparted through them to the worthy receiver. 
Is it true that such grace is imparted ? If it is, it will be 
shown by its fruits. Contrast the Catholic who believes most in 
the sacraments with the Quaker who does not believe in them 

VOL. LI. 51 



794 POESY. . [Sept., 

at all as religious or moral forces. Certainly, if the sacraments 
have any beneficial effect, it should be shown in the contrast 
between those v.ho totally deny their efficacy and those who 
religiously believe in them. Now, does this show what one 
would naturally expect to flow from faith in the sacrament 

" November 20. I feel in better health than I have ever had, 
both mind and body, having at the same time an incn 
sensitiveness, so that the touch of any one I cannot bear. Also, 
I am conscious of a more constant spiritual communion. I feel 
more vividly and distinctly the influence and presence spiritual 
presence of others. 

" I lie down in my bed at night with the same feelings with 
which I rise in the morning. I anticipate as much from on 
from the other. The events, emotions, and thoughts which come 
in my sleep are as much a part of my real life as those of the 
day. Waking and sleeping are two forms of existence. To me 
the latter state is full of interest and expectation. The tw > 
^tates mutually act upon each other. . . . 

"Hope, Faith, Wish, are the presentiments of sight, the 
evidences of becoming sight to the senses. They are the fore- 
runners of vision. It is by them we know. . . . 

" To believe is to see, not with the senses but with the 
higher faculties of the soul, reason, imagination, hopj. . . 

" I believe that every faculty may be elevated to the state of 
prophecy. 

" Reasoning is faith struggling with doubt." 



POESY. 

NlGH numberless in form is Poesy ; 
As Nature's self, her phases fancy-free; 
Her soul enraptured Nature's warmest breath, 
For, Nature lacking, she lies chill in death. 

Her presence e'er, herself we scarce descry ; 

Her draughts we drain, the cup ne'er courts our eye ; 

And should we seek to solve her mystery, 

Nor she herself, nor aught of hers is nigh. 



1890.] FOESY. 795 

Thus Poesy her peerless beauty shrouds, 

Scarce e'er is seen save dimly, as through clouds; 

But when she glads the soul of wistful seers, 

Through shapes and squnds as these, her spirit peers: 

A gleam they glimpse of Nature's hidden light, 
Revealed, in waking dreams, to fancy's sight; 
Then, in a setting formed of language fair, 
Full featly cased like lambent jewel rare; 



Soul-swaying breezes wafted with the flow 
Of spirits' softest breath and brightest glow ; 
The redolence which hope and joy inspires, 
When angel censers breathe their fragrant fires ; 

Distilment of the " music of the spheres," 
In rapture caught by heaven-entranced ears, 
And artist-wrought to shapes of symmetry, 
And caroled forth in dulcet symphony; 

Or crystal stream, from out whose depths divine 
The face and form of beauty splendent shine, 
Fair-mirrored as the nymphs to whose lone gaze 
The frighted flood reflects her fond amaze; 

Or songful glade, sweet-tuned with ling'ring lay 
Of diverse-throated tones, now sad, now gay, 
Now soaring high the lissome lark above, 
Now sinking low with plaint of doleful dove, 

Now flowing soft as cloud-sprent beams of night, 
Now panting fierce in floods of rare delight; 
Thus changeful flits the soul of Poesy 
A viewless power, e'en like Divinity. 

W. McDEVITT. 



796 THE I. ATE FATHER C. /'. MEEHAN. [Sept., 



THE LATE FATHER C. P. MEEHAN. 

BY the death of thr K. \. Charles Patrick Meehan, which sad 
event occurred only three days before the feast of Ireland's ;. 
apostle, and one of his patron saints, Ireland has lost one of 
the greatest ornaments that her priesthood and her literature 
have ever known. Indeed, while Irish literature lasts the name 
of Father Meehan will fill therein a great and an honored place. 
His works, which are numerous, are all connected with Ireland 
by their subjects, and are in their spirit intensely patriotic 
using the word patriotic in its highest and noblest sense. As 
his name is almost as well known in America that greater Ireland 
as at home, and as a new generation is growing up which will 
know the man only by his works and the fame which they 
brought him, I will give a short sketch of his career ; and I 
am the more encouraged to do this from having had the honor 
and privilege of being numbered among his frienils. 

Father Meehan was born at No. 141 Great Britain Street, 
Dublin, on the I2th of July, 1812, the same year and within 
a few months of the days of the births of his friends Father 
John Kenyon and Mr. John Martin. But, although Dublin 
claims his birthplace, his earliest recollections were all associated 
with Ballymahon, in the County Longford, where his ancestors 
for thirteen centuries were keepers and custodians of the shrine 
of St. Molaise, now one of the most famous relics of the Royal 
Irish Academy, Dublin. Here he received his primary educa- 
tion, and while still young his mind conceived that taste for 
history which afterwards, aided by patient research, culminated 
in the series of brilliant historical works by which his name will 
be for ever remembered. 

While yet a youth of sixteen he evinced such manifest 
ability and marks of a divine vocation that his parents decided 
upon sending him to the Irish College in Rome to study for 
the priesthood, which he did under the presidency of the cele- 
brated Rev. Dr. Christopher H. Boylan He was ordained priest 
in 1834, and, returning to Ireland, was appointed by Dr. Murray, 
then Archbishop of Dublin, to a curacy in the rural parish of 
Kathdrum, in the County Wicklou. Here his inquiring mind 
busied itself with local traditions, embodying principally the 



1890.] THE LATE FATHER C. P. MEEIIAN. 797 

exploits of the O'Byrnes and the O'Tooles, friends of Hugh 
O'Neill, and for a long time the champions of their native ter- 
ritory against the encroachments of the "Pale." These researches 
afterwards took shape in a " History of the O'Tooles, Lords 
Powerscourt." In December, 1835, he was transferred to SK 
Michael and John's parish church, Lower Exchange Street, 
Dublin, and there he remained till death removed him on the 
1 4th of March, 1890, in the seventy-eighth year of his 
and fifty-sixth of his sacred ministry. 

The period of his arrival in Dublin and appointment as curate 
in the old chapel in Exchange Street was a stormy one in Irish 
history : Catholic emancipation had been but six years granted, 
and the country was in the throes of the "tithe question." The 
brilliant band who afterwards came to be known as " Young 
Ireland " had not as yet come into open existence ; but the in- 
fluences were at work which in a few years sufficed to make 
them drift away from O'Cpnnell, and seek to rouse the people 
to more energetic efforts and infuse new life into the patriotic 
movement. The establishment of the Nation newspaper soon 
furnished an outlet for the rising intellect of the country to pour 
forth its feelings in fervid prose and thrilling verse ; and amongst 
the earliest contributors was Father Meehan, under the nom dc 
plume " Clericus," with some beautiful verses entitled " Boy- 
hood's Years." They appeared in the fourth number of the 
Nation, that for the 5th November, 1842. Father Meehan him- 
self thought so poorly of them that he offered the editor the 
option of inserting or burning them ; but he did himself a 
great injustice, for they are so very beautjful that it is to be 
regretted his poetical pieces are so few ; they all show that he 
had true poetic feeling, touched with a tender and melting 
pathos. But he was so much absorbed by the graver occupa- 
tion of compiling his historical works that he had not time 
to cultivate the poetical muse. Although these verses appear 
in the Spirit of the Nation, I may be pardoned for repro- 
ducing them here : 

" Ah ! why should I recall them the gay, the joyous years, 

Ere hope was cross'd or pleasure dimm'd by sorrow and by tears ? 
Or why should memory love to trace youth's glad and sunlit way, 
When those who made its charms so sweet are gathered to decay? 
The summer's sun shall come again to brighten hill and bower, 
The teeming earth its fragrance bring beneath the balmy shower ; 
But all in vain will mem'ry strive, in vain we shed our tears, 
They're gone away and can't return the friends of boyhood's years ! 



THE I. ATE I-ATHEK C. /'. -1/A 'Kit A V. [Sept., 

ii ! why then wake my soirow, and bid me now count o'er 
Tin- vanished liiend- >u di-arh pn/.-d tin- d.ixs in eome no more 
The happy days of infancy, when no guile our bos:>ms knew. 
Nor rcck'd we of the pleasure-, tii.it with each hour flew ? 
.1 in vain to we.-p lor ihein, the past a dream app 

at they the lov'd, the young, the friends of boyhood' ~ 

(',<> seek them in the cold church-yard ; they long have stolen to rest ; 
Hut do not weep, for their young cheeks by woe were ne'er oppressed : 
Life's sun for them in splendor set. no cloud came o'er the ray 
That lit them from this gloomy world upon UK ir joyous w.i\. 

fr.irs about their gi ied, but sweetest flow' rs be flung, 

The fittest offering thou cantt make to hearts that perish young 
To hearts ihis world has not torn with racking hopes and f< 
For blessed are they who pass away in boyhood's happy \. 

The only other poems that he contributed to the .\ 
were "The Patriot's Wife" founded on an incident conn 
with William Tell and "The Fall of the Leaves." 

His magnum opus is, undoubtedly, the History of tkt Fait and 
1-ortnncs of the l ; .arls of Tyrone and Tyreonnell, familiarly known ;u 
the Flight of the Earls. It was while a student in the Seminary 
of St. Isidore, at Rome, that he first conceived the idea of rescu- 
ing from oblivion the history of those ill-fated princes. Visiting 
the church of Montorio one day, he had observed a broken 
flagstone with an inscription in Latin upon it; this was the tomb 
of a prince of Tyreonnell who had died in exile and found a 
grave in St. Isidore's. Fired with enthusiasm and generous 
impulses, he continued his researches for years through old and 
obscure manuscripts abroad and at home, and the reader has tin- 
result of those labors of love in one of the most brilliant and 
remarkable historical works of modern times. It was published 
in January, 1868, and the praise which was lavished upon it by 
critics competent to judge of its extraordinary merits would have 
been sufficient to turn the head of a less modest man ; but vanity 
was foreign to Father Meehan's nature, and he was as humble in 
the midst of his literary success a-, he was before his name \\as 
known amongst men. But although this is the work which im- 
mediately occurs to the mind on the mention of Father Meehan\ 
name, he had before its publication, and while he was preparing 
it, published other and important works. In August, 1846, was 
published his History of the Confederation of Kilkenny, and at in- 
tervals came from his facile and graceful pen other works, notable 
amongst which are the History of the Rise and l-'all of the I'raneis- 
can Monasteries in Ireland in the \~t/t Cent it ry and the History of 
the Gi nildines. These works alone would be sufficient to establish 



1890.] THE LATE FATHER C. P. MEEHAN. 799 

the fame of any one man, but they only represent a portion of 
his literary labors extending over nearly half a century. For 
some years he edited and contributed many valuable papers to 
Duffy's Irish Catholic Magazine. It was in this magazine that 
first appeared his poem entitled The Battle of Benbnrb. This is 
his longest and in many respects his best poetical flight. 

He also with loving hands collected and edited the essays of 
his friends Thomas Davis and James Clarence Mangan, besides 
re-editing Madden's Literary Remains of the United Irishmen. In 
addition to these he edited many of the religious books published 
by the Messrs. Duffy, a firm whose devotional and national pub- 
lications are found throughout the universe wherever an Irish 
Catholic altar exists. He was an accomplished German and 
Italian scholar, and it is not generally known that he published 
in 1847 a splendid translation of Manzoni's La Monaca di Monza, 
a continuation of the Promessi Sposi ; and in 1852 a translation of 
Father Marchese's Dominican Sculptors, Architects, and Painters ; 
also an English version of the Life of Bishop Kirivan, modestly 
called a translation from the Latin, but in many respects an 
original composition. 

In the Repeal Association he became acquainted with Davis, 
Mitchel, Devin Reilly, D'Arcy McGee, Charles Gavan Duffy, and 
in fact all the distinguished men of the period. They often 
gathered together in Father Meehan's room to spend the even- 
ing in congenial literary converse, and sometimes they met there 
Father Kenyon and James Clarence Mangan. Of all the men of 
'48 those whom he best loved were Mangan, Devin Reilly, and 
Father Kenyon ; for them he had a true brotherly love, and their 
deaths were among the great griffs of his IKe. His loyalty to 
Mangan's memory was touching; no later than 1887, when 
Mangan had been thirty-eight years in his grave, he thus, in 
April, defended his memory in a letter to a friend who had 
drawn his attention to a magazine article which descanted with 
reckless inaccuracy upon his alleged habits of constant dissipation: 

" DEAR FRIEND : Let me tell you that it would be impossible to find here 
a single being, my unfortunate self excepted, who knew Mangan personally. 
Poor fellow ! he did occasionally take what he ought not have taken ; a spoonful 
of wine or whisky upset his nervous system. The Dublin essayist may be a very 
conscientious man ; but, instead of sitting in judgment on the departed, and 
exaggerating his shortcomings, he ought, in my opinion, give the Irish in 
America a faithful criticism of Mangan's poems. 

" Mangan, be his faults what they may have been, was a pure man, never 
lowering himself to debaucheries or sensualities of any sort seeming to me all 
the more praiseworthy when I call to mind what I know of some of h : s most clis- 



8co TV/A- LATE FATHER C. P. MF.I IIA\. [Sept.. 

tinp: -is. IK- pr.iyrtl, hcan! M 'icst every day, arid 

ionally knelt at the altar-r.n'. He dined with me as often as lie liked 
in all our . 1 never heard him vu .1 word that was not worth 

remembering. Of how many can we say that ? " 

No one \\.is more competent to defend Mangan against the 
slanderer than he who was his life-long friend, death- bed con- 
soler, and the kind protector who knew ho'.v to appreciate so 
rare and gifted a being. The preface to the new edition of the 
and Poetry of Minister, which Father Median edited, 
is in reality a biography of Mangan, and, read in conjunction 
with John Mitcliel's brilliant sketch, gives us a very good picture 
of this rarely gifted and not yet sufficiently known poet. 

A sight of the walls of Father Median's room, where the 
midnight stars have often looked down upon him still at his 
labors, indicated in what large measure the associations of by- 
gone days entered into those labors. There were pictures of 
Mangan, Gavan Duffy, D'Arcy McGee, John Mitchel. and Hugh 
O'Neill; and in the scrap-books close at hand was all that was 
worth preserving in Irish journalism for fifty years. 

When the "Young Irelanders " seceded from the Repeal 
Association, Father Meehan left it also, for he was in full sym- 
pathy with them ; and on the establishment of the " Irish Con- 
federation " he was elected president of the St Patrick's Branch, 
where, in addition to lecturing on popular subjects, he established 
a library and contributed to it many valuable works ; but he 
resigned his position of president after some months, and was 
succeeded by John Mitchel a worthy successor. John Mitchel 
was, as I have said, a warm friend of Father Meehan's, and was 
capable of appreciating his many great qualities of mind and 
heart. On the day of his (Mitchel's) removal from Newgate he 
presented him with a copy of his charming Life of Hugh O'Neill, 
which bcok he informed the present writer he " cherished rever- 
ently." 

It may be said, indeed, that in recent years Father Meehan 
lived almost altogether in the past. His most cherished recol- 
lections were all of a bygone generation, and he dwelt fondly on 
olden memories. It is but a few months ago that I was speaking 
with him about John Martin and Devin Reilly, and he was moved 
almost to tears at the recollection of the latter's brave young life 
and early death. 

Though. an honored member of the Royal Irish Academy, he 
was full of that modesty and humility which are alike the attri- 
butes of the true genius and the true priest; and united with his 



1890.] THE LATE FATHER C. P. MEEHAN. 801 

great learning was a deep and solid piety, a quality which he 
was the fortunate means of kindling and keeping alive in others. 
The recital of his many good deeds would in themselves fill 
a long chapter. As, like all truly great minds, he bore a deep 
and lasting love for his native land, so he generously devoted 
his learning and his influence to her sacred cause, and was the 
patron of Irish youth cultivating literature. " Friend of the ra- 
diant, lucent mind, and boundless charity of heart!" exclaimed 
John Francis O'Donnell ;* and truly his was a large and gen- 
erous heart; but like all great hearts, to quote the poet-priest 
of America : 

" Their greatest greatness is unknown ; 
Earth knows a little God the rest." 

This brief sketch would be incomplete without some descrip- 
tion of his personal appearance. He was below the middle 
height, of slender build, and his complexion was almost ruddy. 
There was intellectuality in his forehead and in his quick, per- 
ceptive blue eyes, and his mouth betokened a sensitive disposi- 
tion. Who that has felt it can forget the genial grasp of the 
hand, which made you feel that he was a man who could feel 
intensely and love deeply. He was a man of a lofty and gen- 
erous nature, and lively, quick, impetuous temperament, and a 
remarkable characteristic of his mind was its peculiar and unique 
power of appreciating excellent poetry at a glance ; his criti- 
cisms on such were always singularly impressive and lucid, going 
at once to the heart of its subject. 

Although in this sketch I have dwelt principally on the 
literary side of his career, it was only one aspect of his good 
and useful life. In him the poor always had a friend, the sick 
a comforter, and the orphan a father. As an ecclesiastic he was 
a fine type of the Irish priest, devotedly zealous and tender 
to his flock ; as a preacher he had few equals in a country 
rich in its pulpit oratory. He has passed away full of years 
and honors, but his name and fame will be ever dear to the 
hearts of all Irishmen, and the splendid literary monuments which 
his genius has raised will last until time shall be no more. 

P. A. S. 

Dublin, March 21, 1890. 

* Author of Memories of the Irish Franciscans. 



Sco TV/A \ViurrooH\\-iu.. [Sept.. 



THE \YHI1TOOR\VII.I, 

Till-: moon in heaven is shining 

\\'ith soft and misty light, 
While Meeps the earth, reclining 

Upon the breast of Night; 
In golden spleiv' -ten 

Valley and stream and hill, 
As lone I sit and listen 

To the song of the nrhippoorwil] : 
" Whip-poor-will, whip-p:ior will," 
O'er slumbering hill and plain ; 
" Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will," 
Resounds the sail refrain. 

Deep shadows veil the thicket ; 

The cedars, tall and still, 
Like sentries grimly picket 

The sky-line o'er the hill ; 
The fire-flies flash o'er the meadow, 

Where spectres of white mist float ; 
From out the pines' dark shadow 
Mutters the plaintive note : 

" Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,' 
Like the cry of a soul in pain ; 
" Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, 
Kchoes the sad refrain. 

The moon sinks low in heaven. 

The song new meaning tak 
To errors unforgiven, 

Life's failures and mistakes, 
Youth's high resolves forsaken, 

Proud hopes, forgotten 1 
Stern conscience doth awaken 
And makes her own the song : 
" Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, 

For all that life gave t<> th 
W hip-poor- will, whip-poor-will, 
What hast thou brought to 111 

./.us. Kii.i \i HAKRV 



1890.] WHAT'S f.v A NAME. 803 



WHAT'S IN A NAME ? 

AN ASTONISHING AND ENTERTAINING ANALYSIS OK TIIK NAMI: 
OF THE GREAT ELECTRICIAN, THOMAS ALVA EDISON. 

IT has been said so often without contradiction, " A rose by 
any other name would smell as sweet," that everybody, or almost 
everybody, thinks the saying is a mere truism. I take the 
liberty of dissenting from the honest opinion of the majority. 
Not that I am fully prepared just here to show what connection 
there is between the odor of that royal flower and its ruby 
name ; but I haven't any doubt there is some secret harmony 
between odors, colors possibly forms and melody. 

There is no possible language without melody, and each 
word has its own special tone. There, you see ! Color has tone 
too ; and, not to stretch the term very much, some odors are 
decidedly tonic. This therapeutic quality of odors is unquestion- 
ably due to their intensity. Now, intensity of tone is in direct 
proportion to the tension of the body yielding it. Whoever 
first gave to the flower the name of " rose " undoubtedly en- 
deavored to express not only a ruddy object, since many other 
flowers are red, but also its peculiar and intense odor. Neither 
of those theories of language humorously termed by Max Miiller 
the Bow-wow or the Pooh-pooh theory will suffice to explain 
why men first called the queen of the garden a rose. 

But what is all this talk about ? It is apropos of a theory 
of mine that the name of everything and of everybody will be 
found to have a good deal to do with what they are. I do not 
say one can always discover the reasons for this "law of ap- 
positeness " in every case. May I not also make a " law," as well 
as every brother scientist, when I have gotten together a pretty 
good number 6f instances whose outward correlations are ob- 
served to constantly conform to their inward conditions ? Are 
we not told that the famous philosopher Newton affirmed the law 
of gravitation from observation of only one fact the falling of 
one apple from a tree? If there be a case to which my "law" 
does not seem to apply, all I can say, with my brothers in 
science, is that you are not skilful enough to apply my law to 
the case, or you don't state the case right. 

I say, therefore, again, the names of people have a good deal 
to do with what they are and with what they do. For example : 



804 WHAT'S j\ .4 .\~AM/-:. [Sept., 

Do you think that Napoleon would ever have been what he was 
if his name had been Poppe or Peudechose ; or th.it Washington 
would ever have become the Father of his Country if his name 
had been plain and honest Smmks? Just try to imagine either 
possible if you can. 

Now, I propose to offer a most singular example to prove that 
my theory is not all bosh and nonsense. First of all, I premise 
my proof by saying that it is unquestionably a singular fact that 
the names of all great men rulers, her ral>, e nviuerors, 

orators, artists, poets, philosophers, and scientists will be found 
(with rare exceptions) to end in one or other of the letters c, 
I. n, o, r, s. Whatever other letters compose their names thess 
six letters monopolize about all of their terminations. Moreover, 
you will also find that if the name is not the same in other 
languages it will nevertheless end in one of the list of six. 

Look at the name of St. I'eter, for example, which is 
Peter in English, Pierre in French, Pietro in Italian, Pedro in 
Spanish, Pctrus in Latin, // r/o >'- in Greek. Look at the 
variations of the name of Stephen Stefano, Stefan, Ktienne, 
Esteban, Stephanus. Also of the name of James Jacques, lago. 
Jacobus, Jaime. Try a few names yourself; the experiment 
will prove interesting. See how it will work with the names 
of our truly great Presidents. No wonder the great discoverer 
of our continent, Christopher Columbus, was a genius, with an 
R at the end of his first name and an S at the end of his 
patronymic, as we Anglicize Cristofero Colombo in Italian, and 
Cristobal Colon in Spanish. 

I could write a good deal more .to the like effect ; but it 
is high time I came to what I was driving at. 

THOMAS ALVA EDISON 

is the full name of our great American magician in Electricity. 
You will perceive that his first name ends in S and his last in 
N, both terminal letters of greatness. On the principle of pho- 
netic decay, so ingeniously elaborated by Max Miiller, I might 
also claim the right to add an R to his middle name, as you 
will hear a great many people pronounce it Alvar, an addition 
which is considered as vulgar, but which is defensible on the 
same principle that the French put a / between a and // when 
they say a-t-il. Some persons cannot easily separate a word 
ending with a vowel from another following it that begins with a 
vowel without sticking in a consonant between them. 



1890.] WiiAfs IN A NAME. . 805 

Now, if Mr. Edison be a great inventor, which nobody can 
deny, I, who cannot be nor pretend to be a great man in any- 
thing, since neither of my names end with any one of the royal 
six letters, nevertheless claim to be a small, insignificant inventor, 
in the sense of being a finder. In a word, I have found out and 
numbered THOMAS ALVA EDISON. From both a numerical and 
anagrammical analysis of his name I am going to show that we 
ought to find in the man bearing that name a great, and as some 
might be led to suppose, fearful wonder, a wizard or worse, and 
especially a magical expert in electricity. 

This examination has proved the truth of my " law of appo- 
siteness." The name suits the thing. The rose by any other 
name would not smell as sweet. The man by any other name 
than Thomas Alva Edison would not be the magical electrician 
he is. 

I have a startling announcement to make, but one which will 
be highly satisfactory to those people who " know'd it all along." 
His number is SIX HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX ! You know what 
an awful number that is, and why. When I first discovered 
that fact I felt the cold chills run down my back, and I wished I 
hadn't found it. I felt like a man who, in digging for gold, comes 
upon some appearance of uncanny shape which looks to him like 
a buried ghost. Surely it must be a mistake. But no! view it 
as I might ; come at it, as I did, from every conceivable quarter, 
the name was six hundred and sixty-six with most astounding 
persistence. The more I varied my calculations the cftener it 
would appear, and I am going to show you those calculations 
that you may judge for yourself. 

I hope Mr. Edison will not only pardon mi for the unpar- 
alleled audacity of which I am guilty in taking such liberties 
with his name, but will feel duly complimented by my discovery, 
for it puts him in company with the greatest and noblest, the 
wisest and purest of all earth's magicians the Holy Roman, 
Catho'ic, Apostolic Church, which has been proved over and over 
again by ingenious inventors among the sons of Luther, to their 
own satisfaction doubtless, to be that Beast of seven heads and 
ten horns who was to do great signs and make fire (electricity ?) 
come down out of heaven, and whose number is six hundred 
and sixty- six. After he has read my exposition which followeth, 
should he, perchance, ever have come across one of those singular 
numerical applications of prophecy to the Roman Church, I fancy 
I can see his face beaming with a broad smile as he taps his 
breast with his forefinger and says " Me too ! " 



8o6 . \\'HA /'.> i\ A XA.MK. [Sept., 

l.'-t us to the task. I will ask you first of all to look at his 
name written this way : 



T 


20 






1. 


5 


11 


8 






I) 


4 


< ' 


'5 


A 


i 


1 


<> 


M 


'3 


I. 


12 


S 


"9 


A 


i 


V 


22 


o 


'5 


s 


9 


A 


1 


N 


14 



6 76 4 36 6 66 

There are, as you observe, six letters in the names of Thomas 
and Edison, and four in Alva. The figures corresponding to the 
letters represent the numerical position of each in the Alphabet, 
r example, A, i ; B, 2 ; C, 3, etc. 

The awful number 666 appears at once at the foot of the 
name of Edison, the result of the addition of the number of 
letters put "in apposition," or call it juxtaposition, with the accom- 
panying column of figures. There are ten letters in Thomas and 
Aha. the "horns" to his patronymic. Behold the first evidence 
of the " ten horns " of the Beast whose number is 666 ! 

There are seven syllables in the full name: Thorn -as Al-va 
Ed -i -son. Here we have the first appearance of the " 
heads " of the same animal. I think that exposition is quite 
equal to, if not better, than the Protestant one, which made the 
" seven heads " of the Roman Beast out of the seven hills upon 
which Rome sits. If the Beast had one or seven heads, it 
requires a long stretch of the imagination to picture it as seated 
on them. 

You flout at once the evident result, and all calculations to 
come made upon this arbitrary juxtaposition of numbers, as 
having no logical correlation. I beg your pardon. According to 
my learned brother scientists there is no such thing as arbitrary 
juxtaposition in Nature. My juxtaposition of numbers is one of 
those "logical facts" of Darwinian, Spencerian, and Huxleian 
philosophy which, it is true, would never have existed if I had 
not discovered it, but which being now discovered by our experi- 
mental logic to be a fact, we affirm to be indisputable, and 
explain it to our own satisfaction by the general laws we hang upon 
individual facts, which facts, in turn, depend for existence upon the 
laws we have formulated. Don't you see ? The apparent arbi- 
trary juxtaposition of numbers is clearly explained by the law of 
atomic correlation, according to our celebrated superior law of 
all laws "the survival of the fittest." 'lh.it is what I am going 
to show: that the fittest number of Mr. Edison is 666, and is 
bound to survive the attempt of every other number to sup- 



I8 9Q.] WHAT'S ix A NAME. 8o7 

phnt it and affix itself to his name. Let us return to our de- 
monstration. 

Now let us write the figures we obtained as follows: 

676 
436 
666 

Here we see that the number 666 can be read two ways. 
Let us now add these three rows of figures : 

676 + 436 + 666 = 1778 

If I now divide this 1778 by 7 (the number of syllables in 
the full name), the quotient is 254. That is an important 
number. Please remember it, for I shall find it again in a 
singular way and make a surprising use of it. 

My next step is to reverse the order of the alphabetical 
numbers, counting backwards from the last letter, as, for example, 
Z, I ; Y, 2 ; X, 3, etc., and write the names as before : 

T 7 E 22 

H 19 D 23 

O 12 A 26 I 18 

M 14 L 15 S 8 

A 26 V 5 O 12 

S 8 A 26 N 13 



6 86 4 72 6 96 

I call your attention to the fact that there are four 6's 
in the above sums, and that in the sums of the direct alphabet- 
ical order there were six 6's. That offers us the second evidence 
of the " ten horns " : 6 + 4=10. 

The sum of the above figures is 1854, 686 + 472 + 696== 
1854. 

The sum of the alphabetical figures taken alone in the direct 
order, 76 + 36 + 66 = 178. 

The sum of the same figures in the reverse order : 86 + 72 + 
96 = 254. 

This number 254 we found in another way, as you remember 

The number 666 will be found lurking within the combina- 
tion of these figures: 178 + 254= 432. 

Add the same result reversed: 432 + 234=: 666. 

You think it is only an accident that this number 432, whose 
figures reversed and added make the mystical number 666, should 
appear once. Let us see if we cannot find it four times more. 

The figures 4 + 3+2=9. Mr. Edison has three names. 
Whence, 3X9 = 27.. He has sixteen letters to compose his full 
name. Multiply 16 X 27 = 432. 



8o8 WHAT'S m A NAME. [Sept., 

Once more : I write under the letters of the names the cor- 
responding figures both in the direct and reverse alphabetical order : 

Thomas Alva Edison 

20 8 15 13 i 19 i 12 22 i 5 4 9 '9 15 14 

7 19 12 14 26 8 26 15 5 26 22 23 18 8 12 13 

27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 

You have before you the number 27 repeated 16 times. 

Again, therefore, 16 X 27 = 432. 

The name "Alva" has four letters; subtract 4 from the num- 
ber which appears under it in the direct order: 436 4=432. 

Fourthly, subtract the remarkable number 254 from the num- 
ber of " Thomas " in the reverse order and we have : 686 
254 = 432. 

Again. The sum of the alphabetical numbers in the direct 
order, 76, 36 and 66, was found to be 178. Subtract each from 
the whole sum and we have : 

178 76 = 102 
178 36 = 142 
17866 = 112 

356 
Do the same .with the numbers in reverse order. 

254 86 = 168 
254 72 = 182 
254 96= 158 

508 

Now add 508 + 356 = 864, exactly twice of 432. Reverse the 
figures of this last sum and add both together, 864 + 468 = 
1332, which is twice the number 666. 

Just here it occurs to me that some one might ask, Why did 
I think of calculating the name of Mr. Edison in the order of a 
numerically reversed alphabet ? If you look at his own signa- 
ture, as he writes it, the suggestion is apparent : 



I 



See how he unites the first and last letters of his name by 
that unusual curve! The correlation of direct and reverse orders 
saute aux ycux. 

I cannot help calling attention to a fact which shows that the 
letters composing his name, when subjected to the direct and 
reverse numerical analysis, appear to amount to precisely the 



1 890.] . WHA r's IN A NAME. 809 

same sum, the reason of which I must leave to a more astute 
genius than myself. 

Let us see. Subtract from the sum of direct order, 1778, the 
sum of the alphabetical numbers, viz.: 178 = 1600. Sum of the 
reverse order, 1854, less the sum of the alphabetical numbers, 
254 = 1600. 

If there's luck in odd numbers there is wisdom in even ones. 
What is the "wisdom" in this double 1600? 

I now come to one of the most remarkable " finds " I have 
made. In the direct order the figures summing up the three 
names stand as follows : 

5 
II 

15 , - , 15 

\ 16 16 18 / 

\ II II II / 

( 19 = 6 7 6 = 19 ) 

50=^13 = 4 3 6 = 13 V =50 

(18 = 6 6 6 = 18) 

/ II II II \ 

/ 16 16 18 -\ 

,5 _ ,5 

5 

In explanation of the above figure, it will be seen that I have 
added the figures horizontally and perpendicularly just as they 
stand. Thus, 6 + 7 + 6=19. 4 + 3 + 6=13. 6 + 6 + 6=18.' 
Repeat the process in the opposite direction, and at right angles, 
and the sum of 50 is obtained in four ways. 

Again, by adding the figures diagonally we obtain four times 
the number 15. 

Now examine this : 

28 

6 7 6 29 

4 3 6 
30 6 6 6 

3< 

The above figure shows the sums obtained thus: 
Begin with the lower right hand corner figure 6, and add the 
figures of the lower and left side of the parallelogram : 
6+6 + 6 + 4 + 6 = 28. 

Add the figures of the left and upper sides: 

6 + 4 + 6 + 7 + 6 = 29. 

Add the figures of the upper and right hand sides: 
6+7 + 6 + 6 + 6=?= 31. 

Add the figures of the right and lower sides: 
6 + 6 + 6 + 6 + 6 = 30. 

VOL. LI. 52 



WHAT'S JN A NAME. 



[Sept, 



The regular order in which these four sums appear as jS, 
2 9. 3> 3 1 ' s > to say tlie least, a little curious, especially when 
you come to find the very same sums in the same order, only 
upside down, when you examine the same calculation represent- 
ing the alphabetical order reversed, as 1 will show further on. 

But before giving it I have one other addition to make, omitting 
the four d's occupying the corners: 



4 3 6 
6 



My addition of these is as follows : 

6 + 3 + 4= 13 

7 + 3 + 4= 14 
+ 3 + 6 = 15 
7 + 3 + 6 = 16 



58. 



Now we will add together all these sums thus obtained, save 
the diagonal 15*5, of which a remarkable use will be made for 
another purpose. 

28 + 29 + 30 + 31 = 118 ) 

50 + 50 + 50 + 50 = 200 v = 376. 

13 + 14 + 15 + 16 = 58 ) 

Deduct the sum 118, which will be found common to both 
orders, we will have 258. 

Refeience to both will be made presently 

Taking the sums as found in the reversed order we obtain 
similar results, as seen in the subjoined figures: 

II 4 

19 ,- 19 

\ 16 24 14 / 
\ II II II 
( 20 = 6 8 6 = 

54 = 






3 



6 8 



4 
29 6 



6 30 

2 



9 6 

I 
28 



1890.] WHAT'S IN A NAME. 811 

17 

II 

8 
19 = 4 7 2 = 18 

9 

II 

20 

& + 7 + 2= 17} 
9 + 7 + 2 = 18 [ _ 

8 + 7 + 4= 19 | - 

9 + 7 + 4= 2oJ 

Therefore we have as before : 

28 + 29 + 30 + 31 = 118) 

54 + 54 + 54 + 54 = 2\6\ = 408 

17+18+19 + 20= 74 > 

Deduct the common sum, 118, as before, and we have 290. 

Having obtained these various results, we are now ready to 
observe the startling consequences. 

Sums of both orders added : 376 + 408 = 784. 

Subtract the common 118 and we have: 784 118 = 666. 

Add to the full sum of the direct order the sum 'of the re 
verse, less the common 1 18 : 376 + 290 = 666. 

On the contrary, .add the full sum of the reverse with that 
of the direct order, less the common 118: 408 + 258 = 666. 

And if these astonishing results were not quite enough to 
take one's breath away, please look at one other. 

To the full sums of both orders added, i.e., 784, let us add 
the sums of the four diagonal I5's and ig's which we passed 
by in our former calculations. Thus we have : 

Sum of the direct order = 376 ) 
" " reverse " = 408 I _ 
" " four 15 's = 60 I 
" " " ig's = 76) 

From this whole number, 920, please deduct the singular 
number 254, which we found in different ways in both alpha- 
betical orders, and the same marvellous result again appears : 

920 254 666. 

There ! if the " number " of the great magician, Thomas Alva 
Edison, is not 666, I'd like somebody to assign another and 
prove it. 

But I have not done with the mysterious name of the famous 
electrician. Though you had only given me the name, and I did 
not know of him what now all the world knows, I could have 
told you that if he were destined to be great in anything it 



8l2 WHAT'S IN A A'.-/ .I/A. [Sept.. 

would be in his knowledge of the wonderful powers of electricity 
and magnetism. The proof is a short and easy one. We will 
tell his fortune by anagrammical analysis of his name. On- 
more let me print for your ready inspection liis full name: 

THOMAS AI.VA I-.DISON. 

Transpose the letters contained in it and you will find the 
three astonishing sentences : 

1. A loadstone has vim. 

2. A deinamo has volts. 

3. Ah and so atoms live. 

You will not object, I am sure, to my spelling the word 
" dynamo " as I have done. The explanation of the third sen- 
tence will be found in Harper's Magazine, February, 1890 (article, 
"Talks with Edison," page 435): 

." I do not believe," he said, " that matter is inert, acted upon by an out- 
side force. To me it seems that every atom is possessed by a certain amount of 
primitive intelligence. Look at the thousand ways in which atoms of hydrogen 
combine with those of other elements, forming the most diverse substances. Do 
you mean to say that they do this without intelligence ? Atoms in harmonious 
and useful relation assume beautiful or interesting shapes and colors, or give 
forth a pleasant perfume, as if expressing their satisfaction, etc." 

Do you exclaim, with those who " know'd it all along." " The 
de'il must be in it " ? Even so. But we must own that the 
demon is only an electrical one, despite the next three horrible- 
looking anagrams of his eminent and highly respectable name : 

4. A devil has a son Tom. 

5. Aid Satan love ohms. 

6. Si homo valde Satan. 

The first two speak for themselves. The last is Latin for 
" Though he be a man, he is certainly Satan." 

There ! I think that is about enough to demonstrate satisi 
torily all that I set out to prove. I read in a newspaper the 
other day that Mr. Edison had " given his name as a member 
of a Theosophical club." Theosophists claim to be in possession 
of a so-called " occult " science. Perhaps in the light, or rather 
. darkness, of their science the data and marvellous mystical 
results as given in this essay would all appear as plain as (fay. 

-D G. 



1890.] THE CHURCH AND TEMPERANCE. 813 



THE CHURCH AND TEMPERANCE.* 

THESE words tell us of a great natural virtue and a great 
supernatural society. Because temperance is primarily a virtue of 
the mere man natural and because the church is a society of 
men raised above nature, a supernatural organism, many Catholics, 
laymen and priests, find more or less difficulty in a distinctively 
Catholic temperance movement. Are not the supernatural virtues 
of Faith, Hope, and Charity enough ? they ask. Do not these 
supernatural virtues necessarily establish temperance ? Is there 
any holiness which cannot be found in the Catholic supernatural 
life ? Are not the administration of, the sacraments by the clergy 
and their devout reception by the people, attendance at Mass, and 
hearing the word of God are not these enough to secure the at- 
tainment of any virtue ? Are not these the only necessary means 
of securing a virtuous life, reforming men from sin, and enabling 
them to persevere to the end ? Such are the exordium, body, 
and peroration of the emphatic speech so often privately spoken 
against our requests to form Total Abstinence Societies, or to 
join them when already formed. 

The relation of the church to temperance, or rather to in- 
temperance, throws us back, therefore, upon the yet more funda- 
mental question of the relation, on the practical side of religion, 
of the supernatural to the natural. And I believe that the solu- 
tion of the problem in hand is thus formulated : before you have 
the Christian you must first have the man. Or put it this way : 
before the grace of God can do its work well it must have good 
natural material to work upon. Before the Holy Spirit can in- 
fuse the supernatural virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity into the 
man, he must have certain natural prerequisites. One may live 
and die a baptized infant or idiot, and thus be saved by no co- 
operation of his own. But if otherwise he must have sound sense 
to understand the truths of faith, free will to stake his life upon 
them in hope of a future eternity, as well as to prefer God and 
his law before all things, in holy charity. Or the idea is better 
expressed thus: Before the supernatural virtues can do their 
proper work they must do a preliminary work, and that is the. 
establishment of certain natural virtues. Of these virtues, temper- 
ance, or self-restraint, stands among the most necessary ; it is one 

' This paper, since revised and enlarged, was read at the recent Convention of the Cath- 
olic Total Abstinence Union of America. 



Kl4 Till: ClICKCH AMI 7 A.I//V-. KA .' [-Sept , 

<>f the foremost natural virtues. The command of reason over 
appetite is a cardinal virtue ; it is one of the hinges of the portal 
closing the inner and outer chambers of the human soul through 
which the grace of Clod must pass. 

Take a comparison. The business of the farmer is to plough 
and plant and reap. But multitudes of farmers have dune little 
more than hew down trees and grub up stumps their whole lives 
long ; their children think them the best farmers the land has 
ever known. It is so with the preparation of the human soul 
for the supernatural life by the inculcation of the natural vii 
especially self-restraint or temperance. The more highly we ap- 
preciate the need of true manhood for a valid Christian character, 
the more vigorously will we attack intemperance. Whatever is 
the foe of man's reason is every way, supernaturally and natu- 
rally, man's worst foe ; and that certainly is intemperance. The 
lowest degree of Christian character must start with some degree 
of clear manhood, of intelligence and of freedom and of affectioii- 
ateness, and against these intemperance wages the most destructive 
war. Religion does not start with nothing ; it must have a man 
to begin with, and what makes the man is his reason, and what 
unmakes the reason and the man and the Christian all at once 
is intemperance. 

Hence, wherever the Christian pastor finds a tendency to ex- 
cessive drink in his parish, he is confronted with the absolute ne- 
cessity to antagonize it before he can hope to succeed in any 
way whatever. What he preaches ; how, when, and to whom he 
administers the sacraments; how he shall edify by his conduct; all 
that he does and says, and prays and preaches must be a two-handed 
endeavor to place clear manhood in reach of the divine gifts on 
the altar. If his right hand offers the saving absolution for sin 
in the confessional, his left must shut the saloon door if he has 
absolved men addicted to drink. Drink maddens the intelligence 
which the faith seeks to enlighten ; hence the instruction from 
the altar must condemn fearlessly the drink habit which is the 
enemy of reason's sovereignty. Drink darkens with despair the 
soul which hope would illumine with courage ; drink demonizes 
the heart which love would ennoble. " Blind drunk " is the de- 
scription of the fulness of the evil. Take, then, a comparison 
from the sorrows of the blind: "What manner of joy shall be 
to me," says the blind Tobias, " who sit in darkness and never 
see the light of heaven." What manner of supernatural faith, 
hope, and love shall exist in a parish darkened by intemperance 
and infested with saloons. 



1890.] THE CHURCH AND TEMPERANCE. 815 

We call drunkenness a brutalizing vice. Precisely so. And 
men brutalized by intemperance, and their children brutalized by 
its heredity and by its evil example, must first be humanized 
before- they can be Christianized. Civilize first and then Chris- 
tianize, or rather civilize in the very process of Christianizing. 

Sacramento, proptcr homines is a theological maxim the sacra- 
ments are for the sake of men. Give yourself men, then, say tin- 
advocates of the temperance movement, that the sacraments may 
avail them. The more manly that is to say, the more sober, 
intelligent, conscious of human dignity, and self-respecting your 
people are, the better use they will make of the sacraments. 
Before regeneration comes generation; men were before the 
sacraments. Their native virtues and excellences were bestowed 
upon them by God that the sacramental life might the more 
readily elevate them to union with the Deity. Exactly in propor- 
tion to the manhood of a people will the sacraments work a 
divine work among them.' The church can, indeed, adjust itself 
to the state of savages, as it does to that of children and of the 
feeble-minded. But religion tends to abolish savagery just as 
nature tends to develop childhood into manhood. The normal 
work of religion is not to be sought among the weaklings of 
humanity, but is found among men and women of powerful 
intelligence and heroic will. 

In view of these principles, let us look at the facts. Is the 
church in America seriously injured by intemperance ? To answer 
this question intelligently, we must call up sufficient courage to 
face undisputed facts. Now, the Catholic Church of America is 
an urban institution. Its members are almost wholly residents of 
cities and industrial towns. If our people have any vices they 
are the vices of the city. Are our cities and factory towns 
infested with saloons and are the working people addicted to 
drunkenness? There cannot be the slightest doubt of it. The 
saloons are so numerous in such localities that in many, if not 
most of them, there is one for less than a hundred and fifty per- 
sons. Of these seven score and a half persons to one saloon 
there are fully five score who pay little, if any, tribute to the 
tax-gatherer behind the bar, except through their drunken hus- 
bands or fathers; all the children, more than half the women, 
many of the men drink little or not at all. Archbishop Ireland 
has estimated that the trade of less than fifty persons is the 
actual support of the average saloon. Drunkards of various 
grades there must be, then, or the saloon-keeper could not pay 
his rent from their trade. The number of the saloons thus proves 



816 THE CHUKCH AND TEMPERANCE. [S 

tlir prevalence of drunkenness. It is the feu drinkers who 

keep up tlu- IK-IT aiul whiskey business: men who love drinking 
for its own sake, <>r \\lio drink in parties together and are con- 
vivial drinkers; who provoke eaeh other to drink, and to drink 
a;.;.iin and over again till they are made drunk by treating; men 
in \\ho.-r rottenness we prie o often compelled to dabble 

as we visit their families for sick-calls or on errands of charity 
in connection with the St. Vincent de Paul Conferences. '1 
are the ones who mainly support the saloons, and they are 
dumkards. 

Now comes the horrible truth. In all the cities of the Union 
a large proportion of these wretches are Catholics. To deny this 
is a great weakness; it is folly to try to conceal it. Mr. Powderly 
ought to know whether the working classes are given to e- 
sive drink, and at the last convention of the Catholic Total 
Abstinence Union of America he affirmed that nine out of ten 
of the supporters of the saloon are working-men the very class 
which forms nearly the whole of our Catholic community. In 
many cities, big and little, we have something like a monopoly 
of the business of selling liquor, and in not a few something 
equivalent to a monopoly of getting drunk. Scarcely a Catholic 
family among us but mourns one or other of its members 
victim of intemperance. 

This is lamentable. I hate to acknowledge it. But the con 
cealment of such a deadly thing by us eliminates the most 
necessary element from the discussion namely, the facts of the 
case. This would be far worse than petty vanity ; for Catholics 
to refuse to face this fact is to withdraw, defeated, from the con- 
troversy with the rum-power. It would be a public and an 
official lie to conceal such a fact. The Catholic Church in 
America is grievously injured by drunkenness. Yet who will 
say that the sacraments have not been duly administered, the 
word of God on the routine lines, at any rate faithfully preach- 
ed right in the very communities referred to ? Yet from Cath- 
olic domiciles miscalled homes in those cities and towns three- 
fourths of the public paupers creep annually to the almshouses. 
and more than half the criminals snatched away by the police to 
prison are by baptism and training members of our church. Can 
any one deny this? Or can any one deny that the identity of 
nominal Catholicity and pauperism existing in our chief centres 
of population is owing to the drunkenness of Catholics ? And 
can any one deny that this has been the horrible truth for 
thing like thirty-five years, or ever since th-.- Fa'Jur Mathew 



1890.] THE CHURCH AND TEM ITERANCE. 817 

movement began to wane ? Yet no one will affirm that the cause 
is a lack of churches and priests, or a want of any of the super- 
natural aids of religion. This detestable vice has been a veri- 
table beast in the vineyard of the Lord, making its lair in tin- 
very precinct of the buildings containing the confessional and 
the altar. I will give you an example. For twenty years the 
clergy of the parish of St. Paul the Apostle, New York, have 
had a hard and uneven fight to keep saloons from the very 
church door, because the neighborhood of a Catholic church is a 
good stand for the saloon business ; and this is equally so in 
nearly every city in America. Who has not burned with shame 
to run the gauntlet of the saloons lining the way to the Cath- 
olic cemetery ? Whether it be the christening of the infant or 
the burial of the dead, the attendance at the ordinary Sunday 
Mass or the celebrating of such feasts as Christmas and New Year's 
and St. Patrick's day, the weakness and the degradation of our 
people has yoked religion and love of country and kindred, the 
two most elevated sentiments of our nature, to the chariots of 
the god Gambrinus and the god Bacchus, whose wheels crush 
down into hell a thousand- fold more victims than ever perished 
under the wheels of Juggernaut. 

We cannot claim a better clergy or people than the Irish in 
Ireland. Yet listen to a competent witness of the drink-evil in 
the Irish cities. I quote from " Intemperance in Ireland," 
published in this magazine for last July : 

" I was four years working as a priest among a dense and poor population, 
and I can use no language more truly descriptive of what my eyes saw than the 
homely phrase ' It was a fright ! ' Such a tangled mass of recollections stares 
me in the face that I am afraid that I can give no order to my impressions. 
What was the occupation of the people ? Some were messengers uptown ; some 
drivers of vans ; some engaged in the factory ; some at the docks, and some 
were fishermen. The wives and daughters of many of them were washerwomen 
at home who did the laundry work of the city. Half, perhaps two-thirds, of the 
men themselves belonged to the Confraternity of the Holy Family. Their little 
girls went to the nuns; their little boys to the Christian Brothers' Schools. 
There was even a benefit and total abstinence society in the parish, and yet 
drunkenness ! drunkenness ! The place was sprinkled with public houses. 
There was a huge distillery in full swing, giving employment to hundreds and 
destined to beggar thousands." 

I positively affirm that this is a true picture of many parishes 
in our American cities, the miserable simulacrum of a neglected 
Temperance Society included. 

The regular administration of the aids of religion to a popu- 
.ation defective of so essential a natural virtue as restraint from 



Si 8 THE Cin-Kcu AND TEMPERANCE. (.Sept., 

Mve use df drink, is likx 1 scattering good seed upon the 
matted sod of the unbroken prairie or rather upon the a*h-heaps 
of the foundry dump. 

To attack the vice of drunkenness from an entirely super- 
natural point of departure is to begin without the beginning. 
Intemperance is primarily a sin against nature, and the re- 
sources of natural virtue should be first called upon to vanquish 
it. A man should be sober whether he believes in God or 
not. To overcome drunkenness, the only faith a man need have 
is belief that he is a ible being; the only hope lie i 

have is one for a tolerable existence in this life ; the only charity, 
self-love. Experience and observation prove that the-.e 1 
of even the natural reasons for sobriety succeed in reforming 
multitudes of drunkards of every creed. Drunkenness, therefore, 
is a vice to assail which the priest must go out of the sanctu- 
ary if he would make his apostolate integral ; and to make it 
successful, he must associate with him persons and things not 
entitled to stand in any holier place than the sanctuaries of pure 
and upright nature, a happy home and a well-ordered state. 
The layman is the priest of nature's shrine, which is home, and 
the family is his sanctuary. To him must be yielded the first 
place, if he is competent to assume it, in the warfare against a 
vice which is firstly against manhood, and only secondarily 
against the Christian character. Yet we know that few parishes 
can wage a successful fight against drink without the aid of the 
priest ; and often without his entire supervision the whole battle 
will be lost. But in that case and in every case the attitude of 
the priest, although it can never lose its supernatural force, must 
in addition take on the natural. As a fellow-man of the drunk- 
ard he must appeal to him, as an equal citizen of the civil 
community must he antagonize the saloon-keeper, and all this 
both in public and private. 

I am not ordained priest to keep a laundry ; but if a class 
of my people are too dirty to go to church, I must set to work- 
to get them cleaned unless I am a mere ecclesiastical official. 
So with the case in hand. I am no policeman, but if a class of 
my people are going to hell through the Sunday back-entrance 
of the corner saloon, I must at once set about becoming more 
than a policeman; at any rate I must be so to the keeper of 
that saloon. 

The supernatural influences ot religion, joined to the drink- 
wounded natural character of man, are like a noble tree whose 
bark has been girdled at the root. What, indeed, is the bark 



1 890.] THE CHURCH AND TEMPERANCE. 819 

compared to the wood, or to the sap, or to the fruit. But the 
wood must die, and the sap must stop, and the fruit must rot 
unripe if the bark be cut away. To confine one's self to the 
assiduous administering of the sacraments, the faithful preaching 
of the ordinary Sunday sermon, and the usual sacerdotal Kabors 
for the sanctification of the people, in an average city parish of 
America, without an aggressive crusade against saloons and saloon- 
going, is to water and to prune a tree all day long whose bark 
is gnawed by a beast all night long. 

Rev. Dr. William Barry in a defence of his admirable paper, 
read at the Catholic Truth Conference in Birmingham, quotes in 
support of his thesis, " First Civilize and then Christianize," some 
words of the German explorer Von Wissmann, which apply 
directly to the question we are considering : " Every one who 
knows the Africans," says this witness of Catholic missionary 
wisdom, " and, for the matter of that, who knows any savage 
people, will agree with me that an understanding of the religion 
of love is not to be expected from people in such a low state 
of civilization. Therefore the proper way of a mission is first to 
make of the savage a higher being, and then to lead him to 
know religion. This is what the Roman Catholic missions do, by 
adopting the maxim Labora et Ora, and not like the Protestant, 
Ora et Labora, which is only suitable for a people of higher 
civilization." I leave it to any priest experienced in the reform 
of drunkards whether the absence of the sense of right and wrong 
he has had to take account of, and the weakness of will he has 
encountered, would not be worthy of the naked savages of the 
dark continent. And as the Catholic missionary is successful 
there because he not only preaches the word, but preaches the 
wearing of breeches and the cultivating of the soil, so shall we 
be successful in many places here in America only on condition 
of in like manner using civilizing influences in preparation for 
those of the gospel. 

A house may be laid upon solid foundations, built of endur- 
ing materials, proportioned and adorned by a skilful architect ; 
but let the drainage be defective, and it is turned into a house 
of death in which miasmatic fevers slay the inmates. So is a city 
parish presided over by a priest who ignores the prevalence of 
drunkenness. If asked by his bishop or the missionary what 
are the people's chief faults, he perhaps names missing Mass, 
neglect of Easter duty, failure of parents to instruct their children 
or to send them to Sunday-school. In this he names the effects, 
and does not even suspect the one only efficient cause of these 



SCO Till: ClIfKCII A\n Tl:.Ml'l-.KA.\ [Sept.. 

sins, and of the worst of the others : the drink-habit. There arc 
not a few such good priests in America, well-educated and devout 
men, who have many drunkards among their penpl,-, .md h.iv never 
preached a temperance sermon. 1 am persuaded that the reason of 
this is a delusive idea of the all- sufficiency of the supernatural aids 
of religion. Such men are neither cowards nor sluggards, but are 
oblivious to the need of bringing into play the moral forces of 
nature in order to secure the fruits of supernatural religion. If 
asked to take a leading part in an .1 < attack on saloons 

and saloon-going, to organize or to reorganize a temperance 
society, they answer: "I really have no tinie to do so I am 
kept too busy by my regular clerical duties my confessional, 
visiting the sick, paying off my debt, etc., etc. to attend to out- 
side matters like that." They tether themselves in tlu-ir sanc- 
tuaries, and go round and round their lives long with beautiful 
churches and fine houses, and a drunken people. The solid 
ground of the faith, the high privilege of the sacraments, the 
noble brotherhood of the Christian society what do they avail 
to multitudes of the dwellers in a beautiful temple beneath which 
flows the miasmatic sewer of the drink-habit. 

Another view of the case is that which arises from the duty 
the church owes to the community at large in distinction with 
that which she owes to individual souls. This duty has been 
continually insisted on by Pope Leo as, in these times especially, 
something of the utmost importance. The farther the public life 
of men recedes from the morality of the gospel, the more assid- 
uously should the church endeavor to win men back to that best 
guarantee of civil welfare. The Church of Christ is the only 
divinely appointed public guardian of the moral law, that law 
which is a condition of the happiness of nations as well as of 
men. Now, this office involves the necessity of keeping up a good 
name for the Catholic parish of every town in tin- land, the 
necessity as well as the duty What God made the church to 
be to the civil community, that will the civil community instinct- 
ively demand that the church shall actually be. The parisli priest 
has no less an obligation to win the respect and to earn the 
gratitude of the non-Catholic community about him than he has 
to break the bread of life to his own parishioners. The wise- 
doing of the one secures the performance of the other duty. V> t 
how many of our priests absolutely confine their efforts, their very 
thoughts, to their own " ecclesiastical subjects," and that in a 
strictly exclusive sense. " You are the salt of the earth," applies 
in their view only to the Celtic or the Teutonic colony of the 



1890.] THE CHURCH AXD TEMPERANCE. 821 

busy city in a corner of which they dwell; or to the "exiles" 
scattered throughout a smaller town. Nay, priests are sometimes 
found to privately sneer at the efforts of public-spirited citizens 
to lessen the number of the saloons, to break up gambling dens, 
to secure the observance of Sunday laws ; and this in spite of the 
earnest exhortations of the American hierarchy that priests and 
laymen should do all in their power to aid such movements. 
Those who deem themselves but Celts transplanted or Teutons 
transplanted are too absorbed by backward glances regretfully cast 
across the ocean to seriously grapple with an American evil present 
everywhere about them. This is true also of their use of theologians. 
The theorizings of distant men on distant facts are respected by some 
priests more than the positive injunctions of the American hierarchy 
itself, stamped with the broad seal of Rome; I have often been 
met with the allegation of customs tolerated in Europe as an 
answer to the express decrees of the Third Plenary Council of 
Baltimore. All priests who have been active advocates of the 
total-abstinence movement and the anti-saloon movement will tell 
you how often they have been knocked about with theological 
" stuffed clubs," stuffed with words and sentences written in " tem- 
perate wine-drinking France" or Italy, or "sober beer-drinking 
Germany " ; as if this land were Italy, or Germany, or France ; 
as if moral theology were not a practical application of principles ; 
as if the bishops were not the divinely appointed legislators of the 
church to judge of circumstances and apply principles. 

Now let me ask what use have the American people at large 
for Catholicity? Not one in six of them is a Catholic, nor is 
there much in the signs of the times to indicate that they are 
going to become Catholics.. What use have they for our religion ? 
Will they thank us for building big churches and convents ? 
Do you perceive any sign of gratitude for our parochial schools ? 
As a matter of fact, the people of the United States, though 
without ill-will towards us, yet look upon us as besotted with 
love for our faith because it is an heirloom of our race, or as 
men and women of little independence of character who are 
willing to delegate our thinking to an hierarchical caste. Our 
non-Catholic Americans are a kindly people, and will not molest 
us until sorely provoked. But, taking their standpoint to judge 
from, what use have they for us? The Sister of Charity is the 
only answer, so far given them, which they can understand. 
Were it not for our hospitals, asylums, reformatories, we should 
be without any cause at all in the court of p'iblic opinion, apart 
from the feelings born of personal acquaintance between members 



THE CIIUKCH A\n Ti-:.\iri-.KA.\ (Sept., 

of all forms of religion among us. Our great works of charity 
make us good Samaritans, by proxy at any rate. Charity is 
always lovely, and the mere spectacle of Catholic benevolence 
wins honest men's hearts. In its charities, too, the Catholic 
Church helps to solve the most threatening of the social pro- 
blems that which is pictured by the poor man's hand stretching 
towards the rich man's purse. But the faith of the Catholic 
people, the sacramental life of them these are things known 
as of use to the civil order only by whatever fruits of natural 
virtue they may bring forth. Industry, truthfulness, obedien< 
law, love of country, cleanliness, honesty, and above all sobriety, 
are what men outside the church look for as the signs of her 
utility. Without such fruits as these bare toleration is what we 
may count on, and that will be swept away in the first burst of 
passionate religious excitement. Unless a religion makes men 
better men and better citizens its insignificance must be its only 
enduring guarantee of perpetuity in the state. 

On the other hand, show me a town in which the Catholic 
priest lives publicly up to the Third Plenary Council, and is the 
declared enemy of the saloon, and his church the shrine of a 
sober people : that priest is sure of the honor of his religion in 
public and in private: He is among the foremost citizens because 
he represents an organism which is a powerful conservator of the 
commonwealth. Whoever hurts him or his church cuts the state 
to the quick. More : his church presses upon all honest minds 
for an answer to her claims, because those claims, if supernatural 
in themselves, have nature's universal credentials of validity to 
support them, the manly, natural virtues everywhere seen among 
a Catholic sober people. 

" How can you expect conversions," demands Canon Mur- 
nane in his paper read to the Catholic Truth Conference at Bir- 
mingham a most terrible because a most undeniable confe 
of the infection of the body Catholic with the drink-plague 
" how can you expect conversions when a Catholic prison chap- 
lain can assert that of six or seven thousand women brought 
into the prison yearly, more than eighty per cent, arc Catholics?" 
Can we deny this of American penal institutions ? Alas ! no. I 
remember witnessing the horror of an American bishop after a 
visit to such a place near one of our large cities, his horror and 
his shame that a prodigious majority of the inmates were unmis- 
takably of our own people, though in population we are not one- 
third of the city. This moral cesspool filled from Catholic 
"homes" through the open sewers running from the saloons to 



r 



1890.] THE CHURCH AND TEMPERANCE. 823 

the police courts, daily revealed in the press, is the extinction 
of the hope of converting the "other sheep not of this fold." 
What the above authority, in addition to his quoted words, says 
of England is true of America : " The people of this country 
understand nothing of supernatural virtues, they see not the life 
of the soul ; but they do see and do hear what takes place next 
door and in the street. They know and appreciate the moral 
virtues, temperance, honesty, etc. These must be our motives of 
credibility and the notes of the true Church. The conclusions 
are obvious." 

No career can have so calamitous an end as that of a body 
of Christians tried, found wanting, and rejected by the appli- 
cation of its Founder's own test, " By their fruits ye shall know 
them." If the drunken neighborhood is the Catholic neighbor- 
hood ; if the drunkards' names in the police reports are notoriously 
those of Catholics ; if the saloon-goers and the saloonists are Cath- 
olics ; if the " Boodlers " who thrive by saloon politics are Cath- 
olics ; if the saloon-made paupers and tramps are Catholics, 
then as a moral force among men Catholicity is done for in that 
community ; whatever individual good it may do to its members 
its public force for morality is nothing. Chrysostom and Bossuet, 
aye or Paul and Patrick, could not convert men to such a 
Catholicity; nor can. twenty universities discover a truer test or 
a fairer one than that the tree shall be known by its fruits. 

If drunkenness were prevalent in a bad priest's parish, "Like 
master like man," we "could say. But the poison of the sting is 
that the evils we have been considering are often enough found 
in the parishes of our best priests, judged so by the standards of 
education and piety; and that in the midst of it all the sober 
Catholics are not led to show their hatred of drunkenness pub- 
licly. It is seldom that most of the people are drunkards ; as 
a minority of the Catholic population support the saloons in the 
Catholic neighborhoods, so does a minority of wicked men blight 
the fair fame of the entire Catholic community. The virtues cul- 
tivated in societies and for public show are unfortunately too often 
exclusively such as are appreciated only by the faithful them- 
selves, as is the case with the usual confraternities and sodalities. 
They are most excellent for us who have the supernatural stand 
ard to judge by ; they are nothing, are generally never known, to 
the outside world. The case is totally different where the priest 
preaches openly against saloons and against convivial drinking, 
and gets his sermons into the daily press; where he joins reform 
movements, lends his name and influence to public efforts for the 



SJ4 TlIK Cin'KCII A\H ThMri-'.KAXCE. [Sept., 

suppression of drunkenness and its occasions ; joins with all and 
any citizens, Protestants, Jews, and Gentiles, in every lawful effort 
for the relief of human misery and the elevation of men. In the 
parishes of such priests Catholic laymen take heart. They soon 
become conspicuous for their political virtue and public spirit. 
If drunken Catholics are upcast to them, they cm answer by 
pointing to flourishing Catholic Total Abstinence Societies; they 
can offset the Catholic boodler with the Catholic reformer, and 
the Catholic saloon-keeper with the Catholic temperance hall. 

The priest without a good temperance society, but a flourish- 
ing devotional society, in a parish full of flourishing saloons, is 
like a lawyer who has a good case but lets his antagonist get 
judgment by default; or he is like a certain kind of bankrupt: 
assets in the form of securities far in excess of debts, but the se- 
curities cannot be realized on. Show that you hate drunkenness 
and saloon-going publicly, for the vice is public, and the good 
name of a public society like the church can only be safe- 
guarded by public conduct. If you have got good fruits of sobriety 
to show, show them ; they shouldn't be all hustled away out of 
sight into pious sodalities. 

The words written in this article will be hot words to some 
of my readers, but they will burn no one who reads them more 
painfully than they have burned me in writing them. 

WALTER ELLIOTT. 



l8 90-] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 825 



TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

The Broughton House, by Bliss Perry (New York: Charles 
Scribner's Sons), is a story of New England life which, from the 
purely literary point of view, certainly presents valid claims to 
attention. The author (whose name is non-committal, and about 
whose sex the men of the story also leave one doubtful), having 
the literary sense in what was probably great native perfection, 
has cultivated it with fidelity and in accordance with recognized 
native models. The Broughton House and the quartette who 
play whist on its piazza through the summer are done to the 
life, and with a fine taste and discrimination which give unusual 
distinction to the novel. But the story of " Tryphena Morton 
Floyd " and " Billy," of " Sonderby " and " Bruce D. Collins." 
with its lame and impotent conclusion, strikes us as inept and 
feeble. And yet there is very good work in it. The vagabond 
artist, with nothing but an eye for color and a mean self-indul- 
gent love for his own ease to distinguish him; without principle, 
without manliness, with nothing, in fact, which explains why 
his wife should ever have loved him, is like a study from the 
life. The scene in which he shows her, after three years of mar- 
riage, a letter from his patron offering to give him money enough 
to go to Munich to study, providing he will go alone, is ex 
tremely clever. " Billy " is tired of marriage, tired of cheap board- 
ing-houses and inappreciative people; moreover he is secretly con- 
vinced that what the critics say of his poor drawing is well said, 
and he has a wish to begin anew at the foundations of his art 
which is entirely commendable in itself. There is the making 
of an artist in him, but not the making of a man. He has a 
sneaking pleasure in the thought that, once away from his young 
wife, he will vagabondize for good and all, and leave her to shift 
for herself. She owns the little house in Broughton wh^re they 
were married, and she will be able to get along somehow. So 
he goes, without having the courage to say good-by to her, at 
the end of the month into which the action of the story is com- 
pressed. Meanwhile, there has besn a little fluttering about Mrs. 
Floyd on the part of the school-teacher, Sonderby. He has 
partly appreciated her situation ; something in her has appealed 
to his imagination and his heart. He is about to proffer her 
his friendship when he sees her with Collins, the woollen manu- 
VOL. LI. 53 



TAI A- ABOUT NEW BOOKS. [Sept , 

facturvr \\!n fislics the Broughton stream- every summer, in an 
attitude which seems compromising. The sight drives him into 
such profound self-communing that he comes out determined t" 
keep out of all temptation by leaving Hroughton. 

But he has misjudged Mrs. Floyd. She is innocent, she i~ 
high- principled. Rut she is also friendless and disillusioned. 
She has loved her husband, but she has seen through him and 
knows herself to be abandoned. She has divined Sonderby's 
respectful friendship and returned it. But Collins, who is a "man 
of the world," and who understands her position thoroughly, 
takes advantage of bar ignorant recklessness to propose to her t<> 
go away with him. She is by nature timid, and the time 
and opportunity he takes for his infamous proposal is such 
that, with the coward's instinct to gain time, she agn 
to go, providing he will leave her at once and not see 
her again until the hour of departure from the village has 
arrived. Collins passes the interval in packing up, and in con- 
cocting a story which may pass current in Broughton for a while ; 
then, finding the last moments drag, as they will upon ncrv 
strung up to more than common villainy and not yet able to 
spend themselves in action, he goes down to the Hroughton 
Hollow at night, to spear a trout which has evaded him all 
summer. And in the Hollow, at the bottom of the great pool 
where his prey has always hidden, the light of his torch illumi- 
nates the face of Mrs. Floyd, lying white and cold. And that, 
it seems to us, is a stupid and most unnatural ending; dramatic, 
if you will, but dramatic at the expense of truth to New Kngland 
nature. There is nothing whatever in the situation contrived for 
Mrs. Floyd which would push any ordinarily right-minded young 
woman of twenty-two to suicide. She is not heart-broken by 
" Billy's " absence ; she has a true esteem for Sonderby ; she is 
not in dread of want; she has a refuge and may earn a living. 
And yet Bliss Perry can find no better use for her than drown- 
ing ! She neither points a moral nor adorns a tale by such a death. 

The American publishers of Paul Nugent, Materialist (\ 
York : E. P. Dutton & Co.), announce it as " a powerful and 
weighty rejoinder to Robert Elsm The announcement is 

misleading, to say the least about it. Our remark is not neces- 
sarily uncomplimentary to its authors. To be " powerful and 
weighty" in fact and argument, with "Robert" for antagonist. 
would be sure to land the adventurous person who tried it in 
serious earnest in such a strait as Private Mulvaney's when he 
' let go from the shoultcr " at Flahy's ghost. " I put my body 
weight behind the blow," said he, "but I hit nothin' at all, an' 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. . 827 

nearly put my shoulter out. The corp'ril man was not then..' 
But then, Mrs. Ward's book was considerably more than 
abortive essay in Biblical criticism. 

Criticism for criticism, German name against German name, 
with little scraps of physiological science thrown in for make- 
weight, we are not going to say that the new novel which, by 
the way, has a lady and a parson for its joint authors is not 
more ponderous than the old one. Truth is like the gold in the 
digger's pan ; in however small quantity it exists, its specific 
gravity enables it to resist the action of the water which carries 
off as so much refuse the mass of worthless ore in which it was 
embedded. The general aim of Miss Helen F. Hetherington 
and the Rev. H. Darwin Burton is praiseworthy, and in their 
effort to combine a society novel and a Ritualistic tract they 
had no doubt a serious purpose to put on all their weapons and 
" go up to the help of the Lord against the mighty." And in 
one way perhaps it is not the way of profound erudition or 
subtle criticism they have touched the key of the position. If 
the world is again to be reconquered to Christianity, it must be 
by sacrifice and endurance and the courage of their conviction 
on the part of Christians. It was by such means that paganism 
was overthrown in the first centuries, and it is these, and not 
criticism of documents and experiments in physiology, which are 
needed most in the ranks of those who are enrolled to-day 
beneath the Christian banner. One is obliged to smile at the 
Elsmere position, that Christianity never was and never will be 
more than " a great literary and historical problem, a question of 
documents and testimony " ; knowing that if it were that only, 
it would have been dead before it was fairly born. What one 
cannot afford to smile at is the easy-going Christian of these 
latter days who would be at such a sorry pass if summoned by 
the Apostle's challenge : " Show me thy faith without works." 
Faith, to be a thing to safely die by, must be a thing to have 
honestly lived by. 

Paul Nugent, to go back to it, is, in the first place, a mode- 
rately entertaining English society novel. To speak candidly, we 
should suppose it likely to give pleasure to a score of ordinary 
novel-readers where Robert Elsmere succeeded in pleasing one 
such. This is not to claim for it any special immunity from 
trashiness, or to find it in any way but that of motive particu- 
larly meritorious. It is too carelessly written to stand any sort 
of comparison with the book which is its objective point of attack, 
for Mrs. Ward's novel has marked distinction in point of style. 
Nor is there any character- drawing in it which bears any mea- 



828 TAI.A- ABOUT NEW Boon's. (Sept., 

surable rcl;iti'.n with that devoted to Catherine Klsmere. ..r 
I-angham, or Rose Lcyburn. I'aul Nugent is a mere puppet. 
set up in order that the curate and the doctor may bowl him 
down a task which they perform with an ease which makes the 
result more pleasing than the process was exhausting. The con- 
versations which lead up to his final overthrow arc instructive 
rather than argumentative. .But if Paul the Materialist shows a 
docility a trifle surprising in an atheist known to be so virulent 
that a whole village stands aloof from him, while his social 
equals would fain drop him with polite firmness, one re- 
members that Robert the Christian made not much more light. 
He was simply borne down by case after case of < lerman books, 
whose weight the lay reader was mostly obliged to estimate 
from their crushing effects upon a very flabby faith. There is 
little to choose between the two heroes in point of intellectual 
backbone and original strength of conviction, and a great deal in 
point of artistic presentment. 

Paul is an Oxford man, " one of the first scholars of the day," 
with an " intellect on which he prided himself more than any 
other possession," and a personal beauty which is something phe- 
nomenal. He falls wildly in love in the first chapter with the 
blue-eyed, inane, and flirty Perdita Verschoyles, anil pursues her 
with such resistless passion that he forces from her a half-reluc- 
tant yes. . They marry, and he takes her at once to his ances- 
tral home, " The Thickets," " the only spot on earth where he 
could be sure of an uninterrupted iete-a-lete with his lovely wife. 
Could any folly be greater ? " 

Apparently not, responds the reader. In less than a month 
I'aul has discovered that he and his wife have not one thought 
in common, and she, out of sheer ennui, lias i everted to her 
maiden ways with any and every available man in the outlying 
social desert which surrounds " The Thickets." The joint authors 
here neglect so grossly their first chance to convince I'aul of his 
lack of practical logic that they possibly failed to see it. Since, 
in his belief, they are both mere lumps of soulless clay, there is 
injustice in his disdain for his wife's preference for lively 
ciety and the small pleasures with which her marriage has s;> un- 
expectedly interfered. His own tastes are graver and more on- 
ventional, but not more unselfish. " You can't talk of anything 
but books and politics, and I hate them both," his wife tells him 
when he remonstrates with her on neglecting all the xvoinen in 
their circle and addressing herself only to the entertainment of 
the men. " Men have always understood me women never." 
;n spite of his materialism it seems not to occur to I'aul that this 



1890.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 829 

is the nature of Perdita Verschoyles, and that in a world of mere 
matter nothing can well be more worthy than to act in strict 
accordance with one's earthly nature. It occurs to him, in- 
stead, to be as wrathful and contemptuous as if some higher 
standard for action than mere impulse, and one to which we arc 
all amenable, did actually exist. The consequence is that Per- 
dita takes to strong drink and stronger flirtations, and -dies from 
an accident when not quite sober. Here ends the Prologue t<> 
the novel, leaving Paul once more a free man, but " no nearer 
to Christianity than he was before Perdita's death." 

The next scene opens in " the orthodox village of Elmsfteld," 
where the eccentric will of a lately deceased uncle has made Paul 
a large landed proprietor with a title, and an obligation to make 
the place his usual residence. A crafty scheme for his conver- 
sion has been hidden under this provision, and to its elucidation 
the rest of the tale is mainly devoted. 

Elmsfield has been converted into a most religious village by 
the combined efforts of its two curates, the Rev. Herbert Lovel 
and the Rev. "Charlie" Conway, young gentlemen of the high- 
est Ritualistic type, who are kindly left to their own devices by 
a rector who spends his large income at " the most delightful 
places on the Continent." It is, perhaps, needless to say that 
both of the curates are in love " Charlie " successfully so with 
Nellie, the niece of Squire Dashwood, the village magnate, and 
Lovel less successfully with Maude, his only daughter. A strong 
attachment exists between the latter pair, however, which it is 
Level's effort to keep as spiritual as possible enough so, at all 
events, to prevent Maude from suspecting his real feelings. 

" For, even supposing that he wished to give a more mundane 
turn to ihe tie that existed between them, he could not do it, for 
he had bound himself by a vow of celibacy for ten years, and 
only three of them had already gone by. And perhaps it was 
better so." 

It certainly was better so, if the astute avuncular scheme was to 
be carried out and this " weighty rejoinder " to Robert Elsmere 
written. Maude Dashwood is the perfection of all that is best 
and brightest in Ritualistic piety, and when a silent, mutual 
glance betrayed to her that she loved a materialist and was in 
turn beloved, 

" She buried her secret deep down in her heart, as if it were 
a crime of which she alone were conscious. She was really aghast, 
as if she had committed 'the unpardonable sin'; for what could 
seem worse to a girl brimful of religious devotion than to give 
her love to a man who denied her God ? " 



830 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. [Sept., 

At once she hastens to church, and before the altar, with its 
"brazen cross set with amethysts," makes a real renunciation, ami 
obtains a real peace. The skilled novel-reader foresees the 
sequel. The means by which it is attained arc of not very great 
importance. 

Maude seems to us a singularly charming and suggestive 
specimen 'of what may be expected to issue from an a 
occupied jointly by a Ritualistic parson and a lady novelist. She 
i- a St. Agnes, arrayed now in "a simple black evening dress, 
which showed off the beauty of her exquisitely moulded neck 
and shoulders, and the softly rounded arms which might have 
belonged to an Aphrodite"; now with "the lines oi her bodice 
following those of a perfect figure, her brown hair coiled on the 
top of her well-shaped head without a jewel or a flower, and the 
diamond cross, hanging from a solid gold necklet, her only orna- 
ment "; now, "in a dark-blue serge which fitted her slight 
figure to perfection, a sailor hat with an Oxford ribbon, a lace 
scarf tied carelessly round the smooth round pillar of her throat." 
The charms of her person and the contents of her wardrobe and 
jewel-box share the attention of her biographers, and attract that 
of the curate and the materialist, almost as profoundly as the 
Christian heroism whose anguish, and courage, and felicitous 
success they clothe so prettily. Of course she marries Paul after 
his baptism, having first accepted him " in a white dress and a 
large hat trimmed with soft white feathers," in which " she looked 
lovely " ; and almost equally of course, Lovel, who performs the 
ceremony, thinks he will not live very long after it. 

To how many Christians of this stamp does it ever occur 
that it was not to an earthly hell, but to that kingdom of heaven 
which is within us, that our Lord invited those who were given 
the faith to " make themselves eunuchs for its sake " ? It marks 
a period of religious decadence when celibacy and virginity have 
lost their true significance as rewards, and stand only as the 
mark of painful and heroic sacrifices. "I would that all men 
were even as myself," wrote St. Paul ; and surely not because 
he was hard-hearted, or considered sacrifice as an end in itself. 
"There is no man," said our Master, "who hath left house, or 
brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or 
lands for my name's sake, who shall not receive in this world an 
hundred fold, and in the world to come life everlasting." What 
if there were more in that promise than " ten-year celibates " have 
found, or seem likely to find ? 

The prevailing craze for natural mysticism, which ti'ider the 
various forms of hypnotism, spiritualism, and theosophy is making 






TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 831 

protest against the materialism of certain scientists, shows itself 
as a matter of course in current fiction. The Soul of Pierre. 
Georges Ohnet's latest novel (New York: Cassell Publishing Co.), 
finds its motive in it as did that rather clever mixture of real' 
science with fond vagary, Camille Flammarion's Uranie, also a 
recent issue from Cassell's. Ohnet keeps closer to the ground 
than Flammarion chose to. His reader, who begins by suspecting 
that he is tc be treated to a bit of consistently realistic idealism" 
in which his author will be contented to play, at least, at pro- 
found conviction, soon discovers that Ohnet had no real trans- 
migration of Pierre's soul in view, but was treading the old and 
well-known road known as the power of imagination to kill or 
cure. Ohnet has something of a reputation for aiming at deco- 
rum and decency in his work, and, we suppose, deserves it when 
one estimates decorum and decency according to more objection- 
able French standards. But if one selects a less conventional 
gauge, he falls measurably below it. 

So does Pierre Loti, one of whose earliest tales, Rarahu, has 
just been admirably translated by Clara Bell (New York : W. S. 
Gottsberger & Co.) But Loti comes into quite another category 
than would include Georges Ohnet. There is a subtle grace and 
a charm about everything from his pen that we have seen, which 
seize and enchain the imagination. But it is never a wholly 
salutary spell which they exert the " trail of the serpent is over 
it all," faint though its traces be in books like An Iceland Fish- 
erman, and From Lands of Exile. Rarahu is a little Maori 
maiden of fourteen who " goes to the Protestant missionary 
church at Popeete every Sunday," and with whom the hero, 
Harry Grant, an English midshipman, renamed " Loti " to suit 
the Polynesian throats which found the harsh English consonants 
impossible, contracts a " marriage," with the consent of her re- 
latives and by the advice of Queen Pomaie. 

"I need hardly say that the queen, who was a very judicious 
and sensible woman, did not mean a marriage according to 
European laws, a bond for life. She was very indulgent to the 
manners and customs of her people, though she often did her 
best to reform them and bring them into closer conformity with 
Christian principles. It was only a Tahitian marriage which she 
proposed to me. I had no very real motive for resisting her 
majesty's wish, and little Rarahu of Apire was a sweet person." 

Every charm of language and description, including that of 
a reticence which having once been frank about the actual fact 
is content to leave it, is thrown about this situation. The day 
comes when the ship sails away, carrying with it the " husband " 



832 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. [Sept.. 

who tries to persuade his broken-hearted "wife" to be faithful 
to him, in the hope of reunion in a future life which her union 
with him has sapped her original belief in. Her grief is gri 
is I.nti's; but, as lie hears in Regent Stii three years later, 

"in six months she went to live with a young French ofHcjr 

whose passion for her was quite out of the ommon; he was 

jealous even of your memory. She was still known as I.nti's 
little wife." 

This story brings to mind a question lately addres- ,\ to the 
present talker apropos of Francois Coppee's llcnricttc, briefly 
mentioned in this magazine some few months since: " Why 
characterize as 'pernicious' a tale so charmingly written, so full 
of truth to human nature in by no means its worst aspect, so 
pathetic in its close, and, for that matter, so religious? Is not 
the priest called in at the end, and does not the sinner die 
repentant ? " 

Well, grant, as we do, that the priest gives but one added 
touch of truth to nature, yet the priest who listens to a story of 
wrong-doing and forgives it in the name of God, differs in one 
most obvious way from the novelist. He listens and keeps silence. 
That is his affair. But the affair of Coppee in this novel was 
to elaborate details, and cast the charm of his art about one of 
those sins which, St. Paul reminds us, ought not so much as to 
be named among Christians. And the sinners are both of them 
Christians who know better. He paints vice as if under given 
circumstances it might be as much nobler a thing than virtu 
it is an easier one. And the more charmingly that sort of thing 
is done, the more pernicious it becomes.. The poison in Hcnritttc 
would go farther toward corrupting innocent souls than that of a 
dozen books like The Ragpicker of Paris. That it is true to 
nature is, under the circumstances, but one reason the more for 
putting it out of the reach of those who are consciously seeking 
a supernatural end by supernatural means. 

Bret Harte's last story, A Waif of tlic I'lains (Boston and 
New York : Houghton, Mifflin & Co.), is a very good book for 
boys. His young hero, who comes first into view in an emigrant 
wagon on " The Great Plains " at the age of eleven, and passes 
out of sight four or five years later from the parlor of a Jesuit 
college in San Jose, shows now and again a slight family likeness 
to David Copperfield, but is none the worse for that. I Ie is 
innocent, courageous, truthful, and high-minded, and ha.; plenty 
of adventures on the plains. The sketch of Father Sobricnte is 
pleasant. 



iS';o.] TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

With the Best Intentions, a Midsummer Episode, by M. 
Harland, is reprinted by Charles Scribncr's Sons from its author's 
magazine, TIic 1 Ionic- Maker, in which it is still running . 
serial. It is most lady-like in style and construction, and br 
delineating with considerable skill and veracity a well-known type 
of too-conscious virtue in Clara Morgan, it abounds with geo- 
graphical, historical, and other useful information. We hardly 
know which we admire most in that lovely and injured innocent, 
Mrs. Dumaresque her beauty, her taste in dress, her charity, her 
wit, her encyclopedic knowledge, or her "talent for recitation." 
It must have been a great treat to hear and see her do " Curfew 
must not Toll To-night" in the parlor of the Grand Hotel <>:i 
Mackinac Island or was it " Lasca " ? This is the way it was : 

" As the regal figure stepped again upon the improvised dais 
at the head of the great room, silence that could be felt de- 
scended upon the crowd. Before she uttered a w.ord, she had 
passed in spirit away from sight and sound of her audience. 
The wistful eyes looked over and beyond the sea of heads to 
snowy- browed Sierras, her nostrils dilated slightly, and lips parted 
to inhale breezes wild with the s.veep across a hundred leagues 
of treeless prairie." 

To quote Clara Morgan, this " must have been intensely 
scenic " ! 

A most interesting and delightful book, and one which we 
should be glad to see put to use as a reader in the upper 
classes of our convent and collegiate schools, is a reprint of some 
papers on natural history, by the Rev. John Gerard, S.J. John 
Murphy & Co., of Baltimore, have just issued it under the title 
of Science and Scientists. Father Gerard is a Stonyhurst Jesuit 
whose articles on topics similar to those treated in this volume 
have often given us a singular pleasure in the pages of The 
Month. His style has a lucidity, a lightness and firmness of 
touch, and a suavity of tone which wonderfully adorn the subject 
he is otherwise so well qualified to handle. George Eliot pro- 
nounced the book which upset her belief in Christianity " full 
of wit," because it gave her " that exquisite laughter which comes 
from the exercise of the reasoning faculties." We get a similar 
gratification from these essays of Father Gerard's, which bring 
theory and assumption to the simple tost of the unaided eye 
and ear of whomsoever will look attentively at the work going 
on in the ordinary workshops of nature, her fields, hedgerows, 
and running waters. His object has been to subject to their own 
test, and to destroy by means of it, the popular expositions of 
the evolutionary theory made by such writers as Mr. Grant Allen, 



s-,4 TALK ABOUT NEW BOOKS. 

\\lio iiiulcrt.-iko to demonstrate' to the unlearned the absence from 
the universe of what has been known, at all events since Paley's 
time, as design and contrivance. To our notion he has accom- 
plished his purpose with admirable skill, an.l something more 
tha:i that. He is not merely convincing but entertaining as well, 
and to a high degree. Of the half do/en essays of which the 
present volume is composed there is not one which is not a 
model of easy, unconstrained, and yet scholarly Hnglish, a.; well 
.is a repertory of first-hand observation, good-te:npered 1 
and telling fact-. 

M. II. Gill & Son (Dublin) send us a new edition, in p.i 
rs, of Mr. John James I'iatt's .If the Holy Well, isith A 
I In nd fitl of New Verses. We are glad to see it so soon attain 
the honors of a reprint. The first edition was noticed in this 
magazine when it came out, some two years since. 

The new story-teller, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, has gained his 
vogue in a way which is speedy but not astonishing. Of the 
volume called Forty Tales from the Hills (New York : J. S. 
Ogilvie\ there is nothing to be compared in point of construc- 
tion and finish to the " Incarnation of Krishna MiiK-aney," which 
made its first appearance in Mac mil la it's. Hut even taken by 
themselves, and without any acquaintance with that most amus- 
ing and fantastic tale, there is quite enough in them to mirk a 
new man and to inspire the hope that his pen may not soon run 
dry. Still, the longer story is needed to correct the impression 
of entire artlessness made by the slighter sketches. It seems at 
first glance as if any one of half a dozen raeon'eiirs of one's 
acquaintance might reel off their like at a moment's notice. 
They sound as unliterary and as devoid of any effort or pretence 
as the whinny of a horse. One inclines to believe that the 
novelty of scene and subject is all, or mainly all, that gives them 
their unique flavor. But Mr. Kipling's equipment is not so nar- 
row. In a late Lippincott he showed himself capable of touching 
with singular suggestiveness and effect that difficult subject, the 
supernatural. And then his people are thoroughly alive. Will 
any one who has once caught sight of Private Mulvaney in the 
pink silk palanquin lining, tooting celestial melodies to the pray- 
ing queens at Benares, ever be likely to forget him ? Grai 
scallawags as they are, and as unfit, being private soldiers in the 
British army, for admittance " to the outer door-mats of <!< 
society," Mr. Kipling's three friends have a suspicion of immor- 
tality about them which suggests kinship with that other long- 
lived trio, Athos, Porlh is, and Aramis. Still, perhaps we should 
not recommend their acquaintance to the fastidious. 



1890.] THE KINDLY LIGHT. 835 



THE KINDLY LIGHT. 

" The path of the just, as a shining light, goeth forwards and incrcaseth even 
perfect day. I'KOV. iv. 18. 

I SAW a Kindly Light stream upward at the Dawn ; 
And souls, awakened by its gladd'ning rays of hope, 
Beheld the night of doubt, with gloom encircled, flee. 
Though as at some far distance, then that Light revealed 
Truth's own pure form, erewhile by mists of pride disguised, 
Now calling with courageous voice and beck'ning smile 
To pass o'er moor and fen, o'er torrent and steep crag, 
Up to the lofty plain of heaven-illumined faith. 
How happy they who answering saw the leading Light 
And sought the way that " brightens to the perfect day " ! 

I saw the Kindly Light at Mid-day; and behold ! 

A show'r of jewelled rays fell sparkling o'er the fields 

Whose furrows told where Truth's broad ploughshare and the feet 

Of those who sow Truth's seed had passed. The puissant gleam 

Shed all around a wealth of warmth and quick'ning strength, 

Assuring a rich harvest. But, with scorching heat, 

It blazed upon and shrivelled all sham fruits to dust. 

Swift as the lightning's stroke and keen as Damask blade, 

Its brilliant shafts pierced through the boastful lie, which shrank 

Unnerved and shamed to show its face against the sun. 

Alone to eyes diseased by their own lusts and pride 

This Kindly Light unkindly and unwelcome proved. 

Yet, nobly tender and, as sheen of moonbeam, chaste, 

Stooped low and, temp'ring its strong glance, soothed weary 

hearts ; 

And leading faltering steps o'er rough and thorny ground 
Made smooth the way that "brightens to the perfect day." 

I saw the passing of the Kindly Light at Eve ; 
And lo ! the gracious Beam, its radiant course complete 
And thick bestrewn with brilliant trophies of its pow'r, 
Now, master of its day, sought tranquil, full-earned rest, 
As sinks the wearied sun on couch, no less a throne 
Of gorgeous splendor, in his royal purple clad, 
Casting a ruddy glow o'er all th' admiring world. 



836 Tut: A'/.v/'/ Y LIGHT. 

Then I, and yet not I alone, with eyes upturn 

I'n'o tl '",;lit \\Vst llir ;.;-ial of faith and hope 

(la/ed wond'riiujly upon tin- brilliant halo th.it bedecked 

The Christian sky; as full of kindness .1^ of li^ht. 

No one so hi;_jh. n>> oiu- -o low, if friend or 

\Vlio-r lu-.irt now v.-arnv.-d not 'ne:ith its calm, bcnijjna.it rays. 

So, for a lon;^, last, glorious hour, we linjj'rinjj stood 

Entranced and awed. Still -ja/iny, heavenly strains were heard 

As signal of the end; but not an end in ni^ht. 

The smiles of long-loved a:i;;el faces ushered in 

Another Morn ; and, though to our dull sijjlit it waned, 

The Kindly Lijjht passed bright'ninjj to its Perfect Day.* 

Al.KRKD Yoi'Ni;. 
* " I hear (he music ol he.f. ^unshine." '1'nc last words ol Cardin.tl Nt-wman. 






1890.] WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 837 



WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

To THE EDITOR OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD : 

The article in the April number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD entitled " The 
Use of the English Language in Catholic Public Worship," by George H. 
Howard, pleased me very much. At the same time I was surprised that the 
writer should timidly think the novelty of his suggestions could arouse oppo- 
sition or unfavorable criticism. For in almost all the children's Masses in the 
German churches (and the German priest invariably insists that all school 
children shall attend Mass every morning during the session) the bi-lingual ser- 
vice is conducted more or less in the manner suggested, except that, instead of 
literal translations of the Mass prayers, other suitable prayers are often used. I 
myself should prefer literal translations. The children sing and pray alternately. 
The same practice is usually observed at Fi'st Communions, and when sodalities 
make their Communion in a body ; and this at the regular Masses for the con- 
gregation on Sundays. The Germans have never feared, never thought of, any 
incongruity, or anything against the spirit of Catholic faith, in this old custom. 

So, also, at public adorations (as the Forty Hours or others) the priest simply 
makes and gives out the regulation for the day, assigning for the children, or 
the different societies, the several hours of the day for adoration ; and one of 
the lay-people takes the lead in prayer, making the selection of suitable prayers, 
litanies, and hymns as he thinks best. In this way there is a constant supply of 
adorers with a quasi-public prayer. The zeal, heartiness, and force with which 
German Catholics engage in the Forty Hours' Devotion is no doubt attributable, 
very largely, to the congregational and responsive nature of the prayers em- 
ployed, and the singing in unison of appropriate, familiar, and favorite hymns. 
1 have never seen such heartiness and devotion at that service among English- 
speaking Catholics in this country, where no organized effort at worship is 
attempted, and the poor attendance, as compared with that in the German 
churches, must also be attributed to the want of such effort. 

1 have never seen such a service as the writer suggests practised regularly 
on Sundays; and it would seem that for grown-up people the individual, silent 
prayer is preferred on ordinary Sundays. On Sundays a great many who 
do not go to church on other days have private and individual needs ancl 
exercises during holy Mass. Some prepare for confession,others for Communion ; 
they desire special prayers, and would feel embarrassed in joining in prayers 
with others. Surely, there are some, not a few, who generally prefer private 
prayer. But on more solemn occasions, as when a society communicates in a 
body, there is a greater common interest, tlie members feel more closely drawn 
together, and even the congregation at large is more in sympathy with them 
than on other days. So at Forty Hours' Devotion, the main and unique object is 
the praise and glory of the BlesseJ Sacrament; and even then there should be 
left free consideraole time for individual inclination. 

The Catholic Church stands more on a democratic than on a republican 
platform. The centralization is more perfectly formed and forcibly expressed 
in the general exterior government ; but in detail the church always allows us 
great liberty of individual action. In necessarily unitas, in dubiis libertas, in 



I WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDED [Sept., 

uintiibui ffiaritiis. This is the cause why the church, so strong in a strict unity, 
shows such great variety in ways and means, and in the application of 
principles. 

1 think no special approbation of the bishop would be n but that 

any priest might put in practice the service suggested in the article. Hut if the 
bishops would take the matter in hand, and recommend the practice, and 
perhaps give some plan for it (for such a service undoubtedly should have the 
important advantage of uniformity), such official sanction would be all-important. 

Chicago, III. 



\Vi must request the members of the Columbian Reading Union to wait 
till our next issue for their usual instalment of correspondence and information. 



1 8'>). J NE W PUBLICA TJONS. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
i 

WHAT SHALL OUR CHILDREN READ? Report of Special Committee on 
Reading, New York State Teachers' Association, Forty-fifth Annual Con- 
vention. 

Within the brief space of the pamphlet before us is compressed much of 
interest both to admirers and detractors of the public-school system. It contains 
a confession of failure which, coming from the upholders of the system, is worth 
more than tons of diatribe and argument from its opponents. Its enemies are 
left wordless and agape when its friends admit, as does this report : " It is no 
exaggeration to say that to-day the ordinary public-school course leaves the child 
without literary taste or ambition, misses the very idea of mental culture, and 
thus robs him of much of the happiness of life.' 1 

The Special Committee calls the attention of the association to two points, 
one being the unlimited opportunity a teacher possesses of cultivating in 
children "a sound literary taste, from the very beginning of school-life''; the 
other, as the report words it, " our titter >ind complete failure, both as individ- 
uals and associations, properly to utilise our unrivalled opportunities for doing 
stick work." 

The italics are ours, given most willingly to the committee as the visible 
sign of our sincere approbation of its honesty in, at last, admitting what we 
could have told committee and association long ago. Literary culture, in the 
public schools, has never been a growth. It has been an ingenious system of 
boosting by which the pupils have been gradually shoved, and pushed, and 
tugged up to a bird's-eye view (grammatical, rhetorical, or elocutionary, never 
ethical or critical) of the world's literary masterpieces. 

Let us hear the committee. It proclaims : " The question is a serious 
one. ... Its discussion embraces not only the subject of mental culture, 
but also the entire moral and spiritual training that our schools, as at present 
constituted, can give." 

Pending the time when the child's "entire moral and spiritual training " 
will not be quite synonymous with the good or bad course of literature pursued, 
let us hope that the literary training in the public schools will become the active, 
arousing, and developing force in the moulding of character that such training 
ought to be. 

To attain this desirable consummation the Teachers' Association has 
reso'ved to appoint a permanent committee on literature, whose duties will be 
" to prepare suitable lists of proper reading matter for children, to prepare and 
circulate leaflets on reading for the young, to review current juvenile works, and 
to aid, in every way, this association in its efforts to cultivate in our young 
people the taste for the reading of good literature." 

It is a significant fact that the association aims at doing for the pupils of the 
public schools what, for more than a year, the Columbian Reading Union has 
been accomplishing for American Catholics, children and adults. Those of our 
people who need to have the merits of their own undertakings pointed out to 
them, for their recognition and encouragement, by non-Catholics, will, we hope, 
realize more clearly and more cordially the need filled by the Columbian Union, 
now that they can perceive that its work is being achieved in parallel lines with 
that to be undertaken by the committee organized by the Teachers' Association. 



840 Nir Pi v.v /<.-? //<< [Sept., 

CARMH. IN AMI.HICA. A Centennial History of the Di nnelites in 

the I'nited St.iu-s. l!y Rev. Ch.nlrs W.irren Currier. C.SS.K. l!:iltiniore: 
John Murphy & Co. 

There is probably no religious community in our country whose history is 
more interesting than that of the Carmelite Sisters. They established the first 
convent of religious women in the I'niti-d St.iu-s. Shortly after tin Kex.ilution 
a numl ci ut' devout Catholics of Maryland petitioned the Rev. Mother of the 
English Teresian Convent at Antwerp fora new foundation of their order in our 
midst. The.--'" -uimnt that could be adduced tor this : ;s that 

put forth at the time by Ri-v. I-n.itiu.-. M.ulu-ws, an American pri \ : " Now is 
the time to found in this country, for peace is declare 1 anJ religion is free.'' 
The funds necessary for the undertaking were furnished in p .itho- 

lics in Europe, the most generous offering In in;.; from M. de Villegas d'Est.iin- 
bourg, a member of the Grand Council of Brussels, th: rest com in ; fro in Ameri- 
can families, mostly relatives and friends of the m.-mbsrs of the nc\\ community, 
among whom was Rev. CliarK A ho from hi-> patrimony purchased the 

land for the convent and assisted in the erection of the 1 

The year 1790 saw the Order of St. Teresa established on an old an-1 valu- 
able estate near Port Tobacco, Charles County, Md. The four members of this 
infant community proved thcmsclv. s to be heroic and saintly women, whose 
names deserve to remain on our religious annals for all time. The Rev. 
Mother was Clare Joseph Dickenson, an English lady who had left her 
country and entered the English convent at Antwerp. The others were 
Sister Bernardina T \ier Mathcws, and her two nie> i Mary 

Eleanora Mathews and Sister Mary Aloysia Mathews, all natives of Mary- 
land who had gone to Europe to become Carmelites. Mother Clare J. 
governed the community lor thirty years, and at her death left an American 
C.irmcl in a prosperous condition. 

A century has passed, and now there are three flourishing commun ties of 
Carmelites in the United States, one in each of the cities of Baltimore, St. Louis, 
and New Orleans. Their roll of membership contains, v mi:. lit almost I 
list of saints. The very choicest vocations hive been vmchsifed to them from 
heaven. It is-well known how from thru to time society has been startled by 
what was thought an impossible sacrifice, when some lady favored with beauty 
and fortune took the veil within their cloister. Their prayers and holy examples, 
furthermore, have led countless souls in the world to seek and follow the coun- 
sels of perfection in various religious communities. Bishops in whose dioceses 
they live have looked upon them as their strongest support before tin- omit of 
heaven Priests and religious particularly the Jesuits, Sulpitians, and Redcmp- 
torists have looked up to them and continually sought a share in their fervent 
petitions. The Paulists feel especially grateful for the priy.'rs which the Carme- 
lites have offered for them as a body and individually, and for the success of 
their missionary labors. 

As soon as Father Currier's book came upon our table it was eagerly sought 
for and read. He has written in a clear and wholly unaffected style, and, what 
is very meritorious in a historian, kept the order of events unl' that 

they can be easily followed. We admire, especially, his simple des.-riptian of 
the virtues of the different sisters of whom he separately treat-,. 

( -iMKRENCtS OF AGOSTINO DA MONIH I.I.IKD. Delivered in Rome during 
Lent, 1889. Translated from the Italian by Dalby Galli. London : 
Thomas Baker ; New York : Benziger Bros. 

Every age has its characteristic preichers, and the present has in Padrt 



i c,o.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 841 

Afiostino one of its representatives. A great authority on pulpit orator, 
said that successful preaching depends, first, on the personality of the preacher, 
and, secondly, on the matter of the sermon. As regards the former, it m 
said that these discourses reveal a man whose character compels admiration ; 
his thoughts are evidently the sincere convictions of his mind ; no one can 
suspect otherwise. That faith which enlightens and enlarges the understanding 
make's his arguments clear and irresistible, while his heroic life of religious 
observance and labor among the neglected ones of Christ's fold attracts vast num- 
bers to the service of God. He is known to be an active doer as well as a faith- 
ful preacher of the Word. Of the matter of his sermons it may be remarked, 
that he has invariably chosen subjects which are practical, and in another would 
perhaps be called very commonplace, but he has invested them with such 
realism and life that they impress his hearers as forcibly as if they wen 
newly discovered. 

His style is not the dull, traditionary, but the lively, epigrammatic; and his 
comparisons and illustrations are not drawn from modes of thought that are past 
and gone, but from the current ideas of men. 

We think this little volume of sermons of priceless value. 

SERMONS FOR THE SUNDAYS AND CHIEF FESTIVALS OF THE ECCLE- 
SIASTICAL YEAR. With two courses of Lenten Sermons and a Triduum for 
the Forty Hours. By Rev. Julius Pottgeisss-r, S.J. Translated by Rev. 
James Conway, S.J. (Two vols.) New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: Benziger 
Bros. 

The author of these sermons is a distinguished priest of the Society of Jesus 
who spent many years in giving missions and retreats, and who in his latter 
years divided his time between prayer, contemplation, and the preparation of 
these volumes for the press. Ripe with experience and assisted by the Divine 
Spirit, he did a work with his pen which will leave his name in benediction 
among priests and people who read these discourses. They have already been 
widely circulated and unanimously praised by German-speaking Catholics, and 
English-speaking Catholics particularly priests will fully appreciate their 
worth. We most heartily thank the zealous translator and the enterprising 
publishers for giving us this valuable work in our own tongue. 

ABRIDGED SERMONS FOR ALL SUNDAYS OF THE YEAR. By St. Alphonsus de 
Liguori, Doctor of the Church. Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 
New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: Benziger Bros. 

These are sermons adapted to general use both by missionaries and the 
parochial clergy, going over the subjects of the usual Sunday routine and the 
various topics, for extraordinary seasons of devotion. They are the productions 
of one of the most powerful preachers whom the Spirit of God ever gave to the 
church, and bear the impress of natural genius as well as of extraordinary super- 
natural gifts. 

As indicated by the word abridged in the title, the reader is here given only 
the substance of the discourses, but that is amply sufficient to give the character- 
istics both of style and matter. Under the head of " Instructions to Preachers " 
the saint gives.by way of introduction, an excellent summary of the rules of sacred 
eloquence, drawn from a thorough knowledge of the classical models of both 
pagan and Christian eloquence, and especially resulting from more than half a 
century of incessant public speaking by the great missionary himself. Every 

VOL. LI. -54 



842 \V-ir /'rA//r.-r/yr>.v.v. | Sept.. 

word of tli. Mry pan of the work might bo profitably Ic-amed by heart 

.inr.or-. in that public vocation which is the fun iv,i nvtho.1 ,,(' spreading 
tin- ]ii;lit and holiness of Christ among men. 



HON. I- n>, n the .!/>.'/ i:ristetithum* of Fran/ Hettin- 

ger, IXD.. Professor Ol . at the r.iiverMty Dl" V. 

with an introduction on Ce; 1 Icnry Sebasti n. of the Ora- 

tory. New \'ork and Cincinnati : Kr. 1'ustet & Co. 

Before Dr. llottir in our hands for notice 

; two chapters of his work, entitled " (",od and Man" and 
" The End of Man." The impression left on us was that here is wonderfully 
good reading for educated laymen. It was with .-o: |, when we 

came to a more complete and serious study of the woi '.. found th 

(hor's preface to state that some of the confe: . large 

audiences of educated laity." With the greater diffusion of a knowled 
philosophy, made possible by a more extended coarse of philosophy in Catholic 
institutions for higher education, has come the appreciation and study of just 
such works as Dr. Hcltinger's .\\itiinil Keligitm. A good education must direct 
the thought and study of Catholic laymen to a more scientific in >n of 

what are termed questions of the day materialism, evolution, pantheism. I>.u 
winism questions which may be discussed in the light c; ilone. To 

such as find pleasure and profit in the study of tin us, and aKn to those 

who by virtue of their profession must needs be posted in fact, to every layman 
who aims at a finished education and would be able to hold his own in the field 
of contemporary religious and ethical discussion, Dr. Hettinger's book will be 
found most acceptable. The questions treated are : Doubt in Religion ; The 
three Orders of Truth; God, His Existence and Essence; Ma; Pan- 

theism ; Soulless Man ; Man, Body and Soul ; God and Man ; Knd of .Man. 

It were impossible in a notice like the present to giv, .|iiate idea of 

the method in which the writer discusses his subjects, mu< h lcs-> to show his re- 
search and profound learning displayed. However, some notion of both may 
be formed by reproducing here a summary of that portion of Chapter iv. which 
treats of Darwinism. In this chapter Dr. Hettinger devotes some fourteen ; 
to Darwin, treating of Objections to Darwinism ; Absence of transitional I 
Fixity of species; Identity of primitive and e>. pes ; Su<i> nance 

of new groups of species ; Variations of type limited and determined ; Survival ol 
the lowest organisms ; Mutual completion of exemplars and speeds; Various 
species in the same locality, and the same species in various localities ; Morpho- 
logical qualities unsusceptible of change, functional the reverse; L'ninhcrited 
peculiarities; Neuter ants ; Higher instincts in lower organized animal,; i 
ent instincts in similar organisms, and :ulent formation of 

species and organs. When we state that use is made of over two hundred au- 
thors either by direct quotation or by reierence, on.' may form some notion 01 
the immense learning of the author. 

The work contains a little less than three hundred pages, and has 1 
edited with great care and exactness by Father Bowden, wh essay 

on " Certainty," which precedes the subject-matter of the woik, will aid veiy 
materially in its better undeistanding and appieriation. The .; 
done, the style being plain and direct. The work is copiously indi iiapters 

and on the margin, and at the end of tlie volume there is an index of autiio 
([notations. Father Bowden tells us in In that Or. Hettm;.;er died while 



1890.] N&H-- ri'lU.h'ATlONS. 843 

the English version of Natutal .'Mi ml thus beautifully n 

to the fact : ''Whilst this version n.is preparing for press the author of '.he 
Apologic reached the term of his pilgrimage. . . . Gifted and learned, yet 
single-minded, humble, and warm-hearted, Franz von Hcttin out to do 

battle for the faith like some well-appoint, -.1 Uni ;; ;it of old, and he died lance in 
hand, as the knight of old hoped to die, 'for God and his church. Our In 
then, we trust, his gain, for they that are learned as he was ' shall shine as tin- 
brightness of the firmament, and they that instruct many to justice, as stars for 
all eternity (Daniel xii. 3)." 

MAY BLOSSOMS. By Lillian. New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

A pretty volume of seventy-five poems by a child, but not at all a collection 
of childish poetry. We are assured in the preface, and as a special "index of 
ages " points out, several of the little author's effusions were dictated by her 
before she could read or write. They are all composed between the ages of 
seven and thirteen, the largest number are credited to the ages of nine and 
eleven. Moreover they are given without correction or change, and evidence oa 
every page the truth of the saying : Poeta nascitur, nan fit. 

These verses are chiefly poetic descriptions of the beauties of nature as the 
child-author saw them in field and garden, in the forest or by the sea-shore, in 
winter and summer ; in praise of her pet birds, cat and cow, etc. All are read- 
able, singularly correct in their rhythm and in the variety of their metrical 
forms. A few poems show her Catholic faith and devotional spirit. This would 
be an excellent wo'rk to go upon the catalogue of gift books and convent prizes. 

THE LEADING FACTS OF AMERICAN HISTORY. By D. H. Montgomery. 
Boston : Ginn & Co. 

If ever there was a giant in intellect, heroism, and piety, that one was Chris- 
topher Columbus. For him, whether intentionally or not, Mr. Montgomery has 
put forward a puny-souled dwarf. The best he can say of him is in a foot-note 
quotation from Walckenaer. And here is his epitome of the man the world is 
about to celebrate : " Christopher Columbus, with Marco Polo and Alexander 
the Great, have contributed the most to the progress of geography." Taken in 
conjunction with the consistent belittling of Columbus, it is hard to acquit Mr. 
Montgomery of malice in his relation of the infamous fable of the tearing out of 
tongues and the one hundred lashes. It is true, the author acknowledges it to 
be false that Columbus commanded any such atrocities ; but if false, why put the 
fable into a book of " Leading Facts " ? We should hope that Mr. Montgomery 
has some veneration for the man who gave a greater world to a lesser, but he 
certainly has managed to conceal it in Leading Facts. 

We sinccrelycongratulate the author on his chapters concerning the Puritan 
Pilgrims of Massachusetts and the Catholic Pilgrims of Maryland. In both 
instances he has endeavored to be just, and in great part he has succeeded. If 
he has been rather tolerant of the intolerance of the Puritan, he has not been 
chary in his praise of the wonderful tolerance and whole-souled hospitality the 
Maryland Catholics displayed towards their bitterest enemies. Neither has he 
failed to sound some of the praises due to the noble band of French Jesuits 
" who braved all dangers ; enduring hunger, cold, and torture without a murmur 
in their zeal for the conversion of the Indians." 

So used are we to misleading histories of the Revolution that we are not 
surprised that Mr. Montgomery's narration of Facts is so largely the relation of 



}<14 ;( /V /,-//( '.4 //<;.\v,. [Sept., 

W ' to the belie.. prevalent, 

lh.it thi- war for ind' >;-igin in Massachusetts and received its 

i hie f support fi. I. 1'h.- triitli is, that not only sections < 

Kngland but of Pen:: .mil to :i certain extent <>f New Voik, were hot- 

beds of Toryism. Tin- aid given the col 

that of (.'athdie Spaii, timls no mention in this compilation of/SK/h The Boston 
given its usual proiiiii: ipolil " I<M party" and 

the burning of the / \\trt are not mentioned. 

Irj his relation of the chiel t the Civil ' ar the author gives the 

strongest evidence of a wish to be just to the South and to tin- North, to tell 
nothing but the truth, to hurt the feelings of no man. 



(/ \llluih JI:WKI,> II:DM Sll\: ;erald. 

London: Burns & Oates; N'ewVurk: Catholic Publication Society Co. 

This small volume may well be commended to those who have doubts as to 
the Catholicity of Shakespeare. And that other class, were it '>* them to 

step from the narrow grooves they have roughened out for t! . who 

doubt or deny the spirituality of this her of spiritual things, might 

read these Catholic Jewels with profit to their souls. We do not think it re 
quires a great temerity to assert, what can be readily prov the spirit- 

uality of Shakespeare's writings is surpassed only in the inspired books and the 
writings of the saints and servants of God. It would be a curious study to learn 
how much of the growing distaste of atheists and mati \ Shakespeare is 

due to his prominently Christian attitude, the word Christian being us 
synonymous with Catholic. 

Shakespeare is an ever-living reproach to those who would deny God a place 
in literature. They seem to be unaware that there has never been a litera- 
ture worthy the name that has not had a God for its theme. And the greater 
a literature the more largely has it dealt in the supernatural. To strike the 
supernatural out of the literatures of Greece and Rome would be to destroy 
them. Strike out God from our own literature, and we should have the same 
result. The Catholic Publication Society Co. has but added to the debt the 
literary public owes it by printing Mr. Fitzgerald's selection of Catholic J 
from Shakespeare. 

THE LIFE OF SAINT PATRICK, APOSTLK OK IRKI.AND With a Preliminary 
Account of the sources of the Saint's History. By William Bullen Morris, 
Priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Ncri. Fourth Edition. London: Burns 
& Oates; Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son; New York: Catholic Publication 
Society Co. 

This remarkable work has already been noticed in our pages. In the pre- 
sent edition it is much altered in form and dimensions, and the introduction re- 
written. Were it not for the reverence inspired by the learned author's humility, 
a smile would be aroused at being told that he awaits the verdict of the benevo- 
lent reader with trepidation. There can be but one opinion of the work among 
men of literary taste, and that is the opinion we expressed, and which is coinci- 
dent with every one of the numerous reviews of the book, that " Father Morris 
has produced the best life ol St. Patrick yet written." While it is a work of solid 
biographical character, it is at the same time as intere. the great 

novels, and as a historical study it is a model. The style is excellent, and the 
English exceptionally beautiful. Too much praise cannot be given to the 
author's treatment of the miracles of St. Patrick. 



WITH THE PUBLISHER. 845 



WITH THE PUBLISHER. 



THE Publisher knew in many ways that last month was 
August, but better even than by the thermometer was it evident 
from the size of his daily mail. August is a month of 
lessened business activity, and so if the mail was light and the 
payment of bills had more of the character of scattered firing 
than a lively fusillade it was not abnormal, even if it was incon- 
venient. The inconvenience was by no means slight, however, 
for the Publisher has to meet his bills in August just as in January, 
even though his receipts so widely differ in these months. This 
is said in reply to some of our friends who were inclined to 
think us too persistent during the past month. Such people 
forget that THE CATHOLIC WORLD is not published to make 
money, and is, therefore, without capital to sustain it : its con- 
tinuance and prosperity depend upon the regular and prompt 
payment of subscription bills. 

With September, however, business revives, and the Publisher 
looks forward to a share in the activity that follows the August 
heats. He would again remind the friends of the magazine that 
upon their good will and practical interest in its welfare must 
the chief reliance of the Publisher be placed if the aims of THE 
CATHOLIC WORLD are to be realized. Don't forget that every 
one of our readers is invited to send us names for sample copies. 
It may not always and in every case secure a subscriber, but it 
will do good, and often in a way one little suspects. 



* 
* * 



As an example of this the Publisher takes the liberty of re- 
producing a part of a private letter received during the past 
month : 

" The remarks by the Publisher in the August CATHOLIC 
WORLD encourage me to acknowledge .my own debt to that 
publication ' in its cultivation of the truth.' 

"The January number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD for 1889, 
sent to me by a friend, a convert, found me an agnostic who 
from recent experiences was ready, as never before, for the truth 



If/77/ 77/A 1'UKI.ISHEK. [Sept., 

of God. It was the beginning of a course of Catholic reading which 
in a little more than three months caused my reception into the 
Church. ... I have taken THE CATHOLIC \Vtikl. l> since 
last September. . . . With a grateful heart I wish it pros- 
perity." 



* 
* * 



Such a letter is most encouraging to those who are engaged 
in the labor of realizing the object of this magazine, and for- 
tunately, even though many are reluctant to speak of such ex- 
periences, the letter cited above is not an isolated instan< 
the good work begun or supplemented by Tin: CATHOLIC 
\VoKi.p. In that good work every subscriber ha> a share Don't 
forget that Your support is a very " efficient cause " of the 
good to be accomplished. 



* 
* * 



While encouraging our friends to greater activity, we h 
not in the meantime been idle ourselves. You were u 
look to this department for news of important changes in the 
magazine. It gives us great pleasure to announce that with the 
next issue of THE CATHOLIC WORLD the magazine will be 
sixteen pages larger in the future ; and as there are many of our 
readers who complain of the small type used in certain depart- 
ments, the whole magazine will hereafter be printed in uniform 
type. The added pages will not be devoted to any special de- 
partment, unless in time it should become evident that a number 
of our readers would so desire it. For the present, at least, 
these pages will be taken u;> with short and pithy comments 0:1 
current events that have a bearing on the questions usually 
discussed in the magazine, and short papers of a character such 
as those published hitherto under the department of " With 
Readers and Correspondents." 



* 
* * 



This "new departure" will inaugurate the fifty second volume 
of THE CATHOLIC WORLD. We are grateful for the support 
that made this increase in size possible and practicable, and we 
trust that with a larger magazine, it will improve- in every good 
quality it has possessed hitherto, and will double the number of 
its present subscribers within -well, a reasonable time. 



The Catholic Publication Society Co. has issued, in conjunc- 
tion with Messrs. Burns & Gates of London : 



1890.] WITH THE PUBLISHER. 



847 



A History of the Passion: being the Gospel Narrative of 
the Sufferings of Jesus Christ and the Dolors of Mary. 
With notes and comments. By the Rev. Arthur Dcvine, 
Passionist. 

They have also in preparation and will issue shortly : 

Peter's Rock in Mahommcd's Flood. By T. W. Allies. 
This will be the seventh and concluding volume of 
his great work on the Formation of Christendom. 

A new edition of Moehler's Symbolism, in two vols. 

A new edition of Pcre Grou's Interior of Jesus and 
Mary. 

An Intermediate Grammar and Analysis. This text- 
book, bound in cloth, will be the cheapest Grammar 
at present on the market, the introduction price in 
schools being 12^. cents a copy. 

Mary in the Epistles; or, The Implicit Teaching of the 
Apostles concerning the Blessed Virgin set forth in 
devout comments on their writings. Illustrated from 
the Fathers and prefaced by an introduction from the 
pen of the Rev. T. Livius, C.SS.R. 

Meditations on the Gospels for every day in the year. 
By the Rev. P. Medaille. A new edition enlarged 
by the Besan9on missionaries. Translated from the 
French, and edited by the Rev. W. H. Eyre, S.J. 

Benziger Bros, announce an important work, to be ready some 
time in September : 

De Philosophia Morali Prcelectiones, in Collegio Georgeo- 
politano habitae anno 1890, a I'. N. Russo, SJ. 8vo, 
half leather, net $2. 

Macmillan & Co. announce for early publication the first 
volume of Prof. Alfred Marshall's Principles of Economics ; 

A new volume of stories by Rudyard Kipling, and a 
reprint in attractive form, from the Collected Works of 
Kdward Fitzgerald, of his famous version of the Rubaiyat 
of Omar Khayyam. 

D. Appleton & Co. have in preparation the third volume of 
McMasters' 

History of the People of the United States. In this volume 
the author treats of that period of our history embraced 
between the Louisiana purchase and the conclusion of 
the War of 1812. 



A.s AV 



^ kl CEtVED 
Mention of books in thts plact does not preclvde extrndtd no/iff in luisryueitt tin 

1- II [IKS SL'R I.'AVK.NIH UK I.T.Iil ISP. ( 'AT Ml II , K.M 

K'HfMAM li. 1/1 LA Hl'.MA ATIiiN PI .1 1'Al.lv ! 

moine honoraire de Poilicrs et d'.V 
Oudm & 

REFERENCE HANPIIOOK FOR KEADKI I MlS- 

TOKY. liy E. H. Gurnoy. Koston : Ginn & Co. 

i Aug. I.ehmkubl, 
S.J. I'ara V., Pars VI. Kriliurg in Brisg.iu and St . I .. -.1 - . llcrder&Co. 

I'l AIN SKRMONS ON Tin: 1 Hy ilu- 

ki-v. K. U. Browne. New York: Catholic Publ, ondon: Burns \ 

Oatcs. 

M \\IMS AND COUNSELS OF ST. PHILIP NKRI. Arranged f.. 
Dublin: M. H. (i'ii A Son, 

ii. I!y John Acton. Philadelphia: Billstein .*. 

I PIK NINK WIIRI.DS. Stories from Norse Mythology, by Mary K. I-itchlield. Boston and 
London : Ginn & Co. 

TIKK-KIKK STORIES AND FAIKY TALKS OF IRELAND. l'.\ P.:irrv O'Connor. 
P. J. Kenedy. 

STATEMENT OF THE CHIEF GRIEVANCES OF IRISH CATHOLIC IN mi M\n 

EDUCATION, PRIMARY, INTERMKUIATE. ANH CMVKKMIV. By the Archbishop of 
Dublin. Dublin: Browne & Nolan ; M. H.Gill X Son. London: Simpkin. Marshall. 
II. million, Kent & Co. 



PAMPHLETS. 

THE ETHICAL PROBLEM. By Dr. Paul Cams. Chicago: The Open Court Publishi 

DEVELOPMENT OF THK KING'S PEA' K. AND mi. ENGLISH LOCAL PEACE-M 
By George E. Howard, Professor of History in the University ol 

EVOLUTION OF THE UNIVERSITY. First Annual Address befon- du- Alu 

the University of Nebraska, June u, 1889. By George E. Howard. 1'r^fi-ssor of His 
tory in the University of Nebraska. Lincoln: Published by the Association. 




The Catholic world 



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