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OCTOBER, 1916, TO MARCH, 1917 






Aged, The Care of Children and 
the. James J. Walsh, M.D., 
Ph.D., . . . . , . 56 

American Statesmen and Freedom 

of the Seas. Charles O' Sullivan, 447 

An American Treck in the Foot- 
prints of Shakespeare : The Two 
John Wards. Appleton Morgan 13 

Apostolate, The New York. John 
E. Wickham, . . . .738 

Art of Paul Claudel, The. Thomas 
J. Gcrrard, . . . . 47 1 

" Bondage," Science in. Sir Ber- 
tram C. A. Windle, LL.D., . 577 

Call of the Child, The. Joseph V. 
McKee. A.M., . . . .523 

Canada, Tercentenary of the Estab- 
lishment of the Faith in. Anna 
T. Sadlier, .... 303 

Care of Children and the Aged, 
The. James J. Walsh, M.D., 
Ph.D., 56 

Catholic Charities, Impressions of 
the National Conference of. 
William J. Kerby, Ph.D., . . 193 

Catholic Note in Modern Drama, 
The. May Bateman, . .164 

Catholic Scholar-Statesman, Filippo 
Meda, A. William P. H. Kit- 
chin, Ph.D., . . . .158 

Child, The Call of the. Joseph V. 
McKee, A.M., . . . .523 

Christ, Christianity Without. F. 
A. Palmieri, OS. A., . . . 145 

Christ, From Christmas to. Henry 
A. Doherty, Jr., . . .357 

Christian Unity and the Eastern 
Churches, The Prayer of the 
Pope for. F. A. Palmieri, OS. A., 606 

Christianity Without Christ. F. A. 
Palmieri, O.S.A., . . .145 

Christmas, A Merry. Blanche M. 
Kelly, 334 

College Problems, Some. James A. 
Burns, C.S.C., Ph.D., . . 433 

Coming of Age of the X-ray, The. 
Brother Potamian, Sc.D., . 78 

Debt of the Catholic Faith, In- 
diana's. Louis P. Harl, . . 496 

Denning Dostoevsky. Richardson 
Wright 820 

Drama, Sincerity and the Modern. 
Thomas J. Gerrard, . . i 

Dr. John B. Murphy. James J. 
Walsh, M.D., Ph.D., . . .365 

Earls, The Flight of the. Michael 
Earls, S.J., . . . .651 

Filippo Meda, A Catholic Scholar-' 
Statesman. William P. H. Kit- 
chin, Ph.D., . . . .158 

Flight of the Earls, The. Michael 
Earls, S.J., . . . .651 

France, The Organization and Work 
of Catholic Chaplains with the 
Allied Armies in. Francis Ave- 
ling, D.D., . . . .675 

Freedom of the Seas and American 

Statesmen. Charles O' Sullivan, 447 

From Christmas to Christ. Henry 
A. Doherty, Jr., . . .357 

General Convention in St. Louis, 
Protestant Episcopal. James 
Coffey, .... 385 

Hickey, Emily, The Poetical Works 
of. Eleanor Hull, . . . 202 

Historians, Human Nature and the. 
Gilbert K. Chesterton, . .721 

Hugh Francis Blunt, The Poetry of. 
Hugh Anthony Allen, M.A., . 663 

Human Nature and the Historians. 
Gilbert K. Chesterton, . .721 

Immigrant Making a Living, The. 
Frank O'Hara, . . . .214 

Immigration, The Restriction of : A 
Medley of Arguments. Frank 
O'Hara, 289 

Impressions of the National Con- 
ference of Catholic Charities. 
William /. Kerby, Ph.D., . .193 

Indiana's Debt to the Catholic 
Faith. Louis P. Harl, . . 496 

Insane and Defectives, The Story 
of Organized Care of the. James 
J. Walsh, M.D., Ph.D., . . 226 

Irish Rebel as a Literary Critic, An. 
Padraic Colum, . . 83 

Justification of Luther by History 
Alone, The. Moorhouse I. X. 
Millar, S.J., . . . .768 

Literary Critic, An Irish Rebel as a. 
Padraic Colum, ... 83 

Living, The Immigrant Making a. 
Frank O'Hara, . . . .214 

Luther and Social Service. James 
J. Walsh. M.D., Ph.D., . .781 

Luther by History Alone, The Jus- 
tification of. Moorhouse I. X. 
Millar, S.J., . . . .768 

Mark Twain, The Tragedy of.- 1 
George Nauman Shuster, . 731 

Merry Christmas, A. Blanche M. 
Kelly, 334 

Milton Man and Poet. Gilbert 
K. Chesterton, .... 463 

Modern Drama, The Catholic Note 
in. May Bateman, . . .164 

Modern Thought and the Nature of 
Its Progress. Edmund T. Shana- 
han, S.T.D., . . . . . 44 

Murphy, Dr. John B. James J. 
Walsh, M.D., Ph.D., . . .365 

New York Apostolate, The. John 
E. Wickham, . . . .738 

Organization and Work of Catholic 
Chaplains with the Allied Armies 
in France, The. Francis Ave- 
ling, D.D., . . . . 675 

Paul Claudel, Mystic. May Bate- 
man, ..... 484 

Paul Claudel, The Art of. Thomas 
J. Gerrard, . . . . 47 1 

Paul the Jew. L. E. Bellanti, S.J., 617 

Poetical Works of Emily Hickey. 
Eleanor Hull, .... 202 

Poetry of Hugh Francis Blunt, The. 
Hu,gh Anthony Allen, M.A., . 663 

Poor Step-Dame, The. Joyce Kil- 
mer, ..... 807 

Poverty and Riches. Helen Grier- 
son, ...... 66 

Prayer of the Pope for Christian 
Unity and the Eastern Churches, 
The. F. A. Palmieri. OS. A., . 606 

Progress, Modern Thought and the 
Nature of Its. Edmund T. Shan- 
ahan, S.T.D., .... 44 

Protestant Episcopal General Con- 
vention in St. Louis. James 
Thomas Coffey, . . . 385 

Recent Events, 

127, 269, 416, 563, 698, 849 

Restriction of Immigration, The : 
A Medley of Arguments. Frank 
O''Hara, 289 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Bro- 
ther Leo, ..... 593 

Riches and Poverty. Helen Grier- 
son, ...... 66 

Science in " Bondage." Sir Ber- 
tram C. A. Windle, LL.D., . 577 

Shakespeare : The Two John 
Wards. An American Treck in 



of. Appleton 

the Footprints 

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley. Bro- 
ther Leo, . 

Sincerity and the Modern Drama. 
Thomas^ J. Gerrard, 

Social Service, Luther and. James 
J. Walsh, M.D., Ph.D., 

Some College Problems. James A. 
Burns, C.S.C., Ph.D., 

Step-Dame, The Poor.-- -Joyce Kil- 
mer, . 

St. Paul at Work. L. E. Bellanti, 

Story of Organized Care of the In- 

" Dempsey." Helen Moriarty, 
Old Wine and New Bottles. John 

Ayscough, . 
One Who Feared 

Martin, .... 
Polly's Pudding. M. E. Francis, 


A Road of Ireland. Charles 

O'Donnell, C.S.C., . 
Apportionment. Armel O'Connor, 
Epiphany Song. Caroline Giltinan, 
Father Lacoinbe, O.M.I. George 

Benson Hewetson, 
Give Us This Day. Charles McGill, 
Mater Desolata. Theodore May- 

Old Hudson Rovers. Michael 

Earls, S.J 

Quis Desiderio. Thomas Walsh, . 
Thanksgiving. Helen Haines, 
The Coward. Caroline Giltinan, . 

sane and Defectives, The. James 
13 /. Walsh, M.D.. Ph.D., . . 226 

Tercentenary of the Establishment 
593 of the Faith in Canada. Anna 

T. Sadlier, .... 303 
i Tragedy of Mark Twain, The. 

George Nauman Shuster, . 731 

781 Was the Son of Man Brusque to 
His Mother? Edmit.nd T. Shan- 
433 ahan, S.T.D., .... 342 

With Our Readers, 

807 136, 278, 424, 570, 710, 857 

Work, St. Paul at. L. E. Bellanti, 

751 S.J., 751 

X-ray, The Coming of Age of the. 
Brother Potamian, . . 78 


792 Pure Gold. Charles Phillips, 89, 235 

The Sentinel Mother. Edmund A. 
- i77, 3i7 Walsh, SJ., . . . . 511 

Much. Rose The Tyranny of Circumstance. 

. 631 Thomas B. Reilly, . . .31 

373 The Weird Gilly. Shane Leslie, . 762 


The Crimson Snow. Charles Phil- 
767 lips, . . . . .332 

65 The Singing Girl. Joyce Kilmer, . 43 
462 The Sleeping Christ. Caroline D. 

Swan, ...... 356 

650 To a Dead Child. James B. Dol- 

364 lard, Litt.D., .... 522 

To a Friend. Marian Nesbitt, . 806 
616 To My Guardian Angel. Emily 

Hickey, . ' . . . .88 

" The Road to Coom." Alice M. 
Cashel, . . . . 791 

Urania. George Noble Plunkett, . 234 





A Brief Commentary on the Little 
Office of the Immaculate Concep- 
tion of the Blessed Virgin, .- 841 
A Brief History of Poland, . . 833 
Accidentals, .... 124 
A Century of Scientific Thought 

and Other Essays, . . .107 
A Companion For Daily Commun- 
ion, 555 

Alcohol and Society, . . .119 
A Lecture Entitled : The Christian 

Science Church, . . . 540 

A Little White Flower, . . 259 

American Men of Letters, . . 554 

A More Excellent Way, . m 

An Alphabet of Irish Saints, . 258 
An Anthology of Magazine Verse 

for 1916, 831 

An Eight Days' Retreat for Re- 
ligious, . . . . .123 

An Introduction to Economics, . 546 

Archaeology and the Bible, . . 407 

A Retrospect, . . . 115 

A Retrospect of Fifty Years. . 689 

Arlo, 554 

A Sheaf, . . . 835 
A Short History of the Catholic 

Church, . . . . .257 
A Spiritual Pilgrimage, . . 827 
A Story of Love, . ... 841 
A Student's Textbook in the His- 
tory of Education, . . . 548 
A Volunteer Poilu, . . . 696 
Belle Jones, .... 556 
Bird Friends, .... 559 
Blackbeard's Island, . . . 414 
Brief Discourses on The Gospel, . 551 
Christian Armour for Youth, . 123 
Concilium Tridentinum, . .401 


Cupid of Campion, 



Dante : How To Know 

Dead Yesterday, . 

Defoe : How to Know Him, . 

Democracy or Despotism, 

Distributive Justice : The Right and 
Wrong of Our Present Distribu- 
tion of Wealth. 

Doing Their Bit, . 

Duty and Other Irish Comedies, 

El Supremo, 

Enforced Peace, .... 

Faith in a Future Life, 

Far Hence to the Gentiles, . 

First Lessons in American History, 

Five Masters of French Romance, 

France: Her People and Her 

French Policy and the American 
Alliance of 1778, 

Friends of France, 

From Convent to Conflict, 

Fruit Gathering, . 

Gerald de Lacey's Daughter, 

Ghenko, ..... 

Gorse Blossoms from Dartmoor, 

Guide for Postulants, . 

Half Lights, 

Heart Songs and Home Songs, 

Her Father's Share, 

Her Husband's Purse. . 

International Finance, . 

Ireland's Literary Renaissance, 

Joseph Conrad, 

Joseph Pennell's Pictures of 
Wonder of Work, . 

Julius Le Vallon, . 











Juvenile Play Catalogue, 
La Lourdes du Nord, 
La Salle, 

Louise and Barnavaux, 
Love and Lucy, 




Marie of the House d'Anters, . 113 
Memoirs of Sister Mary of Mercy 

Keruel, . . . 124 

Michael Cassidy, Sergeant, . . 254 

Modern Essays, .... 262 

More Wanderings in London, . 550 

Morning Face, .... 413 

Mr. Britling .Sees It Through, . 405 

My Slav Friends, . . . 264 

Nationality in Modern History, . 548 

Nature Miracle and Sin, . . 540 
Old Glory. . . . . .395 

Only Anne, . . . . .113 

Our Hispanic Southwest, . . 535 

Paul Mary Pakenham : Passionist, 114 

Penrod and Sam, . . . 556 

People Like That, . . . 267 

Philippine Folk Lore, . . . 847 

Philosophy: What Is It? . . 259 

Potential Russia, .... 542 

Prayer, ..... 409 

Priests on the Firing Line, . . 403 

Prose Types in Newman, . . 122 

Refining Fires, .... 539 

Reminiscences of the Right Honor- 
able Lord O'Brien, Lord Chief 
Justice of Ireland, . . . 692 
Sermons Preached on Various Oc- 
casions, ..... 125 

Shakespearean Studies, . . 261 
Societal Evolution, . . .118 

Society and Prisons, . . . 400 

South America, .... 263 

Spanish Exploration in the South- 
west, ..... 536 

Speaking of Home, . . . 409 
Spiritistic Phenomena and Their 

Intrepretation. .... 414 

St. Catherine of Siena : Her Life 
and Times, . . . .109 

Students' Mass Book and Hymnal, 558 

The Advance of the English Novel, 248 

The Allies' Fairy Book, . . 413 

The Best Stories* of 1915, . . 553 

The Bird House Man, . . . 399 

The Bombardment of Arras, . 126 
The Book of the Junior Sodalists 

of Our Lady, .... 559 

The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, 406 

The Borodino Mystery, . . 255 

The Bright Eyes of Danger, . . 124 

The Case of American Drama, . 547 

The Catholic Platform, . . 123 

The Celt and the World, . . 697 

The Chevalier de Boufflers, . . 552 

The Circus and Other Essays, . 826 

The Clergy and the War of 1914, 126 
The Commonitorium of Vincentius 

of Lerins, . 252 

The Criminal Imbecile, . . 845 

The Crowd in Peace and War, . 255 

The Divine Master's Portrait, . 840 

The Divinity of Christ, . . 841 

The Emperor of Portugallia, . 697 
The Facts About Luther, . .838 
The Fairy Bride, . . . .552 

The Founding of Spanish Cali- 
fornia, . . . . .390 

The Fourth Keader, . . . 4I4 

The French Clergy and the War, . 415 

The Gate of Asia, . e 42 

The God of Battles, . 117 
The Great Push, . . . .256 

The Green Alleys, . 264 

The Heart of Rachael, . . 394 

The Hermit and the King, . . 263 

The History of Marriage and Di- 
vorce, ..... 250 
The History of St. Norbert. . . 407 
The Human Worth of Rigorous 

Thinking, . . . . .116 
The Ideal Catholic Reader Series, 561 
The Insurrection in Dublin, . . 843 
The Intelligence of Woman, . 846 
The Irish Rebellion and Its Mar- 
tyrs, 693 

Their Spirit, . . . 696 

The Know About Library, . . 412 

The Leatherwood God, . . 397 

The Life of John Marshall, . . 534 
The Life of King John Sobieski, 

John the Third, of Poland, . 112 
The Life of St. Columban, . . 258 

The Life of St. Paul, . . .125 
The Literary History of Spanish 

America, ..... 389 
The Little Hunchback Zia, . .112 
The Magnificent Adventure, . . 268 

The Manual of Natural Education, 551 
The Mass and Vestments of the 
Catholic Church : Liturgical, Doc- 
trinal, Historical and Archaeolog- 
ical, . . . . . 695 
The Mastering of Mexico, . . 254 
The Melancholy Tale of Me, . 557 
The Mind and Its Education, . 560 
The Mothercraft Manual, . . 842 
The Nest-Builder, . . .no 
The New Reservation of Time and 

Other Articles, .... 546 
The Old Blood, . . . .840 
The Owlet Library, , . . 412 
The Painters of Florence, . . 834 
The Pleasant Ways of St. Medard, 394 
The Poets Laureate of England, . 411 
The Prayer Book for Boy Scouts, 125 
The Present Hour, . . .117 
The Press and the War, . . 126 
The Psychology of the Common 

Branches, .... 413 

The Representative English Plays, 410 
The Rising Tide, .... 560 
The Romance of a Christmas Card, 395 
The Seminarian : His Character 

and Work, .... 840 
The Sunday Missal, . . . 400 
The Syrian Christ, . . .551 
The Taming of Calinga, . . 554 
The Thirteenth Commandment, . 552 
The Tide of Immigration, . . 249 
The Truth About Christian Science, 257 
The Tutor's Story, . . . 397 
The Ultimate Belief, . . .842 
The Vale of Shadows, . . .117 
The Wayside, . . . .114 
The Way to Easy Street, . .413 
The Westminster Version of the 

Sacred Scriptures, . . . 388 

The Whale and the Grasshopper, . 540 
The Whirlpool, .... 539 
The Wiser Folly, . . 843 

The Wonderful Year, . . . 398 
The Woodcraft Girls at Camp, . 559 
The World for Sale, . . .263 
Toward An Enduring Peace, . 404 

Tramping Through Mexico, Guate- 
mala and Honduras, . . . 391 
Vanished Towers and Chimes of 

Flanders, . ' . . 692 

Voices of the Valley, . . -557 
Wind's Will, . . . .122 
Within My Parish, . . .124 
With the Zionists in Gallipoli, . 396 
Workmanship in Words, . .412 
Yonder? RAT 



VOL. CIV. OCTOBER, 1916. No. 619. 



T is not only the modern drama, but the whole of 
modern art and culture that claims the distinctive 
note of sincerity. The word echoes through our 
schools, through our studies, through our galleries. 
It has become the touchstone of art criticism. It is 
the test of a good biography. To say that any given piece of work 
is sincere is to say the most important thing you can about it, 
while to say that it is not sincere is to damn it. The artist ex- 
presses what he feels, and his work must bear evidence that what 
has been expressed has been previously felt. So insistent is this 
feature of the new culture, that it has almost become a cult in it- 
self and for its own sake. 

Like all new tendencies of life- thought this note carries 
with it excesses as well as virtues. The idea has been gaining 
ground that, provided a work is sincere, it may justifiably ex- 
press anything or everything. This is painful enough in the realm 
of aesthetics. But in the drama, as also in other branches of 
literature, we have the principle carried into the realm of morals. 
There the elements of aesthetics and morals are so closely inter- 
woven that the artist claims the right to be a moralist. Nay, so 
seriously does he take himself that he claims the right to propound 
brand new moralities. Mr. G. B. Shaw, for instance, makes such a 
clean sweep as to define as immoral anything which is contrary to 
established manners and customs. And then he goes on to state his 


VOL. civ. i 


aim and profession : " I am not an ordinary playwright in general 

practice. I am a specialist in immoral and heretical plays I 

write plays with the deliberate object of converting the nation to 
my opinion in these matters." 1 

The modern dramatists of England have recently spoken about 
their work and told us explicitly their views and principles. The 
published report of the recent Parliamentary Committee appointed 
to investigate stage plays is an important document. It is valuable 
also to us in America, since the witnesses who were heard have 
vogue in our country as well as in England. 

Mr. Shaw, for instance, tells us that he suffered enormous pe- 
cuniary loss in America because his play, Mrs. Warren's Profession, 
was condemned by the English censorship. Mr. Archer, the leading 
critic, thinks that the local authorities here have quite as much 
power as they have in England, and that the Puritan element, or 
what is sometimes called the Non-Conformist conscience, is as ac- 
tive in America as it is in England. Mr. Hall Caine relates how 
he was in New York at the time when Mrs. Warren's Profession 
was produced. The hotel at which he stayed was just opposite 
the Garrick Theatre. He saw the crowd buying tickets from the 
speculators, and he saw the policemen go in and the policemen remain 
outside. He thought of the Chief of Police, a man who knew noth- 
ing about the drama or the Ten Commandments outside their inter- 
pretation in the criminal code. And this man was to sit as the sole 
arbiter over the work of one of the most distinguished of literary 
men ! In an article on The Nezv Spirit in the Drama, written by Mr. 
Galsworthy, the eminent dramatist clearly defines his idea of sin- 
cerity and its application to the drama. " What then is there," he 
says, " lying at the back of any growth or development there may 
have been of late in our drama? In my belief, simply an outcrop 
of sincerity of fidelity to mood to impression to self. A man 
here and there has turned up who has imagined something true to 
what he has really seen and felt, and has projected it across the 
footlights in such a way as to make other people feel it. This is 
all that has lately happened on our stage." 2 

Although that is all that has happened, yet it has met with 
grave difficulties. It usually makes a commercial failure; it is 
dubbed "serious," whereas not all of it is serious; it is regarded 
unfavorably by actor-managers, because it does not provide them 

introduction to The Showing Up of Blanco Posnet, pp. 318, 319. 
*The Hibbert Journal, April, 1913. 


with a constant succession of big parts for themselves; and it is 
hampered by the censor, because the censor is the natural guardian 
of the ordinary prejudices of sentiment and taste. 

With such obstacles in its way, the new drama must needs find 
it hard to sustain the note of sincerity. And the case becomes 
harder still when we realize the range of action which the new 
drama demands. " Sincerity," continues Mr. Galsworthy, " bars 
out no themes it only demands that the dramatist's moods and 

visions should be intense enough to keep him absorbed It is 

not the artist's business (be he dramatist or other) to preach. Ad- 
mitted! His business is to portray; but portray he cannot if he 
has any of that glib doctrinaire spirit, which, devoid of the insight 
that comes from instinctive sympathy, does not want to look at life, 
only at a mirage of life compounded of authority, tradition, com- 
fort, habit." 

Thus do we come to the crux of the question. Is the new spirit 
of the drama to have an unlimited range, unrestrained by any form 
of censorship, official or unofficial. Or must it submit to a cen- 
sorship, thereby losing more or less its character or sincerity? 
Or is there a third way by which at the same time sincerity may 
be saved and due deference paid to authority and tradition? I 
submit that the last is the only way that can be followed, and that 
such way is the best whether in the interests of sincerity, or of 
aesthetics, or of morals. 

First, however, we must have a clear notion as to what is real 
sincerity. Presumably every dramatist wishes to conform to the 
highest ideal possible. He must, therefore, take pains to acquaint 
himself with due information as to what is the highest ideal. That 
ideal will then hold sway over his moods, his impressions, his self. 
The artist, being a man, will want to produce the highest of which 
a man is capable. This implies that his work must always be in 
accord with right reason. Being also a child of God, the artist 
will want to produce work which is in conformity with the will 
of God. This implies that his reason will be informed by the re- 
vealed law. 

We must, therefore, go a step further than Mr. Galsworthy 
in his definition of sincerity. It is fidelity to mood to impres- 
sion to self, but only in so far as the mood, the impression, and 
the self are controlled by right reason and God's law. Having 
secured this all-important extension we may then enter into full 
sympathy with the advanced artist, and insist, with him, that all 


art must be conscientious, conscientious indeed whether it be non- 
moral, such as the portrayal of a landscape, or whether it involve 
the most fundamental principles of morality, such as drama deal- 
ing with marriage and divorce. But the conscience must be rightly 
informed and must use the whole of its information. If an episode 
is portrayed which ignores a moral principle for the sake of artistic 
effect, then the result bears with it neither the note of sincerity 
nor the perfection of spiritual beauty. And the aesthetic beauty 
which is expressed is lacking its complements. The work con- 
sidered as an artistic whole is a failure. 

For the due informing of the conscience, however, something 
more is needed than its own subjective intuitions and inferences. 
It has to take into account all the various spheres of existing law. 
Further, the various vehicles by which these laws are conveyed to 
the mind of the dramatist are, roughly speaking, just those things 
which Mr. Galsworthy would exclude from the real vision of life; 
namely, authority, tradition, comfort, habit. Authority and tradi- 
tion convey to us all divine, natural and positive law, the function 
of which is to conserve life and to develop it to its richest full- 
ness. Comfort and habit are given to us not, as many suppose, 
to make us content and lazy with the measure of life already 
attained, but to leave our faculties free for the attainment of higher 
and more fruitful expressions of life. 

Far from these things being a hindrance to sincerity, they give 
it a wider scope. Be faithful to your ideal by all means, but first 
make sure that your little ideal is not opposed to a much greater 
one. If you define sincerity as fidelity to mood to impression 
to self, first make sure that the mood is legitimate, that the im- 
pression is not a false one, and that the self is not the lower 
self. In other words, the small subjective individualistic ideal 
must always be corrected by reference to the large objective uni- 
versal ideal. Nay, since we are daily growing in experience, true 
sincerity will imply a constant readjustment of our individual and 
subjective ideal in response to the demands of the universal and 
objective ideal. 

The great practical difference between the two ideals is that 
the small subjective one, being so small, can be seen immediately 
and at one glance, whereas the large objective one, being so large, 
can only be seen piecemeal and after much reflection. Hence the 
duty of being sincere is not so easy as it looks. It is as Mr. Gals- 
worthy says : " But there is nothing easier in this life than to 


think one is, and nothing much harder than to be, sincere." The 
easiness lies in the clearness of the conscious vision, whilst the 
difficulty lies in the obscurity of the subconscious vision, the im- 
possibility of concentrating a long line of discursive reasoning into 
one intuition. Hence the very path of sincerity may have a sem- 
blance of insincerity. In being faithful to the higher ideals you 
may have to be a traitor to the lower ones. If you are going to 
be sincere to the whole truth, you must appear to be insincere to 
half-truths. If you want to minister to the more perfect beauty, 
you must seem to be ruthless in destroying the less perfect. Francis 
Thompson, in The Hound of Heaven, thus marks this contrast : 

I tempted all His servitors, but to find 
My own betrayal in their constancy, 
In faith to Him their fickleness to me, 

Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit. 

So wide is the objective ideal that the dramatist, like all other 
men, needs the help of his fellowmen in order to help him to make 
a practical use of it. Even the advanced dramatist is not so 
precious as to be above criticism. Every artist needs a censor- 
ship of some kind. The proposition is simply intolerable that, 
under the guise of sincerity, he may portray anything or everything 
that may present itself to his immediate vision. We cannot allow 
for a moment that no themes are barred, provided only they are sin- 
cere. If the dramatist cannot see where his immediate vision 
clashes with the universal moral law, he must have it pointed out 
to him. 

Let the dramatist then reconcile his mind to this inexorable 
law. Otherwise there will be no room for sincerity. He will for- 
ever be trying to evade someone, and will have to resort to every 
kind of subterfuge. But if he faces the fact boldly and deals with 
it as with a legitimate check upon himself, then he will construct 
his work accordingly, and it will have the notes of unity and 
sincerity. Nay, if he would save himself an endless trouble in ad- 
justing himself to the various forms of censorship, official and un- 
official, he must have regard to that one ultimate aim of all writing, 
the one that keeps all the rest in order; namely, the manifesta- 
tion of divine praise. He may follow Mr. Shaw in holding that 
the purpose of the drama is to preach; or Mr. Galsworthy, in 
that it is to portray; or Mr. George Edwardes, in that it is to dis- 


tract and amuse. These, however, are but proximate aims. The test 
of their value is their relationship to the final aim. 

Perhaps it may seem rather futile to some people to be dragging 
in such high spiritual principles in a matter so non-spiritual as 
having a night at the theatre. But the mere mention of the prac- 
tical difficulties which the modern dramatist has to meet, shows 
that he is right up against these high spiritual principles. 

So paramount indeed is the need of an open admission of an 
eternal law and purpose that no intelligent discussion of censorship 
is possible without it. And the reason is that other people besides 
dramatists have consciences. The sincerity of the manager, the 
sincerity of the actors, the sincerity of the audience, all these 
are factors in the artistic production of a piece. Our plea is for 
sincerity, but for sincerity all round. 

The characteristic of the judgment of the general public has 
an all-important bearing upon the advanced dramatists and their 
passion for sincerity, for it represents the sincerity of the mass of 
humanity. The writers maintain that the due development of the 
drama requires that it should be free to criticize contemporary life 
and customary ideas. But in the criticism of customary ideas, 
it does not stop to consider whether those ideas pertain to the 
natural and divine laws which are immutable, or whether they per- 
tain to conventions which may and even .ought to be changed. There 
is a world of difference, for instance, between a play which advo- 
cates the dissolution of the marriage bond and the one, say, which 
advocates votes for women. And the healthy judgment of the 
public will always stand for that which is embedded in human 
nature, the reflex of the divine Mind. 

But, surely, the artist retorts, you cannot allow the general 
public to be the judge as to what is the true development of art? 
No, we answer, but the general public is to be allowed to judge 
what offends its moral sense. It is precisely here where the ad- 
vanced dramatist confuses his functions. Is he out for the ad- 
vancement of art or for the teaching of morality? If for art, let 
him say so, and we jAdll see to it that he keeps within his province. 
If for morality, let him say so, and we will see to it that he is duly 
qualified. As we shall see later, some of the advanced dramatists 
have very queer notions on the stability of moral law and on the 
value of moral science. 

Mr. Chesterton is never prudish. Nay, he even approves of 
the two forbidden plays of Mr. Shaw. But he speaks the judg- 


. ment of humanity when he speaks of the freedom demanded by the 
advanced dramatists. He was asked : " Do you sympathize at all 
with the authors who desire that the drama should be free ? " He 
replied : " The word 'free' as applied to the intellect is a frightfully 
tricky thing. If you mean, is anybody to be free to put anything 
on the stage that he likes, that is so nonsensical that I imagine that 
it cannot be discussed for a moment. The Roman amphitheatre, 
with people butchered in it, would be a mild image of what might 
happen if the thing were entirely free." 3 

Nor would Mr. Chesterton leave the choice to the manager 
and the author they are too susceptible to financial interests. Nor 
again has he much confidence in the critics they are too far re- 
moved from the people. He admires the man on the bus and pre- 
fers a jury of ordinary citizens. The question of censorship is not 
a question of art but a question of morals, and where the morals of 
a community are involved, nobody can judge except the ordinary 
citizen of that community. Instead of a single Examiner of Plays 
it would be better to have a democratic or elective body. 

Of course, this would eventually influence the art itself. And 
so it ought. In art, even as in morals, we cannot set aside the 
ultimates. " You cannot get any further than the actual and ulti- 
mate soul of a people. If you have really got to the normal judg- 
ment, that is all you can go by I think that no kind of good 

art exists unless it grows out of the ideas of the average man 

If the people is not the ultimate judge, who is? " 4 

Mr. Shaw, within certain limits, admits the necessity of a 
referendum to the social judgment. Asked if he admitted 
that some control was necessary he replied : '' Yes, there 
should be control over every possible sphere of human activity." 
But as soon as details were mentioned then he began to shuffle. 
" Should you consider that things which all mankind would con- 
demn as grossly indecent should be prohibited ? " He replied : 
" Well, you know there is not anything at all which all mankind 
would consider grossly indecent." 5 He was questioned too upon 
the point of religion. " You think that any outrage on religion, or 
attack upon religion, or ridicule of sacred personages, should be 
allowed on the stage ? " He replied : " I think it should. I think 
the public would look after that." But this referendum to the 
public is not at all because Mr. Shaw takes the voice of the public 
as a sign of what is right and good. It is only because, when the 

'Report, p. 345. *Ibid., p. 343. 'Ibid., p. 48. 


community at large will not tolerate a thing, he must accept the 

Mr. Galsworthy is quite frank. He objects to any sort of 
censorship before a play is produced. Censorship before production 
"acts as an irritant and deterrent to men of letters/' 6 An im- 
aginative writer demands that he should handle his emotions, his 
feelings, and his thoughts freely. But any kind of censorship is 
always, as it were, saying to an imaginative writer : " You must not 
freely handle your emotions, you must touch them only with the 
tips of your fingers." He either cannot see that, provided he keeps 
the moral law, he can have every liberty that he wants, or he 
desires the liberty of going beyond the moral law. He thinks it 
very hard that authors should be deterred in the choice of their 

Mr. Thomas Hardy cited the case of his ballad, A Sunday 
Morning Tragedy. At first he wanted to produce it as a 
tragic play. He had gone as far as shaping the scenes, action, etc., 
when it occurred to him that the subject would prevent him ever 
getting it on the boards. So he had to abandon it. Mr. Henry 
James thought that the English man of letters was in this respect 
worse off than any other man of letters in Europe, and that the 
situation was deterrent to men of any intellectual independence and 
respect. Mr. Wells admitted that the censorship had always been 
one of the reasons why he had never ventured into play-writing. 
Mr. Joseph Conrad could not say whether a dramatic author was 
ever deterred from producing good work by the existence of the cen- 
sorship, but he was certain that he might be shamefully hindered. 
Mr. Arnold Bennett was most emphatic of all. " Most decidedly," 
he wrote, " the existence of the censorship makes it impossible for 
me even to think of writing plays on the same plane of realism 
and thoroughness as my novels. It is not a question of subject, 
it is a question of treatment. Immediately you begin to get near 
the things that really matter in a play, you begin to think about the 
censor, and it is all over with your play. That is my experience, 
and that is why I would not attempt to write a play, for the censor, 
at full emotional power. The censor's special timidity about sexual 
matters is an illusion." 

The utter chaos which has been produced in the moral science 
through the rejection of authority is nowhere made so obvious as 
in Mr. Granville-Barker's evidence. With him there are no experts 

*Ibid., p. 127. 


in moral science. Such is the opinion of those who have lost the 
power of regarding any one individual as true Catholics must 
regard the Pope of Rome. 

Mr. Zangwill pleads for the dramatist's right to express him- 
self. He maintains that all the best authors consider merely the 
theme they wish to elucidate, irrespective of the pecuniary aspect. 
The only control that he would allow is that of the common law. 
He divides dramatists into three classes pioneers, plain men and 
pornographers. He considers that the last are sufficiently provided 
against by the common law, but as to the first, they should be left 
alone or to their own risk. 

Sir Arthur Pinero holds that censorship degrades the dram- 
atist, and that it operates as a depressing influence on a body of 
artists who are as fully alive to their responsibilities as any in 
the country. He objects very much to the " young person " being 
made the sole arbiter of English drama. 

Mr. J. M. Barrie stands out amongst English dramatists as the 
one who does most to solve the problem of sincerity. His plays are 
remarkably free from offensive episodes, even though he does some- 
times deal with sexual topics. And if perchance he falls below 
himself occasionally, excuses are made for him. Sincerity is the 
very stuff out of which his drama is made. He belongs to the new 
culture in the sense that he finds material for romance in the un- 
romaritic things of life in homeliness and in ordinariness. He is 
paradoxically romantic in the fact that the motive of most of his 
work is not the love between a man and a woman but between the 
mother and her child. He glorifies all women into mothers. And 
Peter Pan sums up all his qualities. It is Peter Pan which 
preeminently places Mr. Barrie amongst the " Pioneers of the New 
Culture," for it is there that sincerity is focussed on the real 
stuff of life as a whole. It is Peter Pan who renews the life of 
the world : " I am youth. I am joy. I am a little bird that has 
just come out of an egg." 

What is the secret of this? It certainly is not that Mr. 
Barrie comes short of Mr. Galsworthy in sincerity. He says ex- 
plicitly : " With regard to the official mind calling works immoral, 
my view is that we should be cautious of applying this term to work 
that is obviously sincere and happily it is usually easy to say 
whether work is sincere or not. It is my opinion that the well- 
intentioned play of a rebel character would do good for the drama; 
it would be judged on production, perhaps derided off the boards, 


perhaps accepted as a fine thing ; but it should not be barred along 
with the play of low intention as if they were really the same 

The secret of Mr. Barrie is that his sincerity carries him 
further than the little group of authors for whom he so generously 
strikes a blow. They confine themselves to their own subjective 
moods and imaginings, whereas he goes' out into the soul of the 
people. " With regard to some of us," he says, " our ideas just 
happen to be what the public like. We are rather conventional, 
and we have an easy time of it, but these others have a hard 
time of it really." Like Mr. Chesterton, he is willing to consult 
an elective democratic body, like a local town council, when it is 
a question of the moral or the immoral in a serious play. He 
claims indeed that this body would actually use the test of sincerity 
in coming to a decision. Not that sincerity meant merely " pains." 
In a body of ordinary men it would mean something more than pains. 
It would mean that the author had in his mind a worthy idea which 
he was working out to the best of his ability. " I have written 
what I should have written whether there was a censor or not," 
said Mr. Barrie. 

That is the key to the situation: sincerity in touch with ob- 
jective reality; sincerity in touch with law as written on the heart 
of humanity; sincerity in touch with law which is a reflection of 
the divine mind. 

What a contrast is this to the sincerity of Sir Herbert Tree 
when he presented the play by Mr. Knoblauch, entitled Marie Odile! 
It professed to give a picture of convent life, in which a young 
novice yielded to the attraction of sexual love. At the approach 
of soldiers the community deserted the convent, but left behind 
them a young novice in charge. The soldiers departed, but a cor- 
poral remained to look after their affairs. The result was that 
Marie Odile became a mother. 

We may readily grant that the play was sincere, but we em- 
phatically maintain that the sincerity was deplorably misinformed. 
The play was fairly true to an ideal, but it was the ideal which is 
usually set forth in "escaped nun" books. Sir Herbert Tree 
thought he was giving a natural picture. No doubt he was 
natural to his own mood to his own vision ; but not natural to the 
objective reality. So far, however, were Sir Herbert Tree and Mr. 
Knoblauch from objective reality that they failed to convince their 
audience that they were giving them even that which was natural. 


When Marie Odile claimed that her child was miraculous, the 
audience only tittered. 

There is one classic play, however, with which the advanced 
dramatists endeavor to cloak all their risky situation and plots 
Hamlet. Here they say is a play in which one of the chief factors 
of its development is an act of incest. Yet no one would dare to 
prohibit it. 

Within a month; 

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 

Had left the flushing of her galled eyes, 

She married : O most wicked speed, to post 

With such dexterity to incestuous sheets; 

It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. 

It is the general tendency of a play that we must keep in view. 
There are some plays indeed which end with a very good moral, but 
which are so licentiously treated as to produce an evil tendency. 
Their insincerity is obvious. 

Everything of this kind, however, is conspicuously absent from 
Hamlet. It was of the very essence of Shakespeare's philosophy 
that he was intimately in touch with the heart of humanity, and 
keenly alive to the disastrous consequences of tampering with 
eternal and unchangeable laws. There is thus nothing in either 
tone or treatment of the incestuous relationship in Hamlet that 
would not tend to excite a disgust for the sin. 

There are, of course, various passages in Shakespeare which 
are coarse, nor is his name sufficiently great to justify them. Mr. 
Bowdler has his function to perform in this world as well as the 
great dramatist. I doubt if any company now performs the works 
of Shakespeare exactly as he wrote them. But the parts that are 
cut are never essential ones. 

So too in the matter of libel. It is said that if only Shakes- 
peare wrote in these days a play relating to the present Royal 
Family as closely as Henry VIII. related to the then-reigning Queen 
Elizabeth, it would not pass the censor. Quite so. But it is our 
conventionalities which have changed in the meantime, not an 
eternal law. The law which says we should show respect to 
authority was as valid in the days of Queen Elizabeth as it is in 
our own day. But we have different conventions by which that 
respect is shown. We have our own ideas of good manners. And 
it is almost certain that if Shakespeare were alive now he would 


never wish to write such a play as that suggested, for his absolute 
sincerity would take into account the feelings of the people. 

The supreme question, then, may be stated as follows: 
Is the divine law and the natural law to be set up as a 
rule of conduct, or is conduct to be reduced to the norm of 
mere impulse ? Is sincerity to be regarded as fidelity to unchanging 
law, or as fidelity to passing mood and fancy? If there is a 
law for all men, then there cannot be one morality for the jaded 
playgoer and another for the jeune file on the threshold of life. 

Nay, if we consult the most recent conclusions of the psycho- 
logical science, we must admit that the young girl between seven- 
teen and nineteen years of age is a fair test of what is good for 
the community as a whole. Professor Foerster 7 of Zurich has 
shown that what the present age is suffering from is rather a surfeit 
than a dearth of sexual thought, and that by far the most important 
principle in the hygiene of sexual instruction is that the imagina- 
tion should be kept as free as possible from sexual images. M. 
Gustave Le Bon 8 has further shown us that the presence of a 
crowd, which the theatre implies, constitutes a special danger in 
the emphasis which it gives to impressions received from the stage. 
A crowd is an entity quite different from those who compose it. 
Its intellectual power is lowered whilst its emotional power is 
raised. It is peculiarly susceptible to suggestion. It tends to 
let go its self-control. All this makes the effect of 3, sexual 
play unhealthy for everybody concerned. Some may be more 
callous than others, but the influence is nevertheless there. 

In the face of these facts, then, I submit that what cannot be 
presented to the young girl ought not to be presented on the stage 
at all. For who is this simple girl about whom the previous ones 
speak so contemptuously? She is the virgin of all Christian history, 
about whom so many poems have been written. She is the person 
who will soon have the nursing and the training of our future gener- 
ation. And surely what is bad for her must be bad for mankind. 
In many cases she is kept in ignorance of things which she ought to 
know. But what she ought not to know is not suitable matter for 
stage drama. And the dramatist who cannot square this doctrine 
with the most perfect sincerity, ought to seek some other medium 
for his artistic expression. 

7 Marriage and the Sex-Problem. 
8 The Crowd, a Study of the Popular Mind. 


President of The New York Shakespeare Society, 

N a late issue of THE CATHOLIC WORLD x we had oc- 
casion to lament the serious displacement sustained 
by Shakespearean inconography through the over- 
devotion of an eighteenth-century actor who, in 1746, 
"repaired " the great dramatist's mortuary bust au- 
thorized by his family to be placed as his likeness over his grave. But, 
by taking thought of the situation, may we not force a valuable 
suggestion for an actual presumptive probability for a real likeness 
of Shakespeare out of this very lamented departure? That is to 
say, the very earliest attempt at such a likeness was the Stratford 
bust of 1616, antedating by full seven years the Droeshout of 1623. 
But, since this bust has been repaired and restored out of existence, 
why not take the next best thing possible, namely, an authoritative 
drawing of that bust made barely forty years after it was placed 
over the tombstone in Stratford church in 1656. 

Serious as this question is to the. scholar or student who holds 
these things of moment, it will not perhaps lose interest for the 
general reader from the fact that in two other instances this same 
eighteenth-century actor is found to have bequeathed actual problems 
and puzzles in Shakespearean memorabilia not only to our time, 
but also to our own country and for our own inspection! Dr. 
Halliwell-Phillipps' dictum, " He who concerns himself with Shake- 
spearean matters must expect surprises," surely never approached 
better exemplification ! 

This actor was by name John Ward, the identical name of a 
Vicar of Trinity Church, Strat ford-on- Avon, a hundred years 
earlier. And we will see shortly how this identity of names has 
had its share in precipitating the small avalanche of coincidences 
with which this article has to deal. These coincidences are best 
dealt with in the order of their relative importance to Shakespearean 


Dr. Doran's His Majesty's Servants, which is the fullest 

*THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1916, p. i. 


chronicle of early English actors we have, does not mention this 
John Ward. But when, in 1834, Thbmas Campbell the poet 
wrote a life of the great Mrs. Siddons, he could trace her ancestry 
no further back than to her grandfather this identical actor, John 
Ward born about the year 1686, who managed and maintained a 
theatrical company in the mid-English countries in or about the 
years 1748-1775. 

All that Campbell could state of this John Ward was that 
he had been an actor in the company of Thomas Bettertori, " had 
all the suavity of the old school of gentlemen," and he unearthed 
this anecdote : " He disapproved of his daughter Sarah Ward 
marrying an actor, Roger Kemble, and when he found that her 
union with Kemble was inevitable, he was with difficulty persuaded 
to speak to her. But he finally forgave her with all the bitterness 
of his heart, saying 'Sarah, you have not disobeyed me. I told you 
never to marry an actor, and you have married a man who neither 
is nor ever can be an actor.' ' Nature, however, is not to be de- 
prived of her occasional little joke. She occasionally makes sprats 
beget whales. However bad an actor or no actor at all was Roger 
Kemble, the name of his great daughter Sarah Siddons nee Sarah 
Kemble has certainly filled the throat of stage renown from that 
day to this. 

Now the only source of information we possess as to 
whether the Stratford bust is a reliable likeness, or was " re- 
paired " and " restored " out of all value as a semblance of its 
great subject, is from this John Ward himself. In a letter, dated 
Leominster, May 31, 1769 (soon to be quoted in full), he says: 
" Myself and company went there for repairing his [Shakespeare's] 
monument in the great church, which we did gratis, the whole of 
the receipts being expended upon that alone." 

" The entire receipts " must have been considerable, though 
we can only guess at their amount. To be sure; restorations con- 
ducted under the personal supervision of John Ward might have 
been careful, competent and intelligent, for he was not only a 
sharer in the prestige of Betterton who was rehearsed in the part 
of Hamlet by Joseph Taylor a member, according to the first 
folio list of Shakespeare's own company but Betterton himself 
possessed a portrait of Shakespeare painted from life by Burbage 
(a record of a payment to Burbage for painting an " imprese " it 
will be recalled was unearthed from among the house accounts of 
Belvoir Castle in 1905) ; and this portrait was given by Burbage to 


Taylor, who left it by will to D'Avenant, who in turn gave it to 
Betterton. And it is not easy to believe that John Ward had never 
seen this portrait. 

What is the value of a Shakespeare tradition? Certainly the 
two men best fitted to answer this question would be Edmund Ma- 
lone and Halliwell-Phillipps, both of whom spent their entire lives 
in Shakespearean researches. Malone's dictum was : " Traditions 
in Shakespeare matters are mostly adumbrations of some fact; 
indications of something in kind similar or analogous." Halliwell- 
Phillipp's touchstones were : " What was the date at which the tra- 
dition first appears," and " at such date was it to anybody's inter- 
est to misrepresent or misstate facts? " Applying these touchstones 
to the traditions as to Burbage, Taylor, D'Avenant and Betterton, 
the burden of probability would be in favor of the tradition, were 
it not that the portrait in question happens to be the Chandos, long 
since rejected by experts as a life-time portrait. Indeed Boaden, 
writing of the portraits in 1824, gives the above tradition only for 
what it is worth. 

Now the difficulty is, that the bust as we see it now in Trinity 
Church is, barring a detail as to the right hand, the bust as John 
Ward's repairers and restorers left it in 1746 while the Dugdale 
drawing 2 however accurate or inaccurate, skillful or clumsy, a 
drawing is a drawing of the bust as Shakespeare's wife, daughters 
and sons-in-law left it in 1616, seven years before the Droeshout 
engraving appears from parts unknown, espoused by an equivocal 
rhyme of Ben Jonson's, which may or may not be interpreted that 
this engraving is a likeness at all ! 

The problem, therefore, that John Ward has unfortunately 
substituted for the apparent certainty of the bust as Shakespeare's 
family approved it, is: why not hark back to the wretched little 
drawing in Sir William Dugdale's 3 Antiquities of Warwickshire 
as the best and nearest we can possibly come to a likeness of Shake- 
speare as to, at least, his lineaments at his death? 4 

'See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1916, p. 2. *Ibid. 

4 Sir William Dugdale's Antiquities of Warwickshire, of which the New York 
Public Library possesses an interesting original, is a bulky book of some six hun- 
dred quarto pages, closely printed after the manner of those days, when a book 
was a work of magnificent leisure, in Roman, italics, and big and small capitals, 
copiously sprinkled with wood engravings of monuments, tombs, recumbent and 
equestrian statues, hatchments, coat armor, and everything notable in cathedral, 
church or shrine. Among these engravings (in a vignette occupying about two 
square inches of a page) is given this bust of William Shakespeare, as it must 
have existed in 1656, forty years after Gerald Johnson made it, when there 
was no possible inducement or haste leading to slovenly or careless work. 


John Ward must not be held to be the only sinner who con- 
tributed to make the Stratford bust unreliable. One William 
Roberts of Oxford, in 1790, supplied a forefinger and thumb and a 
quill pen to the right hand of the bust in place of whatever had 
been in their places before. Malone daubed the whole bust over 
with a coat of white paint in 1797, and in 1861 somebody else was 
permitted to attempt original colors for the whole brown for the 
hair, blue for the eyes, red for the cheeks, etc. 

Well, why not? At least there is a superficial resemblance be- 
tween the Dugdale drawing and the Devonshire bust found amid 
the debris of D'Avenant's 5 own theatre. In the lineaments of 
each are lines of care and of maturity. In neither of them are the 
snug and oleaginous smirk, long upper lip, abbreviated nose, curls 
" bunched " around the ears, impossible chin-whisker and dapper 
little " mustachios " of the present Stratford bust. The fact that 
the hands of the Dugdale repose palms down upon a cushion (or 
"woolsack" as those worthy persons who cannot get Baconism out of 
their brains will persist in calling it), whereas, in the present bust, 
the right hand holds a quill, while the left hand rests upon the 
semblance of a sheet of paper or parchment partially bent over 
the ledge before the bust, shows that the Ward repairs or restora- 
tions were by no means trivial. With the high improbability of 
a death mask having been executed in 1616 in an obscure little mid- 
England village, especially when at that date Shakespeare was not 
the object of the world's adoration, but only a man like other 
men, we have already dealt. 


The second Ward riddle is possibly not so important as the 
last described, which disturbs many a carefully laid proposition 
in Shakespeare iconography. But it still demands attention from 
students of the Shakespeare chirograph, derived from the five 
indubitable signatures of Shakespeare we actually possess, as set 
over against the score or more of putative autographs now in vari- 
ous private collections, with always a suspicion hovering over them 
of the Ireland and Collier forgeries of a hundred and twenty 
years ago. 

It was in the year 1662 that King Charles II. appointed the 
Rev. John Ward vicar of Shakespeare's church at Stratford-on- 
Avon, vice the Rev. Alexander Bean, when at the Restoration all the 

'THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1916, p. 2. 


Presbyterian or Puritan clergy were removed at one fell swoop. 
And he remained vicar until his death. Besides his clerical func- 
tions, he practised medicine and surgery, having been attracted 
to those sciences in his youth by attending lectures in anatomy 
at Barber Chyrurgians Hall in Mugwell Street, London; and 
on going to Stratford, obtaining a license to practise " per Totam 
Angliam." This Vicar John Ward kept a diary and commonplace 
book regularly from 1662 until his death in 1697. Some of its 
entries are curious in relation to medical matters, such as, e. g., 
this : " Remember that I make a comparison betwixt the body of 
a man and the properties of Either. If I bring it to anie head to 
print it." This and some like entries led to this diary being pre- 
served among the collections of the London Medical Society, and 
induced the Registrar of that Society, a Dr. Charles Severn, in 
1838, to undertake to edit it for the press. In the diary Dr. Severn 
found the following allusions to Shakespeare : revealing that among 
other interests he came to Stratford prepared to inquire curiously 
as to Shakespeare, whose plays, as we are told in Clarendon's 
History of the Rebellion, had been the favorite reading of the first 
Charles and his courtiers. The Shakespeare entries are as follows : 

Remember to peruse Shakespeare's plays and be versed in 
them that I may .not be ignorant in that matter. 

Whether Dr. Heylin does well, in reckoning the dramatick 
poets which have been famous in England, to omit Shakespeare. 

A letter to my brother to see Mr. Quiney to send to Tom 
Smith for the acknowledgments. 

Shakespeare had two daughters, one whereof Mr. John Hall 
the physician married, and had by her one daughter the Lady 
Bernard of Abbingdon. 

I have heard that Mr. Shakespeare was a natural wit without 
any art at all, he frequented the plays all his younger time, but 
in his elder days he lived at Stratford and supplied the stage 
with two plays every year, and for that he had an allowance 
so large that he spent at the rate of a thousand pounds a year, 
as I have heard. 

Now this latter proves that the good vicar was dependent 
mostly upon gossip, since " a thousand pounds " in those days would 
have been quite ten thousand pounds today's value of money. It 
was disproportionate to value then, for the dramatist had only 
paid sixty pounds for the estate and curtilages of New Place itself, 
where all this thousand pounds a year must have been lavished. 

VOL. CIV. 2 


Of course Shakespeare was, for the little town and for the date, 
a wealthy man. Besides, Shakespeare's Will disposes of barely 
367.6.8 ready money, and though mentioning realty besides New 
Place, in Stratford-on-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton and Wel- 
come, and in Black friars, in London, is silent as to the shares in the 
Globe and Black friars theatres which Dr. Wallace found sworn to 
as Shakespeare's in the pleadings in the Chancery suit of Osteler v. 
Hemmings, which Dr. Wallace estimates, from the counts as to 
like shares in other ownership (the parties to the suit), as bringing 
in Shakespeare a sum not exceeding 300 a year. 

Dr. Wallace also found, in the Public Records Office, Shake- 
speare's own deposition under oath, that, in 1616, four years be- 
fore his death, he was occupying lodgings over a wigmaker's at 
the corner of Mugwell and Silver Streets in London. Was this 
because Mistress Shakespeare, assisted by her daughters Susannah 
Hall and Judith Quiney, were spending the poor dramatist's in- 
come so lavishly at New Place that he was obliged to save at the 
spigot while they wasted at the bung ? Would such a guess account 
for the gossip that survived until Dominie Ward's vicariate? If 
Shakespeare did seek an obscure suburb of the capital in order that 
his wife and daughters might live lavishly, it falls in with the 
universal testimony that Shakespeare was of a genial, lovable, un- 
selfish and affectionate disposition; but there is nothing by way 
of rumor, record or tradition portraying him as a wastrel or even 
as a liberal spender. 6 

So, even as to Shakespeare's worldly goods, we must, as Dr. 
Halliwell-Phillipps cautioned us, " be surprised at nothing." 

Still another entry in the good man's diary is, " To see Mrs. 
Quiney." And then comes the fatal entry which all Shakespeare- 
dom has refused to accept : " Shakespeare, Drayton and Ben Jon- 
son had a merrie meeting, and it seems drank too hard, for Shake- 
speare died of a feaver there contracted." The fact that Shake- 
speare died as Addison and as our own Edgar Poe died, has been 
so repugnant that even Dr. Halliwell-Phillipps, usually so absolutely 
determined to reveal whatever befell, has surmised that his idol 
died rather of malaria from the wretched drainage of what Garrick 
called " the dirtiest little town in England." Unfortunately, how- 
ever, this entry, fatal as it is, is absolutely the only entry anywhere 

'No greater proof of the sweetness of Shakespeare's nature is needed than 
the fact that all who refer to him, seem to have uniformly connected his name with 
3uch epithets as "worthy," "gentle" or "beloved" Harness (1837). 


that even alludes to the manner of Shakespeare's taking off, and 
so cannot be whistled down the wind. 

It is interesting to guess whether John Hall, physician, the 
dramatist's son-in-law, would have called it " a Tertian " or " a 
Quatern " (names for malaria then) in his diary, which he calls 
" Cures, Historical and Empirical ; experienced on Eminent Per- 
sons in severall Places, Observations." He, as a rule, avoids giving 
names to the maladies of his clients, contenting himself with stating 
only their symptoms. Though he does note that " Mr. Drayton, 
an excellent poet labouring of a Tertian, was cured by the follow- 
ing: The emetic effusion, one ounce; syrup of violets a spoonful; 
mix them; which given, wrought very well upwards and down- 

But, mistaken as Vicar Ward's entries were, they are vastly 
important because in point of date actually the first memoranda 
that we possess as to Shakespeare. John Aubrey indeed made a 
lot of desultory notes (among them the discredited one that Shake- 
speare was at one time a schoolmaster) in 1708, and then came 
the notes of the Rev. Richard Davies, Rector of Sapperton, Glou- 
cestershire, upon Rev. Mr. Fuhman's diary in that same year, which 
recorded that Shakespeare died in the Old Faith. 

In the course of his editorial functions, Dr. Severn somehow 
learned that in the ancient city of Bath there was in existence a 
copy of the second- folio Shakespeare, whicli contained not only a 
slip pasted upon the inside of its first cover upon which was 
the signature " William Shakespeare," but, written therein, the 
signature " John Ward." Small wonder that Dr. Severn leaps to 
the conclusion that this signatory John Ward is his vicar John 
Ward, who in pursuance of his resolution to " peruse " the Shake- 
speare plays, has possessed himself of a copy of Shakespeare's col- 
lected works (the first and second folios of which were then ex- 
tant). So in his preface he does not hesitate to say: " In a copy 
of the folio edition of his (Shakespeare's) works is written on a 
slip pasted-in, probably a genuine autograph of Shakespeare ob- 
tained by Mr. Ward." 

Vicar John Ward's diary makes no mention of his having 
possessed a folio of Shakespeare. If he did, it would have passed 
at his death to his brother, the Rev. Thomas Ward, rector of 
Stow-in-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, to whom the former's Will 
left all his worldly goods. But Dr. Severn makes no use of that 
departure. His blunder, however, did have one good effect. It 


caused the sleepless Dr. Halliwell-Phillipps to institute a search 
for the missing folio with the pasted-in signature. He kept stand- 
ing in all likely English newspapers, advertisements offering a re- 
ward for the " return "of this folio, and though these advertise- 
ments failed to unearth the volume, we shall see, later on, that when 
the American investigators took a hand, they were enabled by means 
of them to ascertain which John Ward they were trecking after. 

In the year 1885, a party of savants and lovers of old books 
are seated in a corner of a Chicago bookstore, and one of them 
is exhibiting to the other a copy of Milton's works, in which is 
an accepted signature of John Milton. While they are examining 
it a bystander saunters up, and asks to see the curiosity that is 
attracting so much attention ! Being very familiar with the matter, 
this bystander remarks that he has himself seen a greater curi- 
osity: for in a certain settlement (which he names) in Utah or 
Nevada there is a copy of Shakespeare in which there is the sig- 
nature of William Shakespeare ! 

Following up this statement of the stranger, such steps are 
taken by one of the savants aforesaid, that there is actually dis- 
covered in the cabin of an illiterate Mormon miner in Nevada 
a copy of the second folio of Shakespeare, upon the inside of the 
first cover of which is pasted a slip of paper bearing the name 
" William Shakespeare*" ! ! ! 

Through various vicissitudes this volume reaches the posses- 
sion of the Chicago gentleman, soon to give his name to the 
autograph Charles F. Gunther, Esquire, of Chicago. Mr. Gunther 
of course knows nothing of any " Ward " questions. His sole 
interest is to be assured that he possesses one of the six (if his 
is one) authentic autographs of the great dramatist. And he sub- 
mits his volume to the experts. 7 

By what trick of the whirligig of time a second folio of Shake- 
speare of 1632 has arrived in a Mormon's cabin in Nevada in the 
year 1883, it * s hopeless to inquire. The savant who first 
was led to rescue the volume seems to have neglected to ask a 
history of it from its illiterate possessor. And it is now too late. 

T In what follows we abridge the really remarkable work of Dr. E. P. Vining, 
Chairman of a Committee appointed by the New York Shakespeare Society to 
report upon the claims to authenticity of this Gunther signature. That report was 
first printed in Shakespeareana, volume viii., p. 133. (Philadelphia: The Leonard 
Scott Publication Society, 1887.) The report, which well repays perusal, confines 
itself to a narrative of the steps taken in establishing the facts set forth above, 
but does not assume to pronounce as to the genuineness of the signature itself. 


The savant and his illiterate vendor have both disappeared. But in 
their place arrives John Ward, actor, upon our horizon. 

Besides the pasted-in signature William Shakespeare, and the 
boldly written signature, " John Ward," this volume contains on 
its fly-leaves the signature, " Charles Lomax." It also contained 
some manuscript emendations to the text, signed sometimes 
" Charles Lomax," and sometimes " C. L. ; " and, in one case, one 
of these annotations was fortunately dated " 1781." 

Most fortunately, too, there was found in the volume a letter 
dated Bath, February 19, 1839, signed " Charles Godwin," and 
addressed to Dr. Charles Severn, mentioning some volume, evi- 
dently accompanying the letter, which letter says : " You will perhaps 
be of the opinion that the volume once belonged to the John Ward 
whose books and records you have." 

Here, indeed, were clues as fair as one would wish to meet 
with in a summer's day! Most fortunate of all, Dr. Halliwell- 
Phillipps was living among his wonderful collections at Hollinbury 
Copse. To him the whole material was submitted. Dr. Halliwell- 
Phillipps found in his own collection the actual correspondence be- 
tween John Ward, the actor, and the corporation of Stratford-on- 
Avon, which led to that benefit performance of Othello which ob- 
tained the funds for the repairs mentioned above ; and Mr. Richard 
Savage (then librarian thereof) furnished from the Stratford 
Memorial Library signatures of Vicar John Ward. From a com- 
parison of the two it appeared that the signature in the volume was 
that of John Ward the actor and not of John Ward the vicar! 

It further appeared that, when Dr. Severn first heard of the 
existence of the volume containing the signatures of Shakespeare 
and of John Ward, he had traced this volume to the possession of 
a Rev. Ilstid Thomas of Bath, whereupon Dr. Severn writes to 
a Bath bookseller begging him to procure for him a loan of this 
folio. When the Bath bookseller, Charles Godwin by name, gets 
the Rev. Dr. Severn's letter he finds that the Rev. Ilstid Thomas 
is dead, but that the coveted folio is in the possession of one 
Charles Lomax Thomas, son of the Rev. Ilstid, a clergyman who 
holds a small living at Bradford in Yorkshire. 

It further appeared that the Charles Lomax who made the 
annotations was the maternal grandfather of the Charles Lomax 
Thomas who owned the volume when it was loaned to Dr. Severn, 
while the fact that Dr. Severn was still undeceived in his sup- 
position that the signature "John Ward" the volume contained 


was the signature of the vicar of Strat ford-on- Avon, amply proved 
the good faith and the circumstantiality of all the items in the 
case as they unfolded themselves to the patient search of the in- 
vestigators. So that we need not concern ourselves to beware of 
the antics of that clever seventeen-year-old scapegrace William 
Henry Ireland, who in 1794-5 forged signatures, letters and even 
whole tragedies of Shakespeare, since the date placed by Charles 
Lomax upon one of his textual emendations puts him out of the 
reckoning as having had a finger in this signature problem ! 

Thus, once more, it occurs that a paramount question concern- 
ing every student of Shakespeare lore a question as to a 
Shakespeare autograph as before it was a question of a Shakespeare 
likeness depends upon an unwitting activity of John Ward, actor ! 

But letting the two John Wards rest, and coming down to the 
merits, the paramount question is the Gunther signature an au- 
thentic signature or merely a tracing or imitation ? is by no means 
a simple one. That it bears so remarkable a resemblance in line 
and form to the last Will signature as to (by the familiar legal rule 
laid down in the Rowland Will case) preclude the possibility of 
its genuineness, every expert has agreed! But, unfortunately, the 
moment we concede this we raise an obstacle to pronouncing it a 
tracing! How could a tracing have been made upon paper the 
thickness of the slip? Even if the slip of paper could be removed 
in the folio, the real signature could not be separated from the 
Will now at the Prerogative Office Doctors' Commons, nor could 
the Will be taken from the custody of the British Crown, for the 
purpose of superimposing the two upon glass or other transparent 
surface in order to ascertain whether the latter was a tracing of the 
former. Other considerations are: if genuine, so enthusiastic a 
Shakespeareolater as John Ward would not have destroyed an 
orginal document or letter of Shakespeare's to retain only the 
signature thereto. Nor, on the other hand, if the slip of paper on 
which the name Shakespeare is written were of a thinness requisite 
for tracing purposes, would it have been at all likely that an 
official custodian of the Will (at that date on file in the office of 
the Consistory Court at Worcester) would at any period have 
permitted a tracing of a probated document to be made for personal 
or curious or even literary use. Certainly not, without such official 
permits orders and other papers as would have become of record 
in the office where issued or where used for the comparison, and 
there are no such on record anywhere. 


But, on the other hand, could anybody have so exactly imitated 
the third Will signature without tracing it? Another con- 
sideration (not to be overlooked equally whether the " Gunther " 
signature be genuine or spurious) : that last Will signature is and 
must be the safest to imitate, since if that particular signature was 
not genuine, the Shakespeare Will could not have been probated at 
all ! So, whoever he was, the imitator was wise enough to imitate 
the safest signature! For admitting that every signature that has 
ever been claimed anywhere is a genuine signature (except the silly 
Ireland forgeries), Shakespeare only occasionally signed his full 
name, " William Shakespeare," oscillating from the " W. Shaks " 
of the Montjoie deposition all through the gamut of " Wm. 
Shaksper," and all the other abbreviatory forms so abundantly cata- 
logued by the biographers. Again, the difficulty of the imitation 
would be measurably increased by making the imitation upon so 
small a slip of paper barely three inches long by half an inch in 
width (unless the imitator covered a sheet of paper with attempts 
at imitation, using the most satisfactory of them all, which is not 

And here endeth then the second puzzlement bequeathed to 
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by the seventeenth century 
actor, John Ward. 


The third puzzle for which our actor John Ward is directly 
responsible, is also physically within the territory of these United 
States. There reposes today under glass in the library of Horace 
Howard Furness, Esquire, of Philadelphia, a pair of " property " 
gauntlets of mouse-colored cheverel, stitched in gold thread, and dain- 
tily trimmed at the wrists with dark fur. The history of these gloves 
for the last one hundred and fifty years is documentary. They 
were given by John Ward, the grandfather of Mrs. Siddons, to 
Garrick, and by Garrick's widow were handed back to the grand- 
daughter of their earliest owner; that is to say, Mrs. Garrick 
handed the gloves back to John Ward's granddaughter, Mrs. Sid- 
dons herself. From Mrs. Siddons, dying in 1831, they passed to her 
daughter, Mrs. Combe, and from Mrs. Combe they passed to Mrs. 
Fanny Kemble Butler, Mrs. Siddons' niece; who gave them to the 
eminent Dr. Horace Howard Furness, late of Philadelphia, the 
Shakespearean scholar and editor, who bequeathed them to his son, 
their present owner. 


That Mrs. Fanny Kemble Butler herself saw no reason to 
doubt the authenticity of these gloves, we have her letter presenting 
them to the distinguished Dr. Furness : 

MY DEAR HORACE (in spite of your literary labors and 
honors you must still be such to me) : The worship of relics 
is not the most exalted form of human devotion, but " the 
meanest garment that ever has but slipped " upon one we love 
and revere becomes in some measure dear and venerable for 
his sake, and so we may be permitted to keep Shakespeare's 
gloves with affectionate regard. You will value them for 
their own sake and perhaps a little for that of your old friend. 


Doubtless there was nowhere else in Christendom a pair of 
gloves preserved so long and so reverently by such a succession 
of distinguished owners. But, alas, just here loomed the apochry- 
phal! These gloves were asserted to have once formed a parcel 
of the stage-wardrobe of the great William Shakespeare! That is 
to say, that, adding fourteen years, during which John Ward says 
that he held them in silence, from 1746 to 1760, it was one hun- 
dred and forty- four years from a possible Shakespeare ownership 
to an ownership to again conjure with the ownership of the il- 
lustrious David Garrick! 

Other things being equal, possibly a pair of " property " gloves 
appearing in the required vicinage (in this case the vicinage of 
Stratford-on-Avon), might have claimed to appear via the stage- 
wardrobe of Shakespeare, who is known to have played " kingly 
parts," and so might well have needed gold-stitched gauntlets. But 
these gloves were handicapped as to their authenticity, by an un- 
fortunate letter written by the John Ward aforesaid to Garrick in 
presenting him' (Garrick) with these identical gloves. That un- 
fortunate letter read as follows: 

LEOMINSTER, May 31, 1769. 

DEAR SIR: On reading the newspapers I find you are pre- 
paring a grand jubilee to be kept at Stratford-upon-Avon to 
the memory of the immortal Shakespeare. I have sent you a 
pair of gloves which have often covered his hands ; they were 
made me a present by a descendant of the family, when myself 
and company went over there from Warwick in the year 1746 
to perform the play of Othello, as a benefit for repairing his 
monument in the great church, which we did gratis, the whole 
of the receipts being expended on that alone. The person who 
gave them to me, William Shakespeare by name, told me his 


father had often declared to him that they were the identical 
gloves of our great poet, and when he delivered them to me 
said, " Sir, they are the only property that remains of our 
famous relation. My father possessed and sold the estate he left 
behind him, and these are all the recompense I can make you 
for this night's performance." The donor was a glazier by 
trade, was very old, and to the best of my memory, living in 
the street leading from the town hall down to the river. On 
my coming to play in Stratford about three years after, he 
was dead. The father of him and our poet were brother's chil- 
dren. The veneration I bear to our great author and player 
makes me wish to have these relics preserved to his immortal 
memory, and I am led to think I cannot better deposit them for 
that purpose in the hands of any person so proper as our 
modern Roscius. 

I am, sir, your most ob'd't humble serv'nt, 


That these were actually Shakespeare's gloves, worn by him- 
self, might pass a casual and not too-interested notice. But a cir- 
cumstantial statement like the above cannot escape criticism, es- 
pecially as all the world knows that under the Will of Shakespeare, 
and of his last surviving next-of-kin, his granddaughter, Lady 
Barnard, every item of Shakespeare's estate was disposed of to 
parties perfectly well known, and catalogued over and over again 
by hundreds of antiquarians! Unfortunately, therefore, for 
" Shakespeare's gloves " had they possessed no credentials aliiinde, 
this letter would have effectually disposed of any claim to their 
genuineness. For obviously, there is not one syllable of truth in 
John Ward's version of the statement of the aged person described 
in this letter, as Mr. Ward could have ascertained if he had taken 
the trouble to consult the Warwickshire Probate records. Had he 
taken that slight trouble he would have learned that Shakespeare's 
Will, item by item, disposed of his very considerable property from 
his estates of New Place and other, down to his second-best bed. 
He was, if not the richest, certainly the second or third richest 
man in Stratford-on-Avon at the time of his death, though the 
pitiful bits of rubbish which the Memorial Committee permit to be 
exhibited to visitors would not create that impression. And he 
mentions by name each beneficiary of his Will, and among them 
there is no one named " Shakespeare " at all ! Said beneficiaries 
are named as follows : Susannah, the dramatist's daughter and her 


husband, Dr. John Hall, Judith, the dramatist's second daughter, and 
her husband, Thomas Quiney, Joan Hart, his sister (to whom, be- 
side the reversion of a legacy to Susannah and another legacy, he 
leaves "all my wearing apparel"), Thomas Russel, Francis Col- 
lins, Thomas Combe, Hamnet Sadler, William Reynolds, William 
Walker, Anthony Hart, Elizabeth Hart, Michael Hart, John 
Heminges, and Henry Condell. And in 1746, when this aged per- 
son gave these gloves to John Ward, all of the above were dead, 
Shakespeare's direct line extinct, his worldly possessions passed 
from his succesion! Lady Barnard, his grandchild, daughter of 
Susannah Hall, died without issue in 1674. By her will she directed 
the sale of New Place, and it was purchased by Sir Edward Walker. 
And Sir Edward's daughter Barbara, marrying a Sir John Clopton, 
New Place, which Shakespeare had purchased from a grantee of 
Sir William Clopton in 1597, returned again to the Clopton family 
and Shakespeare's possession, like his posterity, gone as if it 
had never been! 

So the statement of this aged party that " my father possessed 
and sold the estate he [the great dramatist] left behind him," is in 
every item, and in every detail, impossible ! As to the personality, 
the Warwickshire Probate records show that the dramatist's Will 
appointed Dr. John Hall and Susannah Hall executors, and Thomas 
Russell and Francis Collins (Shakespeare's cousin, the lawyer who 
drew the Will, January i6th, though it was not executed until 
March 12, 1616) " overseers " (i. e., experts to assist the executors 
in administering the estate). And that these executors and over- 
seers did proceed to sell, settle, distribute the estate and file their 
accounts, the Probate records show. So that no person, who, in 
1746, could have had a son living named " William Shakespeare," 
could by any possibility have had a hand in either the Shakespeare 
estate or in Shakespeare's gloves ! 

Whence then came these gloves if they were not Shakespeare's? 
Who can guess? To expose a fraud it is not demanded that one 
suggest a plausible theory to take its place. John Ward was him- 
self an actor, and doubtless possessed all sorts of " properties." 
It has not failed of suggestion that he may not have loved Garrick 
any too dearly for having taken Shakespeare celebrations into his 
charge, and devised that big Jubilee after he (Ward) had for so 
many years kept Shakespeare alive in mid-England, raising money 
at his own expense to restore and preserve his vestiges! That 
Garrick should not have even asked Mr. Ward's cooperation in a 


field peculiarly his own ! The letter might well be read that Ward 
felt the slight ! Was Ward " stalking " Garrick with a pair of 
Ward's own property gloves and an aged glazier? For an actor 
to call his brother actor a " Roscius " has a sardonic flavor. What 
did Garrick himself think of these wondrous gloves ? Did he show 
them to Dr. Johnson, then puttering at a big edition of the dra- 
matist that was to eclipse all known editions ? 

But we have all heard of the ancient judge who said to the 
young lawyer : " As you state your case I should decide against 
you, but I will wait until I hear the other side." So here is a 
suggestion. (Mr. H. H. Furness, Jr., is, I believe, its sponsor) 
which, it must be confessed, will enable us to decide in favor of Mr. 
Ward's gloves in spite of Mr. Ward himself. 

" As regards the donor of the gloves to Ward, there seems 
some slight confusion, either through Ward's account of his re- 
lationship to William Shakespeare or in the mind of the old man 
himself. Later historians of the Shakespeare family have shown 
that his name was Shakespeare Hart, and that he was the great- 
grandson of Joan Shakespeare, William's youngest sister. He was 
born in 1666, and therefore in 1746 he was upwards of eighty 
years old." 8 

Of course any statement about anything may possibly be the 
exact truth, if it can be assumed to mean anything or something 
quite the reverse or other than what it says! And, accordingly, 
this aged person's statement, if it does not mean what it says, or 
if Mr. Ward has erroneously reported it, may mean anything one 
pleases to guess. 

We should regard the confusion, we think, " considerable," 
rather than " slight." Turning to George Russell French's S hake- 
spear eana Geologica (1869), however, we do find that it is not 
impossible that this " William Shakespeare " of Ward's letter 
might, so far as the dates go, have been really William Shakespeare 
Hart to whom the dramatist was great-granduncle. Eliminating 
Mr. Ward's statement that " the father of him and our poet were 
brothers' children " as a lapse of information, we can proceed to 
trace the genealogical line as follows: 

The dramatist's sister, Joan Shakespeare, married a Stratford 
hatter named William Hart. Their children were three sons, 
William, George and Michael (whom we have seen that Shakespeare 
mentions in his Will), and a daughter, Mary. George married 

8 The Theatre, New York, March, 1916. 


Hester Ludiate, and had issue Thomas, Susannah, Mary, Hester, 
George, Elizabeth and Shakespeare, who was a plumber by trade 
(Halliwell-Phillipps finds several entries in the Stratford town 
records of payments to " Shaxper Hart, for glazing and plom- 
ing"), and died in or about the year required by John Ward's 
letter. Now the aforesaid William, son of Joan Hart, was an 
actor, and is mentioned in a royal warrant May 17, 1636, with 
others, as of " His Majesty's Comedians " and of the regular 
company of players in the Blackfriars, London. Again, Lady Bar- 
nard's will recognizes these two, Thomas and George, as kinsmen, 
by her bequest : " item, I give and devise unto my kinsman, Thomas 
Hart, son of Thomas Hart, late of Startford-upon-Avon, all that 
my other messuage or Inn to him and his heirs and in default to 
his brother George," who however, either dying or in default of 
issue, never became vested with this realty at all. So that, if Mr. 
Ward's ancient, when he said that his father " possessed and sold 
the estate he (the dramatist) left behind him," meant to say: " all 
the estate that, after Lady Barnard's death, was left of the estate 
which the dramatist left behind him," he told the truth. 

And there is a certain luxury to be coveted in this Shake- 
speare tercentennial year, of really believing something of revel- 
ing in an occasional orgy of faith instead of a monotonous orgy 
of doubt! As we have seen that the dramatist left to Joan Hart 
all his wearing apparel, these " property " gloves might naturally 
have been included in the bequest (there being no other disposition 
to make of them), and so naturally passed from father to son. 

" Old men forget " said Henry V. in his speech to his soldiers 
on the eve of Agincourt. But he added, when they remember they 
are apt to remember " with advantages." Certainly it is not im- 
possible that this aged party " upwards of eighty years old " may 
have been William Shakespeare Hart, who, while forgetting two 
generations of his own ancestry, may have " remembered with ad- 
vantages " all that he remembered at all. 

What airy and irresponsible, irritating and exasperating skeptic 
then will rise to deny that all three of these circumstantial problems 
that John Ward, actor of an hundred and fifty years ago, so un- 
wittingly sent down to us, may not be actually accepted as con- 
structive, rather than destructive, of his usefulness to Shake- 
spearean exegesis? That he may have actually supplied us with a 
morsel of Shakespeare's paraphernalia a possible autograph and 
drawn attention to at least a serious pretext for accepting the 


D'Avenant-Devonshire bust as a lifetime likeness via the Dugdale 

And is it not worthy of at least curious chronicle that three 
items in the world's scanty store of actual-physical-memorabilia of 
the greatest of dramatists have come directly, through utterly 
separate and independent channels, down from one John Ward of 
the seventeenth century to rest in the twentieth in such relatively 
remote depositories as Stratford-on-Avon, Chicago and Phila- 
delphia ? 



WHEN the dreamy night is on, up the Hudson river, 

And the sheen of modern taste is dim and far away, 
Ghostly men on phantom rafts make the waters shiver, 

Laughing in the sibilance of the silver spray. 
Yea, and up the woodlands, stanch in moonlit weather, 

Go the ghostly horsemen, adventuresome to ride, 
White as mist the doublet-baize, bandolier and feather, 

Fleet as gallant Robin Hood in an eventide. 

Times are gone that knew the craft in the role of rovers, 

Fellows of the open, care could never load: 
Unalarmed for bed or board, they were leisure's lovers, 

Summer bloomed in story on the Hyde Park Road, 
Summer was a blossom, but the fruit was autumn, 

Fragrant haylofts for a bed, cider-cakes in store, 
Warmer was a cup they knew, when the north wind caught 'em 

Down at Benny Havens' by the West Point shore. 


Idlers now and loafers pass, joy is out of fashion, 

Honest fun that fooled a dog or knew a friendly gate, 
Now the craft are vagabonds, sick with modern passion, 

Riding up and down the shore, on an aching freight ; 
Sullen are the battered looks, cheerless talk or tipsy, 

Sickly in the smoky air, starving in the day, 
Pining for a city's noise at Kingston or Po'keepsie, 

Eager more for Gotham and a great White Way. 

Rich is all the country-side, but glory has departed, 

What if yachts and mansions be, by the river's marge! 
Dim though was a hillside, lamps were happy-hearted, 

Near the cove of Rondout in a hut or barge. 
Silken styles are tyrants, fashion kills the playtime, 

Robs the heart of largess that is kindly to the poor, 
Richer were the freemen, welcome as the Maytime, 

Glad was child or maiden seeing Brennen of the moor. 

Send us back the olden knights, tell no law to track 'em, 

Give to child and maiden storytellers as of yore, 
Millionaires in legend-wealth, though no bank would back 'em, 

But old Benny Havens by the West Point shore. 
Off with lazy vagabonds, social ghosts that shiver, 

Give to worthy road-men the great green way, 
And we'll hear a song again up the Hudson river, 

Ringing from a drifting raft, set in silver spray. 



MONG the unexpected events of that June morning 
was the arrival of a letter at the villa Torni for Mr. 
James Anthony Lydford. The handwriting, conti- 
nental in stroke and flourish, was unfamiliar. 
Wherefore, Jimmie, in search of a clearer perspective, 

isolated himself at the table under the peach trees, where he frown- 

ingly re-read the message. It informed him : 


My conscience will give me no peace till I have confessed 
my impertinence of yesterday. You yourself, however, were 
guilty of contributory negligence. That, of course, is no de- 
fence, and I may as well admit that, having read the first page 
of your manuscript, the temptation to read those that followed 
was irresistible. 

Naturally, I am wondering just what the denouement will be. 
The curiosity is not without profit, since it will serve to remind 
me of my fall from grace as well as bring fresh interests into 
hours that are sometimes long and lonesome. 

I trust that you will be generous enough to overlook my 
twofold presumption. (Miss) X . 

"Well, I'll be blessed!" ejaculated Jimmie. And suddenly 
catching sight of Annunziata, he beckoned her to come. " See 
here, who were those two women that took tea here yesterday 
while I was down at the village ? " 

" They were from the manor," replied the girl, avoiding his 

" Exactly," he agreed, " and one was old and one was young, 
and both wore beautiful dresses with lovely lace. You told me all 
that last night at the dinner table. But you didn't so much as hint 
that they read that manuscript of mine. I thought you were going 
to take care of those papers." 

" They were lying on the chair; I didn't have time to remove 
them," advanced the girl. 

" Hm m," said Jimmie skeptically, and, having pondered his 


thought, announced : " Come back in ten minutes, I want you to 
take a letter up to the manor for me." 

A moment later he was adrift on the treacherous sea of ex- 
pression. He eventually made port with the following: 

MY DEAR Miss X : 

Permit me to assure you that your very frank note, though 
a source of undeserved pleasure, has given rise to some uneasi- 
ness, lest you continue to regard as censurable that which was 
really an inestimable favor. 

I regret an inability to give you even a hint as to how the 
story is to end. The tragedy is more apparent than real. 
Everything depends on the explanations to be made by the 
woman the heroine. And there are as many explanations as 
can be imagined. The only guide in the affair is the woman's 
character. Her actions portray it to be one thing ; in the heart 
of the man it is quite another. 

But, please pardon this unwarranted discursiveness. It 
springs from my very lively interest in the heroine and from 
a heartfelt wish that she eventually find happiness. 


A few moments later he signaled Annunziata, and, as she 
drew near, asked : 

" Which of the two women read that manuscript?" 

" The younger," replied the girl. 

" See that she gets this note," said Jimmie solemnly. Shortly 
thereafter he looked up at the tree tops and murmured : 

" I dare say I've made a mess of it, as usual." 

And as the succeeding morrows came and fled empty-handed, 
his conjecture took on the shape and substance of a conviction. 
The morning of the third day, however, the unexpected again 
happened. He received a letter; Maria Annunziata brought it to 
him down in the garden. The handwriting was continental in 
stroke and flourish. The missive informed him: 


It was very kind of you not only to absolve me from guilt, 
but to share so generously your literary confidences. These 
latter, however, have been a source of much embarrassment. 
And yet, I should deem it ungracious not to acknowledge the 
spirit of good will contained in your note. 

I trust you will eventually see your way to bring the story 
to a logical as well as happy conclusion. That element of 


tragedy to which you referred would seem more impressive 
were it centred not on the man but on the woman, don't you 
think? Still, that is merely my own opinion. The outcome, as 
you state, depends entirely on the nature of the woman's ex- 
planations. If memory serve I should judge that you are still 
uncertain as to her true character. Why not accept her as she 
exists in the heart of the man? 

If you will pardon a suggestion, you make the heroine in 
your story stifle all memories of her past. No woman has ever 
yet succeeded in doing that. She is constantly refreshening 
present hours with souvenirs of those once lived; either with 
the bloom of their romance or the shock of their tragedy. 

I have written more freely than was my intent, but have 
come to feel a personal interest in the heroine of your story, 
my purloined reading of which has led to so censurable a breach 
of the conventions. I may not longer permit you to think me 
deaf to their appeal. X . 

" And there you are," admitted Jimmie, frowning up at the 
tree tops. He considered at length, emerging from his delibera- 
tions with a countenance betwixt and between. Maria Annunziata, 
arriving with his luncheon, regarding him suspiciously a moment, 
then inquired: 

"Don't you feel well?" 

Whereupon, as one heaving the world from his shoulders, 
Jimmie Lydford looked up and announced : 

" it's all off." 

"Off? "Echoed the girl. 

" The lady," he said, " doesn't believe in keeping up a cor- 
respondence with a person that has never been introduced to her." 

" Oh ! " murmured Annunziata, wondering, sympathetic. 

Nevertheless, three days later, the victim of a mood, Jimmie 
Lydford threw himself at fate and wrote the following: 

MY DEAR Miss X : 

It is solely because I feel that you can and may render me 
an impersonal, yet very important, service that I dare (for the 
last time) address myself to you. Permit me to ask a single 
question. Do you think I have erred in letting the hero make 
that sudden and surreptitious flight from the scene of his mis- 
fortune? The point is extremely important, being the keystone 
of the whole romance. May I hope to have your opinion on 
this point? J- A - L - 

VOL. civ. 3 


Then, subservient to his guiding rule of action, he walked a 
mile through the scorching midday heat to Sant' Angelo, where 
he mailed his letter. Then he walked leisurely back to the villa 
Torni and waited and waited. And the days dragged their 
seemingly interminable hours over the rim of a world that had 
lost all sense of the fitness of things. 

" What's the matter with you this week? " sought Annunziata. 

" This is a wicked old world," sighed Jimmie Lydford. 

" I don't see anything the matter with the world," commented 
the girl. 

" You haven't seen the cloven hoof," he returned moodily. 

" What has happened now ? " she asked, laughing at him. 

" That's just it," he replied reflectively, " nothing has happened 
and, doubtless, nothing ever will happen. Why doesn't it rain, 
or snow, or blow things to smithereens for a change! If it wasn't 
that your village barber might suspect I'd lost my memory, I'd 
go get my hair cut again." 

" You'll feel better after dinner," threw out Annunziata with 
a shrug. 

But he didn't have to wait that long, since the afternoon mail 
brought him another letter. 

" Great Scott ! " exclaimed Jimmie, glancing at the hand- 
writing, " it's from my Aunt Brigid. She's in Paris ! " 

" Oh ? " murmured Annunziata, lingering, curious. 

Whereupon he hastily slit the envelope, leaned back and read : 

You might have spared me the chagrin of hearing from 
a third party that you were at the villa Torni. Your failure 
to take me into your confidence has placed me in an embarrass- 
ing position with regard to certain friends of mine, who have 
hesitated to believe that I knew nothing of your shameful treat- 
ment of Agnes Holburn. That's a score I purpose settling with 
you later. 

You did Agnes a great injustice, and deserve no further con- 
sideration from her. I've heard her side of the story and make 
this an occasion to suggest that you let me have yours promptly. 
I'm asking only that which I have a right to know, that I may 
intelligently defend you when necessary. 

Agnes, by the way, was legally of age two months ago. She 
arrived in England not long since. Don't let that announcement 
produce any tremors of alarm. I can honestly assure you that 
were opportunity offered tomorrow, the weight of the world 
couldn't drag her into your presence at the villa Torni. There's 


no more to be said on that point. There's another, however, on 
which you're entitled to some enlightenment. I refer to my 
present knowledge of your exact whereabouts. A letter from 
an old friend of mine gave me the clue. She's a neighbor of 
yours, by the way, and lives in that manor house on the hill 
to the right of the villa. 

In view of what I have heard and suspect, take a word 
of advice don't invite entangling alliances. They're a source 
of chagrin if nothing more. Your impulsiveness has done 
enough mischief for the time being. "A word to the wise is 

Since I'm still prone to change residences overnight, you 
may direct your letter in care of my banker as usual. 

" I knew it! " said Jimmie vigorously. 

" Have you received bad news ? " asked Annunziata, frown- 

" Not exactly," returned Jimmie, " but that woman will be 
the undoing of me yet. She never knows when to let well enough 

" What woman ? " sought Annunziata. 

" My Aunt Brigid," said Jimmie. " She's never happy un- 
less she's regulating somebody's affairs, preferably mine." 

A half hour later, the grass at his feet littered with torn pa- 
per, Jimmie Lydford gave vent to a sigh, glared defiantly up at 
the whispering leaves, reached for a fresh piece of paper, and made 
a flying start with: 


I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. Agnes, as you 
probably know, ceased answering my letters without a word 
of warning, or subsequent explanation. Moreover, on the occa- 
sions of two calls at her residence, I was tacitly given to under- 
stand by the maid that Agnes was not at home to me. I 
foolishly invited a third rebuff, and on that occasion was in- 
formed that " the family " had left town destination unknown. 
For some occult reason I had become an undesirable overnight. 
I'm still in the dark as to what that reason could possibly 
have been. 

I was reluctant to burden you with even an announcement 
of my misfortune, wherefore my seeming neglect to take you 
into my confidence. I came abroad at once, cutting all lines 
of communication. I had no desire to receive the condolences 


of my friends, since I could give no plausible explanation. I've 
been at the villa Torni ever since. 

You may possess your soul in peace regarding those " tremors 
of alarm." I've no desire to see Agnes for some time to come. 
That, perhaps, will draw your criticism; but I'm still quite 
human. It would be fruitless to discuss those two phrases 
which you make use of in your letter " shameful treatment " 
and " great injustice." As for " deserving further considera- 
tion," I don't quite catch your meaning. 

How strangely things fall out: I mean your being a friend 
of the folks up at the manor. You might forward me a letter 
of introduction. As for " sudden enthusiasms " or " entangling 
alliances," don't worry. My heart is where it ever was and 
always will be. Moreover, since one proverb deserves another, 
let me remind you that " a burnt child dreads the fire." 

And again, as on another day, he braved the ardors of the 
afternoon sun, trudged down to Sant' Angelo, and mailed his let- 
ter. Unlike that other day, however, he hadn't the least doubt of 
the result. " I ought to have a letter within the week," said he to 
his second self. And he did two of them! They arrived Mon- 
day morning and had been mailed at Sant' Angelo! A glance 
at the handwriting of one sent him forthwith to his retreat under 
the peach trees, where he gave solicitous attention to the following : 


I have given very earnest consideration not only to your 
recent request, but to the circumstances of our correspondence. 
To invite discussion and then avoid it would seem to imply a 
spirit of coquetry on my part, which I may not permit you to 

I clearly remember the point involved in your inquiry. It is 
vividly impressed on my memory. A discussion of its merits, 
however, could not be had in a letter of moderate length. A 
fortunate circumstance enables me to overcome the difficulty. 
I'm sure you will agree that fate has been kind, and that the 
invitation on its way or arrived will serve all purposes ad- 
mirably. Needless to add, I shall look forward to Tuesday 
afternoon with keen anticipation. 

The second letter, written in dainty script, informed him : 


I was agreeably surprised to hear that you are the nephew 


of my very dear friend Mrs. Brigid O'Dowd. It will give me 
great pleasure, therefore, if you will take tea with us Tuesday 
afternoon at four o'clock. 

I should much like to introduce you to some friends of mine. 

Sunday evening, Miss HELEN SHERWOOD. 

" Ha ! " said Jimmie, a smile of rare complacency breaking 
into bloom. And, giving himself to the business of the moment, he 
achieved his note of acceptance. That done he jumped to his 
feet and started on a run up the garden walk. At the end of the 
grape arbor he collided with Annunziata. 

" Oh ef I beg your pardon," he threw our nervously. 

" Why what has happened ? " exclaimed Annunziata, " you're 
all excited." 

" Don't you believe it," said he. " I want you to scoot over 
to the manor with this note. It's of the greatest importance." 

" But" began the girl. 

" Don't argue," broke in Jimmie, pushing the note into her 
hand. "Fly!" 

And then, since it never rains but it pours, the afternoon mail 
brought him a third letter, from Rome, from his Aunt Brigid. 
" Now what d'ye suppose," began Jimmie, hastily uncovering the 
missive. Whereupon, with a sustained frown, he read : 

One turn of frankness deserves another. Nevertheless, if it 
weren't that blood is thicker than water, I'd stick to my original 
plans and let you fight your own battles. Events of the past 
week, however, leave me no alternative. 

By some manceuver of fate, Agnes was with me the day I 
received your letter. I made free to disclose its contents. I 
don't propose to retail her comments ; they're best left unsaid. 
I will, however, carry out a promise she exacted from me. 
I could do no less. 'Tis a matter of strict justice to both of 
you. She gave me a small packet of letters and insisted that 
some day I show them to you. I'll not rest easy till you've 
seen and read them. 

In the meantime I'm writing no letters of introduction. It 
may serve to cool your ardor to hear that Agnes and myself will 
be guests at the manor for a fortnight at least. We shall arrive 
Tuesday afternoon. I'll send Agnes direct to the manor; but 
will take the longer route myself that you may have an oppor- 
tunity to read those letters. I shall reach the villa Torni 
about three o'clock. You may order tea as usual. 


Naturally, I had to tell Agnes of your presence at the villa; 
but don't let that trouble you. Unless you take the initiative 
there's no danger of even a chance encounter. I'll see to that. 

" Well, of all the " began Jimmie Lydford ; but a power to 
express the exact shade of his emotion denied him, he sat glaring 
across the valley at the manor. He was still at grips with the in- 
expressible, when Annunziata came strolling down the garden walk. 
At sight of his troubled countenance, she shook her head from side 
to side and remarked : 

" You look as though you were expecting bad news ? " 

" Bad's no name for it," returned Jimmie thoughtfully. And 
as his audience stood frowning incomprehension, he remarked : 

" I can't take tea at the manor, tomorrow, after all, and I must 
send a valid excuse." 

" You can't go ! " exclaimed the girl, drawing back, amazed. 

" No o," said Jimmie ruefully, " I'm going to have company 
myself tomorrow. My aunt is a friend of the folks up at the 
manor. She'll be here tomorrow afternoon about three o'clock. 
Did you ever hear of such luck ! " 

" But," argued Annunziata, I don't see why that should inter- 
fere with your engagement. You could both go to the manor to- 

" We could," admitted Jimmie Lydford reflectively, " but we 

" You seem to have a lot of bad luck lately," commented the 

" It isn't luck," said Jimmie, " it's merely the tyranny of cir- 

The following afternoon, shortly before three, Jimmie's Aunt 
Brigid arrived at the villa Torni. The preliminary skirmish 
safely past, he led his guest down the garden walk toward the table 
under the peach trees. Before seating herself, she took him in 
with a sweeping glance from crown to heels, then rendered deci- 

" The place agrees with you evidently." 

" An easy conscience," he ventured lightly. 

" Make the most of it while you may," she retorted, " it won't 
be for long. But you may order tea." 

" It's in the making," murmured Jimmie. 

" You might glance through these in the meantime," she sug- 


gested, handing him a packet of letters. " They'll serve to intro- 
duce the few words I intend to have with you." 

" Oh o," he murmured, and forthwith lost himself in an 
examination of the missive. As he read an expression of bewilder- 
ment settled on his countenance. A frown of amazement wrinkled 
his forehead. 

Annunziata arrived and took her leave unheeded. His aunt, 
without comment, poured tea. Suddenly, eyes flashing, Jimmie 
looked up and exclaimed : 

" I I'm dumfounded ! I can scarcely believe it ! If it wasn't 
for the maid's confession of lying and intercepting of letters, I'd 
be tempted to doubt the whole affair. I always did sense some 
antagonism on the part of Agnes' guardian, but I never dreamed 
he was in such deadly earnest. I I'm shocked ! " 

" Is that all ? " inquired his aunt. 

" It should be superfluous to tell you that I'm sorry," returned 
Jimmie. " Nevertheless you must admit that I had provocation." 

" To doubt the loyalty of a girl like Agnes ? " demanded his 

" But," returned Jimmie spiritedly," I never really did." 

" Then why are you here? " she inquired tersely. " Can't you 
realize that you've invited suspicions of all your friends? What's 
more, you've given cause for that wicked old creature to think he 
did right in attempting to part Agnes and you." 

" Wicked ! " exclaimed Jimmie. " Why that man's act was 
criminal. He must be wanting to all sense of honor and decency." 

" His spite is bitter," remarked Mrs. O'Dowd. "But I didn't 
come here to scold, nor to offer condolences. The first is not my 
metier, the second you don't deserve. Now that you know the 
truth, I'll make free to ask what do you intend to do about it? " 

" I owe Agnes an immediate apology," announced Jimmie 
solemnly. " If it wasn't that circumstances forbid, I'd go over to the 
manor at once." 

"Circumstances?" echoed his aunt, with an inquiring uplift 
of her eyebrows. 

" Why er you see," said Jimmie, " the truth is that your 
friend, Miss Sherwood, invited me to take tea at the manor this 
afternoon at four o'clock. If you'll be kind enough to explain 
matters " 

" I'll be a party to no such cowardice," promptly advised his 
aunt. " You'll come with me at once." 


" But," he began protestingly, almost pleadingly. 

" I'm waiting/' she remarked with the implication of a threat. 

Whereupon he wisely chose the lesser evil. 

They had scarcely reached the terrace at Sweet Briar, when 
a little old lady came quickly forward with the announcement: 

" Hurry, Mrs. O'Dowd, you're wanted at the telephone." 

"Yes?" said Jimmie's aunt, and with a swift glance toward 
her nephew. " This is " 

" Don't stand on ceremony," interposed the other, " you're 
wanted in a hurry. I'll take care of him till you've returned." 

Wherewith she smilingly held out her hand to Jimmie Lydford 
with : " How do you do ? " 

" I'm delighted to see you," murmured Jimmie lamely. 

" Don't be shocked at my lack of ceremony," remarked his 

" And I'll take your arm, if you've no objections. You might 
be tempted to run." 

" Not from such good fortune as this," he returned. 

" Indeed ? " said she, smiling up at him. 

She led him toward the pathway that skirted the side of the 
manor. There she came to a halt, and half suggested, half sought : 
" Perhaps, you'd care to meet Miss Holburn alone for a few 
minutes ? " 

" But," he began, plainly ill at ease. 

" Don't be foolish," murmured the other, giving his arm a 
slight pressure of encouragement. " Go have it over with. She's 
on the porch just around that corner of the house." 

" Thank you," he murmured absently. 

Whereupon his hostess, with a smiling " Good-bye for awhile," 
left him to his fate. 

A moment later he was under the awning that shaded the paved 
platform along the south side of the manor. And there, so far 
as he knew, he stood the unsuspected observer of a young woman, 
who, back toward him, sat in a wicker chair lazily plying her fan. 
It was a curiously wrought fan and it held his attention. The 
business of the moment, however, called for action. Wherefore, 
with a sad lack of inventiveness, he gave vent to a little annun- 
ciatory cough, then stepped forward. The fan midway one of 
its lazily described arcs came to an abrupt halt, a head of brown 
hair turned slowly; a very pleasing profile appeared, then a face, 
two lustrous brown eyes, and then 


She was on her feet in an instant with a half startled, half 
inquiring : 

"Oh o?" 

" I'm that is, I came right over, Agnes," began Jimmie, 
" to ask that is to say that " 

" But," she inquired, mercifully coming to his rescue, " won't 
you be seated ? " 

" Thank you," he murmured, " after I've offered you an 
apology for my those gratuitous assumptions of mine. I I'm 
sorry beyond expression. As you know I haven't a leg to stand on." 

" You might be seated," she remarked mischievously. 

" You haven't said that you'd forgive me," he demurred 

She made no rejoinder, but stood looking across the valley to- 
ward the villa Torni. 

" I know I don't deserve it," said Jimmie, still embarrassed, 
still uncertain. " But if you knew what I've been through. I 
I haven't known a moment's happiness in six months. It was one 
of the things that gave me courage to come here today." 

" Indeed," she retorted swiftly. " I thought you were here to 
meet a young woman that seems to have thrown prudence to the 

" Don't, Agnes, please," pleaded Jimmie earnestly. " You 
you're hurting me. You misunderstand. I'm ashamed and heartily 
sorry. Before I take my leave, I should like to hear that you at 
least forgive me." 

" Only on one condition," she interrupted seriously but firmly. 

" Name it," demanded Jimmie eagerly. 

" That you stay for tea," she stipulated, " otherwise you will 
make my presence here unbearable." And before he could voice 
his decision, she added : "If you will pardon me, I shall call Miss 

And the next moment he was alone. 

A sweeping temptation to fly laid hold of him; but just then 
his hostess appeared with the announcement: 

" I'm so glad that's over with. Come right along, please. 
You've just time for a word or two with another friend of yours. 
She's down in the rosary. " I'll take you as far as the gateway. 

And murmuring irrelevant trifles, she forthwith led the re- 
luctant and inwardly fuming creature down the pavement toward 


the other side of the house, thence to a little rustic gate that swung 
between high hedges of privet. There she pointed down a shaded 
walk and smilingly advised him : 

" Go straight ahead to the fountain, then turn to the right. 
You'll find her reading her favorite poet on the bench under the 
rose trees." 

" But," began Jimmie, his feelings at the breaking point. 

" No," she picked him up quickly, " my presence would be 

And again she left him to his fate. And suddenly a spirit 
of mingled resentment and injustice flared up within him. What 
right had Agnes to take such an intolerable advantage of him, to 
force him into a situation that could only And suddenly by a 
whimsical touch of fate, by the merest chance, out of the corner 
of his eye he saw it! It was lying half-open in the grass along the 
edge of the path. He swiftly entered the gateway and achieved 
possession of the object. It had been dropped obviously in the 
course of hasty flight. But and here was the question why 
flight along that particular path? Had it a double, in rival hands, 
in the same household, this curiously wrought fan at which he 
stood blinking? He smiled his incredulity, pocketed the fatal clue, 
and went down the path as far as the fountain. There he turned 
swiftly about and took in the carefully arranged mise en scene. 
She was, in truth, seated on a bench under some rose trees. Her 
back was toward him, over her head and shoulders a disguising 
mantilla, while the edge of the promised book of poems showed 
just above her arm. It was really well done. It was altogether 
too successful not to merit a reprisal. Wherefore he remarked : 

" A charming tableau, I assure you. A fitting crown to your 
guileless little comedy. My compliments." 

For a second even the leaves seemed motionless with expec- 
tancy. Nevertheless, excepting an almost imperceptible start of the 
veiled head and the gradual disappearance of the book, nothing 

" I regret to spoil the denouement as originally planned," said 
Jimmie, drawing near, " but am inclined to believe that mine con- 
tains a fairer sense of humor." 

" How how did you guess ! " came the faintest of protesting 

" Merely to guess would have been fatal," he returned. And 
boldly rounding the edge of the bench, he seated himself within 


strategical reach of his summum bonum. He tried to intercept her 
glance, but she defensively kept her eyes averted. And suddenly 
in a tone of mingled skepticism and chagrin she wondered: 
" You don't mean to say you knew it all the time ! " 
"I'm not saying anything," announced Jimmie firmly, " till 
this little comedy is safely concluded and the curtain down. Your 
left hand, if you please, I've something that belongs to you. I 
refuse to be responsible for it another minute." 

There was the briefest of pauses. Then, shyly but thought- 
fully, she surrendered her hand. And as he slipped the ring over her 
finger she lifted her face and murmured: 

" I I was so afraid you you didn't care, Jimmie." 
" Didn't care ! " he exclaimed. And instantly 
But the curtain is down. 



THERE was a little maiden 

In blue and silver drest, 
She sang to God in Heaven 

And God within her breast. 

It flooded me with pleasure, 

It pierced me like a sword, 
When this young maiden sang : " My soul 

Doth magnify the Lord." 

The stars sing all together 

And hear the angels sing, 
But they said they had never heard 

So beautiful a thing. 

Saint Mary and Saint Joseph, 

And Saint Elizabeth, 
Pray for us poets now 

And at the hour of death. 



F Aristotle could again move about among his kind, 
and have a volume of modern philosophy it does 
not much matter which suddenly thrust upon his 
notice for review, one many readily imagine in what 
direction his astonished thoughts would run. 
At two things chiefly would he be surprised the remarkable 
development of metaphysics as a science of Knowledge, and its 
almost complete neglect as a science of Being. The internal rela- 
tions that thread our knowledge through and make it the consistent 
body of information that it is, would be spread before him in mar- 
velous richness of detail; but when he sought to discover what 
bearing on the problem of reality all .this highly developed science 
of mind was supposed to have, not a word would be vouchsafed 
him save in scorn. Had he not heard of the Copernican revolution 
in philosophy, introduced by Kant? Thought does not revolve 
about objects any longer; objects revolve about Thought. The 
idea of external reality is as obsolete as the old geocentric theory 
of the universe. It is one of the derelicts in the path of progress. 

So complete a transformation of metaphysics from a science of 
reality into a science of knowledge would pique the curiosity of the 
Stagirite as nothing else could, and set him at once to wondering 
just where the secret of its explanation lay. " The Master of those 
who know," as Dante called him, would hardly be put off with an 
allusion to the Polish astronomer Copernicus, or his Prussian imi- 
tator in philosophy, Kant; he would return at once to the charge: 
" Why has there been so much progress in the study of Knowledge, 
and so little in its companion subject Being," he would insist. "Do 
men now regard knowing and being as one and the same thing? 
Has Plato's 'independent world of ideas' again become the dominant 
conception? Against this 'Old Man Eloquent,' and his detached, 
self -running world of Thought, I built philosophy on the Reality 
known to us in experience, and refused to sever the knower from 
the known. Where there are two constituents, I said to myself, the 
interests of truth demand that neither be suppressed. 

"A hundred years or so before my time, Zeno the Eleatic and 


Heraclitus the Obscure stood for a policy of suppression. To their 
way of thinking, the proper method to pursue when two ideas 
appeared to be in conflict was to eliminate one of them and let the 
other stay. Zeno was for the world of the 'one;' Heraclitus for 
the world of the 'many/ Each excluded the idea on which the other 
built, declaring it an illusion that melted away in the light of re- 
flection. This policy, for many reasons, I could not bring myself 
to share. I saw the partial truth in the opposed contentions of these 
two rival thinkers, and at once began to cast about for a principle 
by means of which the warring opposition might be transcended 
and overcome. This principle I found revealed in experience it is 
the idea of Continuity and it seemed to me then, it seems to me 
now, that in recognizing and employing this idea as the governing 
consideration in philosophy, I made a special contribution to the 
development of human thought, far superior to the disruption policy 
of Zeno the Eleatic and Heraclitus the Obscure. Imagine my sur- 
prise, therefore, to find that this idea has gone almost wholly out 
of recognition, and that the undeveloped mentality of my predeces- 
sors is preferred to mine. 

" How did this ancient opposition between the permanent and 
the changing, the ideal and the real, the rational and the sensible, 
the 'many' and the 'one' get itself so dogmatically reasserted ? What 
led philosophers to disavow the continuity between thought and 
sensation, reason and experience, subject and object, mind and 
reality? What influence re-created impassable gaps of severance 
between all these? How did Thought come to be regarded as 
creative, and cease to be considered in the light of an apprehensive 
power? I feel quite sure that a study of the causes leading up to 
the rejection of the idea of Continuity will disclose the whole secret 
of modern philosophy, and enable me to judge in what respects 
precisely it is superior to mine, and in what others it falls below." 

Aristotle's reflections might or might not have followed the 
direction indicated. We have conveniently lent him ours, the better 
to acquaint the reader with the question in hand, which is personally 
concerning, and needs to be made live and actual, even by the inser- 
tion of this introductory " purple patch." Modern philosophy grew 
up around the idea that Thought is independent of the world of 
objects, and can develop of itself, without the aid of experience. 
The question we are here going to consider is not what value this 
idea has, but how it ever came to be entertained. The question is 
about the origin of the idea, not about its worth. We have reserved 


the consideration of this genetic problem for our closing topic, 
as a most natural complement to the series of articles begun in 
THE WORLD of last December. The reader who has the patience and 
the interest to read the article through will at least be able to see 
whence many ideas have come, that must have appeared dark and 
puzzling to him before, when studied apart from the circumstances 
of their origin. 

The doctrine that Thought is independent of reality and can 
develop of itself, without the aid of experience, did not originate 
on philosophic soil. It had its origin in the science of mathematics, 
and came over from that special discipline into the general field of 
philosophy, dispossessing this latter of all its traditional principles 
and reanimating it with a predominantly mathematical spirit. This 
spirit leaned strongly towards idealism. Mathematical studies en- 
gender the feeling that reason is not indebted to experience for 
the shaping of its course. One may start with an ideal circle, line, 
surface, or square, and draw forth therefrom self -verify ing conse- 
quences almost without end. Out of a few given notions of the 
simplest and exactest sort, a whole world of complex consequences 
can be discovered and magisterially built up, without once consulting 
experience. Analysis may be carried on in the form of an abstract 
calculus of symbols to which no meaning of any kind we are 
speaking of the newer mathematics need be attached. A judicious 
selection of the simplest primary conceptions of the mind, of those, 
especially, which are mutually independent, will lead to juxtaposi- 
tions and combinations, out of which a great coherent body of more 
complex conceptions is as sure to follow as the day the night. It is 
possible to compose a rigorous treatise on geometry, in which the 
fundamental and controlling conceptions point, straight line, and 
between have been left unproved and undefined a circumstance 
that led Bertrand Russell no mean mathematician himself almost 
facetiously to remark that " mathematics is the science in which we 
never know what we are talking about, nor whether what we say is 
true." By nature a study of ideal constructions which often prove 
applicable to real problems and as often lead to the discovery of 
relations hitherto unsuspected, the science of quantity and position 
creates the almost irresistible impression that the concrete realities 
of the world about us might as well be non-existent, so far as the 
mathematician needs them either for the starting point of his specu- 
lations or the guidance of his research. 

Rene Descartes, the founder of modern philosophical method, 


was preeminently a mathematician. He had contributed to the 
development of mathematics by his discovery of analytical geometry, 
and quite naturally thought that the method by which this success 
was won would work similar wonders in the field of philosophy, 
could it there be made the accepted mode of procedure. The times 
were ripe for changes. Dissatisfaction was in the air, and objective 
ways of thinking in disrepute. Tradition had been broken in 
religion, and from that to its breaking in philosophy was but a 
single step. A philosophical reform, animated by the same anti- 
traditional spirit as that which had characterized the so-called re- 
ligious reform inaugurated some years before by Luther, was bound 
to come. Descartes saw the means to its effecting in the method 
employed by mathematicians in their particular science. If this 
method could be generalized, the past would be blotted out and 
the future made wholly independent of it. There would be no 
traditional ways of thinking left to hamper the mind's unfolding, 
nothing but a clear white page on which to write philosophy anew. 
* The observations of mathematics are all upon objects of imag- 
ination, not upon those of sense. Why could not the " objects "of 
philosophy be likewise brought into the imagination, there to be 
dealt with by the philosopher as the mathematician deals with his? 
Why trouble about a red circle, which is always imperfect, whether 
found in nature or drawn by man when we have its perfect ideal 
imaginatively furnished from within? Mathematics takes a few 
fundamental conceptions like point, line, surface, and position 
all perfectly exact, exhaustive, adequate and from these, without 
calling upon experience, ideally constructs its world. Why could 
not philosophy do likewise begin, say, with "clear," "compre- 
hensive," " perfectly understood " ideas, such as " existence," 
" knowledge," " doubt," " thought," " volition," " duration," 
" movement," or other " primitives " of like tenor, and from these 
build up a more complex body of conceptions and consequences? 
And to give these primary elemental notions, which cannot be 
doubted, a chance to come fully into play and establish their effi- 
ciency, what more natural than to propose a method of doubting 
everything beforehand? That would leave these mental "atoms" 
intact, and at the same time sweep out of recognition all the old 
procedures to which philosophy had been wedded. So thought 
Descartes in the mental crisis that came upon him while in winter 
quarters with the army of Prince Maurice of Bavaria, at Neuberg 
on the Danube, in 1619. 


A realization of the fact that Descartes 1 borrowed the new 
method of philosophizing from mathematics is very enlightening 
and instructive. It lets us into the explanation of many points in 
modern thought, for which we should be sorely puzzled otherwise 
to account. It explains the introduction of " methodic doubt," and 
the peculiarly extravagant meaning which Descartes attached to 
" clear ideas." No one but a mathematician mistaking the logic 
of the imagination for the logic of reflection would ever think of 
regarding ideas in general as on a par with the mathematical " primi- 
tives " of point, surface, line, and square. No one but a mathema- 
tician, with a mathematician's psychology, would ever dream of 
claiming, in the face of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, 
that any of our philosophical ideas are " clear," in the sense of being 
adequate, exhaustive, comprehensive, and completely understood. 

The mathematical " primitives " led Descartes to think that the 
philosopher, no less than the mathematician, might judiciously select 
a few mutually independent notions, and out of them draw forth a 
whole orderly world of consequences. Mutually independent con- 
ceptions make good starting-points in mathematics, and the method 
was transferred to philosophy, as if it had every right and privilege 
to be there immediately put into effect. There can be no doubt that 
Kant owned his severance theory of concepts to mathematical in- 
fluence; he certainly never got it from an examination of ex- 
perience. No one peering into his own conscience and making it 
an object of reflective study would ever come to the conclusion that 
the concepts of the intellect are all isolated, unrelated, and inde- 
pendent. But, though poor psychology, such a view is good mathe- 
matics, and Kant generalized it without stopping to prove the gen- 
eralization true. His conduct is illuminating and instructive. 

The theory that truth is coherence, not correspondence, is also 
an infiltration from mathematics. Things in the imagination the 
locus of all mathematical " essences " need but to agree among 
themselves and show no contradiction, to have their truth discerni- 
ble. They know no external measure to which they are bound to 
conform, consistency being their only requisite, non-contradiction 
their only law. When the mathematician decided to play the role 
of universal philosopher, he brought his own particular working- 
principles over with him into his new field, and that is how and 
why the idea of truth as a correspondence between Mind and Reality 

*Discours de la methode. (Euvres de Descartes. By Victor Cousin. I., p. 142 ; 
also p. 129. 


went out of consideration in modern philosophy. Mathematical 
points of view account also for the fact that both Descartes and 
Kant should have so strangely conceived of the world and God as 
" corrollaries " of -their own private systems of thought ; as " hy- 
potheses " that verified themselves without being strictly capable 
of proof; as "postulates," "demands," "implicates" anything 
but spontaneously known and rationally demonstrable truths. 
These men were talking the language of mathematics, as if it were 
in very truth that of philosophy itself. Is it any wonder, in such 
circumstances, that the principle of Identity should have been re- 
duced to the banal utterance that A is A? And need we be sur- 
prised, either, that the idea of external reality appeared to minds 
of this stamp as a most useless and hampering notion? 

Our imaginary Aristo > teles redivivus was surprised at the dis- 
appearance of the idea of Continuity from the pages of modern 
philosophy. But here again, if we consult the mathematical 
parallels, we shall see the reason of its failure to survive. Con- 
tinuity is mathematically conceived as a series of numbers, each one 
of which is exterior to the others and independent of them, like 
the rungs of a ladder. Contiguity, not continuity, is the character- 
istic of numbers. " In their linear order, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 are exterior 
to each other, as are also, in their circular order, the terms a c b d a, 
or, reversely, a d b c a. One term is either before or after, it either 
is or is not between two other terms." Transferred from mathe- 
matics to philosophy, this method will tempt its employers to treat 
the concepts of the intellect as contiguous and juxtaposed, mutally 
exclusive and independent, like numbers in a series. 

History shows that this is exactly the manner of treatment 
which concepts received at the hands of such mathematician-philoso- 
phers as Descartes, Leibnitz, and Kant. History also shows the 
tremendous consequences that followed. The whole ideal of philoso- 
phy was changed, and all its horizons lowered, when Descartes thus 
substituted the logic of the mathematical imagination for the logic 
of experience and reflection. The ideal of the philosopher is the 
comprehension of the unity and continuity of things, not merely the 
grasping of their individuality and distinction. The first, and by 
far the nobler half of this ideal, was forced out of recognition by 
the mathematical manner of considering concepts. The second 
alone survived, and it began to work destructively, as all mis- 
chievous half -truths do. 

The fraternity of things, the solidarity of concepts, the so- 

VOL. civ. 4 


ciability of matter and mind, the compenetration of all our mental 
states, the vast syntheses that pour in upon us spontaneously when 
reflecting, the noble unities that thread the whole world through 
with purpose and make detail look so small a matter in comparison 
the very things on which philosophy had built and should ever 
build, were forgotten, a pall of voluntary oblivion having been 
thrown over them to give mathematics the right of way. And 
what a right of way it was ! The mathematician's idea of a phil- 
osopher is that of a man who divides and analyzes objects reduces 
them to their simplest terms. To explain any given whole is to 
dissociate it, to break it up into its component parts. The atom 
of everything is the mathematician's engaging quarry. That found, 
the process of explanation is over, the work of the philosopher 
done. And the consequence was that " to explain " meant to sim- 
plify, and to simplify meant to mutilate, separate, and divide. 

Four brand new categories stalked sturdily into philosophy to 
do the work of disintegration, to tear every known unity apart, 
under the pretext of explaining it. These were the categories of 
separation, rivalry, opposition, and exclusion. Mathematics had in-' 
deed invaded philosophy, and a ruthless invader it was. Concepts 
were declared isolated and discontinuous they became as fixed, 
rigid, and static as numbers that never change. They lost all their 
suppleness and flexibility, and were made to appear as no more 
capable of growth in meaning than the number 6 or the figure 8. 
The idea of Being, for instance, which is infinitely flexible, ex- 
pressing all things under a common ratio, and allowing for differ- 
ences and shades of meaning without end, lost all this characteris- 
tic vitality and took on the appalling immobility, isolation and lone- 
liness of Kant's " thing-in-itself " that vexing nightmare of post- 
Kantian philosophy. All continuity between mind and matter, sub- 
ject and object, thought and reality ceased. An irreconcilable 
dualism was created between them, and philosophy was unfairly 
asked to solve problems which the imagination of mathematicians 
had conjured up for its undoing. 

The treatment of concepts soul and body, mind and matter, 
subject and object as if they were juxtaposed like numbers, as if 
each represented a static fixity of meaning upon which no change 
could ever come, worked the ruin of philosophy in the traditional, 
human sense of that term. It is responsible for the dualism which 
Descartes invented between spirit and matter, and for the separa- 
tion which Kant created between reason and sense. It is accounta- 


ble, also, for the limitations which the latter affixed to the range 
of human knowledge for " Kant was but Descartes with the in- 
tellectualism left out." Our power to know reality the reality of 
the world, ourselves, and God was sacrificed without warrant to 
the exigencies of the mathematical method. No investigation pre- 
ceded this denial of the power of human reason the whole ques- 
tion was arrogantly prejudged by mathematicians posing as philoso- 

A most gross mechanization of the human spirit, a muffling of 
the powers of reason and a fettering of spiritual reflection quite 
naturally followed. Machine theory after machine theory of life 
was proposed, and men are still held in their deadly toils. Philoso- 
phy lost its freeing character when the mathematicians perverted 
its nature, stifled its aspirations, and narrowed its scope. That 
which should have remained a distinct discipline became a para- 
site a parasite, first, of mathematics, then of mechanics, physics, 
and biology in turn. And with what is philosophy now allying 
itself? With economics and sociology, for the time being, and 
until some other particular science gains the ascendancy, bidding 
it to seek refuge beneath its folds. How are the mighty fallen! 
The philosophy that promised liberation brought human thought 
under the worst form of enslavement imaginable slavery to a 
method and complete subjection to a procedure from which 
the world might well wish itself, by some great cataclysm or other, 
once and forevermore freed. 

The invasion of philosopy by the mathematicians we must 
not forget to add changed all the meaning of the traditional 
terms. " Intelligence," " reason," " evidence," " idea," " intuition," 
" induction," " deduction," " certainty " were mathematicized out 
of all semblance to their former selves, and freighted with a 
narrower significance than they had ever previously borne. " In- 
telligence " and " reason," which had hitherto meant the faculty of 
apprehending the nature of things, now became the mere power to 
draw up imaginative schemas of reality or plans of conduct. " Con- 
ception " was reinterpreted as the decomposing of an assemblage or 
group into its imagined elements, precisely as is done in mathe- 
matics; a circumstance that will enable us to understand why 
Kant rejected the idea of God as unknowable he could not de- 
compose it into the terms of sense experience, as his mathematical 
prepossessions required; a circumstance, also, which explains his 
grandiose effort to " schematize " the categories so as to compel 


Thought to reclothe itself with the forms and figures of the imagina- 
tion. Under the influence of mathematical ideals also, " concep- 
tion " was perverted into a mere tool, instrument, or device, by 
means of which the material requisite for a mechanical, unspiritual, 
and wooden interpretation of the universe might be whipped into 
shape. By no other agency except enslavement to method, and 
unquestioning compliance with its exactions, could such a lowered 
significance have been imported into this ancient term. 

" Evidence " also underwent transformation. Formerly un- 
derstood as " the light which the object has in the idea," it now 
began to be set down for a quality or property belonging exclu- 
sively to ideas. It became a purely subjective state of mind " cer- 
titude " as contradistinguished from " certainty." " Idea," too, was 
another one of the terms that had to have its significance cut down 
to mathematical size. Before the mathematicians got hold of it, 
an idea meant the object itself as within us; it was no mere 
mental substitute for reality, but the living presence thereof in 
mind. And as all objects are rich with qualities and features 
which our ideas of them do not ever wholly exhaust, no one ever 
had the hardihood to contend that our notion of anything, -even of 
a tadpole, is adequate, perfect, and complete. Every individual 
was regarded as inexhaustible, never fully analyzed, never com- 
prehensively known. But, with the parallel of the mathematical 
"primitives " before his eyes as a model, Descartes misconceived 
the whole nature of our general ideas. He took them as equivalent 
to mathematical ideas in particular, and the result was that they 
ceased to be the imperfect beginnings of knowledge which they 
really are, and became its perfect representatives and types. And 
once they were regarded as complete and exhaustive from the start, 
it was impossible to derive further knowledge from them. To Des- 
cartes' mind, " induction," " deduction," and the " syllogism " 
could not have the efficiency they had had before. " Deduction," 
for instance, was no longer the drawing forth of a third truth from 
two others, it was simply the mechanical juxtaposition of two ideas, 
between which, in the absence of all continuity, some bridge or 
other had to be constructed. 2 

Kant, if you remember, did not believe it was possible to 
pass from one concept to another, and now you know the reason 
why. He was thinking, not as psychology, but as mathematics 

*L'esprit de la philosophic moderne. By J. Maritain. Revue de Philosophic, 
July, 1914, p. 63. 


would have him think, and the difference is very great. " In- 
tuition " a favorite term of Kant's we must not forget to 
describe its shortened stature in modern philosophy. Hitherto a 
synonym for intellectual perception, for the intellectual percep- 
tion of reality, it now became exclusively associated with sense 
and imagination, as mathematics would not suffer anything to be 
acceptable that could not be sensibly or imaginatively reproduced. 
Perhaps the reader, peeping between the lines has seen ere this, 
why it was that Kant confined reason to experience and would not 
let it soar beyond. Perhaps, also, it has become apparent why this 
selfsame thinker found fault with the idea of God because he could 
find no traces of it in the imagination a mathematician's only 
world. Kant here unconsciously expresses the difference between 
mathematical and philosophical thought. The former is tied to 
images, and dare not leave them they are its stock-in-trade, its 
pillars of Hercules, and beyond them is the Unknowable, because 
all that cannot be imagined is for the mathematician inconceivable 
he has made himself notorious in history for crossing these two 
terms. The philosopher knows no such limitations. His thought 
dominates the images he employs, and he regards the imagination 
as an aid to thinking, not as the term, criterion, or final bound 
of thought. Wherein, too, the wise reader will make reflections. 
It is the superiority of thinking to imagining that constitutes all 
philosophy worthy the name of such. 

The movement to mathematicize philosophy was originally due 
to the idea that the foundations of mathematics are innate, and 
absolutely certain on that account. Descartes and Kant both 
thought that the absolute certainty of mathematics came from the 
innateness of the ideas with which it dealt, from its independence 
of experience, in other words. So absolute did the certainty of 
mathematics appear in Kant's eyes, that he invented the word 
" apodictical " to express its exceptional character. But Kant's 
competence in mathematics has been seriously questioned of late, 
and so has the cardinal point on which he suspended his whole 
system and criticism namely, the supposition that mathematical 
ideas arise within the mind itself, and that their perfect certainty 
is due to their intra-mental origin. To the newer mathematicians 
of our time, mathematical judgments are " hypotheses or conven- 
tions"* from which a number of consequences are drawn, they are 

L'inntisme Kantien des fondements mathematiques. By Louis de Contenson. 
Revue de Philosophie, March, 1914, p. 291. 


not the irrefragable certainties by which Kant set such great per- 
sonal store. After a long, detailed, and brilliant examination of 
Kant's " synthetic judgments a priori," Contenson 4 declares that 
they are " neither judgments, nor synthetic, nor a priori," but 
derivations from experience. In the mathematical world the con- 
troversy now hovers over one idea the general concept of 
" group " or " assemblage." Is this fundamental concept of 
" group " innate? Poincare thinks it is. Contenson is of the con- 
trary opinion, and he makes a point well worth remembering. The 
origin of this concept matters little, he says. " Its initial nature 
(whether innate or acquired) has no more influence on the de- 
velopment of mathematics and its certitude than had Newton's 
apple or Galileo's lamp on the enchainment of their systems. It 
was a stimulating occasion, not a determining cause." 6 

With this profound, penetrating, and undermining criticism, 
the whole foundation on which Descartes and Kant sought to re- 
build philosophy collapses. These two philosophical reformers 
were persuaded that mathematical ideas furnished an absolute 
basis for certainty, because of their non-derivation from experience, 
because of their innate, inborn character, in other words. But 
now we know that the certainties of mathematics are quite inde- 
pendent of the whole question of the origin of ideas, and not 
at all of such an apodictical character as Kant, in the meagre 
mathematical knowledge of his day, saw in them. The dogmatism 
of these two men is a thing of the past in the mathematical 
world. Would that the same might be said of the world of phil- 
osophy, where their spirit still survives and their method is still 
the principle of guidance! 

We do not wish for a moment to have the inference drawn 
that modern thought has made no progress whatsoever. That 
were foolhardy in the extreme. Modern thought has made a 
wondrous progress. The world of matter has been forced to yield 
many secrets which it hitherto withheld, and the conquest of the 
air has been added to the taming of the sea. In the world of 
mind, the discoveries have been equally portentous. Consciousness 
has been placed under the microscope, so to speak, and every nook 
and cranny of it explored. Experience has been burrowed into, 
tunnelled under, and bridged over, until it looks like a city of 
light. How much of our knowledge actually comes from the af- 

4 Ibid., February, 1914, p. 173. 
'Ibid., March, 1914, pp. 305, 306. 


fections and the will, from sympathy and feeling, from interest 
and pressing need; how much of it is due to action, to the mere 
fact of exercising our mental faculties all this has been cata- 
logued, filed, and listed by a galaxy of investigators so numerous 
their names blur like the stars in the Milky Way. It has been 
admirably shown that consciousness scarcely opens its eyes to look 
about before desire comes, and longing misty ideals of the good, 
the beautiful, the real, and the true. Magis ubl amat quam ubi 
(mimdt, est anima, says St. Augustine, and experiment has proved 
the observation true. We know by acting and by loving as well 
as by thinking there is a dynamic urgency within us and it 
quickens all our thought. Living links bind all our mental states 
together in marvelous affinity, and by traversing these links the 
mind finds a connected pathway through its own labyrinthian maze. 
Physics, physiology, and all the sciences that border on psychology 
have been compelled to shed what light they may on the processes 
of mind. Nothing of ourselves has been suffered to remain un- 
examined. If the proper study of mankind is man, the nineteenth 
century will never be accused of remissness before the bar of 
history. Its achievements are monumental, its fame enduring. 
And there is no one who does not wish it still greater success in 
extending the area of the known. 

But, to have done all its thinking under the influence of the 
four new catagories separation, exclusion, rivalry, and opposi- 
tion all of them arbitrary mathematical importations and specu- 
lations, none of them discovered in experience or revealed by an 
examination of consciousness; and in their name and on their 
false warrant, to have accepted the appalling limitations dictated by 
a mathematical, mechanical, unspiritual not to say wooden 
method, which robbed us of the reality of the world, ourselves, 
and God, and set us adrift on the shoreless sea of idealism was 
this progress, think you, or a wrong sense of direction? 



E saw in a preceding article in THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD 1 that the existence of efficient hospitals for 
the poor and their proper organization is not a 
matter of recent date, nor one limited to a past 
generation or two, but on the contrary goes back for 
many centuries. The period that marked the lowest level in these 
humanitarian institutions is not in the dim and distant past, but 
occurred at a time not far removed from our own, indeed scarcely 
more than one hundred years ago the latter part of the eighteenth 
and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries. Hospital construction 
and organization was at a lower ebb at about the middle of the 
nineteenth century than at any other time of which we have definite 
records of history. 

The hospitals conducted by cities at that time did much more 
harm than good. Within them the poor were huddled together 
amid surroundings not only dirty, but from a medical and surgical 
standpoint absolutely filthy. The patients would have fared better 
almost anywhere else, for in such surroundings they were subjected 
to all the dangers of disease that had accumulated from preceding 
patients. All sorts of epidemics occurred in these hospitals. Many 
otherwise healthy patients, injured in such a way as to require 
hospital treatment, were the victims, through contagion, of serious 
diseases which, if not actually fatal, crippled them for life. 

The poor of those days dreaded the hospitals. This fear, it 
was said, resulted from ignorance and failure to appreciate all that 
was being done for them; but we know now that it had its seat 
in a very proper realization of the high death rate in hospitals, 
which made entrance into a hospital so often synonymous with a 
death warrant. The only thing that could possibly be said in favor 
of such hospitals was that at least for a time, and in some measure, 
they segregated the infected from the general public, but even this 
was a dubious benefit, for probably the herding together under ex- 
treme unhygienic conditions made the diseases present ever so much 
more virulent. Garrison in his History of Medicine, 2 has told the 

1 September, 1916, p. 721. 2 New York, Saunders, 1913. 


story briefly of the awful conditions that existed in the hospitals 
just as the nineteenth century dawned; and Baas, the German 
historian of medicine, says that in Frankfort on the Main and other 
cities " even physicians declined hospital service as equivalent to a 
sentence of death." 

We have pointed out how the historians of hospitals and of 
nursing attribute this extreme decadence to the secularization of 
hospitals, and above all to exclusion of women from positions of 
responsibility therein. The beginning of the decadence corresponds, 
according to Jacobsohn, the German historian, in his History of Care 
for the Ailing, to a period shortly after the so-called Reformation, 
and according to Miss Nutting and Miss Dock, in A History of 
Nursing, to the suppression of the religious orders. This latter event 
left hospitals and other humanitarian institutions without trained, 
experienced attendants. 

That the exclusion of women from offices of responsibility as 
a true cause of decadence in hospital organization and not a mere 
feminist declaration is proved, first, by the fact that the replacing 
of women in responsible positions has been one of the greatest 
factors in the modern improvement of hospitals. Moreover, other 
facts, very interesting and significant, contribute to the same proof. 
Sisters' hospitals, in spite of the decadence of surgery, the neglect 
in hospital construction and the almost absolute ignorance of the 
disastrous consequences of dirt, for which of course the medical 
profession was entirely to blame, continued to be comparatively 
much better institutions, and were better managed and organized in 
every way than the public hospitals. When, for example, great 
emergencies arose, or when public investigation brought out 
the sad state of public hospitals, many of those in authority 
thought at once of placing Sisters in charge, but public senti- 
ment in this country for ten years before and after the Know- 
Nothing Movement of 1850 was deeply prejudiced against the 

At Blockley, the great public hospital of Philadelphia, pre- 
vailing conditions even in the latter part of the second half of the 
nineteenth century were simply indescribable. A review of them 
belongs particularly to an article of this kind, since Blockley, be- 
sides being the hospital, was also the almshouse of Philadelphia. 
Miss Nutting and Miss Dock have told some of the shocking de- 
tails; and they have also told of one interval when something like 
intelligent care and order came to Blockley. That interval was 


when the Sisters of Charity took charge. Their History of Nursing 
says on this matter : 

Only one short interregnum of peace broke the long and 
distressing reign of violence, neglect and cruelty in Blockley. 

In 1832 there was a severe epidemic of cholera, and the at- 
tendants demanded more wages. To keep them to their duties 
the wages were increased, but were promptly spent for liquor. 
An orgy of intoxication ensued, and the helpers, crazed with 
drink, fought like furies over the beds of the sick, or lay in 
drunken stupor beside the bodies of the dead. So complete 
was the demoralization that the guardians applied to Bishop 
Kendrick for Sisters of Charity from Emmittsburg. The call 
was responded to promptly; indeed, the Sisters started two 
hours after the summons was received. They took in hand the 
whole desperate situation, at once restored order, and dissem- 
inated about them an atmosphere of tranquillity and quiet 
energy. The Sisters remained for some months, and their 
work was so deeply appreciated by the guardians that the 
Committee of the House, in a set of resolutions commending 
their great services, resolved also that they be requested to re- 
main permanently. This, however, Father Hickey, their su- 
perior, negated giving his reasons at length. He did not con- 
sider Blockley the department of charity in which the Sisters 
could be most usefully employed, so the guardians were obliged 
to let them go, with glowing tributes which may well have 
been heartfelt. 

Investigating commitees reported that conditions in Bellevue 
Hospital, New York City, were so pitiable as to excite the most 
poignant sympathy for its neglected inmates, and reform was de- 
manded. The creation of a new medical board in 1847 was the 
first gleam of light because, to some extent, it took Bellevue out 
of politics. The physicians found, however, that they could do 
almost nothing to improve internal conditions so long as prisoners 
and paupers were employed as nurses. Some requested that Sis- 
ters of Charity be placed in the wards. The Sisters of Charity 
were not in a position at the time, however, to take up the work. 
Some twenty years later, however, during an epidemic of small- 
pox in New York, six Sisters of Charity by invitation of the city 
went to Blackwell's Island and cared for the poor victims of the 

What is thus true of hospitals is true also of every charitable 


work for the poor. This is well illustrated in the history of the 
care of the aged poor and of dependent children. It has often 
been said that the test of the real humanitarianism of any period 
is the care shown for these two particular indigent classes. Often- 
times selfish and personal motives dictate the proper hospital care 
of adults because their health is a valuable asset to the community, 
and their fellow-citizens may at times be in their place. But the 
needy aged and children have no near relatives, at least no in- 
fluential ones ; and their care is, as a rule, a matter of pure charity. 
They are incapable of vigorous protest, and abuse or neglect of 
them comes but tardily to the notice of the public. 

With regard to this problem the care of the aged poor I 
may say at once that our present mode of caring for them is al- 
most barbarous. Certainly nothing should bring home to us more 
effectively our pitiable shortcomings in this matter, so essentially 
one of a proper human dignity and proper self-respect, than a 
brief review of some of the facts. The needy aged have no one 
to care for them: the community must provide till the end comes. 
These aged ones have perhaps been deserted, forgotten or neglected : 
their children have died or else are too poor themselves to help 
others. The number of the indigent aged is very large. Few realize 
that statistics show that nine out of ten people who live to be sixty- 
five or over must receive aid of some kind before the end of their 
lives. Fortunately the majority have children or friends who aid 
them, but the others must be cared for by the community. 

Throughout the country the poor are usually housed in what 
we call poorhouses. These are large buildings situated at some 
considerable distance from the county seat, or well beyond the 
limits of the populated section of the cities which direct and support 
them. There is usually one large building for the men and, some 
distance away, a similar building for the women. These aged, who 
are public charges, are usually widows or widowers, and fortunately, 
beyond the disgrace of the poorhouse, have not to endure the ad- 
ditional trial of separation from the living partner of their joys 
and sorrows. When, however, husband and wife are both living, 
each must live apart, though they may see each other occasionally, 
and without much regard for privacy. 

We place the old people in these poorhouses; give them 
enough to eat and tell them to be happy. The old men must as- 
sociate with the men of their own age, usually tiresome enough, 
but, harder still to bear, the old women must associate with the 


women of their own age. There is not a chance of a child coming 
near them, though the one thing that makes life worth living for 
the old is to have the young grow up around them. We call this 
charity. Apparently we forget that man does not live by bread 
alone, and that the life of the affections is of supreme impor- 

Contrast with this, for the moment, the care of the old in the 
Middle Ages as illustrated by what we still see at Stratford-on-Avon 
in England. On one of the main traveled streets of the little town 
is a group of neat, tiny, old-fashioned houses. They were built 
about 1450, though they then replaced dwellings used for a similar 
purpose that had been there for several centuries. On the ground 
floor are two little rooms, one of which, facing the street, is the 
sitting-room; an alcove serves as bedroom. Back of the sitting-room 
is a tiny kitchen, almost like the kitchenettes of the modern flat. The 
aged mistress of the house need take but very few steps in doing her 
work. Even the most delicate and infirm of old women, if she is 
able to be out of bed, can care for this little house herself. In 
the older time, when she was ailing or if she was very decrepit, 
and I believe the custom still continues, a friendly visitor appointed 
by the guild came every day and offered her services for whatever 
might be necessary. Here the old folks lived out their lives together 
in their own little home. The aged still live in these little 

They are the old guild almshouses. Mark you, they do not 
call them poorhouses. That crude designation of a habitation for 
public charges was reserved for a much later time. The Guild of 
the Holy Cross in Stratford was a magnificent organization, com- 
posed mainly of laymen clergymen could become members, but 
could not hold office who had charge of the charities, or, if you 
will, in modern phrase, the social needs of the town. They cared 
for the old and the orphans and the ailing poor, even for the 
entertainment and amusement of the populace, as well as for edu- 
cation and public athletics and the provision of mystery and 
morality plays and pageants and processions of various kinds for 
the townspeople. 

The arrangements for the care of these old people were very 
interesting, quite apart from the provision of the little homes in 
which they might live together. Every phase of such care was 
marked by supreme thoughtfulness. The little houses were situated 
just down the street from the guild chapel. Only the guild school 


intervened between them. The guild had, as we know from its 
statutes which have been preserved, four chaplains, whose duty it 
was to offer Mass every morning. The old folks, therefore, found 
it easy to assist at Mass every day. 

The guild chapel was only one of the evidences of thought- 
fulness. The guild school represented another and even more sig- 
nificant appeal to human nature. The children of the village went 
by the almshouses five or six times a day on the way to and from 
school. School in Stratford began at the enterprising hour of six. 
The first hour was not devoted to recitations, but to study. What 
we would call " home work " was done during it. After the com- 
pletion of the second hour, which included the recitations of the 
day, the children went home for breakfast, returning in about half 
an hour; they then stayed until nearly twelve. They returned for 
an afternoon session, with usually an interval of a couple of hours 
in the middle of the day, and again returned home in the evening 
at about five o'clock. The old folks then had a chance to see them 
grow up around them, to know them and share their blessings which 
intimacy with childhood alone can give. I think it was good for 
the young folks too. They saw old age at close range; realized 
its needs, learned to respect it, and probably often at mother's re- 
quest brought various things with them from home for the old 
folks, thus learning early the precious lesson of personal charity 
and kindness to the poor. 

Best of all the guild playground was just behind the school. 
The old folks could see and hear the children at play. With what 
greater joy could old age be blessed ! Needless to say our mode of 
caring for the old folks admits of no such advantages as these. The 
children are usually far away from our aged county and city charges ; 
occasionally some relative may bring a child on a visit, but our aged 
never see children at play. I do not know whether this collocation 
of school and chapel and almshouses was accidental or not. The 
guild very probably bought the entire strip of property and then 
put its various buildings thereon. I cannot help but think, however, 
that somebody must have thought out seriously the splendid solu- 
tion of all the charity problems involved. Such happy accidents 
do not happen by chance. 

What is thus true of the care of the aged is quite as equally 
true of the care of children. The high death rate from infectious 
disease in mediaeval times left as many half and full orphans to 
be cared for as the industrial conditions of the nineteenth century. 


The guilds cared for the orphans just as they cared for the aged, 
and their provisions were just as humanly sympathetic and as 
beautifully charitable. To them the orphan asylum was unknown. 
The orphan asylum is the invention of post- Re formation times. 
None existed in England before the Reformation. The growth 
of large cities has made more or less necessary such institutions, 
but the guilds cared for half orphans, if their mother was still 
alive, by a pension which enabled the mother to keep the family 
together; and if both parents were dead the children were dis- 
tributed among neighboring families. At this time a family gen- 
erally included at least six children. Where families are, as a rule, 
large, another child is readily adopted; charity begets charity. 

The orphans were called the children of the guild, and special 
provisions were made for their schooling, their technical training, 
or for the higher professions if they had special abilities. The 
guild usually had bourses at the university, and many an orphan 
child thus secured the opportunity for even the highest education. 
Indeed there was a tradition that it was often more fortunate to be 
a child of the guild than to have both parents living, for, so far as 
opportunities for advancement went, the guild was better able to pro- 
vide them than the parents. In the smaller towns, where practically 
everyone knew everyone else, there was little chance for abuse of 
a child thus adopted, and, moreover, the guild saw to it that its 
children were treated like members of the household. 

When the question of caring for children in the larger cities 
of the older time is to be considered, we must turn to the Continent, 
where the cities were larger and the problems of care more like 
our own. The one way to secure concrete knowledge in the matter 
is to take a typical example, as, for instance, what the American 
authors of A History of Nursing call " the most interesting 
foundling asylum in the world." This was, to give it its formal 
title, the Ospedale Santa Maria degli Innocenti at Florence. Note 
that it was not called, as in our ruder English designation, a found- 
ling asylum, though it was a home for children who had been 
abandoned by their parents and found on the streets. It was called, 
as if to emphasize the fact and arouse the charitable instincts of 
all those who heard its name, " The Hospital of the Innocents." 

The history of this hospital, or place of hospitality for the 
innocents, for that was what its title really meant at the time it 
was founded, goes back to the earlier half of the Middle Ages. 
The institution itself was evidently modeled after an institution 


founded in Milan by a good monk in 787. At least this is the sug- 
gestion of Miss Nutting and Miss Dock in their History of Nursing. 
The good monk had been deeply touched by the fact that charity 
did not always succeed in taking care of foundlings early enough 
to preserve them, that sometimes families that adopted them con- 
sidered them as their absolute possessions, to do with as they 
wished, and that they might be sold or hired out at will. 

The Hospital of the Innocents became one of the favorite insti- 
tutions of the citizens of Florence, and was taken under the patron- 
age of the guild of the silk merchants, who supplied all its needs 
bountifully. Before the end of the Middle Ages the silk merchants 
proceeded to erect the handsome building, a model of fine archi- 
tecture, which is still a favorite place of pilgrimage for all lovers 
of the beautiful. This Hospital of the Innocents shows clearly the 
spirit of the Middle Ages that governed all such institutions. The 
foundlings were not looked upon as beings for whom anything 
was good enough, but on the contrary they were treated as future 
Florentine citizens, and being charges of the public nothing was 
too good for them. This hospital, then, became the home of beau- 
tiful art, until it was richer in masterpieces than many a museum 
of modern times. There are a number of beautiful paintings on 
its walls, and its exterior is decorated with the well-known della 
Robbia medallions. These are the large blue and white porcelain 
placques, representing babies in swaddling clothes, which have now 
become so popular that one sees small replicas of them in plaster 
and porcelain and print nearly everywhere. How few even of those 
who know them well, think for a moment that they are associated 
with a mediaeval foundation for the care of abandoned children, 
which dates back well over one thousand years. Fewer still have 
any idea that the beautiful bambini of della Robbia are strikingly 
symbolic of the Christian charitable spirit of the older time blos- 
soming into the finest organized charity. 

As the foundation had been originally made because of the 
abuse of selling foundlings into slavery, with a special ceremony, 
freedom was granted the little charges of the hospital. They were 
made citizens at Florence and were never to become slaves. From 
a very early time these children were placed with families who 
promised to treat them as their own children. Both boys and girls 
were taught trades, and special provision was made for securing 
employment for the boys. The girls when married received a 
dowry. A favorite form of legacy among wealthy Florentines was 


to leave enough money to supply dowries for poor girls. A special 
fund was created in connection with the Hospital of the Innocents 
for this purpose. 

All over Europe in the Middle Ages, or let us say before the 
Reformation, this subject of dowering young women for marriage 
received the most serious charitable attention. In England it was 
no uncommon thing for a wealthy person who died to leave dowries 
for the next half dozen or dozen young women without substance 
who married in a particular place. It was felt that the happiness 
of the young folk in their marriage state depended not a little on 
their beginning well, for love often flies out of the window when 
poverty comes in at the door. 

Almost needless to say this Hospital of the Innocents is not 
only still in existence, but it is doing its work in a wonderfully 
beneficent way down to the present day. The American authors of 
the History of Nursing say of it in their chapter on " Hospital 
and Nursing Appliances " in the first volume of their history : " To- 
day this richly historic house is in charge of the Sisters of St. 
Vincent de Paul, under the direction of a highly scientific and 
progressive council, chiefly consisting of medical men, and is one 
of the most perfectly kept and well-managed institutions of the 
kind in existence, its union of mediaeval charm with modern science 
being a congenial and happy one." 

These are some of the facts chosen from the history of charity 
in older time, particularly with regard to the care of the aged 
poor and of dependent children. While under the charge of the 
religious authorities, or at least while religious motives were the 
most important factors in the movement which provided for them, 
they were cared for with a fine feeling of humanity and fraternal 
love. It was a determined successful effort to see that these needy 
ones had the chance to live their lives as far as possible on a plane 
of true humanity in spite of the handicap of old age, of the loss of 
friends and relatives. Before the Reformation all this had been 
beautifully organized, not so as to be ideal, for ideals are not hu- 
manity's everyday life, but accomplished with an ideal in view so 
as to have as few abuses as possible. With the coming of the 
Reformation these phases of charitable work were secularized and 
deterioration began. The descent was not noticeable for a time 
because the old spirit still lived on to some extent ; but in the seven- 
teenth and early eighteenth centuries serious abuses crept in, and by 
the beginning of the nineteenth century reform simply had to come. 


The question is now whether that reform can be expected to 
be as lasting and as sure in its effects if it is founded merely on 
human motives with wages and salaries as the most important ele- 
ments, or whether an appeal to higher motives and a belief in 
higher things is not absolutely necessary for the successful, humane 
care of the poor. In the solution of that problem these chapters 
of the history of charity which we have reviewed are very precious 



WHAT portion has a midge of grief, 
What terrors, in a life-long hour? 

The thunders of a shaken leaf, 
Or falling petals of a flow'r? 

Of joy, it surely has its share. 

Watch it with many others gleam, 
A sunlit pattern in the air, 

A rhythm winged above the stream. 

We cannot judge another's grief, 
Or joy in vain do we compare. 

God, Lord of bounty and relief, 

Knows what each one can hold or bear. 

VOL. civ. s 




O many there are who are ready to exalt themselves 
into knowledge, that he will be blessed who makes 
himself barren for the love of the Lord God." So 
St. Francis said to the novice who wished for a 
psalter. He was very far from realizing the nature 
of the blessing that was to come upon this " barrenness for the 
love of God." He could not dream how it was to sweep away all 
mere sterility, and bring, in the end, such fruitfulness, even in the 
very things renounced, as the world had not known for many a 
hundred years. Before St. Francis had been long in his grave, 
Arnolfo di Cambio was building and Cimabue was painting. Be- 
fore the century passed out, Giotto and Dante were come. 

It seems a far cry from Sudermann's Magda, with her " Ich 
bin ich," to Francis, son of Pietro Bernardone, yet Magda's self- 
assertion, and the justification of it, have their roots far back in 
the ages. Her cry is not unlike a faint disjointed echo of the 
thoughts that may have been in the mind of Bernardone's son, when 
he cast off the very garments he owed to his father, and stood out 
before the world naked and supremely self-assertive; the Lord's 
free man, and his own man first that he might give himself to 
the Lord. 

Giotto has fixed the scene in our imaginations; altogether 
symbolical as it is of the Franciscan movement and of what has 
sprung from it. We see the angry father with the rejected clothes 
thrown over his arm, and one hand drawn back as if to strike. 
The expression on his face is not mere temper, be it observed, but 
righteous indignation. He and the friends grouped round him, 
stand for the whole established order of things, the conventions, 
the proprieties, the whole existing framework of life, with its 
safety, its wisdom, its seemliness. And over against them stands 
the lad, exalted, excited, carried out of himself by an irresistible 
current of feeling, defying all the safe, commonplace ways and 


institutions and thoughts of the world, ready to fare out into life, 
as to an unknown country, naked and alone, on the eternal quest of 
the artist and the idealist He sets himself free for that by 
this supreme act of rebellion. Behind Francis comes the friendly 
bishop, throwing his robe over the boy's nakedness, sheltering 
him, as it were, under the protection of the Church, doubtful, per- 
plexed, half -afraid, yet urged by some scarce understood instinct, 
almost in spite of himself and his judgment, to draw this danger- 
ous person within the Church's bounds, because the spirit of man 
ought to be at home there in every manifestation not sinful. 

So St. Francis began to do a wonderful and revolutionary 
thing. He wakened the individual from sleep. What he asserted 
for himself, he claimed for humanity, not consciously, not of set 
purpose, but, none the less, imperiously and effectively. 

Do we realize, when we admire the grace and beauty of the 
Franciscan legend, what it stands for in the history of art and 
of thought; how it opened the doors, as has been said of another 
movement, for a whole generation to pass through? 

Today when art is struggling, somewhat blindly and stum- 
blingly, towards freedom from tradition^ towards broadening and 
simplification, Francis and his ideals should be understood. His 
relation to mediaeval art, and through it to the Renaissance, should 
not slip out of sight. His attitude to life can fully be understood 
only by remembering that the blossoms that sprang to life on the 
bare twig shows its species. 

It is hard now, after centuries of carefully cultivated indi- 
viduality, centuries in which human effort has been strained for- 
ward to secure the freedom and the development of the individual, 
to realize the conditions of life into which St. Francis was born. 
In the mediaeval commune, life was regulated for each class of 
persons with extraordinary minuteness. Society fell into groups 
and sections, the family, the guild, the commune; into ranks, the 
noble, the citizen, the peasant, and the whole framework was of 
an amazing, unalterable rigidity. Birth fixed a man's position; it 
did far more than that, it fixed all the details of his daily life, 
what clothes he, and more especially his wife, should wear, what sort 
of entertainments he should give his friends, how he should dispose 
of every part of his property in his will. Every circumstance of 
life, from birth to death, was under the inflexible rule of the 
family, or the guild, or the commune. The individual was hardly 
recognized; he was absorbed into some of the one groups to which 


birth related him, treated with, under an aspect that recognized his 
place in the community, not his status as an individual. 

In that society there rose up Francis, the son of Bernardone, 
and steadily, unfalteringly, determinedly he rejected and disre- 
garded the whole framework of things as he found them. He 
stepped out of the family group, out of the guild, out of the com- 
mune; he asserted and maintained his right to be independent of 
all these things, " to live his own life," as the phrase goes, and to 
see things his own way. 

The one single path to something like freedom lay, in those 
days, through the church doors. An individual career was possible 
in that way, but even there it must be followed on strictly regulated 
lines. He also refused this accepted and understood way to free- 
dom, unless he might travel it in a fashion so entirely his own 
that it inspired all orthodox minds with anxiety, and at first with 
distrust. If Francis had entered one of the established Orders, 
and gone by the beaten track, he might have made himself a 
career, he might even have achieved sainthood, but he would have 
opened no door for the world to pass through. 

Undoubtedly the Church opened the way for him. His task 
would have been an impossibility, had not the Church been there, 
keeping the way clear to a spiritual freedom, which was the only 
freedom the world had yet conceived of as possible. Hesitatingly 
and doubtfully at first, yet always effectively, the Church kept 
the doorway clear for Francis, and insisted on protecting his right 
to pass on. It recognized that he sought not lawlessness, but a 
higher law. 

Then he began, having gone out into the wilderness, to draw 
disciples to himself. The brothers of his Order naturally and 
inevitably shared his own liberty, but what was more important, 
and must have seemed more dangerous, was the partial emancipation 
of those who joined the Third Order of his founding. They did 
not quit the family, nor the commune, still they plied every man his 
trade and took their places in the life of the world, but they sat 
with a certain freedom to external rules and regulations. This 
freedom came to be officially recognized, too, in certain exemptions, 
as, from the obligation to go to war at the order of the commune, in 
some given cases. In fact, the Tertiaries stood a little apart, in- 
dividualized by their relation to one who had claimed freedom for 
himself and for them. 

This new liberty was for women and men alike. The life of 


St. Clare came as a pendant to that of St. Francis. She too 
stepped outside the restrictions and limitations which hedged her 
round, and catching at his mantle was drawn with him, through 
the doors, to a wider liberty. Like him, she made her freedom 
into ,a joyful, self-chosen servitude, her ftfe into a prolonged 
" Ecce Ancilla Dei; " but, none the less, nay rather the more, she 
lived in a wonderful freedom of soul and body alike, very rare at 
any time. 

The lives of both St. Francis and St. Clare were largely spent 
in the effort to protect this precious freedom, to establish it for 
themselves, and for those who were to come after them. On every 
side well-meaning officious friends and protectors tried to wrest 
it away. There was the bishop, for instance, with his Ugoline 
Rule, and many other would-be benefactors, and to all such their 
lives were one prolonged resistance. 

The touchstone of- the whole matter was that much-contested 
question of poverty. The holy estate of poverty was dear to 
Francis for its own sake, as being that condition in which Christ 
and His Mother had lived, but he felt, too, with the instinct of 
genius, that only in utter poverty could real liberty be secured. It 
was the very essence of the Rule, that Rule which was also a charter. 

When Messer Bernardo da Quintavalle came to be the first 
companion of St. Francis, they went together and heard Mass, 
and then the priest " at the prayer of San Francesco took the missal 
and, making the Sign of the Cross, opened it, in the name of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, three times, and at the first opening they came on 
the words that Jesus said in the Gospel to the young man who 
asked Him of the Way of Perfection : " If thou wilt be perfect, 
go and sell all that thou hast and give to the poor, and come and 
follow Me." At the second opening they found the words that 
Christ said to the Apostles when he sent them to preach : ' ' Take 
nothing for the journey, neither staff nor purse, nor shoes nor 
money." At the third opening of the Missal was found that word 
that Christ said : " Whosoever will come after Me let him deny 
himself and take up his cross and follow Me." Then said San 
Francesco to Messer Bernardo : " Here is the counsel that Christ 
gives us, go then and do just what thou hast heard, and blessed be 
the Lord Jesus Christ Who has designed to show us the Evangelical 
Way." Hearing this Messer Bernardo set out and sold all that 
he had, for he was very rich, and with great gladness distributed 
everything to the poor, and to widows and orphans, to prisoners, 


to monasteries and to hospitals and pilgrims, and in everything 
San Francesco faithfully and prudently aided him. And so the 
Order began. Every brother who entered it must distribute what- 
ever he had of worldly goods to the poor. His entering religion 
was neither to enrich his Order nor his family, but only the needy. 
And this strange new worship of poverty was also the worship of 
freedom. It was a means to an end. Only in close union with 
this chosen bride could Francis secure liberty of either soul or 
body. When Bishop Ugolino urged him to allow some financial 
provision to be made for the community, Francis answered 
shrewdly in the negative. Property, when once possessed, must 
needs be defended and protected. In other words so you fall 
under the dominion of society, which in securing your possessions 
establishes a claim upon you. St. Francis had found a way to 
avoid all that, and for himself and his brothers and sisters he was 
minded to follow it. 

" II tesoro della santissima poverth," was in truth the treasure 
of freedom, and how well St. Francis knew that is proved by the 
tenacity with which he clung to this privilege above all others. It 
explains what we might be inclined to set down as a too great 
insistence on trifles, as an antagonism to intelligence, in his deal- 
ings with the members of his Order. For instance, that a novice 
should wish for a psalter, might seem an excusable, even a praise- 
worthy, desire, yet it called forth the praise of barrenness with 
which we began. It is a strange encounter of wills. On the 
one hand is the novice with his mental hunger; on the other 
side the Saint with his inflexible rule of poverty. He is determined 
for himself and his sons that they shall not come under the slavery 
of temporal possessions. How it typifies the whole history of 
the Order! The novice comes back again and again, craving the 
psalter, yet not willing to have it without the approval of Francis, 
who answers shrewdly and, as we are apt to think, rather narrowly : 
" When you have it you will desire a breviary, and then you will 
say to your brother: 'Go and bring me my breviary.' ' The way 
of freedom, so hard to find, so hard to follow, did not lie in that 

The men into whose hands the ruling of the Order passed, 
were willing to concede psalters and breviaries and more besides. 
But for Francis the last sacred obligation of poverty was fulfilled 
in his own person, when he lay dying, free from every constraint 
of social obligation save that of love, utterly his own man, and 


so the Lord's. He bade them take away his clothes and lay him 
on the bare ground. Then, with a delicate instinct for his wishes, 
the ruler of the Order, who stood by, fulfilled his last joy by 
clothing him again in a habit, which Francis was bidden to con- 
sider as a loan, not a possession; not his by right, but by charity; 
not his to give away. The dying man's face beamed with a child- 
like pleasure in this imaginative, half -fantastic way of keeping his 
troth with poverty at the last. Naked he had entered the way 
of freedom; so, as far as raiment of his own went, he would fain 
finish the course. 

And so he died. And before many years the church at Assisi 
was built to do him honor, and far and wide over Europe there 
sprang up stately churches and convents bearing his name. His 
dearest wish for his sons had been that they, like the Son of Man, 
might not know where to lay their heads. Now the noble simplicity 
of the life he had planned for them was surrounded and enshrined 
in splendors of art, that grew up inevitably from the new freedom 
and new joy of life that he had given to the world. His assertion 
of the individual had done its work, and when they decorated 
St. Mary of the Angels, modern art had begun. 

We think of the Renaissance as a time when men turned 
back to drink at the Greek fountains, to fertilize themselves, once 
again, at those endlessly lifegiving sources. And so they did, but 
it was because a new thirst had been awakened, and they had a 
new need to satisfy. They went back to the ancients, not as mere 
imitators, but because a thought was born in them, and therefore a 
new craving for self-expression possessed them. They needed to 
learn, not what to think, but how to speak. The Greeks had known, 
in their best days how to express their thoughts almost perfectly, 
and with them, these moderns, with clumsy, unpractised hands, 
stammering tongues, and eyes dazzled with the new, bewildering 
light went as it were to school. And so the hands became skillful, 
and the bewildered sight adjusted itself. The fine discipline of the 
old Greek mind made itself felt, and the Renaissance learned JLO 
speak out the thought that was in it in fitting accents. 

If the core and centre of St. Francis' work had been the 
awakening of the individual, what were the first .fruits of that 
awakening in the spirits of men? First of all, great joy. The 
season of sorrow was not yet though in the fullness of time, 
sorrow as well as joy was to come of this new impulse in life. Now 
all was " allegrezza." " Con grande allegrezza " was the very key- 


note of the Franciscan revival. Spiritual joy and rapture had been 
known to holy souls in all ages, but with Francis and his true 
followers the spiritual irradiated the material, all things took on 
a sacramental aspect. 

Now and then they may seem to fall back into conventional 
language. Among the doctrines of Brother Giles, we have the 
" Capitolo del dispiacimento delle cose temporale," but when we 
come to examine it, its precepts are all interwoven with a wonder- 
ful, instinctive, natural pleasure in this transitory world. This 
" dispiacimento " of Brother Giles is really in the very vein of a 
certain song of William Blakes' (that " anima naturaliter Francis- 

He who binds himself to a joy 
Doth a winged life destroy: 
He who kisses the joy as it flies, 
Lives in eternities' sunrise. 

Brother Giles seeks less the renunciation of joy than the pur- 
suit of a greater joy, not merely heavenly, but even in the passing 
world. He says: "If we would not err let us take example from 
the beasts and birds, which when they are fed are content, and only 
seek to live from hour to hour as they have need." He adds that 
ants pleased St. Francis less than any other animal, " for the great 
solicitude that they have to congregate and to gather provision 
in the time of summer for the winter." In that passage breathes 
the very spirit of evangelical poverty and the freedom it had 
brought those simple souls. " With great gladness " Bernardo da 
Quintavalle distributes all he has in the world to the poor ; " with 
glad countenance " he endures the mockery of the rude young 
students at Bologna, and many a saint has done the like before him. 
But how few before the coming of Francis had taken spiritual 
joy in the temporal things. The mind set free from any preoc- 
cupations of temporal necessity, was at joyful liberty to dwell 
on every pleasant trifle, to taste every passing sensation, to be, 
in a word, the artist of life to whom all creation speaks, who 
dwells on this passing world with an exquisite appreciation, 
quickened by the very sense of its evanescence, the delight in it 
becoming the more tender because a touch of pathos is upon it. 

In the Canticle of the Sun, Francis joins the heavenly and the 
earthly in a sacramental union, which is pure joy. In every versicle 
of it there is an intense perception of nature, a delicate appre- 



ciation of the precise qualities of things that gives character to his 
thanksgiving. Sister Water is useful and humble and precious and 
chaste. Brother Fire is fair and pleasant, robust and brave. The 
familiar and dear legends that tell of the preaching to the birds, 
the taming of Brother Falcon, are all indications of the new at- 
titude to life, that grew out of the great freedom and the abiding 
joy of St. Francis. Music and singing and dancing are among the 
delights of heaven now, music especially. 

It catches one's heart to read how Francis, as he lay suffer- 
ing and dying, begged one of the brothers, who had formerly been 
a musician, to play to him, that his heart might be lightened and 
his pain beguiled. But the Brother was ashamed to go and borrow 
a lute, lest the world might count him too pleasure-loving. Francis 
meekly acquiesced in the scruple which would never have troubled 
his own simple soul. For his part, one suspects, his sympathies 
would rather have gone out to Brother Juniper of the merry heart, 
who went playing see-saw with the children, lest he should be ac- 
counted too pious by the passers-by. But in despite of the demure 
brother, St. Francis heard music after all, for the angels made 
him a concert that night, with sweeter sounds than human fingers 
could have summoned up. 

One is glad to know that music did not die away in the 
Order. Bonaventura tells of one Andrea da Pisa, who played on 
a violin, " high and clear and sweet and tender, and agreeable be- 
yond measure." Another, Fra Vita de Lucques had a delightful 
voice, and " when a nightingale or a thrush sang in a thicket, the 
bird would be, silent when Brother Vita began to sing, and to listen 
curiously without moving, and begin again when he had ended, and 
thus the two answered each other, and nothing could be more 
joyous and sweet than their voices." That was but a few years 
after the death of St. Francis. How joyfully would he have listened 
to such antiphons, even amid the heavenly songs. 

The joys of heaven took a more familiar and attractive kind 
of beauty in the imaginations of men who were finding the world 
very good. What they renounced was really theirs for the first 
time, and what they looked for with hope was not so very unlike a 
glorified extension of this beautiful world, where every season 
of the year brought its own abounding loveliness. Well might 
God's jongleurs go singing and making melody by the way. And 
if the kingdom of heaven seemed a familiar and pleasant place 
(where Brothers Minor might dance in a ring with the angels, as 


they do in Fra Angelico's " Last Judgment"), the world of Scrip- 
ture history became very real and near too. 

There is a quaint old book, Meditations on the Life of Christ, 
included in the works of St. Bonaventura, which gives us the 
idea of the way in which the Franciscans visualized the Gospel 
story for the people. It is written rather as if in the form of 
instructions for a mystery or miracle play. From point to point it 
follows the sacred narrative, giving such touches of half-tender, 
half -fanciful detail, as brings each scene very close to the popular 
imagination. When it describes the Nativity it tells how St. 
Joseph sat apart, sunk in sad thought, grieving over the need of 
every common comfort for the Blessed Mother. And later it tells 
how the cattle in the stable bent over the manger, where the Child 
lay, breathing long soft breaths, as if they knew that He needed 
warmth. When it deals with the Last Supper, it gives fanciful, 
touching details, divined, rather than invented, of the last partings 
between Christ and His Mother. There we find the first hints of 
that presentation of the anguish of Mary, that deepens and hu- 
manizes the Renaissance conceptions of the Passion. Again and 
again we seem to be reading a plan for the dramatization of the 
Gospel story, and in fact the mystery plays, which were familiar 
things already further north, now began to be known in Italy 
under the patronage of the Friars Minor and the Friars Preachers. 

Within the Order there came a burst of song. The trouba- 
dours had been an inspiration to Francis in his youth. Even as 
they strove to set love free, so St. Francis had striven to set 
life free, and to the end their singing had been pleasant in his 
ears. He was a singer himself, this " gonfaloniere " of the Most 
High, and no wonder his sons sang too. Celano, his biographer, 
wrote the Dies Ires, and in cheerful contrast innumerable lauds 
by unknown Franciscan singers, expressed the gladness of soul 
that pulsed through the whole community. Presently lacopo da 
Todi (the writer of the Stab at Mater) began to sing the Gospel 
story through, in poems that inspired Giotto's treatment of each 
theme, and gave Todi a just claim to be called the precursor of Dante. 

Art lay still in its gorgeous Byzantine tomb, wrapped round 
in cere cloths, rich with gold and stiff with jewels, splendidly 
and rigidly at rest. Now came the first faint movements of the 
shrouded corpse that awaited its resurrection morning. The Gospel 
story was becoming familiar, in a new way, what with the preach- 
ing and singing of the Frati, and with the vivid conceptions they 



had of its personages, as living realities. Our Lady no longer sat 
rigid and angular against her golden background, inanimate and 
apathetic, unconscious, to all seeming, of the Child on her knees. 
The Franciscan preaching linked her with the idea of poverty, and 
so brought her near the hearts of the people whose hard, spare lives 
had little to connect them with the stately Lady of Byzantine art, 
but who could come very near to one who had known sorrow and 
fatigue, cold and pain. In the Meditations we are told that it was 
in token of need and poverty that Our Lady accepted the gifts of 
the Three Kings for her Son, and that she afterwards gave them 
away to people still poorer than herself. Under the impulsion of 
such thoughts a change came over the art of the time very gradually. 
The difference is slight at first, just perceptible. In the pictures 
attributed to Cimabue, the Virgin, who used to sit so lifeless and 
stiff on her throne, has begun sometimes to make a gesture. Per- 
haps she points to the Child, as if in answer to the cry of the 
Salve Regina, " Show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, 
Jesus " or she lays her hand tenderly, caressingly, upon His 
limbs. Then the Child begins to come to life too, to turn lovingly 
to His Mother. The stiff heavy robes slip from Him, and show 
rounded childish limbs; after awhile He is no longer the older boy 
of the Byzantine artists, but a real new born baby, such a baby as 
made the gladness of many a poor home in Umbria and Tuscany. 

In fact, the figures in Scripture history had become indi- 
viduals, not types, and the art that represented them could no 
longer be chiefly symbolical, the minds of the people would demand 
that. Inevitably the desire to represent the human aspect realisti- 
cally had arisen the need of anatomy and perspective would grow 
more pressing day by day, and, moreover, the art that was meeting 
and struggling with ever new problems and difficulties, must be- 
come rapidly enriched and strengthened. The return to Greece 
was henceforth a mere question of opportunity. The world was 
ripe and ready for it. 

Nor is the new spirit altogether alien to the mind of its 
begetter. Francis had desired that his Order should have no 
abiding place in possession, but, on the other hand, beauty and 
seemliness, especially in the care of God's houses, was very near 
his heart. The daily prayer of the first Brothers was an echo of 
the Eucharistic psalm, " in ecclesiis benedicam Te Domine" There 
are no words that better express the mind of the saint than the 
" I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of Thy house "from the same 


psalm. His first task for God was to restore a ruined church and 
set a candle burning before its crucifix, and the cultus of the 
Crucifix became an especially Franciscan devotion. Nearly all the 
painted crucifixes of the thirteenth century, strange and angular, 
and almost repulsive to our eyes, that still hang in so many Italian 
churches, were painted for the Franciscans. In them too we see a 
creeping movement of life begin. The figure becomes more and 
more a human body, really suffering, really dying. The change, the 
development of thought is very plain, if we contrast, for instance, 
the very primitive one in the Pieve at Pistoia, with that formerly 
attributed to Giotto that hangs in Santa Croce in Florence. In the 
earlier representation Christ is fully clothed in a sort of priestly 
garb. The face is calm and composed, one Foot rests upon a 
chalice, which seems to receive the Blood. It is magnificent in 
dignity and in symbolism, but remote, abstracted, entirely super- 
human. When the same subject was treated in Giotto's time, we 
see an anguished human Body, represented with as much realism 
as the painter knew how to compass. The body is but slightly 
veiled, and there is an attempt to indicate Its weight as It hangs. 
This painting is a direct appeal to the pity and contrition and per- 
sonal love of the worshipper. 

Besides the representations of the Sacred Story, seen with the 
new vivid life that the Franciscan idealism had discovered in them, 
stand the representations of the Franciscan legend. The story of 
Francis possessed the popular imagination, and gave the painters 
subject matter that could be endlessly studied and restudied, with 
the certainty of making a popular appeal, and, also, subject matter 
which had not yet had time to crystallize into a set convention, as 
the older legends had already done. The great wall spaces of the 
Friars' churches called aloud for fresco decoration, and the story 
of Francis, seen by loving eyes in a mystic similarity to that 
of His Master, filled their cold spaces with warm color, was carved 
upon their pulpits, and miniatured in the predellas under their 
altar pieces. 

Characteristically enough the earliest extant portraits are 
representations of Francis, so that portrait painting, that most in- 
dividual kind of ,art, begins with his person. At Greccio, where, 
as he bent over the Christmas manger, the Christ Child was 
vouchsafed to his arms, a strange old portrait of him is still 
treasured, and here and there over the world, at Assisi naturally, 
at Siena, at Oxford, there are others. In the Bardi Chapel at Santa 



Croce, a very ancient portrait of St. Francis is the altar piece, and 
gleams out against somewhat faded gold, set round about with 
miniatures showing the events of his life. 

Strange indeed ! This sordid mendicant is the father of Italian 
art so Renan wrote. " Sordide mendicant." That is one way of 
describing Francis and his mendicancy, which was the way of 
freedom for himself and others. He begged for the broken scraps 
that fell from men's tables, and in return he gave them a world of 
glory, in the art that became possible, because of the individualism 
he asserted. Because of his poverty many are made rich. When he 
ate his broken scraps in joy of heart, the world began to remember 
what feasting meant. 

The world is the better for the Order he founded. Despite 
all fallings away from his ideals; all perhaps inevitable accom- 
modations with the world, his spirit still lives on in the lives 
of his sons. 

But greater and richer yet is the fruit of his spirit, in the 
art that followed on his steps. And the Renaissance, with all its 
varied fruits came into being, very largely, because Francesco 
Bernardone had given the world a new impulse and a new thought, 
that sent men seeing afresh a new means of self-expression. 

The impulse to return to Athens had come first of all from 
Bethlehem. , 


Professor of Physics in Manhattan College, New York. 

AVES of excitement and popular expectation swept 
over the country when Graham Bell showed his tele- 
phone at our Centennial Exposition of 1876, on 
which occasion Sir William Thomson (later Lord 
Kelvin) called the little instrument the " Wonder of 
Wonders." Though great progress and many noteworthy achieve- 
ments were made during the next twenty years, neither the break- 
ing of the atom into fragments, the liquefaction of common air 
and its sale in pints and quarts, or even the lighting of our streets 
and homes by the energy of the electric current, stirred up popular 
and professional interest as much as the announcement from a quiet 
university town in the heart of Catholic Bavaria of the discovery of 
the mysterious and wonder-working X-ray. The date is a memorable 
one, viz., November 8, 1895, twenty-one years ago; the discoverer, 
Wilhelm Conrad Rontgen, Professor of Physics in the University 
of Wiirzburg, at one time " the best Catholic university in the 
whole of Germany." 

Professor Rontgen was already known in the scientific world 
for fruitful investigations in several fields of physical research. 
Just then he was working with " vacuum " tubes, closely watching 
for new phenomena due to the very high degree of exhaustion at- 
tained in his experimental tube. This electrical discharge through 
rarefied gases was a fascinating subject of study for physicists, 
especially from the year 1879 when Professor Crookes showed some 
of his classical experiments in the lecture theatre of the Royal 
Institution, London, and described them in the Philosophical Trans- 
actions of the Royal Society for the same year. The experiments 
were remarkable for their beauty, originality and completeness, no 
less than for the revolution in scientific theory to which they 
eventually led. 

Professor Rontgen had one of these high-vacuum tubes in his 
laboratory; and on this particular day, November 8, 1895, it was 
carefully wrapped in a close-fitting sheath of carbon paper, while 
near it on a bench lay a sheet of white cardboard, covered over 


with a thin layer of phosphorescent material, the fluorescent screen 
of the present day. When the battery circuit was closed, the in- 
duction coil was energized, and the high frequency current from its 
terminals was sent through the tube. The buzz of the contact breaker 
was heard, but the illumination was not seen in the darkened room, 
as the tube was hidden away within its impervious sheath. 

The keen, watchful eye of the professor, however, did not fail 
to notice the brilliant luminescence of the fluorescent screen, which 
appeared with the working of the coil and disappeared when it 
stopped. It was clear to him that energy of some kind escaped 
from the tube and its shielding envelope, passed unfelt and unseen 
through several feet of air; and, acting on the crystals of the 
barium-platinocyanide, lit up the little screen. The energy that 
escaped in this way from the tube and affected the screen proved 
eventually to be none other than the energy of the X-ray. 

It will be noticed that the discovery of the X-ray was not due 
to a happy accident, as sometimes said, but to a carefully-planned 
series of experiments, undertaken for the purpose of extending the 
work of previous investigators in the tempting and promising field 
of cathodic research. 

Following instinctively the laconic advice given by Faraday to 
Crookes when a rising young chemist, viz., " work, finish, publish," 
Professor Rontgen subjected the new radiation to a critical study. 
Having found that he could not reflect the " rays " from polished 
mirrors or bend them by means of liquid prisms, or induce them to 
" interfere " with one another, he thought himself unwarranted in 
placing them in the category of light rays; so, unaware of their 
real nature, he decided to call them, for the time being, by the 
non-committal name of " X-rays." 

Proceeding step by step in his study of their properties, he 
found that, unlike ordinary light, the rays could pass through packs 
of cards, books of a thousand pages, blocks of wood, and other 
substances opaque to light. It was also found, by means of the 
fluorescent screen, that while metallic plates are more or less trans- 
parent to the extraordinary penetrative power of these rays, lead, 
even in thin sheets, is pronouncedly opaque. Hence the use which 
is made of this exceptional property of sheet lead for the pro- 
tection of the operator against the destructive influence which the 
prolonged use of X-rays exerts on the tissues of the body. 

Of surpassing interest also was the recognition that these rays 
discharge at once electrified bodies submitted to their action; and 


also that they split up the air through which they pass into posi- 
tively and negatively charged particles or ions, and bring about the 
" ionization " of the air as we call it. 

Finally, using a photographic plate, he found the film itself 
to be particularly sensitive to the new rays, so that " shadow-pic- 
tures " could be readily obtained. Resting the hand on the plate- 
holder the bones proved to be surprisingly more opaque to the rays 
than the flesh, an observation which led immediately to the " photog- 
raphy of the invisible," and to its application in medicine and 
surgery with the startling results known to all. 

It was only after a comprehensive study of the properties of 
the rays that Professor Rontgen wrote the historic paper which he 
read at a meeting of the Physico-Medical Society of Wurzburg in 
December, 1895. Shortly afterward, it was translated and published 
in the leading scientific journals of the world. The photographic 
possibilities of the X-rays, everywhere described in glowing periods, 
appealed strongly to the lay and the scientific mind, and secured for 
them a prompt, sensational and world-wide reception. Five years 
later, in 1900, Professor Rontgen was invited to the more im- 
portant University of Munich, where he now has greater facilities 
at his disposal for carrying out those excursions into the border- 
land of science of which he is so fond. In his Catholic faith and 
Catholic surroundings in Munich as well as in Wurzburg, Professor 
Rontgen found the inspiration and encouragement which give flavor 
to life and which crown activity with success. 

The doubt that existed for some years as to the physical nature 
of X-rays seems to have been removed by the searching inquiry to 
which they have been subjected, satisfactory evidence of compliance 
with the usual tests of reflection, refraction and polarization having 
been obtained at last. A full account of the methods used in the 
tests by himself and others was given by Professor Barkla in the 
Baker ian lecture which he delivered before the Royal Society on 
May 25th of the present year. 

These rays will henceforth be spoken of as similar in character 
to rays of ordinary light, both being transverse vibrations in the 
ether. The sole difference is that X-radiations are ten thousand 
times smaller in wave-length than those which affect the retina of 
the eye, and give rise to the sensation of color. It is known from 
everyday experience that when the longer waves of the visible 
spectrum reach the nerve-filaments of the eye, we describe the sen- 
sation as red; with shorter ones, we say it is green; with the 


shortest, violet. The ultra-violet rays of the invisible spectrum are 
shorter still, and X-rays are the shortest of all wave-lengths known 
to science at present. It is precisely this very smallness that enabled 
them to elude for so many years the tests that were applied to de- 
termine their physical character. 

It may be of interest to add, by way of contrast, that while, 
on the one hand, we have the infinitesimal ripples of X-rays with 
their marvelous power of disclosing the secrets of the unseen; on 
the other, we have long rollers in the ether, electric waves miles 
in length, which carry our wireless messages with the swiftness of 
light to the ends of the earth. 

As Professor Rontgen's paper contained no directions con- 
cerning the technique of the "new photography," the first ex- 
perimenters had to find out for themselves everything relating to 
the sensitive plate and its development, as well as the distance of 
the X-ray tube and the time of exposure. This was the writer's 
experience when, scarcely three months after the publication of 
the paper in the London Electrician, he was urged by a physician 
of Water ford (Ireland) to overcome personal reluctance and con- 
tribute to the relief of suffering humanity by using the apparatus 
of the De La Salle Training College, to locate a splinter of steel 
which, some time before, had found its way unnoticed into ttfe hand 
of his patient. In presence of all the physicians of the city who 
came unbidden to see the novel experiment, the radiograph was 
taken on April 13, 1896, with a six-inch spark-coil, a small focus- 
tube and a " wet " plate. The exposure given was one minute. 
When the plate was developed, the splinter was distinctly seen ; 
needless to add that it was promptly removed. 

The discovery of X-rays adds another to the illustrations which 
we have of the organic nature of the growth of science; for it 
shows, in a very interesting way, that the development of knowledge 
proceeds by easy stages rather than by abrupt steps. Thus Fara- 
day, in 1838, while studying the optical phenomena of "vacuum " 
tubes, remarked a dark space at the end of the positive column, 
which has since been called the Faraday dark space. Pliicker in 
1859 discovered the " cathode rays " by the phosphorescence which 
they produced when they struck the sides of the tube; Crookes, 
in 1878, began his researches on the dark space surrounding the 
negative terminal, which space he succeeded in extending out to 
the walls of the tube by increasing the degree of rarefaction. He 
was amply repaid for the patience displayed in overcoming the diffi- 

VOL. civ. 6 


culties which he encountered in this brilliant series of experimental 
investigations by the streams and torrents of cathode rays which 
he obtained within the tube, and which he was led to consider 
matter in a fourth or ultra-gaseous state. In 1894, Lenard, Hertz's 
assistant, went a step further when he got some of these rays out 
a short distance into the open air; and finally, Rontgen, in the fall 
of 1895, by increasing the exhaustion obtained abundant radiation 
of an entirely new kind outside the tube, the X-rays with which 
his name is rightly associated. The cathode ray was thus the 
parent; the X-ray, the offspring. 

" Just as these X-rays remained for nearly twenty years undis- 
covered," said the late Professor Silvanus P. Thompson (who 
died on June 12, 1916), "so even now there exist beyond doubt 
in the universe other rays, other vibrations of which we have no 
cognizance. Yet as year after year rolls by, one discovery leads 
to another. The seemingly useless or trivial observation made by 
one worker leads on to a useful observation by another; and so 
science advances, creeping on from point to point. And so steadily, 
year by year, the sum total of our knowledge increases, and our 
ignorance is rolled a little further and further back; and where 
now there is darkness, there will be light." 

Among conclusions that may be drawn from the research here 
briefly reviewed, is the one : " That he is on the royal road to 
success who loves a subject and pursues it with diligence;" or as 
Pasteur once beautifully put it : " Three things the will, the work, 
the success span the whole of human life. The will opens the door 
to brilliant and happy careers ; the work carries one across the thres- 
hold, and when the journey has ended success crowns the work." 



HIS is a posthumous book. It was composed while 
the author was engaged in revolutionary preparation, 
and it was published after he had been shot to death 
by order of a military court-martial. Thomas Mac- 
Donagh was assistant Professor of English in Uni- 
versity College, Dublin; up to the very eve of the Insurrection he 
carried on his work there with singular composure. " In his pro- 
fessional work he never showed signs of distraction or inattention," 
says one who observed him, writing in the organ of University Col- 
lege, Studies. " Day by day, as if there were no other concern in 
the world, he lectured on English literature with a fluency which 
was not merely of words, but sprang from an alert mind and a 
large store of ideas and criticisms." The studies, composed after 
the writer's life had been committed to a cause, carry something 
more than a literary knowledge and a literary doctrine; they have 
personality and a prophetic outlook. Literature in Ireland is indeed 
Thomas MacDonagh's testament; by it he leaves to the Irish 
generations his knowledge and HS discoveries, and, above all, 
his proud hopes for the resurgent Ireland that he knew. It is one 
of the few proud books that have been written for Irish people; 
Thomas MacDonagh, scholar and critic, has taken Ireland for 
granted; he decries nothing, denies nothing, dispraises nothing of 
what another people possesses; he has full knowledge of Ireland's 
achievement in literature and he says " it is good ; " he has full 
belief in her destiny and he says " it is brave." And his has been 
the privilege of adding to Ireland's vision and Ireland's will. 

Literature in Ireland, as he has left it, is not so general as its 
title would imply. It is mainly a study of poetry. He would, I 
have reason to believe, have dealt with novels and stories, with 
plays and essays in subsequent volumes. But although he has ap- 
plied it only to one branch to poetry he has made a standard by 
which we can judge what is typical in Irish literature. 

The racial, the typical expression, according to MacDonagh's 

1 Literature in Ireland: Studies in Irish and Anglo-Irish. By Thomas Mac- 
Donagh, University College, Dublin. Dublin: The Talbot Press. 1916. 


argument, is due not to a single quality, but comes from what 
psychologists would speak of as " the national complex the ideals, 
traditions and mentality; the sound of Gaelic poetry and Gaelic 
music in Irish ears; the word position of Gaelic speech." In a very 
illuminating passage he shows us that the peculiar unstressed rhythm 
which belongs to the distinctive Anglo-Irish poetry such a rhythm 
for example as is shown in 

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen 

is due to the structure of Gaelic speech. In English one makes em- 
phasis by stressing the important word. In Irish one makes em- 
phasis by bringing the important word into a certain order in the 
sentence. " I came from town " may have four meanings according 
to the voice stress. In saying the sentence in Irish one would intro- 
duce the verb of identity, and bring into emphatic position after it 
the word to be emphasized. Instead of stressing the last syllable the 
one who thinks in the Gaelic way would say, " It is from the town I 
came." It is this peculiar unstressed method of speech that makes 
the distinctive rhythm of certain Anglo-Irish poems. 

These typical rhythms are not the only expressions of our 
national distinctiveness in poetry. MacDonagh lays a good deal 
of stress on the exhibition of a certain naivete. "An Irish poet, 
if he be individual, if he be original, if he be national, speaks, 
almost stammers, in one of the two fresh languages of this country 
in Irish (modern Irish, newly schooled by Europe) or in Anglo- 
Irish, English as we speak it in Ireland Such an Irish poet 

can still express himself in the simplest terms of life and of the 
common furniture of life." One would liked to have discussed it 
with him, whether such poetry as is in the lines he quotes as a 

She carries in the dishes 

And lays them in a row 

does not come out of certain social conditions conditions that per- 
mit of but few possessions. Poetry that celebrates " the common 
furniture of life " is in all folk verse and folk stories. Maeter- 
linck has imitated it in The Blue Bird when he makes the cat and 
the dog, water and sugar creatures in his action. To children 
brought up in peasant cottages, in Ireland pr elsewhere in Europe, 
a clock, a pitcher, a pail of water, a crock of milk, a crack in a 


rafter, may gather round themselves imaginative associations. Such 
things are not, as they are amongst people who have many pos- 
sessions, replacable shifting objects; they belong to the furniture 
of the world, like the sun or the moon. James Stephens has the 
poetry of " the common furniture of life " in the story of his that 
deals with what might be called the folk-life of Dublin The 
Charwoman's Daughter. Perhaps poetry with this sort of con- 
tent is only distinctive in contrast with the literature of a people 
who live through different social and economic conditions. 

It is hard to believe that he who wrote these eloquent, brave 
and learned pages is no longer in existence. Those who saw Thomas 
MacDonagh in his university robe and noted his flow of speech and 
his tendency to abstractions, might have carried away an image of 
one of those adventurous students who disputed endlessly in a 
mediaeval university. But MacDonagh was far from being a ped- 
ant he was a wonderfully good comrade, an eager friend, a 
happy-hearted companion. He had abundance of good spirits and 
a flow of wit and humor remarkable even in a Munster man. 
He had, too, an intimate knowledge of the humors of popular 
life in the country and the country town a knowledge which he 
seldom put into his writing, but which has become vivid in that 
unique and living poem, John-John. His mother was born in 
Dublin and was of English parentage, and his maternal grandfather 
was, if I remember aright, what he told me, a printer in Trinity 
College. His mother, at the time I knew her, had the simplicity, the 
outlook, the manner, of a fine type of Irish countrywoman. She 
and her husband were teachers in a primary school in Clough- 
jordan in Tipperary. Thomas was trained by a religious order, and 
was indeed a religious novice in his youth. He became a teacher in 
a college in Kilkenny and afterward in Fermoy. While in Kil- 
kenny he took up the study of Irish, and became one of the advance 
guard of the Gaelic League. In the Arran Island and in the Irish- 
speaking districts of Munster he made himself fluent in the language. 
In 1901 and 1902 he published a volume of literary verse, Through 
the Ivory Gate and April and May. He had dedicated one of the 
volumes to Mr. Yeats, and had corresponded with him, but Mac- 
Donagh was not then known in the literary groups in Dublin. 

I came to know him in 1909 at the time he was teaching in 
Fermoy. His great interest then was poetry. He knew poetry well 
in English, French, Latin and Irish, and was drawn to the classical 
poets to Horace, to Dante, to Lamartine. The poetry he was writ- 


ing then was literary and was like French poetry like Lamartine's. 
After he came to live in Dublin in 1910 the poetry he wrote was 
more personal. What he wrote after four years of residence there 
is in Songs of Myself. 

He came to Dublin with a play which he was anxious to have 
produced in the Abbey Theatre, which was then under the brief 
direction of J. M. Synge. The play was When the Dawn is Come. 
The scene is laid in a revolutionary Ireland of the future, and the 
tragedy is that of a leader whose master-idea baffles his followers. 
He wanted to write a play about Owen Roe O'Neill and another 
about one of the Gracchi. In the life of Owen Roe and in the life 
of Tiberius, or Gaius Gracchus, there was the drama that appealed 
to him the thoughtful man become revolutionist and dominating 
the crowd for a great end. He saw great drama in the prepara- 
tion of the people, in the fierce conflict and the catastrophe. Many 
things that Thomas MacDonagh said and wrote were extraordi- 
narily prophetic even fatalistic. None of his utterances were more 
prophetic than the play he had produced and the two plays he pro- 

His connection with St. Enda's School is well-known, and this 
part of his career need not be elaborated. He had been on the 
staff of the school four years when Songs of Myself was published. 
He then went to Paris to do some reading. When he returned 
he took his M.A. degree in the National University. A professor 
in the College of Science with MacDonagh, James Stephens, and 
myself started The Irish Review. MacDonagh was associate editor, 
first with the three of us and, after an interregnum with his friend, 
Joseph Plunkett. He wrote a thesis, Thomas Campion and the Art 
of English Poetry, and was made assistant Professor of English 
literature in the National University. 

MacDonagh at the time would have welcomed a reasonable 
settlement of Irish political conditions. Two years after its angry 
rejection of the National Convention, he said to me that the country 
should have accepted the Councils Bill, with its control of education 
and its possibilities of checking financial relations between Ireland 
and Great Britain. I often had a vision of my friend in a Home 
Rule Parliament, working at social and legislative problems, and 
perhaps training himself to become a Minister of Education. He 
was, when the Home Rule Bill reached its last stages, happily 
married, and was the father of the child he has addressed in 
Wishes for My Son. In the end, the Home Rule question became 


something different from an adjustment of legislation as between 
Great Britain and Ireland. Its granting or its withdrawal was 
made a question of military preparation and racial manliness. Then 
the Nationalists created their Volunteers, and Thomas MacDonagh 
took a place on the Executive and the command of a corps. 

A poet with a tendency towards abstractions, a scholar with 
a bent towards philology these were the aspects Thomas Mac- 
Donagh often showed when he expressed himself in letters. But 
what was fundamental in him rarely went into what he wrote. 
That fundamental thing was an eager search for something that 
would exact the whole devotion of his being. Eagerness, search, 
devotedness these are the characters that for me spell out his 
most lovable spirit. He had, too, a powerful ambition. With 
his short figure, his scholar's brow and his dominating nose he 
loo*ked like a man of the Gironde a party, by the way, that he 
often spoke of. 

In the old heroic story Finn is asked what music he preferred. 
He spoke of the song of the blackbird, the scream of the eagle, the 
sound of the waterfall, the bay of the hounds. And when Oisin 
was asked what music delighted him he said, " The music of the 
thing that happens." Thomas MacDonagh could have made the 
lofty answer of Oisin. He surely loved the music of the thing 
that happened. He followed the music that meant the language 
revival, the music that meant the Volunteer movement, the music 
that meant insurrection. And at last he stood up to the music that 
meant defeat and death. In memory of him we will often repeat 
the words he has written in this book : " It is well for us that 

our workers are poets and our poets workers And it is well 

too that here still that cause which is identified, without under- 
thought of commerce, with the cause of God and Right and Free- 
dom, the cause which has been the great theme of our poetry, may 
any day call the poets to give their lives in the old service." 


At Lustleigh, Devon, September. 


ANGEL mine, I am glad to be 
Here in this beautiful hill country ; 
Glad, so glad, to have left the town, 
And see the blue instead of the brown. 
Oh, such a wonder of purple and blue, 
Lovely, my angel even to you 
Who know the ineffable heights that rise 
In the smile of God our Father's eyes. 

Tell me, is it not easier far 
To be good where space and coloring are, 
Here, in the glory of Lustleigh down, 
Than far to the east, in London Town? 

Friend of the kind, wise brow, I wot 

I speak as a child that knoweth not. 

But oh, thank God for these hills so dear; 

And God, thank God that He brought me here. 

Angel mine, to whom it is given 

To know the glorious heights of heaven, 

To drink from the undefiled rills 

That rise in the everlasting hills, 

Teach me, through these my mortal eyes 

Something of them to realize; 

Learning, in this my mortal spell, 

The invisible things by the visible. 

Bid hills of Devon whisper me 

Thought of what heaven's fair heights must be, 

Those heights that Mary in spirit trod 

As she carried the happy news of God 

In swiftness all unhurriedly 

To her blessed kin of the hill country, 

All the while that her spirit fair 

Was breathing the dear own-country air 

Far above earthly joys and ills, 

On the heights of the everlasting hills. 

Help me to gain the footing sure 

Of those the dear Lord counteth pure, 

On the glorious hills that Mary knew, 

And ever calleth her children to. 



TANDING at the open gateway of the lower pasture, 
waiting for the last stray cow to come ambling in, 
and calling to that leisurely creature with short, im- 
patient ejaculations, "Co-boss! co-boss!" Mary Reid 
suddenly looked up to see her son Davy striding 
across the field toward her. She gave the red cow a 
half -friendly, half-disciplinary whack as she put up the bars behind 
the silly, floundering hoofs, and turned to ask her boy: 

"Are you through at the quarry?" 

" Through? No. But I quit anyway. I'm going to help you." 

The deep-set eyes of the old mother for Mary Reid was an 
old woman, old before her time looked lovingly at her son. " You 
didn't need to," she said. " Perhaps you'd better go back." 

Davy made no response, for at that moment the red cow was 
stretching her neck over the fence and nibbling at the corn. He 
dashed for her. 

It was September, and already the shadows of fence posts and 
tall poplars were lengthening on field and lane; not sunset yet, but 
the end of day was nearing. The shadows of the long legs of 
Davy made fantastic contortions as he ran down the pasture. The 
mother followed him with a brave quickening in her weary pace 
she had been at the back-breaking work of potato-digging all after- 

An old woman? Yes, old before her time, with her fifty years 
weighing sometimes with more than the burden of seventy on her. 
And yet, despite the patient shadow of tragedy that brooded in her 
sunken eyes; with all her work-worn figure, her fine-wrinkled skin, 
her thinned gray hair (beneath whose scanty locks still showed some 
shadowy faded gold), with all her broken stride, the quick-and-halt 
of a driven weary body, and with all the lost lights dying in her hol- 
low eyes, she was not old; for through her faded visage and time- 
wrecked form a something youthful flashed and spoke, as a spirit, 
daring and desperate, might peer through a veil ; the Ghost of Youth 
looking out, all unknown to its owner, upon the world it had lost, 
the world indeed, that it had scarcely known, yet would not be denied. 

Davy waited for his mother at the upper bars, and together 
they drove the cows into the barnyard for the evening milking. 

90 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

The boy, his stalwart form well filled out for his eighteen years, tried 
to manage things; got the stool and the pails, and wanted to go on 
with the milking; begged that he might, pleaded, almost quarreled. 
But no. 

" Go back to your father! No, Davy Reid! Do you hear? I'll 
be all right!" 

And so Mrs. Amos Reid did the milking that night as she had 
done night after night for many years. And she was happy because 
her son loved her so loyally. 

She had not had much love in her life, except that fund from 
which she herself was ever giving forth. Her husband, older than 
she by more than twenty years, was "queer;" that was his " repu- 
tation." Indeed, for many years, Amos Reid was a source of curi- 
osity, fear, and even of pride in the township for folks of the coun- 
tryside enjoy their neighborhood celebrities just as keenly and just as 
exclusively as great cities revel in and advertise their famous ones. 
He and his wife had come there some twenty years before, very 
poor and very strange; mortgaged themselves to a small rockbed of 
a good-for-nothing farm; and settled down. There was an air of 
mystery about them from the very first. 

He was undoubtedly a celebrity. With his straight spare form, 
which never stooped with age, despite his seventy-odd years, and his 
handsome white-haired head, his white beard (white save for the 
yellowing of the tobacco stains of a lifetime), and above all with his 
strangely veiled eyes, which were full of a weird pale-blue fire, eyes 
that never lost their passionate gaze, no matter what the mood or the 
expression, but looked out at all comers through their odd blinding 
film with defiance and suspicion, old Amos Reid was a figure to be 
remembered as well as feared. He was dressed always the same 
denim overalls patched, frayed, stained and caked with the sand- 
stone mud of his quarry; a blue flannel shirt with white buttons 
(the shirt always open at the throat, revealing the old hairy breast 
and the brown neck, seared and wrinkled with age), and always 
tight-buttoned at the wrist; the cuffs, too, secured with big white 
buttons the bony, sunbaked hands, with their black-nailed fingers 
protruding from those cuffs with a sort of wild, sinewy strength 
that seemed to dart and clutch at you while he talked if talk he 
would. He was a silent man. 

The well on the Reid's farm was only ten or twelve feet deep, 
cut in the solid rock; but never was there cleaner, purer water. It 
was always ice-cold, and on hot days folks from town, passing on 
the road, would often stop for a drink. Many made the well an 
excuse for a halt at the farm, brought by curiosity, to see old Reid 
and try to get him to talk and " show his specimens ; " others, for 

1916.] PURE GOLD gi 

a neighborly word with Mrs. Reid, whom all the countryside respected 
respected, indeed, too deeply to show pity. If it was around noon- 
time, they would be sure to find her busy in the kitchen, cooking 
the meal for old Amos and the hired man if there was a hired 
man but were it forenoon or afternoon, she would be in the garden, 
hoeing or weeding, or else in the field running the reaper, pitching 
hay, driving the team ; and in the evening, cooking again, milking, 
and then back to the garden till darkness made her put up her hoe, 
straighten her weary and creaking back, and come into the house. 

And the old man, where was he to be found? Amos Reid was 
always in one place, never anywhere else, come day, come night; he 
was in the quarry. 

The quarry was a sandstone pit dug out of the side of the hill 
back of the house. From twenty years of cutting and excavating it 
had become a sheer cliff some sixty feet in height, scarred and torn, 
cut and dug, with boulders and heaps of white sand at its base, and 
always a planking leading from the thin thread that Paper Jack 
Creek made, thirty yards away, up into the newest and latest exca- 
vation. Upon this white hillside and the white floor of sand at its 
base, the hot sun beat down in daytime, till it was like a bit of 
Death Valley Desert; and in the night it gleamed like a ghost under 
the stars, or in the moonlight took on a wild cavernous appearance 
that was sepulchral and uncanny. 

The house was a hundred feet south of Paper Jack, so that 
the stream cut evenly in two the space between the house and the base 
of the quarry. The north windows commanded a view of the entire 
cliff, with the green bluffs, 'from which it thrust itself, sloping away 
to east and west, surmounted by a barb-wire fence; and beyond a 
grove of oaks. A man standing on the crest of that bluff could 
see down into the rooms of Amos Reid's house; and were he to 
look over its roof, his eyes would meet, a quarter of a mile away, 
other sloping hills, green and rounded with grain and hay. It was 
a shallow, narrow valley, with Paper Jack running like a thread 
through its centre, and, half a mile to the west, widening out to 
a pond, where always at a set hour in the afternoon, the cows 
stood knee deep in the water under the jack-oaks' shade, and switched 
flies. Then, to bring his gaze back to the house again, he would 
see that the north porch, or veranda, as it was called, had been made 
into a sort of cabin, a shed with a door and window, an extension, as 
it were, from the house itself. It was in this shed that Amos Reid 
slept. Along the window sill were ranged bottles and glasses, con- 
taining white sand, a various collection of grit and rock his " speci- 


That quarry at the back of Reid's house or it might be better 

92 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

said, those bottles on his window sill contained the secret of the old 
man's life, as well as the secret of his wife's quiet drudgery. He 
imagined. the quarry was a gold mine; he imagined, thought, dreamed 
nothing else. He drudged/ too ; he spent his days digging in the 
rock and sand without company, his only living companion the king- 
fisher who had built a nest in a crevice near the top of the quarry; 
and that scarlet-headed marauder, flashing his brilliancy in the sun- 
light up from the white sandstone and darting across the bright blue 
heavens, even had he been heeded, would have given very little time 
and less comfort to the solitary old delver below him. 

Sometimes old man Reid would have a helper hired; even two 
or three. But none of them stayed long, and they were employed 
only when a chance came to sell some of the quarry rock for barn 
foundations. More often the rock purchaser did the quarrying him- 
self, and brought his own men, old Reid watching them with a quiet 
sort of insane jealousy as they cut and hoisted and hauled, sometimes 
even running after a load to search with his wild old eye and touch 
again with his bony fingers some boulder that gleamed over-bright 
in the sun. It was only bare necessity that would drive him to sell 
rock at all, the thought of a new shaft sunk in his " gold mine," the cer- 
tainty that he had struck a vein at last that needed simply to be traced 
to its lode to yield up millions, sweeping him on in desperation to the 
mad alternative of selling some of his precious stone yes, tons of 
it, tons worth millions, maybe! for the foundations of hay barns and 
cow stables! 

To old Amos Reid, that quarry back of the house was El Dorado. 
And to his wife Mary what? Did she, too, dream sometimes that wealth 
after all might be hidden in that bluff that glared over them in the sum- 
mer heat, and frowned on them and bit at them with the fury of wind- 
driven snow in winter? No. If ever she felt that dream veiling her 
senses, then her hoe would flash faster through the corn, or the whip 
would crack over the team on the reaper with a sudden quirt that made 
old dapple Fanny's ears start. To Mary there was only forty acres of 
poor farm land, a team of horses, a few cows and calves, pigs and 
chickens, all to be kept going, not only for a living's sake, but to 
build a future for her boy. It was that boy and his future that kept 
her Ghost of Youth persistent. 

The mother had managed to keep the boy in school ; it was only 
a short walk from town; and then he had entered high school, and 
now had finished his second year. From the time he was able to 
wield a pick, old Amos Reid had trained Davy to delve and dig in 
the quarry. The boy would reach home from school about five 
o'clock, and from then on to dark would toil and sweat in the sand- 
stone; and, of course, most of his summer holidays were spent in it. 



But if his shoulders ached with the swing and stroke of the pick, his 
heart, as he grew older, ached sorer still no, it burned at sight of 
his mother milking the cows, bending over the hoe, on her knees 
weeding the onions, the very smell of which he hated because they 
stained her hands and clothes. Many a time, just as he had done 
today, he had watched his chance and slipped down to the stable 
to help her almost to quarrel with her for the chance to seize the 
pail and the stool and finish the milking, over which her poor back 
was breaking. How often, with tears, she would drive him away. 
" Go back to your father, Davy! It'll be all right! " 
This was the life the mother lived, slaving body and bones for 
the husband she loved with such fidelity, for the boy she worshipped. 
With her poor old head dug into the flank of the cow, and her 
fingers flying at the milking, while the warm creamy stream made 
foamy hollow music in the pail, she would think of that boy of hers 
when he was a round, rosy baby at her breast, and her withered 
body would thrill at the sweet full thought. And then she would look 
up and across the yard toward the quarry, to hear the muffled blow 
of his pick, to picture him fine and stalwart, toiling there, rebellious 
and loyal; and a happy smile would light her face. 


That night Davy came into her room, when she had thought 
him fast asleep long ago, and sitting down on her bed said with a 
determined voice : " Mother, I've made up my mind. I can't stand 
it any longer. If father would only talk to me, even!" The hot 
tears scalded his eyes, and the mother's thin arms reached up from 
the bed and encircled his strong neck that throbbed with choked- 
up sobs. 

" Why, Davy ! " she said, smiling up at him, that smile which 
was for him alone, which made her a young girl again. " Now, I 
am surprised at you! Don't ask father to talk you know I've told 
you he quit talking twenty years ago ! " She tried to make light of it 

"Oh, I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" the boy repeated in 
a burst of feeling. " I'm not going back to school. I'm going to stay 
home and help you." 

" Hush ! You'll wake him, Davy ! " 

"Wake him! Don't worry! He's awake, out there in the shed 
with his shotgun, watching that everlasting gold mine! I'm going 
to stay home and help you, and I'll never lift a pick in that quarry 
again ! I can't stand it ! " 

" I stand it, Davy. I've stood it twenty years. Maybe I 
couldn't have stood it, if you hadn't come. Oh, my big boy, if you only 
knew! You're like your father was once. Don't be too hard on 

94 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

him. Maybe he'll be himself again, some day. Besides," and the 
tired mother lay back on her pillow, "besides we musn't talk about 
it. Least said, soonest mended, Davy," she sighed. 

" Oh, it's been too long mending! We've got to talk about it! 
I'm going to talk about it. I've made up my mind. Gold! Why 
doesn't he give up that crazy notion?" 

" He can't. I've told you that. Your father was hard hit, Davy. 
Think of a man whose whole life's dream was to go to California 
and find gold, suddenly losing everything everything, Davy just 
at the moment when his dream was coming true ! That was to be our 
honeymoon. We had everything ready; we were starting. And 
oh, Davy, your father was a grand big man then full of hope 
and cheer he used to get up singing in the morning. Everyone 
liked him ; he had a sweet good nature like you ; yes, like you. And, 
remember, everything he planned and hoped was for me, Davy 
don't forget that! And then he trusted a sharper, Ben Adams, and 
gave him all his savings to buy up a claim in California. And the 
very day we were going West oh, Davy, I can't ever forget it! 
the very day we were starting out, we got news that Ben Adams, 
the man we had trusted so much, had murdered his partner and got 
off with every cent of our savings." 

Mary Reid was sitting straight up in bed by this time, and had 
caught Davy's hand in a grip that shivered with the burst of emo- 
tion that overwhelmed her. Then she went on: 

" Your poor father ! your poor father changed that day. He 
looked at me, Davy, oh, with such a look it's in his eyes yet. There 
was everything in it, but mostly, I think, grief and shame, to see how 
our dreams were shattered forever. I begged him to believe that 
it was all nothing to me, that I didn't care so long as it was not he 
who was murdered that maybe we were only given that loss to save 
us from a worse loss out in the West. I had fought and fought 
against his dream of a gold mine, and warned and warned him against 
setting his heart on riches I didn't want him ever to get greedy 
or mean. There wasn't a mean bone in his body, Davy, but some- 
how his mind was set so long on gold mining, when the shock came 
he just cursed God for his luck, and swore he'd never pray again 
till he'd found gold and he's been that way ever since. He didn't 
answer me that first day, he couldn't; and he just fairly quit talking 
then, even to me, unless when he had to. You musn't quarrel, you 
musn't excite him or blame him, Davy. It turned his head a little. 
The shock was too much, and they say people like that can't ever 
really get their senses back until they suffer some other shock just 
as bad as the first. He'll never be the same again until he finds his 



"And that'll be never ! " Davy cried. 

" Yes, but I've seen him grow better at times when he thought 
he'd found it." 

" But he cursed God, he cursed God ! " the boy whispered to 

" Don't, Davy, don't! He didn't mean it! " 

" Oh, that's you, mother ! " Davy's hands smoothed her pillow 
as she lay back exhausted. "You'd find an excuse anyway. But 
you know what people think, and say, too, that it's nothing but greed 
and selfishness." 

" Davy Reid ! Don't ever say that ! Don't let anyone ever say 
it ! " There was command ringing in her half -whispered words. 
" Shame on people that misjudge him so ! " 

" Yes, and they laugh at him, too." 

"Oh, don't think of it, my boy! Let them laugh at us." How 
subtly, how deftly, she changed to " us," to cover the boy with the 
strong wing of her loyalty to his father. " This is our farm as long 
as we keep the interest paid on it. It's our farm, and if we want to 
dig up our hillsides, it's our own business." 

Perhaps Davy Reid did not fully realize the overpowering love, 
the sublime nobility of his mother's loyal soul, either at that moment 
or long afterward; but certain it is, he would have gone out into the 
quarry the next morning not half unwillingly and with new thoughts 
and a changing heart toward his father, had not this secret talk be- 
tween him and his mother been at that very moment interrupted by 
a step and a thud the thud of his father's rifle-butt on the floor. 
The old man, gun in hand, white haired, fully dressed, stood like an 
apparition in the doorway. 

Mary Reid sank back on her pillow with a look in her wan face 
that flashed a sudden new intelligence to Davy's mind. In that look 
he saw, for the first time, as he turned quickly to the figure in the 
doorway, that his mother, under all her bravery and loyalty, was 

" Go to bed," she whispered, as the boy rose and faced his father. 

" What's the matter? " Davy asked, as he stepped toward the old 
man. " Is there someone in the quarry ? " 

" No," his father answered. " What are you talking about? " 

The mother lay still in her bed; under the sheet her hand was 
pressed against her heart to still its beating. Never in years had 
Davy's father come into her room, or paid any heed to their little 
night-time " confabs," as they called them; never in all his life be- 
fore had he asked them what they talked about. 

" What are you talking about ? " 

" I was telling mother " 

96 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

Mary Reid raised herself in the bed. " Davy was feeling bad," 
she began. 

" He needn't feel bad what is he feeling bad about? He doesn't 
know what's good for him. He doesn't know that he's the richest 
do you hear, the richest young man in St. Croix County today, tonight, 
this very jninute ! Do you hear ? " The old man strode to the window, 
and threw open the heavy green shutters. " The richest the richest! 
Gold! Look there!" 

Davy gave his head an angry toss ; but his mother, throwing back 
the bed clothes, went to her husband giving Davy's arm a little clutch, 
half caress, half command, as she stepped across the floor in her night- 

" It wasn't that, Amos, that Davy was feeling bad about," she 
said placing her hand on the old man's arm. " It was the work he 
wants to stay at home from school foolish boy ! " She flashed a 
loving, a reassuring glance, at Davy. 

"School? He's done with school! I've decided that." The 
eyes of the old man seemed to bore through the boy as they turned 
their restless gaze on him. 

" Do you know what I've found ? " he went on, his voice rising 
again in excitement. "I've struck that lode there's thousands in it, 
thousands. See ! " He waved his hand toward the quarry, standing 
white in the moonlight. 

" We'll get to work on it tomorrow. We've got it ! We've got it !" 

" Father." Davy stepped between his mother and the trembling 
old man ; he even set her aside, as it were, with a gesture, as he faced 
the agitated figure by the window. " You heard what mother said 
that I wanted to stay out of school. I do. I'm going to. But it's 
not to go digging into that quarry out there again. No, sir ! " 

" What? " The old man's voice was almost a scream. 

" I'm going to stay home this fall ; I'm going to help mother with 
the farm." 

Here she interposed. " But, Davy, Davy, you can do both ! " 

" No, I can't do both. I won't do both. I'm sick of it. I won't 
ever set foot in that damned quarry again ! " 

" Oh, my boy ! My boy ! Amos, Amos, don't listen to him ! " 

" I'm sorry, I'm sorry, mother ! " the boy cried out, " but I can't 
help it. It is a damned quarry ; its the damnation of us all. I'm done 
with it, done with it ! " 

Old Amos Reid was shaking with a rage that flashed fire from 
his wild eyes. He pounded the butt of his rifle on the floor, and 
shouted at the trembling stripling before him and the frightened 

" Damned ! Damned ! I'll d you ! Don't talk to me like 

1916.] PURE GOLD 97 

that! You'll put foot in that quarry, and you'll stay there, if I have 
to tie you up, you young beggar! You'll talk to me, will you, about 
what you'll do ! Damned, eh ? I've a notion to drive you off the. place 
and give the whole mine to the next tramp that comes along! Fool! 
You're a fool! You don't know what's good for you! There's gold 
out there, riches, thousands, millions, and you'd walk over it! You'll 
stay home, and you'll do as you're told ! You'll go out there now and 
stay there for the night, do you hear? After this we'll keep a night 
watch on the place, or we'll lose the whole thing right under our very 
noses! That'll do!" 

The old man turned to step toward the door; but Davy caught 
him by the arm, caught him with a strength and a passion that swept 
to the boy's very finger tips. " Wait ! " he dried, with an impatient 
toss of his head to shake off his mother who tried to halt him. 
" Wait ! You heard what I said ! " His eyes flashed fire back into 
the wild fire of his father's eyes; his fingers still clutched the old 
man's sleeve. " I'll never go into that quarry again! I'll stay out of 
school, and I'll work the farm, but you'll never get me into that crazy 
hole again ! I don't care what you do ; I'll not make a fool of myself 
and mother any longer, having the whole town talk of how she drives 
the team and plows and hoes never! Never! Just to keep me at 
school and humor your crazy ideas about gold mines! Gold mines! 
You've spent enough on that rock pile already to keep the whole place 
going. Everybody's talking about you. You're the curiosity of the 
neighborhood, making mother slave like a hired man and I wasting 
my time digging in the sand for you! What do you think you'd eat 
if mother didn't keep things going, I wonder? You can take your 
gold mine and give it to the tramps I wish you would! Oh, I 
wish you would! I'm done with it! And so is mother here done 
with it! done with it! Drive me off! Drive me off! I can get a job 
somewhere and earn enough to keep my mother alive anyway! 

The boy's wild vehemence ended in a cry of despair and anger, 
and before it had left his lips the old man had raised his fist and 
struck at his son with the fury of a maniac. But Davy was quick; 
he received only a glancing blow on the forehead . as he dodged, and 
as the mother sprang between the infuriated pair. 

" Davy ! Davy ! " she cried. " Be quiet ! No, no ! Don't strike ! 
Don't raise your hand! Don't strike your father! Be quiet! Be 

" Get out of the way! " the father shouted to her. " Get out of 
the way ! " He was ready to kill, and she knew it. 

" Amos ! Amos ! You never struck the boy before ! " 

" No, but I should have ! I'll teach him ! " He swung the gun by 

VOL. CIV. 7 

98 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

the barrel, and in his fury would have beaten open the heads of wife 
and son both, had they not retreated toward the bed. Then Davy 
broke- away from his mother's grasp and darted across the room, in- 
stinctively aiming to lead his insane father away from his mother ; and 
just as quickly the old man swung on him, and the boy only made his 
escape by springing to the window sill and leaping down into the garden. 
" Mother ! Mother," he cried as he disappeared, " look out ! " And at 
that moment the old man fell, dizzy and exhausted, by the window, the 
gun clattering over the sill into the garden. 

Mary Reid was by her husband's side in an instant, raising him 
up. He panted, breathless for a minute; then he turned on her that 
same look which twenty years before she had seen for the first time, 
and her heart melted and her fear fled. 

" Davy! " she called. But at that the old man groaned. " Never! 
Never again!" he cried. "Help me up!" He braced himself, one 
hand on each side of the window, and there framed in the moonlight, 
pallid and shaken with passion, he spoke the last words his son heard 
him utter for many a day : " Go away ! Go away ! Go away ! " 

The old harsh voice died out to a whimper, and the gaunt man 
turned and strode out of the room, his wife following silently. She 
followed him to his cot in the shed, and saw him throw himself upon 
it. She watched a little while, and waited, not for a sign from him, 
but for some sound of Davy's returning. No sound came. Then, in 
her bare feet, her gray gold hair disheveled and falling down her 
shoulders, she went out to find her boy. When she was a safe distance 
from the house, peering into the moonlight and its shadows, she called 
to him. 

" Davy, Davy! Where are you? " 

A figure rose up out of the darkness near the granary and came 
out into the light. 

" Oh, mother, what have I done ! " the boy cried, throwing his 
arms about her. "And your poor feet walking on the rough 

She took him by the hand and led him to the well, and there they 
sat down in the shadow, the boy removing his coat and putting it 
around her shoulder. ' 

" There, there, don't worry, Davy," she whispered. 

" But will you come with me, mother? Will you run away with 

She tried to smile. " Wouldn't that be fine ! " she said. " A boy 
running away with his mother! But, oh, Davy," and her voice filled 
with tears, " you shouldn't have, you shouldn't have ! " 

" I couldn't help it. He made me. It's done now. I'm going 
away. I've got to go away." 

1916.] PURE GOLD 


To his surprise, his mother did not remonstrate. "Yes," she 
answered. " For a little while ; I think it would be best." 

" But you, mother ! Oh, the minute I left your side I was sorry. 
I did it to get him after me. But I can't leave you." 

" Foolish boy," was her soft response. " Now listen ! Never for 
one minute, for one minute, do you hear, worry or fret about me. I 
am all right. I am the only one who can manage your father. He will 
be quiet now for a long time, unless something else happens to excite 
him. That's why you'd better go away awhile." 

" Such a mother ! " The boy seized her hands and covered them 
with kisses. " Such a brave and patient and wise mother o' mine ! " 
It was these sweetheart ways of her big boy that kept her spirit young, 
and the fountain of youth in her heart as clear and deep as the well- 
spring by which they sat there in the moonlight, clear and deep and 
placid, be her old body as toil-worn and racked as it might. 

" I've got it all planned out already," she said. " Trust me for 
a schemer! You sleep up in the hay loft tonight, and early in the 
morning I'll bring you your grip and things. Then you go into 
town, and go to Mrs. Riddle's and stay there and go to school." 

" No, I can't do it ! " There was no mistaking the boy's de- 
termination. " I won't go to school, living easy at a boarding house 
and you slaving here. I won't do it." 

" Then you must take the morning train down to Riverfalls and 
stay there. I have money enough." 

" I'll go to Riverfalls, but I won't go to school. I'll go to work. 

There was the sound of a footstep in the house, and the boy 
and his mother became rigid in their listening. Then, after a second's 
pause, " Stay here on this side of the well," she whispered, slipping 
the coat off her shoulders, "and when you hear me close the door, 
run over to the barn." She rose, and stooping down, let him kiss 
her good-night, his lips on her soft old faded cheek, just as if she were 
bending over his bed, and then she went back to the house. 

The old man was at the door, and, as she came up, he set his 
eyes on her in that searching way she knew so well. But she took 
his arm with a firm hold and closed the door behind them ; and with- 
out a word he went back to his room. And she returned to hers. 
When she pushed back one of the shutters at which Davy had caught 
in his jump through the window, to make more light now in the room 
for the work of gathering up and packing the boy's belongings, which 
were mostly kept in her closet, she paused a moment and looked out, 
her hands clasped in prayer, the moonlight falling on her face. It was 
an old and faded face, and her eyes were sunken and hollow and filled 
with tears. But hope and courage were shining in them, too. 

ioo PURE GOLD [Oct., 


Davy was eighteen when he left home. 

In the next two years things went on with Amos Reid about as 
usual, while Mary worked harder than ever. She received letters every 
week, and even oftener, from the boy. He had gone to the southern 
part of the state and secured a position in a grain elevator; he was 
earning a dollar and a quarter a day and sent his mother two dollars 
and a half each week sometimes more. This, he wrote her over and 
over again, was to help pay for a kitchen girl, or the hired man ; or, 
quite often, it was to buy her some dainty to wear or to eat. He was 
a faithful lover to his " old sweetheart," and he never could guess 
what sweetness and light his letters and his devotion brought into his 
mother's life. But she gave none of his money to kitchen girls or 
hired men, nor bought dainties to eat or wear. She put the money 
safely away and added to it egg-money, garden-money, calf -money, 
every old cent she could scrape together or spare. It was her great, 
sweet secret. The boy would some day have enough to go to col- 
lege that was her dream. 

Since that early dawn of his departure, when she had bade him 
good-bye with many kisses and not a tear, he had not returned ; first 
because she would not have it " Wait," she would write, " I know 
best ; " and then, because his work would not permit it. But always 
his letters were full of the glad day when he would see her again. 

Old Amos Reid knew nothing of these letters. Mary had quickly 
learned that it was useless to talk about them. He paid no heed. More 
than ever he was wholly entirely absorbed in the quarry. He had sold 
a few loads of rock ; he had found a- dozen new " leads," and sunk 
shafts and gathered specimens ; he dug and delved day and night if 
the night were bright enough. 

He talked as little as ever to wife or neighbor. But one day, 
late in the afternoon, while Mary was filling the calf-troughs and 
teaching one fawn-eyed youngster of her stockyard to drink out of a 
pail, by dipping her fingers into the milk and giving them to the little 
hungry bunting calf to suck, old Amos came striding over to her, and, 
waiting impatiently for her to finish her task, beckoned her to come 
with him. She set the pail down by the well-box and wiping her 
hands in her apron, followed him. 

Mary Reid did not go into the quarry much; in fact many a 
stranger or passer-by, stopping to see it, could have boasted of more 
knowledge of Amos Reid's gold mine than could his wife. But if its 
diggings and cuttings were only half familiar to her eyes, the pick and 
shovel that had made them had nevertheless dug and chopped into her 
life and heart. This is what she was thinking as she followed her 

1916.] PURE GOLD 


husband up the boards, stepping around a wheelbarrow that stood on 
the gangway, and entered a cave that had been newly excavated. At 
its dark end were the stakes and boards of a shaft. 

The old man, as agile and quick as ever, and now fired with a 
renewed energy and eagerness, climbed over the shaft and went down 
the ladder that was nailed to its side. Mary leaned over and watched 
him. The shaft was not deep, and in a minute he was standing in its 
bottom, his feet straddling a stream that trickled through, and had 
lighted a lantern an old dark-lantern it was, that had been his guide 
for years; it was indeed a relic of the wreck of his fortune and his 
hopes of long ago, a lantern that he had bought with much pride and 
high hopes in the days that he had dreamed of gold-mining in Cali- 

The lantern lit, he threw the light around on the rocky enclosure. 
Mary could see the old white head bent down to scrutinize the walls, 
and a little thrill of pity and tenderness swept through her and filled 
her faithful old eyes. " Dear God, if it could be ! " she whispered, in 
the ardor of her loving heart, and gasped at herself in the same moment 
for daring even to think of hope. 

" Hah ! " came the exultant cry of the old man, and he thrust 
the lantern closer to the rock. " There it is ! See ? " He looked up 
at his wife, and suddenly seizing the little hand pick that lay at his 
feet, began to beat away at the rock. She could see nothing but the 
wavering, moving light as it shifted about in his left hand, while he 
hacked away with his right. In a minute he had chopped out what he 
wanted, and started up the ladder. Why did her heart begin to beat 
so fast? Had she not been fooled over and over again, until her mind 
was dead to this foolish hope of gold ? 

Amos clambered out of the shaft, and pushing Mary ahead of 
him out to the entrance of the cave, followed her into the light. Then 
he caught at her sleeve, and with trembling hands gave her the lump 
of rock which he had brought up from the underground. He said 
nothing for a moment and she was as silent as he and almost as 
much excited ; for again, after a lapse of many years, he had strangely 
and suddenly communicated to her something of the trembling fires 
that fumed in his unsatisfied spirit. 

" There it is! Pure gold! " he whispered at last, and Mary saw 
it gold, pure gold it seemed, glittering there in its dull bed, rich and 
opulent in its terrible promise. 

"Oh, Amos!" she gasped. Was it true, after all? Her head 
swam, and she sat down on the wheelbarrow to regain her composure. 

" There it is ! " was all he could say. Her eyes suddenly filled 
with tears, and she looked up at him with a trembling lip. And with 
that glance the poor old man before her fell on his knees, and bury- 

102 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

ing his face in her lap, sobbed out, over and over again, " There it is ! 
There it is!" 

Tears streamed down Mary Reid's wrinkled face, as she clasped 
her old husband's head; tears of joy but, oh, not for the love of 
gold, but for the love of his dear old heart, which seemed again, 
for that heavenly moment, to be beating up to hers with life and 
strength unclouded by any foolish dream. 

" Oh, Amos, Amos, dear Amos, don't be too sure ! Don't be too 
sure ! " was all that she could say, all the love of her soul crying out 
in the warning; for it was he whom she wanted back, not riches nor 
gold ; and if this was only another empty hope, then she knew he would 
be more than ever lost to her in the cloud of his fanatic dream. 


" The sample of rock is a close-grained, plagioclase, feldspar, 
augite rock, probably diabase, carrying a vein of some geolite mineral, 
possibly Thomsonite, in which is embedded the copper pyrite or chal- 
copyrite one of the forms of 'fool's gold' which sometimes carries gold, 
but in all likelihood there is no warrant for putting any value on it." 

That was the verdict a week afterward. In that interval Mary 
had swung on the pendulum of hope so many times that by the day the 
assay was delivered, she had almost regained her old composure, and 
the fatal decision made only a dull pain in her heart. All her thought 
and all her anxiety was for Amos. She watched him with a sharp 
and searching eye. But what did he do? Not storm, nor rave; only 
took the assayer's letter over to the cupboard, folded it and put it 
away. " We'll show them ! " was all he said. Then he went back to 
his digging, and that night brought a whole wheelbarrow full of the 
precious rock up to the house. 

" The cellar," he said to Mary, in his dogged and laconic way, 
and forthwith opened a trap door on the outside of the house, and 
carried the rock, armful after armful, into the basement. 

He began now to stay up all night, or a good part of it, to guard his 
treasure ; sometimes even remaining out in the quarry, but more often 
seated by the window of his sleeping shed, his gun resting on the sill. 
Mary would beg him to go to bed, but he was obdurate. He must get 
someone to help him, she said ; he must sell some more quarry stone 
Andersons had been after a load only a day or so before. He could not 
keep up this daytime digging and nighttime vigil. It would kill him. 

"Whom can I trust ? Whom can I trust ?" That was the question 
that bothered him. He had grown suspicious of everyone; visitors 
to the quarry he would no longer permit. His gun was always handy, 
and the countryside grew afraid of him. His name was bugaboo for 

1916.] PURE GOLD 


naughty children. " I'll give you to Old Man Reid! " was the threat 
of foolish mothers to the naughty young ones. And the young ones 
who had deviltry enough in them to dare, would sometimes lead their 
trembling playmates to the edge of the quarry and .roll stones down 
to torment the old man, who gave them hate in exchange for their 
terror or their temerity. But such tricks were never played while 
Mrs. Reid was in sight. The youngsters were not afraid of her; 
rather, they liked her. She had even given them rides on the reaper, 
and had let them into the yard to see her peacocks " spread their 
tails." She kept the peacocks because they cleaned the potato patch 
of bugs. Their melancholy cry at dusk, when they were " calling for 
rain," as she put it, sometimes touched her for a moment with sadness. 
But not for long; she had no time for sadness. 

The letters she received from Davy were her food and drink. 
In midsummer she began to plan what her Christmas gift to him would 
be. It was always a book. To keep him interested in schooling and 
hopeful always of college was her great aim. She used to be afraid 
that he would get weaned away from that idea, and settle into the 
rut of everyday work. And her son must be a scholar! Her food 
and drink these letters were, indeed. She spent all her spare time 
writing to him, and he used to marvel at the pages she could fill, of 
the most compelling interest, telling of the farm, the chickens, the 
stock, with often a pleasant little reminiscence of her girlhood days 
woven into the chronicle : " Bunty, the new calf, has four white spots 
on his red coat, exactly like the little calf your grandfather gave me 
on my sixth birthday. I never can forget that darling, foolish little 
stumbling creature! I always had a feeling that I couldn't love her 
really until I had picked her up in my arms. Imagine your old mammy 
a little six-year old girl carrying a fat stiff-legged calf around in her 
arms ! " What boy with even half or a quarter of the fine spirit 
Mary Reid's son had inherited from her could fail to respond to the 
charm of those letters of hers, interesting, "newsy" as he always 
called them, and, without speaking the word, breathing in every line 
the most tender and enfolding love? She used to plan those let- 
ters deliberately sentence after sentence; not a word in them but 
was a prayer and a caress. And the exquisite care put into them was 
all designed to teach him, silently, out of the lore of her own school- 
ma'am days. In the long ago she had dreamed of how she would her- 
self teach and train her boy, and it was thus she realized her dream. 

One day, on hands and knees in the onion patch and raising her 
head to rest her weary back just a moment, while her mind was 
" writing to Davy," at full speed, she spied a man going in toward the 
house from the road. " He looks like a tramp," she said to herself as 
she got stiffly up and made her way across the garden. " He is a 

104 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

tramp," she concluded as she neared him. " Well, there's not a woman 
in the township who doesn't believe that her own individual door- 
post is specially marked by those undesirables but maybe he's hungry, 
or thirsty; and I'd rather have him drink his fill of God's brew from 
the bottom of our well than go into town and drink whisky." 

By this time the tramp had his hat off. He was respectful, and 
had manners ; but what a woeful specimen of humanity he was ! Old, 
in the first place; bald-headed, with a fringe of white straggly hair; 
with eyes wasted and bleared; a frame gaunt with the marks of 
disease or dissipation, or both, and the look of a hunted rabbit on him. 

He wanted something to eat; and Mary, with a sigh for her 
unfinished job in the onion bed, listened a moment to his protesta- 
tions of willingness to work, and then bade him sit on the porch 
while she prepared him something. Very hot and weary he sat there. 
There was nothing whatever of the tough bravado of the everyday 
tramp about him. He was worn to meekness. He was old. 

When Mary came out from the pantry with " the usual ! " as she 
called it bread and molasses " it goes good with a cup of cold 
milk " she saw her husband coming toward the house, his gun in 
his hand. The tramp saw him, too saw the gun and his look of 
a rabbit run to ground grew more pitiable as he rose and stretched 
out a furtive hand to take the food Mary offered him. " You must 
be thirsty, too," she said. " I'll get you some milk." 

She kept her big milk cans half-submerged in the water-trough 
on the shady side of the well. She was " into the can," as they say 
on the farm, dipping for a cup of the cool milk, when Amos stepped 
up. He paused at the well, and regarded the stranger with that queer 
look of his which so disconcerted people stared at him till the 
wanderer was afraid to swallow till the milk Mary handed him, 
spilling in his shaky hand, went down his throat a great relief. 

Something in Mary's heart stirred to pity for this poor tramp, 
so much older than the usual hobo, as she gave Amos a glance, and 
then reached for the cup to get the beggar a second drink. As she 
gave it to him she said reassuringly: 

" You can rest here a while if you like." 

" This man wants work," she said to Amos. " I think I'll put 
him at those onions." 

The husband made no response. She gave him a sharp glance; 
what was in his head now? There was such a queer dilating of his 
eyes as he stared on at the stranger. 

" I'd be thankful for the work, ma'm," said the tramp, " but 
maybe I'd better go on." 

" You can come with me," said Amos. Mary looked at him, 
wondering for a flash of thought if it really could be that he was driving 

1916.] PURE GOLD 


the old wanderer away? But no; Amos had started for the quarry, 
and the tramp was questioning her with his driven look. 

" He'll show you what you're to do," said Mary. " I'm afraid 
you couldn't stand the sun in the onion bed today, anyway." 

But a minute later she was back at the onions herself. 

Evidently Amos intended to keep the wanderer, for he appeared 
with him at supper time; and then the worn old creature, still with 
his driven look, offered to help Mary at the feeding of the calves. He 
was plainly grateful to her, if just as plainly in fear of her husband. 
Mary felt sure he wanted to get away to run, if he dared. 

After supper Amos signed to the man to sit down out on the 
porch. After ten minutes of uneasiness he was on his feet again. 
" I'm afraid I'll have to be going," he said. 

" Wait," said old Amos Reid, with a ring in his voice that was 
compelling; he had not taken his eye off the stranger for a moment, 
and now his tone was commanding. " You'd better stay here. We can 
put you up." And the tramp subsided. 

At dark, Amos took the man through the kitchen, where Mary 
was at the dishes, and showed him where he was to sleep. Mary 
paid no heed to that. She was glad that the poor old creature 
was to have a bed for -the night. But a moment later she heard 
the door being closed slowly and carefully, then the turn of a lock, 
and glancing over her shoulder saw Amos standing, his back to the 
door, the key in his hand, and he fairly panted with agitation. 

"What's the trouble?" she asked. 

He lifted his finger to command silence, then tiptoed toward her, 
took her arm, and led her out on to the porch. Once out of hearing 
of the inner room, he spoke: 

" Do you know who that is? " 

"Who the tramp?" 

" Do you know who it is ? " 

" No, Amos, no." She had placed her hand on his blue flannel 
sleeve to calm him. She could not make out his mood. 

"You don't know ! You don't know !" he whispered. "It's Adams, 
Adams, Ben Adams ! Yes, it is ! Yes, it is ! " 

" Oh, no! no! " Mary protested. She began to tremble for fear 
of the horrible agitation that was rocking the very being of her old 
husband. She saw she knew not what new terrors leaping up before 
her and around her. 

"Yes, it is! Yes, it is! I've got him! He doesn't know! But 
I knew the minute I saw him, I knew. I took him over to the 
mine and got him to talking. I found out quick enough. It's Adams ! 
It's Adams! The thief, and murderer, the man who ruined me! I've 
got him ! I've got him ! " 

io6 PURE GOLD [Oct., 

" Amos ! Amos ! Be sure ! " Her only way was to gain time, to 
humor him, to let him think she was one with him in whatever plan 
he was scheming. " What are you going to do? " 

" What am I going tQ do?" He lifted his clenched fist into the 
darkness, then suddenly looked down at her. " I won't kill him," he 
said quietly. " I won't rob him, or lie to him. But I'll make him pay 
back every cent he took from me every cent of it." 

" Pay back? How can you? " 

" At two dollars a day, working out there in the rock, until every 
cent is paid, every cent. I've got him! He'll dig for me and pick 
out gold for me until his fingers are worn off. He'll shovel and slop 
in that sand and mud, and he'll bake out there in the sun, and hand 
up riches to me until his back breaks, but he'll pay me back every cent. 
Two dollars a day ! Ha ! He came the wrong road this time ! " 

He turned back to go into the house. Mary placed a detaining 
hand on him. " Be sure, Amos, be sure ! " 

" Sure? I'm sure! I know; and what's more he'll tell me him- 
self in a minute. I've got him ! He can't get away, because I know ! 
He can take his pick he can stay here and work, or he can leave 
and hang! For he's a murderer as well as a thief . I've got him! And 
look here " He halted a moment to warn -her with grim suspicion: 
" You're to say nothing to him, nor help him." 

" Oh, Amos, how could you ! " she cried. She followed him 
back into the house, and to the door of the tramp's room. 

Amos had taken up his gun at the porch door. " If he tries to get 
away I'll shoot him," he said; and as he entered the tramp's room 
Mary caught a glimpse of the worn old head of the wanderer lifting 
itself up in fear from the pillow. Then the door was closed and locked. 

With a wild heart and drumming ears she listened at the door 
of the little room, and always the same sound greeted her Amos' 
steady voice pouring out its awful sentences on the wretch whom 
her imagination pictured as cowering under the blows of words that 
beat him down and down. Once she heard his pitiful " No, no! " and 
there was whining and whimpering; and at last she ran from the 
door with the sobbing of despair and terror ringing in her ears. 

The weird bargain was made that night. Mary scarcely slept, 
and in the morning she was worn out. She got breakfast, and Amos 
went to the door of the little room and unlocked it, and opened it. 
She could not lift her eyes to look upon the humiliation of the 
wretched creature who slunk out and took the place given him at the 
table. That night Mary wrote the story of the tramp to Davy, and 
for the first time her letter had lost its old-time spirit and joy. She 
was breaking down. She was afraid as she never had been before. 


Bew Books. 

SAYS. By Sir Bertram C. A. Windle, President of University 
College, Cork. London: Burns & Gates. $1.25 net. 
That the benefits of this book might be extended to the largest 
number possible, it is to be wished that its title were more fully 
indicative of its general significance and the breadth of its appeal; 
for though it is addressed to Catholics specifically, its import is for 
all believers in a Divine Creator, especially those whose peace of 
mind has been disturbed by apparent conflict between the facts of 
science and the teachings of religion. 

The author's achievement is twofold : he sets forth some con- 
clusively established, as distinguished from the still debatable, de- 
ductions of science concerning the subjects wherein seeming dis- 
crepancy was found ; and through these he demonstrates the illusory 
and transient character of any antagonism between science and faith 
in revelation, such as many believed, and some still believe, to have 
been irrevocably established in the middle of the last century. 

The workaday layman, though of the class described by Sir 
Bertram as "those who, without laying any claim to the title of 
learned, extend their reading beyond the limits of current fiction," 
is unable to accomplish the systematic reading requisite for more 
than a fragmentary knowledge of scientific activities. He cannot 
assure himself that he knows the last word upon any of them: 
therefore, a mere statement of results would be of value to him, 
provided it were authoritative beyond question. The present work 
provides not only this, but also expositions of the various theories 
and investigations, so concise and lucid that the reader is enabled 
to form a full, coherent concept of each subject. Some of the 
fruits of recent research in anthropology and ethnology are in- 
cluded, and the whole is presented in a manner that has an indi- 
viduality of great charm. It is a blend of gracious courtesy, with 
mastery of each subject, that fascinates the reader, and gives him 
confidence as he follows the brilliant and delightful text wherein 
the author, with a tact that is unblemished by any touch of conde- 
scension, interprets to his uninitiated audience the recondite work- 
ings and judgments of science. More important than all is, of 

io8 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

course, the golden cord of thought that unites the essays into a com- 
munication of cheer. They are a stimulant and an inspiration 
the call of ,a leader that speeds the Christian on his way rejoicing. 
Sir Bertram pays tribute where tribute is due; with Christian 
charity he prescinds from passing personal judgment. It is with 
perfect calmness that he deprecates the habit of scientists of treating 
each new theory as if it were fact; and he tranquilly points out 
the total failure of science to fulfill the expectations once held that 
it would shortly explain everything; the retreat before advancing 
knowledge of the very theories that caused a large part of the 
advance ; and the consequent change in scientific opinion during the 
last twenty-five years " away from the materialistic pole and to- 
wards its antipodes the old explanations of Christian philosophy." 

Of all its profound and illuminating content, the average reader 
will probably revert most often to the title-essay, which reviews in 
a surpassing way the upheaval caused by the publication of The 
Origin of Species and the reaction of today. For in his daily life 
the average man recurrently confronts a residuum of the Darwinian 
controversy, the deeply-rooted idea that science has made religion 
impossible for any reasonable person. There are few laymen so 
fortunate as to be unacquainted with the air of detached wonder 
that meets a confession of faith as if it were some queer survival, the 
more or less discreet allusions to temperamental bias, superstitions 
learned in childhood, and so forth. Though his faith be unaffected, 
his happiness is not; for, to him, this argument is practically un- 
answerable in terms that will be either understood or respected. The 
desultory reading that is all he can compass contains no general 
recognition of the change of which the author speaks : he is reduced 
to silence, knowing that it will be taken as admission of defeat. He 
is now furnished with an answer and a weapon. 

It is a book for Catholics to urge upon the attention of their 
Non-Catholic acquaintances, without reserve or misgiving, for its 
urbane spirit precludes anything that could wound the believer out- 
side the Church. 

Nevertheless, inclusive as is its call, there is a special and more 
intimate word for the household of that Faith which has been 
maintained without change or diminution during darkened years 
when to some there seemed little ground for hope that the future 
held in store any message such as this, which approaches being a 
translation by science into its own idiom of: " trust God; see all, 
nor be afraid." 



M. Antony. St. Louis : B. Herder. $1.80 net. 

Miss Antony assures us that in writing this new life of St. 
Catherine she had no idea of superseding the masterly biographies 
of Mother Frances Drane or of Mr. Edmund Gardner. She wished 
solely to present, " as simply and intelligently as possible, with as 
little historical elaboration as may be, the life of the great Do- 
minican Tertiary mystic of the Quattrocento, who was at the same 
time one of the most important political figures of the day, in such a 
way that no one aspect of her career obscures another." 

The author has based her work upon the Legenda of Fra 
Raimondo da Capua, St. Catherine's confessor and biographer; 
on the Processus of Venice held in 1411; on the letters of 
the Saint, nearly four hundred of which have been preserved; 
and on the Dialogue the Saint dictated to her secretaries in 

St. Catherine, one of the Church's greatest mystics, was at the 
same time the most practical of women. She wrote one of the 
most sublime treatises on the mystical life that we possess, and at 
the same time we find her traveling on embassies to Pisa, Florence 
and Avignon, and writing lectures of advice to princes and to 
Popes. A most humble soul ever at home among the people from 
whom she sprang, she wrote strong words denouncing the crimes 
of the Pope's legates in Italy, and the unfaithfulness of many of 
the priests and bishops of the period. Untaught in the schools she 
wrote the purest Tuscan on the most hidden things of God; modest 
and retiring, she easily brought the proudest and most impenitent 
sinners to their knees; utterly detached from the world, she made 
countless friends of both married and unmarried men, instructing 
them day by day in the path of perfection; ever physically weak 
on account of continual sickness and her most extraordinary aus- 
terities, she was at all times alert for any mission of charity be it 
the casting out of an evil spirit, the raising of the dead to life, the 
settling of a family feud, or the calling back of a Gregory XL from 
Avignon to Rome. 

Miss Antony makes St. Catherine live again in these charming 
pages. She draws a most winning portrait of one of the most 
strong, tender, sensitive, humble, simple, and loving saints that 
Christianity ever produced. We are certain that many a Non- 
Catholic would be won to the Church by reading the wonderful story 
of Catherine Benincasa. 

i io NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

LOUISE AND BARNAVAUX. By Pierre Mille. New York: 

John Lane Co. $1.25 net. 

This, the most recent volume of M. Mille's stories of the 
French soldier, is the expression in literature of the tendency now 
abroad among the arts to emphasize unduly the uglinesses in life. 
These tales are not of action at the front, or of life in barracks. 
They are, presumably, interpretations of the common soldier of 
France through the personality of Barnavaux, a French Mulvaney. 
As thus shown, he has the virtues of his calling, and he is not wholly 
incapable of affection nor of ideals of loyalty and service; but he 
is utterly without reverence, brutally cynical, and given over to 
licentiousness without restraint. He is a distressing figure and, 
naturally, the scenes and characters to which we are introduced 
through him are too frequently shocking and repulsive, though it 
must be said, in fairness, that the tone is robust, and has none of 
the subtle perniciousness conspicuous in French fiction until of late. 

If the soldier in the ranks is true to this type, and if it is in 
the name and interests of truth that the type is exhibited, we may 
enter a protest in demanding that at least a glimpse be given of 
the picture on the other side of the shield, the type which has been 
made familiar to us through the testimony of many actual witnesses 
the soldier responsive to the spiritual awakening that works like 
leaven through the armies of regenerate France. Without this, the 
truth is but half represented even when it is not, as in this instance, 
put forth in a form having so many objectionable features that it 
is unacceptable for Catholic reading, and cannot but be distasteful 
to any normally sensitive reader. 

THE NEST-BUILDER. By Beatrice Forbes-Roberston Hale. New 

York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. $1.35 net. 

The absence of woman suffrage propaganda in this novel by 
a popular leader of " the Cause " will possibly disappoint some 
readers, but is to the advantage of those who read fiction solely for 
entertainment. Although the latter quality is present in good meas- 
ure, some weightier motive for the work will inevitably be assigned 
to Mrs. Hale. It may be that they are not far wrong who construe 
it as a definite reply to the charge sometimes preferred against the 
suffrage and feminist movements, that they militate against- the 
welfare and preservation of the home. Such a charge is in measure 
justified by the intemperate language spoken and written by some 
of their adherents. 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 


The author has excluded all such extravagances from her book, 
which contains, indeed, nothing revolutionary or even strikingly 
new. She tells the history of the courtship and the married life 
of Mary Elliston and Stefan Byrd, accentuating through various 
scenes and incidents the fundamental differences of temperament 
between the woman who regards it, as her highest and most joyful 
privilege to establish a home where she will bear and rear children, 
and the man who wearies of the home, its duties and restraints, and 
selfishly forsakes it, eventually sinning against it. The heroine is 
represented as a woman of the modern type, a suffragist and fem- 
inist, looking forward at the beginning of the story to earning her 
own living in preference to being supported in idleness at home, 
yet gladly yielding supremacy to the primal, enduring instincts of 
maternity and domesticity. " The eternal triangle " figures once 
more, and prominently, though it is introduced only to develop the 
theme, and to throw into sharper contrast Mary's steadfast devotion 
to the home she preserves. 

The book, though not memorable, holds the attention. There 
are some clever vignettes of character, and what Mrs. Hale has to 
say she says in fluent, nervous English, with considerable wit : such 
crudities as exist are of thought, not expression. The general 
morale is healthful, but wholly secular and sophisticated; and 
discrimination is called for in distribution of the novel, for at 
several points the author's judgment though never her intention 
is in error. 

A MORE EXCELLENT WAY. By Felicia Curtis. St. Louis : B. 

Herder. $i.6onet. 

The scene of this novel for girls is laid in England in the 
year 1850-51, and depicts the bitter anti-Catholic feeling that ob- 
tained with special intensity at that period. The central theme is 
the conversion of Victoria Brent, daughter of a furiously Protestant 
father, as a result of her being, for the first time, brought into 
neighborly relations with a devout and heroically loyal Catholic 
household. Love develops between Victoria and Denis Fitzgerald, 
son of the Catholic house. 

Victoria, however, realizes that both she and he are called to 
a higher form of service to God than the life of the Catholic family, 
and the lovers separate to enter the " more excellent way " of the 
cloisters. The story is replete with incident, and moves swiftly, 
too rapidly, indeed, to give to the conversion the analysis necessary 

ii2 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

to make it more than a mere record of cause and effect. It is told 
with much animation, however, and will doubtless be well liked by 
the young readers for whom it is designed. 

THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK ZIA. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co. 75 cents. 

This short story is an accession to the output of small gift 
books customary at this time of year. It is the tale of a miracle 
performed by the infant Redeemer on the morning after the Na- 
tivity. Upon the young lad, Zia, deformed, unloved and ill-treated, 
falls the awful doom of leprosy. Outcast and despairing, he 
wanders to Bethlehem, where he sees the entrance of the Blessed 
Virgin and St. Joseph, whom he follows to the cave wherein is the 
manger. He lies all night upon the ground outside bathed in a 
mystic light. At early dawn, the door of the cave is opened, and 
Our Lady summons him to the manger whence the light radiates. 
He kneels by the side of the Child, and the hand of the new-born 
King bestows upon him a royal gift of healing and strength and 

It is an ambitious task that the author has set herself. She 
fulfills it creditably, at least with earnestness and tenderness. Her 
treatment is not entirely in consonance with Catholic tradition 
and sentiment, but there is no actual irreverence, even unintentional. 
The little volume is attractively illustrated. 

POLAND. By Count John Sobieski. Boston: Richard G. 

Surely the valiant Sobieski deserved a better fate than to have 
fallen into the hands of such a biographer. It reminds one of 
" Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark," for Sobieski without 
his Christianity, his crusading spirit, his enthusiasm, his magnetism 
is not Sobieski the bulwark of Christendom, as we have been 
used to regard him. Why the writer should have elected to write 
of him is not apparent; his only qualification for the task would 
seem to be a love for Poland; he is out of sympathy with his 
hero in both religion and politics ; he sneers alike at bishops, priests, 
monks, and at kings and rulers. His hostility to Catholicism and 
all connected therewith he is at no pains to conceal. " The least 
valuable portion of the spoil was a number of monks," is one of 
his sentiments. " The Turks were to be dreaded .only as civilized 


warriors," reads like irony in face of the Armenian atrocities, and 
similar atrocities in the past. Again we find : " His " (Sobies'ki's) 
"cruelty to the Turks after a victory, must be attributed to a 
remnant of the crusading spirit, which upon these occasions, and 
these only, soured the natural humanity of his temper, which was 
not sufficiently matured by philosophy;" italics ours. 

Again and again, we have asked ourselves : " Is this a trans- 
lation?' 3 The English is extremely trying to read: the construc- 
tion of the sentences in many cases, would be a disgrace to a school- 
boy; capitals and nominatives are occasionally scattered ad lib. 
over the pages. 

In places, the author speaks as if he were a citizen of the 
United States, yet he uses a title. One Encyclopedia states that 
the King's family is now extinct. 

MARIE OF THE HOUSE D'ANTERS. By Rev. Michael Earls, 
S.J. New York: Benziger Brothers. $1.35 net. 
We have all heard of mute inglorious Miltons and of Crom- 
wells who, while possessing the talents of the original, were innocent 
of the accompanying tyranny and bloodguiltiness : but no poet has 
sung of woman's potentialities in conditions wider than her ordinary 
sphere. Far from us be the suspicion that such are not to be 
found; indeed we suspect that feminine talent is so abundant as 
to cease to be remarkable. If, however, anyone has ever doubted 
this proposition, let him forthwith make the acquaintance of Ma- 
dame la Marquise d'Anters, known in her native Jersey as Susan 
Harrington, the lady of Ben Harrington, who in Paris is the Mar- 
quis d'Anters, Such heartiness and simplicity, such unspoiled 
good nature, such genius for managing others, merit the celebration 
of her praises by a poet. Swiftness of motion is here reduced to 
a fine art, and we rush breathless from continent to continent in 
the development of an interesting plot. Incident rather than char- 
acterization is its chief merit, but one grows just a little weary of 
" the book that was to be, but never achieved being." This, of 
course, is the motif of the story, but we think it a trifle too much 
in evidence. 

ONLY ANNE. By Isabel C Clark. New York: Benziger 

Brothers. $1.35 net. 

The self-sacrificing devotedness of man for man, is a theme 
with which we are fairly familiar, but here we have an admirable 

VOL. civ. 8 

ii4 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

story of a woman whose one desire is to win for her friend, 
Myrtle, Lady Chardford, the happiness which she herself sacri- 
fices. The object of devotedness in this instance does not strike 
the reader as particularly worthy of it ; and that impression lessens 
the convincing power of the story. Lady Chardford had made 
her own mistake in life, but had the grace to pay the penalty with 
sufficient dignity, to the doing of which, however, Anne effectively 
contributed at a cost that Myrtle never fully knew. Some of the 
minor characters are particularly well drawn. We smile over Mrs. 
Grayle and Vincent Travers, Senior, well able to identify their type 
among our own acquaintances. 

The author's style is pleasing and refined: she has added to 
her growing list another charming volume. 

THE WAYSIDE. A Priest's Gleanings. By Rev. Vincent Mc- 
Nabb, O.P. New York: Benziger Brothers. $1.00 net. 
These charming essays are joined together, as the author tells 
us, merely by a unity of principle and of motive. He himself styles 
them " sketches made by an onlooker with the hands and eyes of 
faith. They find in the Incarnation the key to history, psychology, 
political economy, literature, art." They give us impressions of 
pagan and Christian Rome, they discuss the question of miracles, 
and estimate the worth of Harnack's historical method ; they speak 
of the Church's riches of ritual, and of St. Thomas Aquinas as a 
controversialist, picture the heroism and patience of the poor, and 
describe the death of children's games but no matter what the 
theme, Father McNabb enlivens it with an originality and sug- 
gestiveness all his own. 


C.P. St. Louis: B. Herder. 50 cents net. 

Most of us are familiar with many names of those whom the 
Oxford Movement led into the Church. But the subject of this 
memoir will hardly be familiar to the majority of our readers. 
The Honorable Charles Reginald Pakenham, Captain to the First 
Battalion of Grenadier Guards, was a convert in 1850 of the Oxford 
Movement. Born in 1821, fourth son of the Earl of Longford, 
and nephew of the Duke of Wellington, his was the path of most 
of the chosen souls of the period with its anxieties and struggles. 
Cardinal Wiseman received him into the Church, and in less than 
a year Captain Pakenham had entered the Passionist novitiate. 

1916.] NEW BOOKS II5 

" For goodness' sake, Charles," one of his sisters had advised, " get 
married as soon as you can, or you will end by becoming a monk." 
Her fears were fulfilled. But the Iron Duke displayed more dis- 
cernment, when, after remonstrating as all his friends did, he 
bluntly concluded : " Well, you have been a good soldier, Charles ; 
strive to be a good monk." Needless to say, his nephew labored 
at this with all his strength. Brother Paul Mary, as he was hence- 
forth known, was destined by Divine Providence to introduce the 
Congregation of the Passionists into Ireland. Barely was this as- 
sured, when his labors were cut short March, 1857, saw m * s en- 
trance into a better life, but he had planted the tree, and its planting 
was the work of a saint. 

A RETROSPECT. Three Score Years and Ten of the Sisters, 
Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. By a Member of 
the Congregation. New York: Benziger Brothers. $1.00 net. 
This well- written volume relates the history of the Sisters, 
Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary from their founda- 
tion by Rev. Florent Gilet, C.SS.R., in 1845 a * Monroe, Michigan. 
Special chapters are devoted to the spirit and aims of the In- 
stitute, its pioneer days, its founder, its friends and benefactors ; its 
growth and development in various parts of the United States, and 
its approval by the Bishops of Detroit and by the Holy See. As 
Bishop Kelly well says in his introduction : " No history of educa- 
tional work in Michigan could afford to leave out of account a 
generous contribution to, and acknowledgment of, the great work 
done by the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary." 

DEMOCRACY OR DESPOTISM. By Walter T. Mills. Berkeley, 
Cal. : The International School of Social Economy. 
Mr. Mills maintains that the United States is a political 
despotism ruled by the great monopolized industries, and that 
every citizen ought to aim at establishing a real industrial democ- 
racy in its stead. The writer is evidently sincere in pointing out 
some of the evils incident to modern democracy, but the changes 
he calls for in the Constitution of the United States would amend 
it out of existence. His remedy for the money domination of the 
great trusts in our political life is more democracy. He would 
elect the President, the Senate, the Justice of the Supreme Court 
by popular vote; make the initiative, the referendum and the 
recall obligatory in every State; abolish the present political par- 

ii6 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

ties which are controlled solely by private interests, and organize 
a labor party which would prepare the way for the industrial 

The book is superficial, and a rather wordy indictment of the 
government of the United States, and a confused mixture of pol- 
itics, political economy, sociology, law and ethics by one who has 
failed to master principles of these sciences. 

INTERNATIONAL FINANCE. By Hartley Withers. New York: 

E. P. Button & Co. $1.25 net. 

Now that the war in Europe has made us international money 
lenders on a great scale our favorable trade balance is over 
$3,000,000,000 Americans ought to be interested in reading about 
the machinery of money-lending among the nations, as it has been 
practised by the investors and financiers of the old world. They 
could not have a better instructor than Mr. Withers. He was for 
many years the financial editor of the London Times, and has 
recently been the adviser of the British Treasury. In clear and 
simple language he writes of the nature of capital, the machinery 
of banking, the nature of investments and securities, the connection 
of finance with foreign trade, diplomacy and war, and the benefits 
and evils of international finance. 

J. Keyser, Ph.D. New York: Columbia University Press. 


The fifteen essays of this scholarly volume have appeared 
in the course of the last fifteen years in various American journals 
such as the Columbia University Quarterly, Science, The Educa- 
tional Review and The Bookman. In this entertaining volume 
Dr. Keyser, Adrian Professor of Mathematics at Columbia Uni- 
versity, discusses the nature and value of mathematics, its history, 
its modern developments, and the proper methods of teaching, 
mathematical productivity in the United States. 


York: Sturgis & Walton Co. $1.00 net. 

This treatise on the art of writing the English language with 
correctness and elegance has in mind the boy and girl of high 
school age. It contains a number of valuable hints on spelling, 
punctuation, letter- writing, the use of words, composition, and 


proof-reading, besides lists of common errors in grammar hack- 
neyed words and undesirable phrases to be avoided. Over one 
hundred pages are devoted to the derivation of English words from 
the Latin and the Greek. 

THE PRESENT HOUR. By Percy Mackaye. New York: The 

Macmillan Co. $1.25 net. 
THE VALE OF SHADOWS. By Clinton Scollard. New York: 

Laurence J. Gomme. 75 cents 

THE GOD OF BATTLES. By Ambrose Leo McGreevey. Boston : 
Sherman, French & Co. $1.00. 

One hears daily the assertion plaint is it, or arraignment? 

that the poetry so far inspired by the present cataclysmic war is 
entirely unworthy of it. In the main this is true, as it has probably 
been true during the progress of every great war: precisely be- 
cause very few of the men and women who compose the poems have 
had any real experience of the events. They have not known the 
passion of participation and they are still too near for the other 
passion of inheritance. 

Doubly and trebly is this true on our own side of the Atlantic, 
where the mind finds itself torn and divided between official neu- 
trality and violent personal fealties. None the less, the leaven is 
working, and scarcely a month passes without some bit of verse 
or, perhaps, prose so true in emotion that one feels it a forecast 
of the literary awakening sure to follow upon the footsteps of 

The war poems of Mr. Percy Mackaye were written during 
the latter part of 1914, but they are none the less pertinent to 1916. 
Their subjects Rheims, Louvain, the Lads of Liege, the Men of 
Canada are names to conjure with " not for a day but for all 
time." The present volume is dedicated to the Belgian people; 
and strikingly apt is its author's new turning of Caesar's famous 
commentary, " horum omnium fortissimi sunt Belga" Mr. Mack- 
aye's poetry is always dignified and very often distinguished. In 
addition to the contemporary war poems, the book contains interest- 
ing verses on miscellaneous themes, and a highly dramatic, pecu- 
liarly horrible story of the Champagne battle entitled " Fight." 

The lyric note and the note of gentle narrative or meditation 
dominate the war poems of Clinton Scollard. In his pages we 
find the Madonna of Termonde, or battlefields softened by moon- 
light, or perhaps dreams of volcanic Constantinople. It is a little 

ii8 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

volume full of picturesque verse, and the fact that it is sold for the 
benefit of the Belgian Relief Fund adds to its desirability. 

Only a few of Mr. McGreevey's verses are upon warlike 
themes, and these few are not his best. One suspects that the 
author's heart dwells rather in the peaceful pioneer fields of his 
beloved Iowa while his head is preoccupied with the old, old 
themes of God and the soul. He writes seriously, often in a style 
better suited to the prose than to the poetic form. 

SOCIETAL EVOLUTION. By Albert Galloway Keller. Profes- 
sor of the Science of Society in Yale University. New York : 
The Macmillan Co. $1.50. 

The social scientist envies the natural scientist because the lat- 
ter deals with more concrete subject matter, can use the method of 
experimentation, and is able to arrive at " such certainty as to justify 
prediction." In all these respects the student of society finds that 
he is at a serious disadvantage. In no part of the field has the 
advantage of the natural scientist appeared more striking than with 
reference to the concept of evolution. The natural scientist has 
made the principle of evolution a most important instrument of 
scientific progress. In the hands of the social scientist it has re- 
mained vague and unproductive. 

Professor Keller thinks that the reason for this unfruit fulness 
of the evolution concept in the social sciences, is mainly the his- 
torical fact that the idea came into that field through the medium of 
philosophy rather than of science. The students of society get hold 
of it in the pages of Spencer rather than of Darwin; and the former 
was a philosopher rather than a scientist. Hence Professor Keller 
raises the question whether it is not possible to apply the conceptions 
and formulas of evolution to social science by a more directly 
scientific method than has hitherto been employed. The salient 
features of Darwinian evolution are variation, heredity, selection, 
and as the outcome of the three, adaptation. The professor ap- 
plies all four to the study of social phenomena in order to ascertain 
whether they do not show not merely analogy, but " a broad 
identity " between natural evolution and societal evolution. To this 
object he devotes the ten chapters of his book. The attempt is not 
a conspicuous success. The professor is simply discovering and 
pointing out analogies. No doubt it is helpful to examine and de- 
scribe social development in the terms of scientific evolution, but 
it is not clear that we should not have as much and as suggestive 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 


knowledge of the process if we had never heard of the evolutionary 
terms. As the professor admits, the human mind is the main fac- 
tor in social evolution; and it does not seem that the operation 
of mind in the process is illustrated to any great extent by the use 
of concepts, and formulas, and analogies drawn from the study 
of a lower grade of beings, where mind has no place. 

ALCOHOL AND SOCIETY. By John Koren. New York: Henry 

Holt & Co. $1.25 net. 

There is a good deal of intemperance of speech with regard to 
most of the questions which get into the field of practical politics. 
We make progress in a democracy by listening to the worst and the 
best that can be said about a measure and then striking an average. 
The scientist may rail at such a slipshod method, but it is the best 
that we know how to use. This is apropos of Mr. Koren' s attack 
upon Prohibition and Prohibitionists, with special reference to the 
" singularly worldly and wholly undemocratic " Anti-Saloon League 
which, " under the emblem of religion, has obtained control of the 
propaganda for state and national prohibition." The Prohibi- 
tionists, it would appear, are not hampered in their fight against 
alcohol either by a scientific knowledge of the facts or by a regard 
for the facts. " Theirs is the enviable confidence of not needing to 
learn. Are not the children of our forty-eight States taught the 
precise physiological effects of alcohol in small and larger doses, 
although the scientist may still grope for the truth? " 

And yet after Mr. Koren has taken the trouble to examine the 
testimony of the scientists, he arrives at conclusions little favorable 
to alcohol. The alcoholic person, he says, " grows irritable and 
weary of existence; his ethical perceptions become dulled; his 
sense of shame grows less; the feeling of family and civic re- 
sponsibility disappears. At the same time he develops into a 
cynical, brutal egoist." " Alcohol and work do not belong to- 
gether." " Were alcohol suddenly removed from the world, want 
and misery would unquestionably grow less in numberless in- 
stances." " We may reasonably believe that if alcoholism should 
disappear there would be less crime in the world." The difference 
between Mr. Koren and the Prohibitionists seems, therefore, not 
to lie mainly in the fact that he is scientific, and that they are 
imaginative, but rather in the fact that his remedy is different from 

Prohibition cannot succeed, he says, because there is never 

120 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

a whole-hearted acceptance of the principle by the people. The 
question is not a plain moral issue, and people do not put violations 
of the prohibition law in the same class with other crimes. We vote 
on the question of Prohibition; we do not vote on the question as 
to whether we shall suppress crime and vice. 

The chapter on " Drink Reform in Foreign Countries " con- 
tains an interesting account of the experiences of most of the 
European countries, as well as Canada and Australia with the 
drink question. The chapter closes with a section on the temperance 
legislation of Norway and Sweden where alone, the author thinks, 
is illustrated the power of rational liquor legislation to reduce the 
consumption of alcohol. Naturally the author borrows many of 
the features of the Scandinavian legislation, and introduces them 
into his own plan for reform in this country. 

In his proposals for reform, Mr. Koren develops first the prin- 
ciple that in liquor legislation the desire for revenue should be 
secondary to the desire to minimize the drink evil. A heavy tax 
should be laid upon distilled liquors, with a lighter tax upon beers 
and light wines. Roughly, he would tax beverages in proportion to 
their alcoholic content, and he cites approvingly the laws of Nor- 
way, Sweden and Denmark, where beers containing two and twenty- 
five one-hundredths per cent of alcohol by weight are exempt from 
taxes. Locally, there should be a distinction between the license 
fees paid by the purveyors of different kinds of beverages, " always 
exempting malt drinks under a specified strength." The license 
fee should also depend upon the amount sold, so as not to put too 
great pressure upon the dealer to sell large quantities. 

Second, there must be adequate supervision of the liquor 
system. Probably the licensing should be in the hands of the local 
judiciary. The licensing body should be given wide discretionary 
powers in prescribing general conditions of license, and in revoking 
the license in case of violation^ of the law. 

Third, local option should be maintained, but in such a way that 
3, local community would not have Prohibition forced upon it 
against its will. The vote should be taken not oftener than once 
in three years, and a two-thirds vote should be required to determine 
the issue. Moreover, the vote of the county should not be used 
to fasten Prohibition upon the municipality. 

Fourth and finally, the Norwegian system of granting a 
monopoly of liquor- selling to a private company, which should un- 
dertake it, not for private gain, but for the common good, is advo- 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 


cated. The author here gives a number of reasons for believing 
that the* company system is preferable to Prohibition, one of which 
is that " it has shown itself to be the only arrangement for selling 
under which the consumption of distilled spirits gradually diminishes 
and alcoholism to that extent is diminished." 

The book is altogether a stimulating one, and deserves to be 
read by everyone who is undertaking to estimate the value of the 
Prohibition movement. It would be unfortunate, however, if its 
net results were to be the putting of a damper on the Prohibition 
movement. While Prohibition does not show an efficiency of a 
hundred per cent, it is nevertheless performing a valuable service 
for society which we can ill afford to lose. Whether or not the 
company system would give better results in the direction of re- 
straining the drink evil, cannot be determined entirely by debate. 
It would be well if the believers in the company system could in- 
augurate a movement in this country to make a practical trial of it. 
If it could be shown that under American conditions the company 
system was able to reduce substantially the proportions of the evils 
of intoxication, the most powerful argument for its extension 
would be established. 

HER HUSBAND'S PURSE. By Helen R. Martin. Garden City, 

N. Y. : Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.35 net. 

Daniel Leitzel, who had always conquered in the sign of the 
dollar, never imagined that he was to be challenged, defied and 
finally vanquished by a woman whom he took to wife and who did 
not believe in the dollar. Daniel lived in the Pennsylvania Dutch 
town of New Munich, and till the age of forty-five had been tended 
and spoiled by his two elderly maiden sisters, whose philosophy of 
life was just as material and sordid as his own. " They knew of 
no worth of life unpurchasable by money. They did not, there- 
fore, know their own spiritual pauperism: their abject poverty." 
Margaret Berkeley of Charleston, with values spiritual rather than 
material, takes a step into the dark and marries Daniel. The con- 
flict of standards, of taste and of custom is fought out in Daniel's 
New Munich home with the wife on one side and the husband and 
his two sisters, as allies, on the other. 

The story is replete with satire, humor and near tragedy. The 
aged stepmother of Daniel is about to be sent to the poorhouse by 
the children who owed all to her, and who have defrauded her of 
her rights in the extensive family property. Margaret's keen con- 

122 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

science saves the aged woman from that pitiable fate. Margaret, 
herself, inheriting in turn the stepmother's fortune, is made 
economically independent and the mistress of the situation. 

The story is delightfully told; and the lesson of the worth 
of spiritual values which it is intended to convey is admirable. 
Hypocrisy in preachers is, of course, deplorable, but why should 
it be made an excuse for voicing protests against all forms of re- 
ligion, and an occasion for reechoing the platitudes of the Inside 
of the Cup? Margaret Berkeley is quite certain that she is better 
than those whom she judges to be hypocrites and pretenders. She 
doesn't believe in the " worthier than thou; " she is quite " broad- 
minded " enough to believe that she is " as humble as anyone." 
Virtue with her brings another reward besides its own. It is quite 
as necessary for her triumph to be economically independent as it 
is to be spiritual. As a story the book is very entertaining. It will 
also make a successful play. As a study of what might have been 
a great character, a needed inspiration to the young people of 
our day, it falls short. Perhaps we take it all too seriously and 
beyond the intent of the author. But the author has power, 
insight, gifts; and we wish that she would reach out to greater 

WIND'S WILL. By Agnes and Egerton Castle. New York : D. 

Appleton & Co. $1.35. 

The authors of this romantic tale have gone for their material 
to the period of the Bourbon Restoration after Waterloo. The story 
is an old-fashioned romance with noble dames and bold soldiers 
fresh from the Peninsular wars, ready to ply their trade at the 
least provocation. The Dowager Lady Maldon is a charming illus- 
tration of what a high-born lady should be, and we are willing to 
trust the loyal-hearted heroine to her guidance in the new life. 
Colinette is a French flower girl, and while her romance is far 
from running smoothly, it ends happily. Faithful to her peasant 
relatives, to her religion, to her principles, one feels that she will 
weather the storms. 

PROSE TYPES IN NEWMAN. By Rev. G. J. Garraghan, S.J. 

New York : Schwartz, Kirwin & Fauss. 75 cents. 

Every Catholic teacher will delight in this little volume, for 
it brings out of our treasures of literature something of the most 
beautiful, of the most classical, and yet of the most useful, that we 


possess. The syllabus of the Catholic University for affiliated sec- 
ondary schools naturally calls for several Catholic authors as subjects 
for study. Of these, none can be better fitted, none stands higher 
in general esteem, and none more worthy of general acclaim than 
that " miracle of intellectual delicacy," as Matthew Arnold calls him, 
John Henry Newman. The busy teacher will welcome this book 
also because it is a valuable aid in high school work as required by 
the regents, for it is arranged under the generally accepted divisions 
of prose writing narration, description, exposition and argumenta- 
tion. The choice of extracts, too, is excellent, for the compiler had to 
exercise, amid such an abundance, much judicious restraint; we trust 
that his labors will meet with the appreciation which they deserve. 

THE CATHOLIC PLATFORM. By George E. J. Coldwell. Lon- 
don: Published by the Author at n Red Lion Passage. 25 

These seven lectures were given by Mr. Coldwell some months 
ago in Finsbury Park, London. They set forth in simple fashion 
the chief points of Catholic doctrine with the view of winning over 
his Non-Catholic hearers to the Church. We think the well-mean- 
ing author ill-advised in not submitting his copy to a critical editor, 
who would certainly have omitted the stupid " running fire of 
comment " Mr. Coldwell seems so anxious to put on record, and 
the meaningless puns which disfigure his pages. 


York : Benziger Brothers. 75 cents net. 

These simple five-minute talks to boys aim at preparing them 
for the fighting of the good fight against the enemies of Christ's 
Cross, the world, the flesh and the devil. Father Degen treats of 
the virtues and vices, the eternal truths, devotion to the Holy 
Eucharist, the Sacred Heart and the Blessed Eucharist. 


Gabriel, SJ. St. Louis: B. Herder. $1.50 net. 

Father Gabriel has written an excellent retreat manual for 
religious, which is, as he himself says, " little more than an adapta- 
tion of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius." The author ac- 
knowledges his great indebtedness to many prior commentators 
on the exercises, such as Fathers Roothaan, Meschler, Denis, Ver- 
beke, Nonell and von Hummelauer. 

124 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 

from the French Life published at Angers, 1913. By M. A. M. 
St. Louis: B. Herder. $1.10 net. 

This brief sketch of the life of Sister Mary of Mercy gives 
us a good insight into the spirit of the Religious of our Lady of 
Charity of the Good Shepherd, commonly styled the Good Shepherd 
Nuns. The prejudiced Protestant that seems to take special de- 
light in blackening their fair name, would be converted at once 
did he read the life of this devout servant of God. 

FAR HENCE TO THE GENTILES. By Major J. Samuels. Lon- 
don : Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. 
The author of this extraordinary volume tries in vain to prove 
a number of impossible theories; viz., that St. Paul was not 
martyred at Rome; that he went to Britain with St. Luke, St. 
Timothy and St. Mark; that St. Paul belonged to the 
sect of the Essenes; was buried at Glastonbury; and the Church 
of England alone has apostolic succession. Scholars will say to 
the well-meaning Major : Ne sutor ultra crepidam. 

WITHIN MY PARISH. Edited by James Loomis, M.D. Phila- 
delphia: The Dolphin Press. 60 cents. 

This little volume appeared last year in the pages of The 
Ecclesiastical Review. These notes from the daybook of a New 
England parish priest reveal a true and tender-hearted man of God 
in his relations to his Non-Catholic neighbors, his convert parishion- 
ers and his own little flock. 

THE BRIGHT EYES OF DANGER. By John Foster. Philadel- 
phia : J. P. Lippincott Co. 
John Foster has written a stirring tale of Charles Stuart and 

Scotland in the year 1745. It is a clean romance of the old school, 

full of duels, murders, battles, buried treasure, hairbreadth escapes, 

smuggling, and the like. 

The story centres about a young English gentleman, who is won 

from his allegiance to George of England by the bright eyes of 

Mistress Charlotte Macdonnell. 

ACCIDENTALS. By Helen Mackay. New York: Duffield & 

Co. $1.25 net. 

In a hundred stories and pictures of twentieth-century France, 
Miss Mackay gives us her impressions of that country before the 


Great War. Her stories are for the most part well-told, but they 
are often spoiled by a too evident straining for effect, and by 
too frequent use of the sorrow theme. One wearies of' suicides, 
starving poets, mismated husbands and wives, dissolute men-about- 
town, unhappy mistresses, unloving mothers and impossible, hard- 
hearted nuns. 

She writes of France as an outsider an alien both to her 
religion and her traditions. 


S. McGrath. New York: P. J. Kenedy & Sons. Leather, 

35 cents; flexible, 15 cents. 

Father McGrath has published an excellent little prayer book 
of one hundred and fifty pages for the Catholic Boy Scout. Car- 
dinal Farley has approved the Boy Scout movement on the follow- 
ing conditions : 

First, that there be organized distinctly Catholic troops ; sec- 
ondly, that some representative Catholic clergyman or layman be 
appointed on local boards of the Boy Scouts; thirdly, that the 
Scout masters be approved by the Catholic authorities; fourthly, 
that no Catholic boy be allowed to join the Boy Scouts unless he be 
a practical member of the Junior Holy Name Society, or some 
kindred religious sodality. 

Rev. Dr. Keane, O.P. St. Louis: B. Herder. $1.80 net. 
The friends of the well-known Irish Dominican, Dr. Keane, 
will gladly welcome this volume of sermons. His style is direct, 
simple and practical in discussing such themes as " Self-Denial," 
" Unworldliness," and the " Christian Priesthood," and he be- 
comes most eloquent when delivering panegyrics of St. Patrick, 
Blessed Thaddeus McCarthy, Father Mathew and Daniel O'Connell. 

THE LIFE OF ST. PAUL. By A. F. Forbes. St. Louis: B. 

Herder. 30 cents net. 

In this brief life of St. Paul, Mr. Forbes sustains the well- 
merited reputation of that new series of lives of the Saints, known 
as the Standard Bearers of the Faith. He selects the salient features 
of the life of the Apostle, and places them before his youthful 
readers in simple and beautiful language. We cannot recommend 
this book too highly. 

126 NEW BOOKS [Oct., 


The America Press has published in the latest numbers of The Catholic 
Mind, The Causes of National Success, by Denis Lynch; The Catholic School 
System, by Rev. George Thompson; The Dangers of Secular Universities, 
by F. L. ; The Father Rodriguez Tercentenary, by Rev. George O'Neill. 5 cents 

R. & T. Washbourne, of London, publishes Communion Verses for Little 
Children, by a Sister of Notre Dame. 5 cents. 

The Irish Messenger, of Dublin, has issued The Life of Mother Pelletier, 
Foundress and First Superior-General of Our Lady of Charity of the Good 
Shepherd at Angers. 5 cents. 

B. Herder, of St. Louis, has published A Conference to Religious Engaged 
in Caring for the Sick, by Rev. F. Girardey, C.SS.R. 5 cents. 

Abbot Edmund M. Obrecht, O.C.R., of the Trappist Monastery of Geth- 
semani, Kentucky, has written a Guide for Postulants. This brochure con- 
tains a brief historical sketch of the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, the 
history of the Benedictines, the Cistercians, and the rules and customs of the 
Reformed Cistercians (Trappists) today. The Abbot corrects the false im- 
pression " that in order to be eligible for La Trappe one is presumed to be 
guilty of all the crimes possible," and informs his readers that his Order is 
obtaining a number of American vocations. 25 cents. 

Rev. P. J. Carroll, C.S.C., has written a good college play for boys entitled 
The Ship in the Wake. Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, Ind. 

A Sister of St. Mary's Academy (S. M. A.) has just published five plays 
for girls: The Queen of Sheba; Christmas Guests; That Millionaire's 
Daughter; A Shakespeare Pageant; Plans for the Holidays. They are written 
by a nun who understands both the child mind (Christmas Guests) and the 
more ambitious girl graduate (A Shakespeare Pageant). We recommend them 
to our convent schools. $1.60 30 cents each. 


Bloud and Gay of Paris have sent us the following brochures: 

The Press and the War, by Jacques Bainville, a series of articles from 
I'Action Franfaise, discusses the violation of Belgium's neutrality, the future 
of Alsace and Lorraine, and the bravery of the French priests. 

The Cathedral of Rheims, by Emile Male, gives a good description of the 
Cathedral, which the author rightly styles the " reunion de mille chefs-d'oeuvre." 

Number 8 of the series, The Clergy and the War of 1914, by Monsignor L. 
Lacroix, treats of the destruction of the Cathedral of Rheims in the present war. 

La Lourdes du Nord; Notre Dame de Brebieres, by Rene Le Cholleux. 
(3fr. 50.) The author of this beautifully illustrated pamphlet gives us a 
brief sketch of the legend of Notre Dame de Brebieres, and of the basilica 
of Notre Dame in Albert, one of the cities of the Somme district destroyed 
during the present war. 

The Bombardment of Arras, by Abbe E. Foulon. With a preface by 
Monsignor Lobbedey, Bishop of Arras, (sfr. 50.) No city of France has suf- 
fered so much on account of the war as the capital of Artois, Arras. The 
Abbe Foulon has written a most vivid account of the various bombardments 
of the city, the valor of its defenders, and the suffering of its citizens. About 
one hundred photographs speak more eloquently than his words of the de- 
struction of the beautiful churches and public buildings of the city. 

IRecent Events, 

The Editor of THE CATHOLIC WORLD wishes to state that none 
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of 
the magazine, with the exception of " With Our Readers," voices 
the editorial opinion of the magazine. And no article or department 
voices officially the opinion of the Paidist Community. 

Little need be said of France, for no change 
France. has taken place in her determination to carry 

on the war to a conclusion so decisive that 

all succeeding generations of Frenchmen shall be freed from the 
trials to which the present and the past have been subjected. So 
unanimous and deep-seated is their resolve that any Frenchman en- 
tertaining friendly feelings towards Germany dares not show his 
face in public. This was shown in the case of M. Caillaux, who 
was recently mobbed at a French seaside resort. The Socialists have 
refused to cooperate with their brethren in this country who after 
the war is over wish to renew their old relations with the German 
Socialists. This determination has not been made without counting 
the cost and in full view of the sacrifices which it will involve. 
Although the number of casualties has never been published, no one 
doubts that it is enormous. One object of the Germans in their 
attack on Verdun was to bleed France white, without regard to their 
own losses. In this they have failed; the attempt, however, has 
only made France more resolute to take every means to keep up 
the strength of her armies. To free men for this purpose the 
Government has decided to draw upon Chinese labor for work in 
the war factories, and five thousand have already landed at 
Marseilles for this purpose, while to many African laborers like 
employment has been given. It is expected also that the British 
will take over a further part of the lines to be defended against the 
Germans. They began with about thirty miles; at the present 
time they hold nearly one hundred. 

So far from being exhausted the French have not only been 
able to take the offensive on the Somme, and to do this even more 
efficiently than the British, but they have done the same at Verdun, 
where the Germans have lost some of the ground which they had 


gained. They now look forward with calm confidence to another 
winter campaign, although they had been cherishing the hope that 
Christmas might have seen the end of the war. M. Briand's 
Cabinet still remains in power, the differences between it and the 
legislature having been satisfactorily adjusted. 

In other respects the situation in France is becoming more 
satisfactory. Of trade there has been a steady revival. Exports 
have increased by twenty-one per cent. In spite of German and 
Austrian submarine warfare the number of voyages from French 
ports exceeded by two thousand two hundred and forty-three the 
record of the corresponding period of last year, while the increase 
of tonnage amounted to eight hundred and seven thousand one 
hundred and three tons. Railway receipts speak yet more strongly 
of the growing national activity. On the systems not affected by 
the war there has been nearly fifteen per cent increase, and on 
the systems part of which pass through the region occupied by 
the Germans, the increase amounts to no less than fifty per cent. 
After two years of tremendous strain on the resources of the 
country, the gold reserve is actually greater by one hundred and 
forty millions of dollars than it was on August i, 1914. In the 
course of last year the reserve fell by fourteen millions. Since 
that time, howevej, three hundred and five millions have been 
added to the reserve. Frenchmen from President to peasant brought 
about this result by exchanging their gold coin for banknotes. 
This was done from sheer love of country, and was due to con- 
fidence felt in the ultimate triumph of the Allies. In 1915 taxation 
brought in two hundred millions of francs more than 1914, while 
the French people have subscribed practically five thousand billions 
of dollars to Government loans up to July 3ist. The loan 
for national defence of November, 1915, is at a premium, whereas 
the British war loans are at a discount. For various securities 
quotations on the Bourse have risen, showing thereby the increase 
of purchasing ability outside of the subscriptions for the huge 
war loans. The one drawback to these evidences of financial buoy- 
ancy is the weakness of French exchange. This is due to causes 
which no one but a financial expert can understand. An arrange- 
ment recently made between the British and French Governments 
will, it is expected, provide a remedy. At the beginning of the 
war French economists were inclined to believe that trade could 
not possibly flourish more than six or eight months, with a year as 
the absolute maximum. To their own surprise, as well as to that 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 129 

of neutrals, the second year has been much more successful than 
the first. 

While in these lower but necessary spheres of the nation's 
life those behind the lines are working for France, the soldiers of 
France, as M. Maurice Barres has pointed out, are working re- 
ligiously. " To all a Voice from heaven, or from their conscience, 
repeats the words of Archbishop Turpin in the Chaunson de Roland, 
'If ye die, ye shall be martyrs holy.' In this war, sacred if ever war 
was, they feel that they are renewing the Gesta Dei per Francos. 
Not less sublime than the men are the women of France. Peasant 
women receive the news of their husbands' or sons' death on the 
battlefield with the cry, 'Vive la France,' and Madame de Castel- 
nau, wife of the illustrious chief of the General Staff, who praying 
at the altar for her three sons in battle, and seeing the hands of 
the priest tremble, understands, and says simply, 'Which?' all are 
animated by the same spirit, the spirit of faith and victory." 

The supersession of von Falkenhayn is a 
Germany. fairly plain' indication that it is beginning 

to be recognized even in Germany itself that 

military operations are not going on well. The failure to reach 
Paris was visited upon the deviser of the attempt von Moltke 
by his being relieved of the office he had held for so many years. 
Whether von Falkenhayn fell because of the failure at Verdun and 
of the Austrian push on Italy through the Trentino, or because he 
saw the necessity of withdrawing from the Balkans and of shortening 
the line in the West, is still a matter of speculation. The appoint- 
ment of von Hindenburg is a concession to the popular voice, which 
on the strength of his victory at Tannenberg over the Russians in 
the early days of the war, has made of him a hero of the first 
magnitude, in spite of the fact that all his subsequent efforts have 
ultimately failed. It shows, moreover, that the Kaiser's presentiment 
of coming disaster is so strong as to make him willing to sacrifice 
his own predilections. Von Falkenhayn was one of his special 
favorites, and to him he had intrusted the Crown Prince's instruc- 
tion in military matters. No one has been more frequently in 
his counsels, and to none has he intrusted more confidential mis- 
sions. Hence his supersession is a public confession of failure. 
Falkenhayn was only in his fifty-fifth year, whereas Hindenburg is 
in his sixty-ninth. Totally unknown to the general public before 
the war, he became its chief hero on account of his victory over 

VOL. CIV. 9 


the Russians in East Prussia. His success on this occasion was 
due to the fact that he had acquired an intimate knowledge of the 
region into which the Russians had penetrated. His career in the 
army, from which he had been retired, was in no way distinguished. 
How highly he is to be estimated is a matter of debate. The change 
made may be merely the foreshadowing of an alteration of German 
strategical plans, a change which he alone could make acceptable to 
the German people. The defeat of Germany, which is being more 
and more clearly recognized as coming by all who are competent to 
form a sound judgment, may, it is thought, be made more endurable 
under his auspices than in any other way. 

As in other respects, so in military, it is almost impossible to 
obtain reliable information of the situation within the limits of the 
Central Powers. It is, however, the opinion of experts that there is 
no longer an organized body of reserves upon which the armies can 
draw to supply the wastage that is taking place daily and hourly. 
The most that can be done is to send drafts to the front, which 
consist of half -trained men, youths and those of older years. As 
long ago as last December the 1917 men were being called to the 
colors. According to the Kreuzzeitung, a general examination of 
all men of military age who have previously been exempt is being 
made. Even officials who until now have been declared indis- 
pensable must undergo examination. This want of men renders 
it unlikely that a drive in force on any point in the encircling ring 
will be within the power of the new Chief of General Staff, espe- 
cially as now the initiative has passed into the hands of the Allies. 
These now act in perfect concert, by means of a General Council, 
with a view to keep the German forces on the alert at every point. 

Herr Friedrich Naumann, the author of the work on Central 
Europe, the most important book published in Germany since the 
beginning of the war, has recently written an article which gives an 
insight more than usually reliable into the state of opinion among 
the small people of Germany. Two years ago they had no real idea 
what war was, but were ready to enter into it. Since then death 
in the field and privations at home have become greater than any 
power of imagination had previously conceived. Hence the neces- 
sity of what is happening is being questioned, and a longing exists 
that the abnormal state of things may cease. They are beginning 
to say : " Those people at the top need the war, and that is why we 
have to endure it." The impression is even gaining ground among 
them that it is Germany that produced the war, The official account 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 131 

is passing out of sight. What Herr Naumann calls the unscrupulous 
campaign of calumny by Germans of Germans, that it was Germany 
that was the disturber of the peace, is making headway. The burden 
of the trouble and want caused by the war is being put upon the gov- 
ernment. The numerous victories which they have been called upon 
to celebrate with every form of jubilation adds to the difficulties of 
those simple people. They think it strange that they are still in so 
serious a situation, and are being called upon to make even greater 
sacrifices. It is even dawning upon them that it is not for a 
defensive war that those sacrifices are being demanded, but for a 
war of conquest, and therefore one with which they have not the 
least sympathy. Herr Naumann himself does not, of course, adopt 
those views, and holds that they are held only by a few. Well- 
wishers of the German people may, however, indulge the hope 
that they indicate the dawn of a new light. For the war 
cannot end until Germany as a whole perceives that it does not 
pay to disturb the peace of the world, and perceives it so clearly 
that neither they nor their children nor their children's children 
will ever make a like attempt. 

Private letters from every part of Germany captured with 
each batch of the numerous prisoners taken by the British 
and French in the Somme advance, confirm Herr Nau- 
mann's statement that the sufferings are greater than any power of 
the imagination had previously conceived. " People think that 
it cannot last much longer, for hunger is rife, though no one dares 
to say so; still the condition of things is indescribable." " If the 
war lasts much longer we do not know what will happen with re- 
gard to food, etc. We cannot and dare not write all about it to 
you." " We have now bread cards, milk cards, meat cards, butter 
cards, flour cards, sugar cards and soap cards. We shall also have 
egg cards." " They give us cards, and then there is nothing to be 
got," and so on ad infinitum. 

So much for what outsiders are able to learn about the state of 
things within the confines of Germany. A word may be said 
about what the Germans are taught to think about the world 
outside. Until the very moment of Rumania's declaration of 
war, the Gentian press was engaged in assuring the public that 
there was no possibility of such a step being taken; the day 
after the same press was declaring in various ways that no well- 
informed person could have doubted that her intervention was 
certain, and that it had been determined upon for months past. A 


banker from Frankfurt assured an English visitor to Switzerland 
that the British navy was paralyzed, and London was almost in 
ruins ; that England was on her last legs financially, and on the eve 
of a social revolution. Hindenburg was cunningly drawing Brusi- 
loff and the Russians on to their doom. Even the attack on Verdun 
was going on according to the methodical plan arranged by the 
German staff. France would withdraw from the war by Christmas, 
when England would ask to be allowed to go home. Were not 
such states of mind indubitably established as actually existing, their 
possibility would be questioned. The pity of it is that they have 
such disastrous consequences. 

On the twenty-seventh day of August the 
Italy. Rumanian government made its declaration 

of war with Austria. On the same day^ the 

Italian Government made a similar declaration to Germany. The 
official announcement aroused immense enthusiasm at Rome. 
Cheering crowds paraded the streets, applauding the Government's 
decision. It gave great satisfaction to Italy's Allies, as it tended to 
remove all misapprehensions as to the position of Italy in the Alli- 
ance, and as forming an auspicious opening to the new phase upon 
which the operations are entering. The reasons for Italy's delay were 
chiefly domestic. They have now been overridden by more general 
and weightier considerations. At a most critical moment in the war, 
she has taken the step which shows most clearly the complete solidar- 
ity of the Allies. Its military importance is scarcely less. The end 
is now complete to the Triple Alliance which bound Italy hand and 
foot to subserviency to Germany. The accession of Rumania and 
Italy to the Entente Powers makes Spain the only one of the Latin 
nations which is not taking its stand against the Prussianism which 
is trying to bring them all under its control ; and there are rumors, 
not however worthy of much consideration, that even Spain may 
enter the lists. 

The chief thing indicated by Rumania's 
Rumania. having decided to enter into the war on the 

side of the Entente Powers, is that this 

decision represents its mature judgment that the tide has turned, and 
that these Powers are going to be victorious. Whatever Rumania 
does she does simply and solely for her own interests, a thing that 
was shown to demonstration by her conduct in the Balkan wars. 
Gratitude and n;any other motives some say even a treaty bound 


her to the Central Powers. Her sovereign is a Hohenzollern ; Ger- 
man aid and support secured to her the advantages which she gained 
by the Treaty of Bucharest. Doubt which side would win held her 
in suspense for two years. For this doubt no longer is there the 
smallest reason, and she has acted accordingly. General Brusiloff's 
shattering blows on the Austrian armies in Galicia, and especially 
the overrunning of the Bukowina, which brought the Russian 
armies to her very borders, have contributed in no small degree 
to remove all hesitation. Although friends of the Allies cannot en- 
tertain much esteem for the motives of their new ally, they cannot 
but welcome the help which she brings, a help which may indeed 
be decisive. Rumania has a new and well-equipped army of more 
than five hundred thousand men, with a proud tradition to uphold, 
and her action throws upon the Central Powers the burden of de- 
fending a further line of five hundred miles, at a time when their 
resources are strained to the utmost. It is no wonder that they ex- 
hausted every means, both of threats and persuasion, to avert the 
new danger. The Kaiser is said to have added the most pressing 
personal entreaties to diplomatic methods, but all in vain. It may 
well be the handwriting on the wall. 

Even more satisfactory is the prospect that Rumania's acces- 
sion will afford a means of inflicting proper chastisement for the 
treacherous conduct of the ruler of the Bulgars. One of the most 
loathsome events recorded in history is the way in which he stabbed 
in the back gallant little Serbia in the hour of her greatest danger, 
and the base ingratitude which he showed to the empire which had 
freed his country from the Turkish yoke. Russia is now enabled 
to pass through Rumania territory, and again to act the part of a 
deliverer. There is good reason to believe that it was only by force 
and fraud that most of the Bulgarians were driven into a war which 
must have been against their national feelings, and they will, there- 
fore, be glad to be delivered from a ruler who has betrayed every 
cause which he has espoused. 

The grandiose scheme of the expansion of a Central Europe 
through the Balkans to the /Egean and thence through Turkey to 
Bagdad and the Persian Gulf, including even Egypt in its sphere, 
was one of the objects for which the war was decided upon. Its 
realization involved the control of the Balkans. As this control over 
Turkey and Bulgaria had been secured, while Serbia had been 
annihilated as well as Montenegro, Germany was for a time in good 
hopes of achieving its purpose. Rumania's opposition will deal the 


deathblow to these aspirations after world power. As she is the 
strongest of the Balkan States, with the assistance of Russia and 
the forces under General Sarrail assembled at Saloniki, in whose 
army are enrolled British, French, Russian, Serbian, Albanian and 
Italian soldiers, there ought not to be much difficulty in thrusting 
in a wedge which will render realization of such a scheme impos- 
sible. Incidentally the intervention of Rumania will almost com- 
pletely close the only gap left in the ring-fence which the Allies 
have sought to make round the Central Powers. During the past 
year no inconsiderable part of the food stuffs which have reached 
Germany have come from Rumania. The blockade is now com- 
plete, except for what may come from Turkey and Bulgaria. The 
Allied advance from Saloniki bids fair to close this, the last of the 
doors. The second reason alleged by Rumania for her entry into 
the war was her belief that it would shorten its duration. This 
belief seems to be well founded. 

No one can think of Greece without the 
Greece. thought of Belgium, and the contrast between 

the two countries the one, whatever the out- 
come, destined to immortal renown; the other an object of equally 
universal contempt. From the beginning of the war so many Greeks 
were filled with a craven fear of Germany that they were able to 
make the Government swerve from its pledged duty. Prominent 
among these were the army officers. When, however, the Govern- 
ment ordered the garrisons of Greek forts, as it did a few weeks 
ago, to retire before the Bulgarian invaders, the cup of humiliation 
overflowed. The tide then turned ; the popular feeling found itself 
unable to tolerate such an abject submission to the country's heredi- 
tary foe. After a long period of vacillation a ministry has been 
appointed, ready, it is said, to take the side of the Allies. The 
latter, however, it is reported, are by no means anxious to have 
such support non tali auxilio. The apparently arbitrary conduct 
of the Allies in their treatment of Greece will be seen to be justified 
by anyone who has made himself acquainted with the facts of the 
case. France and Great Britain were invited by the then Premier 
of Greece to go to Saloniki for the purpose of joining hands with 
its Government against Bulgaria in accordance with the treaty which 
had been made to render aid to Serbia in case of an attack from 
that quarter. Greece herself proved unfaithful to this treaty, and 
when too late wished to recall the invitation given to the Allies. 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 135 

After some pressure applied by the Allies strict neutrality was 
promised, but treacherously violated by allowing the flank of 
the Allied forces to be endangered by the order which it gave for 
the evacuation of Greek forts before the invading Bulgars. It 
must also be borne in mind that France, Great Britain and Russia 
have special rights, being the protecting Powers of Greece and of 
the Constitution. This Constitution was given to Greece under 
their auspices after they had been the means of delivering her from 
Turkish thraldom. To the Constitution the King is as much the 
subject as any Greek citizen, and yet, either actively or passively, 
he has been violating the very Constitution from which he receives 
any privileges that belong to him. The Allied Powers, in all that 
they have done, have acted in protection of the neutrality which was 
promised, after Greece had failed to cooperate, and in protection 
of the constitutional rights guaranteed to the Greeks themselves. 
In all that they have done, they have received the support of the 
statesman to whom the father of the present King owed the preser- 
vation of his throne, when it was endangered by a military clique 
similar to the one which has endangered the country during the 
recent crisis. 

With Our Readers. 

THE particular character and the special value of the work as a 
Catholic apologist of the late Wilfrid Ward form the subject of 
an interesting article by Father Cuthbert, O.S.F.C., in the current 
Dublin Review. Father Cuthbert tells how Wilfrid Ward went 
in his early days to Rome to study scholastic theology. He there 
learned the admirable synthesis of human thought which the scholastics 
after years of labor had achieved : he was struck by " the extra- 
ordinary balance of mind, breadth of view, and absence of undue 
prepossession." In the day of its victory scholasticism had won the 
intellectual world. Ward looked upon it in admiration, but he also 
saw that in the traditional scholastic system something was lacking. 
" In its method and language it was out of touch with the thought of 
the day." How was that to be done in, and for, the modern world 
which scholasticism had done for the mediaeval? 

" Newman's theory of development," says Father Cuthbert, " gave 
him the answer. It showed him how the Church in the past had 
conserved its forces and methods to new needs, assimilating what 
was true and permanent in every age, whilst rigidly defending its 
own position and authority against aggression; it convinced him that 
a new Catholic synthesis of thought was possible, which, whilst it met 
the special need of the modern world, would link up the modern 
mind with what was of permanent value in the scholastic system, 
as that system had itself linked up the newer thought of the Middle 
Ages with the teaching of the Fathers. Newman thus became the 
master-light of the young theological student who was in later years 
to do more perhaps than any other man to apply his master's teaching." 

FATHER CUTHBERT does not think it too much to say that 
Wilfrid Ward brought Newman's theory of development out of 
the shadow into the light. " Upon it he based his own persistent 
apologetic for the genius and claims of the Church. He urged it in 
season and out of season, as giving a reasonable interpretation of the 
enigma of Rome. He compelled attention to it by his persistence 
and persuasiveness. If today Non-Catholics regard the Catholic posi- 
tion more intelligently and sympathetically, it is in no small measure 
owing to his handling of the great Cardinal's interpretation of the 
Church's genius. At the same time he secured for it a more general 



acceptance in the thought of Catholic apologists themselves. For 
the very attempt of the modernists to wrest Newman's theory of 
development to their own defence, only ended in gaining for it an 
authoritative vindication from Rome." 

Therefore the great aim of Wilfrid Ward's labors was the inter- 
pretation of Catholic thought which includes both the new thought 
of the day and the traditional thought of the present and the past 
both for the guidance of the Catholic and the enlightenment of the 
Non-Catholic. This work of interpretation and of expression was 
not only the right, it was also the duty of Catholics. As the pos- 
sessors of divine truth, whose rays were the only safe guide amid 
the labyrinths of human knowledge, it is both their glory and their 
responsibility so to understand it as to be able to define and explain ; 
to explain it in terms and in language which their hearers will 
understand. " The world creates problems : the Catholic Church 
solves them " in repeating this claim Wilfrid Ward was but re- 
uttering the claim of the Church from the beginning of her days 
when the Light of the World made her His representative, His living 
Voice upon earth. 

THE master mind of Leo XIII. had already pointed the way to this 
synthetic reconstruction for which Ward labored, by directing in 
his JEterni Pains Catholic scholars to return to scholastic philosophy. 
For scholastic philosophy essentially means the testing of all human 
knowledge befo're the tribunal of reason; it penetrates to the very 
root of things; in its presence authority is only of as much value as 
the reason back of authority; it scorns prepossessions; it estimates 
hypotheses simply as hypotheses and no more; it respects every 
certain finding; it searches untiringly every channel of human knowl- 
edge and the same essential method that secured the successful 
synthesis of human thought with Christian teaching when science 
was in its infancy, will secure a like success today, when science has 
multiplied its findings a hundredfold, if it be sincerely and zealously 


* * * * 

P PEAKING of the master of scholastic philosophy, St. Thomas 
C) Aquinas, Leo XIII. wrote : " Philosophy has no part which he did 
not touch finely at once and thoroughly ; on the laws of reasoning, on 
God and incorporeal substances, on man and other sensible things, on 
human actions and their principles, he reasoned in such a manner 
that in him there is wanting neither a full array of questions, nor an 
apt disposal of the various parts, nor the best method of proceeding, 
nor soundness of principles, nor strength of argument, nor clearness 


and elegance of style, nor a facility for explaining what is ab- 

r< The Angelic Doctor pushed his philosophic conclusions into the 
reasons and principles of the things which are most comprehensive, and 
contain in their bosom, so to say, the seeds of almost infinite truths, 
to be unfolded in good time by later masters and with a goodly yield. 

Clearly distinguishing reason from faith, he both preserved the 

rights and had regard for the dignity of each: so much so, indeed, 
that reason borne on the wings of Thomas to its human height can 
scarcely rise higher ; while faith could scarcely expect more or stronger 
aids from reason than those which she has already obtained through 

* * * * 

MODERN science has changed and extended the subject matter of 
the problem. It has ransacked every department of human knowl- 
edge, it has specialized in a thousand ways, created languages of its 
own, and the synthetic philosopher must be a master of erudition, 
but if the complete problem of synthesis is ever to be marked out, 
it must be achieved on the lines and the principles of scholastic 
philosophy. The same Encyclical says : "Nor will the physical sciences, 
which are now in such great repute, and by the renown of so many 
inventions, draw such universal admiration to themselves, suffer detri- 
ment, but find very great assistance in the reestablishment of the 
ancient philosophy. For the investigation of facts and the contem- 
plation of nature is not alone sufficient for their profitable exercise 
and advance; but when facts have been established it is necessary 
to rise and apply ourselves to the study of nature of corporeal things, 
to inquire into the laws which govern them and the principles whence 
their order and varied unity and mutual attraction in diversity arise. 
To such investigations it is wonderful what force and light and aid 
the scholastic philosophy, if judiciously taught, would bring." 

* * * . * 

THIS work of synthesis, of unifying the whole thought and life 
of man, is an absolutely necessary labor. For assuming " that man 
is a religious being, there can be no hard and fast separation between 
his religious thought and his secular; and assuming, further, that 
the Catholic Church is the supreme authoritative witness to the 
religious life, it follows that the ultimate synthesis of thought uni- 
versally considered must be a Catholic synthesis, and find its place 
in the Catholic Church. Outside the Church and apart from the 
Catholic Faith, any attempted synthesis of human thought must fall 
short of the entire truth of human life. That was the idea under- 
lying the mediaeval conception of theology as comprising all the sciences, 
and of the institutional Church as the home of all the arts of 



civilization; and it was the idea which fired the imagination of 
Wilfrid Ward and determined him in his advocacy of Newman's 
theory of development. In the great truth which the mediaeval Church 
endeavored to realize, he saw the working principle for that Catholic 
synthesis of thought which will bring together the historical Christian 
Church and the modern world." 

WE are at present far from it, as Father Cuthbert says : " Far 
from that synthesis of Catholic traditional teaching and modern 
scientific and critical thought which will, as Wilfrid Ward believed, 
reproduce the achievement of the great mediaeval synthesis of the 
schoolmen of the thirteenth century. But, undoubtedly, forces are 
at work quietly and patiently which will eventually result in such an 

" Two processes have been and still are at work. Catholics are 
becoming more conscious of their mission to be the final arbitrators 
of the intellectual and social religious problems of the modern world ; 
and in consequence are facing these problems with an awakened inter- 
est and more open-eyed activity an activity impossible whilst they 
stood aloof from the world beyond themselves or in an attitude of 
mere defence against innovation. History proves that, with the Catho- 
lic body, to be awake is to conquer. 

" The other process is the increasing respect, due to a better 
mutual understanding, with which the position of the Church is re- 
garded by those who differ from her beliefs and claims. Much has 
yet to be done before Catholicism will again be in the position it held 
in the golden period of the Middle Ages as the synthesis of the 
unchanging Christian Faith and the achievements of the human spirit 
in philosophy and art, in social life and political ideals. But when that 
day comes Wilfrid Ward will be given no mean place amongst the 
prophets of the dawn." 

THE greatness of the task and the magnitude of the vision may 
lead the average Catholic who has never sat in college or uni- 
versity hall to comfort himelf with the assurance that it is none of his 
care; that such gigantic and scholarly work must be left to those 
able to carry it on. 

Yet a little thought will show such a one that the task gigantic 
as it is and for that very reason is one in which we must all share 
if it is ever to be achieved. 

We can at least be interested in learning not in a far-off theor- 
etical fashion that bears no fruit but in a practical way one of the 


vast army which in a thousand ways will secure the winning of 
the goal. We can interest ourselves in our Catholic schools; our 
Catholic colleges; our Catholic universities. We can give of our 
means for their support. If we have not attended them ourselves, 
we must remember that they and they alone can bring forth the 
scholars who are to do this most necessary work for the wider victory 
of the truth of God. We can make personal sacrifice, instill our chil- 
dren with a desire for higher education, and send them to higher 
Catholic institutions of learning. We can acquaint ourselves with 
the achievements, aims, needs of our institutions of learning; talk 
of them to our friends, interest others, and thus in our measure push 
forward the work of winning the world to Christ. 

MORE than this, the personal service of the mind is not only of 
supreme importance in the missionary work of the Church, but it 
is of divine obligation a thing which we are all too prone to forget. 
" Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole mind " are the 
direct words of our Blessed Lord Himself. 

That love can be expressed only through created things we must 
love the things of knowledge we must love to know God better; 
to know His Divine Son Whom He hath sent; to know God in the 
world and the work and the problems which as children of God and 
brothers of Christ it is incumbent upon us to bear. 

* * * * 

EACH one of us is the interpreter to one, most of us the interpreter 
to many, of the Catholic Faith and therefore of the truth of 
Christ. To the modern world not only must our life be morally 
above blame, but the expression of our faith and the reason for it 
must be intelligent. To those who look for enlightenment; to those 
harassed and depressed by modern problems, we should be able to give 
a sympathetic ear and an intelligent answer. We should be more and 
more conscious of our mission as Catholics to be " the final arbitra- 
tors of the intellectual and social religious problems of the modern 

Upon each one of us falls more or less but surely some part 
of that burden. If we accept our part we advance, just so far, the cause 
of God and the salvation of souls. But we can never fulfill it unless we 
in some measure faithfully interest ourselves through our intellect 
in Catholic truth in the definite dogmatic teachings of our faith; 
their meaning; their application to modern problems; in a deeper 
knowledge of Sacred Scripture and the Life of our Blessed Lord; 
in the vast devotional literature of the Church; in a knowledge of 
Church History, and in a knowledge of the problems that confront 


the whole of society today, and the great eternal Christian principles 
of social justice and of social charity which are their sole solutions. 

To neglect this duty because it means something of self-discipline 
and self-sacrifice is to prove ourselves only half-hearted servants in 
the house of God; to abide by it is to prove through our zeal and 
our love that we long for the extension of His kingdom upon earth. 

1PREQUENTLY in special articles THE CATHOLIC WORLD has 
1 pointed out how the Anglican Church is ruled by, and subject to, 
the government of England. It is not, and has never been, in- 
dependent of the State. It is a creature of the State, and its claim 
to be an integral part of the true Church of Christ has not even 
the semblance of warrant. 

Anglicans will, of course, strenuously deny this: they have re- 
peatedly and officially asserted the independence of their Church, but 
assertion does not make it so. And the strongest sort of evidence 
that Anglicans of all shades of opinion are eager to lift from their 
Church the odium of State ownership and State control, is furnished 
by the plans recently set forth by their Representative Church Council. 

SOME time ago the Representative Council the most compre- 
hensive and authoritative in the Anglican Church requested the 
Archbishops of Canterbury and York to appoint a Committee " to 
inquire what changes are advisable in order to secure in the relations 
of Church and State a fuller expression of the spiritual independence 
of the Church as well as of the National recognition of religion." 

The Committee was appointed and has made its report. In the 
words of the report itself, its members " represent all shades of 
opinion in the Anglican Church." 

We are indebted to an article by Father Sydney F. Smith, S J., 
in the August Month for a synopsis of the report. 

* # * * 

IN the process of securing larger autonomy for their Church, the 
report proposes that " the Representative Church Council (re- 
formed as the report itself prescribes and under the title of the 
Church Council) shall receive statutory recognition and be given 
real legislative powers in Church matters, subject to a Parliamentary 

With regard to the constitution of this Church Council we need 
not enter into detail. It is an endeavor to bring together representa- 
tives of all classes, ecclesiastical and lay, of the Anglican Church. 
As to the distinct functions, rights, powers, responsibilities of the 


different councils and conferences the report is not definite. Its aim 
is simply to create the Church Council to which all other councils 
shall be subject, and to secure for this general governing body a 
wide enabling charter. When such a statutory position is won, it will 
be for the Church Council to apportion the powers and the duties. 
One of its first works, as Father Smith says, will undoubtedly be " the 

revision or reconstruction of the Church Courts to make them 

better adapted to Anglican sentiment, which grows increasingly resent- 
ful of a practice under which questions of spiritual jurisdiction and 
even of sound doctrine are decided by secular judges seated in 
purely secular cpurts, and guiding themselves by purely secular prin- 

The report, moreover, reserves to the House of Bishops " matters 
considered to be the prerogative of their order." Nor does it " belong 
to the functions of the Council to issue any statement purporting to 
declare the doctrine of the Church on any question of theology." 

* * * * 

THE endeavor of the Anglican Church to free itself from State 
control is admirable. The report is skillfully drawn. But the 
difficulty will be for Anglicans to have this Enabling Bill for the 
Church Council passed by Parliament. Father Smith thinks it will 
be almost impossible. " Fancy," he says, " the opposition which will 
be aroused in the hearts of the private patrons of livings at the pros- 
pect of their vested right being destroyed or endangered by the right 
of objecting to their nominees which is to be claimed for the Parochial 
Councils. Fancy, too, the opposition on behalf of the Crown which 
will be aroused by the provision which takes from it the right of 

appointment to bishoprics and other dignities It is doubtful 

whether Prime Ministers generally will contemplate with readiness the 

loss of so much valuable patronage And then there would be 

the party which clamors for Disestablishment and Disendowment, 
who would be sure to use the opportunity to press their demand, or 
at least to fight to the bitter end, against a measure which would tend 
to delay the attainment of their ideal." 

And the further and greater peril comes after the Bill has been 
enacted into law. " It might work in a communion, the members of 
which are in substantial agreement on all questions of fundamental 
principle, but how will it work in view of the very deep cleavage, or 
rather cleavages, of opinion among Anglican churchmen as they 

now are? 

* * * * 

TX) show how fettered the Anglican Church is, even in spiritual 

1 matters, we need but review the words of Bishop Gore : "If the 

Church of England is to claim a liberty of spiritual action similar 



to that exercised by the early Church or such as is suggested in the 
New Testament, it would include at least the following points : 

" First. Liberty of administration such as would admit of the 
establishment of fresh bishoprics, and if necessary of fresh provinces, 
and the reform of the system for representation of the clergy and 
laity in Church Councils or assemblies. 

" Second. Either the election of bishops by the laity and clergy 
of the Church, or at least some franker and fuller recognition of 
the right of the Church to refuse a bishop nominated by the Crown. 

" Third. Liberty to revise doctrinal standards, standards of 
discipline, and rites, and ceremonies. 

" Fourth. Liberty to exercise discipline over its members, de- 
termining, e. g., questions of orthodoxy in courts of its own, and 
determining also who is to be admitted to the sacraments." 

THE Liverpool Catholic Times and Opinion tells us that the signs 
which portend the establishment of an Irish Parliament have be- 
come more numerous of late, and one of the most remarkable of them 
is the conversion of Lord Derby. Indeed, since his speech last 
August, this journal says there are few in England who imagine it is 
possible to prevent the concession of self-government to Ireland. 

In this speech Lord Derby said : " The Bill is on the statute- 
book, and I do not think you will have a man to fight for wiping it 
off. Therefore, I ask you whether we cannot now arrange some terms 
which will be acceptable to both parties." Few men, according to this 
well-informed journal, have a better knowledge of the views of the 
English people; few more alive than he to the trend of popular 
opinion. When he asserted that he would strongly support Sir Edward 
Carson in any other move he may make to find a solution of the 
Irish question, it may be safely assumed that a settlement is earnestly 
desired by the majority of the English people. " Perhaps, after all," 
the Liverpool Times adds, "Sir Edward is working for the best solution 
of the problem Home Rule for the whole of Ireland without the 
exclusion of any part or parts. If he is, and should succeed, he will 
prove a benefactor to Ulster as well as to the other provinces." 


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VOL. CIV. NOVEMBER, 1916. No. 620. 



ODERN .criticism of the life of Jesus reduces Him 
to a human being. It demands a portrait of the 
Saviour which shall be truly historical and truly 
human. It claims for itself the glory of representing 
the truly historical point of view; but in its notion, 
true humanity is the negation of the divinity of Jesus, and real 
historicity is above all the negation of the miraculous and the 
supernatural. Upon that supposition the life of Jesus is recon- 
structed. If one effaces the miraculous, which permeates even the 
slightest details of the life of the Saviour, then one only sets up a 
Christ of one's own fancy." 1 

These words of a famous Protestant theologian came to my 
mind after a careful reading of the recent book of Dr. Lake, en- 
titled The Stewardship of Faith. It contains a series of lectures 
given at the Lowell Institute in Boston in 1913. It is much es- 
teemed by liberal-minded or Protestant scholars. 

The purpose of Dr. Lake is to throw a new light upon the 
frame of mind of the earliest Christianity, or, rather, upon the 
clashing of the various and conflicting tendencies which shaped up 
the doctrinal patrimony of primitive Christians. According to him, 
the earliest Christianity was an attempt to translate a new message 
from terms of Jewish thought to those of the Greco-Roman world. 

*Les histoires modernes de le vie de Jesus. By Christian Ernest Luthardt. 
Paris, 1865, pp. 18, 19. 



VOL. CIV. 10 


The churches of today ought to consider seriously the necessity for 
moving in the same direction, and giving to the world a theology 
which will comply with the reasonable claims of the intelligence; 
an organization which will be capable of serving adequately the 
spiritual requirements of human souls; and an ethic which will 
satisfy both the individual and social needs of a new age, for a 
new age is coming, and it will be in light or in darkness according 
to the stewardship of faith. 

It is needless to point out that a vast programme of rehandling 
of the inheritance of Christ and of His earliest disciples is contained 
in the bold utterances of Dr. Lake. Yet his expressions, and his ten- 
dencies, have not the savor of novelty. They find an echo in the 
hearts of many searchers outside of the Catholic Church, who 
are striving to re-solve the religious problem of our age. Chris- 
tianity, they say, is at the crossroads; a tragical fate is impending 
over the institutional churches ; the divine aureole of Jesus vanishes 
away in the mists raised by the objections of impartial scientists. 
That Christianity is at the crossroads was asserted by Tyrrell in a 
famous little book which heralded the necessity of freeing the 
Catholic Church from its mediaeval dross. If I am not mistaken, 
Dr. Lake goes a step further : he would like to banish Christ 
Himself from the Christian world. He is seemingly Christian, 
at least in his anxious disquietude concerning the critical standing 
of modern Christianity. It is in the fear of an approaching catas- 
trophe that he raises up his voice, and for want of something 
better he is eager to set fire to the luxuriant vegetation of the tra- 
ditional Christian thought. At times his apprehensions are so ex- 
aggerated that I feel the desire to whisper in his ear the reproach- 
ing words of Our Lord : " O thou of little faith, why didst thou 
doubt?" 2 for, in my opinion, the pessimistic views about the fu- 
ture of Christianity are very often the sad results of a failure of 
faith. In many pages of his book, Dr. Lake lays stress upon the 
growing decadence of the Christian spirit in the world. The 
historical Christ and His institutional churches have long since lost 
their influence upon the rulers of nations, and the summits of learn- 
ing. Even the lower strata of modern society are shaking off 
His yoke. Christianity is a huge organism possessed of a somno- 
lent life. It is doomed to an inglorious death unless it revises its 
creed, promulgates a new code of morals, educates a new ministry. 
It is not enough, he says, that the Church should alter the funda- 

'Matt. xiv. 31. 


mental and substantial grounds of its life of today; its evolution 
ought to be complete, radical; the realization, it might be said, of 
the old scholastic maxim: corruptio unius, generatio alterius. The 
effete Christianity of the past is on the verge of ruin. Modern 
generations of men are no longer within its grasp. Forced along 
by new conceptions of life, and by new trends of mind, they are 
gazing at new luminous horizons to re-solve the problem of God 
on earth and of human destinies. 

The views of Dr. Lake are also at times not in accordance with 
the facts and the experience of the history of the past. One may ob- 
ject that the so-called Catholic Christianity is even in our day far 
from writing the last pages of its long-lived existence. The Catholic 
Church, the backbone of the Christian world, to quote an expres- 
sion of an Anglican divine, Dr. Lilley, has not reached as yet that 
state of inanition which worries so much the modern surgeons 
of crippled Christianity. The word of Christ preached by His 
ministry does not cease resounding in millions of souls who vie 
with earliest Christians in their unalterable devotion to Our Lord, in 
the firmness of their adhesion to His teaching, in their unshakable 
profession of the divinity of Christ. Such considerations, how- 
ever, we are leaving out of sight for the present. 

We are ready to recognize the perfect acquaintance of Dr. 
Lake with the literary documents of the apostolic age. He is known 
throughout Europe as a prominent Hellenist, and a master of the 
interpretation of Pauline thought. But it cannot be denied that 
ofttimes the best .intelligences are led astray by the spirft of sys- 
tem, by their futile attempts to build upon hypothetical grounds 
a thesis which cannot be considered as the logical inference from 
well-established facts. And we regret to say that the main posi- 
tion of The Stewardship of Faith is at variance with the testi- 
monies of the earliest history of Christianity. No doubt the 
scholarship of the writer flashes here and there in some pages, in 
some chapters, of his interesting volume. When he loses sight of 
the main theme of his book, his point of view is at times genial, 
,and leads to thought. But when he sets himself to the task of 
altering the native beauty of the face of the historical Christ, and 
the frame of the earliest Church, his critical taste veers in a false 

Some theories of Dr. Lake are a matter of surprise even to 
those who have the laudable desire not to be bigoted or narrow. 
We learn from him that the Christian faith is not the finest flower 


culled from the lips of Christ, the truth repealed by the Son of 
God in the fullness of time, the rescue of man from the dark- 
ness of mind. Christianity is, in fact, the culminating evolution of 
Judaistic thought, which was intensely monotheistic, and intensely 
moral. Imbued with the spirit of Judaism, Jesus- Christ is 
a pessimistic seer of a great and impending catastrophe of 
the world. His teaching is the suggested combination of an 
eschatological expectation of the kingdom with a world-renouncing 
ethic. He Himself knew not that He was the Son of God, the 
promised Messiah; He never claimed the divine Sonship. His 
Messianic character did not appear to His Apostles. His death 
was the sanguinary close of an economical struggle. It was the 
result of a plot organized by the haute finance of the Jewish priest- 
hood. " It seems to me," he writes, " that financial interests rather 
than theological hatred was the real cause of the accusation of the 
priests, though they dressed* it up in a partly political, partly re- 
ligious form." No wonder, then, if primitive Christians refrained 
from adoring Christ as the Son of God and a partaker of His 
divine nature. The recognition of His divinity followed His death 
and the spreading of His teaching throughout the Roman world. 

A reader of the Gospels will find that the hypothetical utter- 
ances of Dr. Lake are not in harmony with the clear statements 
of the New Testament, and the traditional views of both Catholi- 
cism and Protestantism. But, according to Dr. Lake's scholarship, 
but slight heed is to be paid to the value of the records of past gen- 
erations, and the Gospels are to be regarded as .forgeries of a later 
period of evolving Christianity and of enthusiastic admirers of the 
Nazarene. A true acquaintance with Christ and His aims, he main- 
tains, is to be drawn from the rarest documents of the so-called vul- 
gar Christianity, which ignored the belief in the divinity of Jesus. 
The earliest Christians of Jerusalem were monotheistic in the strict- 
est sense of the word. The lordship of Christ was the product of 
Hellenic influences upon the rudimentary beliefs of Jews converted 
to the teaching of the Gospels. In rushing into the 'Roman world, 
in overleaping the boundaries of Jewish nationalism, Christianity 
understood that it would have to change its doctrine, its constitu- 
tion, its methods, its mission to gain its moral victory. The Church 
did not triumph, writes Dr. Lake, because it preserved its theology, 
its ethics, and its institutions unchanged, but because it changed 
them all, and changed them rapidly in order that they might ex- 
press more adequately and more fully the spiritual life which re- 


mained the same, though the forms with which it was clothed were 
altering with extraordinary rapidity. It sacrificed the identity of 
expression to preserve the unity of experience under changed sur- 
roundings. In like manner, the Christianity of today ought to 
renounce some of its obsolete forms of expression, and divest itself 
of antiquated habits of mind which trammel its steps. The Church 
must rejuvenate her soul and blot out that air of decrepitude which 
sets against her the friends of spiritual progress, the pioneers of a 
better age of mankind. 

We have pointed out the fundamental thoughts of a book 
which attempts to revise Christianity and to dress her in the 
newest fashion of mind. We do not intend to take up and discuss 
them or to show that even the soundest erudition is not able to 
corroborate theories which are the expression of a free individual 
speculation, rather than the logical inferences of impartial re- 
searches in the field of the history of Christianity. We agree partly 
with Dr. Lake when he says : " The necessary condition for in- 
tellectual improvement in any society is the permission to discuss, 
and the recognition of the principle that the less cannot judge the 
greater." So by virtue of the principles announced by the writer 
himself we have the right to oppose opinions which pose as argu- 
ments, and which vainly attempt to destroy solid convictions by 
hypothetical suggestions. Many expressions from the pen of Dr. 
Lake confirm our statements. His Christology is filled with doubt- 
ful locutions, such as the following : " We cannot suppose ; it is im- 
probable; it is not impossible; probably; St. Luke was probably 
wrong ; it seems ; it is not surprising ; it was possible ; it was emi- 
nently possible," etc. 

Now an historical truth, or a truth which many centuries long 
has been considered as historical by the greatest geniuses of 
Christianity, cannot be uprooted by mere hypothesis. Christ be- 
longs to history. More than that, He is the central figure of the 
history of Christian heroism and Christian civilization. Whimsical 
vagaries cannot reduce Him to a passing cloud on the highest hori- 
zons of the human race. The touching and grand episodes of His 
life, the fascination of His heart vibrating in full harmony with 
the will of the Father, His divine influence springing up at every step 
of His mission of suffering, shine in their inextinguishable bright- 
ness and splendor in the slightest word of the evangelical records. 

The wide movement produced in the Roman world, and beyond 
its frontiers, by the spread of Christian teaching, by the irresistible 


conquest of Christ is not to be judged by the pale beams of docu- 
ments which reflect the candid ignorance of the so-called unin- 
structed Christianity. We ought to go back to the authentic sources 
of Christian history and doctrine; to hear the voice of those who 
in every century of the life of Christianity have been venerated 
and hallowed as the earliest and most learned teachers of the doc- 
trine of Christ, as the earliest and sincerest witnesses of His divine 
mission. It is our deeply rooted conviction that, according to the 
rules of a sound critical taste, we are bound not to give to the 
Pastor of Hermas or to the Epistle of Barnabas a greater historical 
value than to the Gospels, or to the Acts of the Apostles, or to 
the Epistles of Clement of Rome, of Ignatius of Antioch, of Poly- 
carp of Smyrna. The Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles are the 
historical documents of the earliest Christianity; they are such in 
the fullest sense of the word, and the simplicity of their style 
and their narratives, their wonderful accord in the culminating facts 
of the life of Christ, their unquestioned authority among Christians 
of the primitive Church, give to them the right to be looked upon 
in no different wise from that of the most authoritative records of 
past centuries. The value of the Koran as an authentic source 
of the history of the life of Mohammed, and as the unmistakable 
legacy of his religious conceptions, is in no wise doubted by modern 
scholarship. Why, then, should doubts be entertained with regard 
to the testimonies of the evangelical records, whose authenticity 
and credibility are strongly asserted and convincingly demonstrated 
even in Protestant handbooks of introduction to the New Testa- 
ment ? 

By reading the Gospels the eyes of our minds open wide to 
contemplate in His divine and Messianic light the face of Christ. 
It is said that He was stripped of a Messianic consciousness; that 
He ignored His divine Sonship, that His redeeming mission was 
a secret revealed by Him to a small circle of disciples who di- 
vulged it after His death. It cannot be denied, however, that 
Jesus Christ imposed silence on the gainsayer of His divinity by 
arguments which have not lost their probative force even in our 
days. He appealed to the testimony of His works. To the Jews 
coming round about Him He answered : "I speak to you, and you 
believe not: the works that I do in the name of My Father, they 
give testimony of Me." 3 The works of Christ, indeed, the marvels 
of His life, and of His spiritual influence in His Church point 

John x. 25. 


out, bring into the fullest and clearest manifestation, the glory 
of His divinity. The value of that argument, which cannot be 
rejected without violating the fundamental rules of human thought, 
did not escape His earliest followers. The divinity of Christ was 
not veiled by the darkness of mystery; it was not a secret con- 
fided to a little handful of ignorant men. It was as a beam of the 
radiating sun which pierces the clouds. The man blind from his 
birth, after his healing, cries to Him : " I believe, Lord : I believe 
that Thou art the Son of God." And falling down He adored Him. 
The works of Christ gave testimony to His divine power. By them 
He manifested Himself as living by the Father, as sent by the 
Father, as sowing the words of eternal life, as preaching a doctrine 
which was not His own, but of His Father : He raises His voice to 
proclaim His divinity when His hour has arrived. When the High 
Priest said to Him : " I adjure thee by the living God, that Thou 
tell us if Thou be the Christ the Son of God," He answered with 
the decided simplicity of truth: " Thou hast said it." 4 Economical 
reasons did not interfere in the trial of Jesus. The Jewish priest- 
hood was thirsty for His blood, for they detested His doctrine, 
they hated in Him the blasphemer of their God. The very simple 
life and the very small number of the earliest disciples of Christ 
did not render the Jewish priesthood suspicious that a new insti- 
tution would rise up which would threaten their financial monopoly. 
We maintain that the historical Christ, and by this qualifi- 
cation the Christ of the Gospels is alluded to, cannot be conceived 
otherwise than God, or coming from God. We believe in the his- 
torical truth of the Gospels. The Gospels are not romances which 
purpose to set diamonds in the crown of a mythical hero. Viewed 
from a human point of view, the evangelical writers are men to 
be trusted ; they are neither fabulists, nor dealers in venal praises, 
nor novelists with an unbridled imagination. They are honest, 
loyal historians who narrate what they have drawn out from au- 
thentic sources, what they have heard, what they have seen with 
their eyes, what they have looked upon, what their hands have 
handled of the Word of Life. They write with an unsurpassed 
simplicity and frankness which fascinate and conquer the coldest 
hearts, and even in their apparent conflict of historical details 
they clearly show that they are not enslaved to any faction, that 
they are not the adepts of a plot to make of Jesus the spiritual 
ruler of the world. 

4 Matt. xxvi. 63, 64. 


The solemn affirmations of the divinity of Christ and His 
Messianic consciousness are so often repeated in the narratives 
of the Gospels, that to push them aside we are forced either to 
lower them to the level of the romances of chivalry of the Middle 
Ages, or to range the Saviour amongst maniacal and demented 
religious imposters. Alas ! we meet in our days with sacrilegious 
biographers of Jesus who dare to submit the most perfect of men 
to a psychiatrical diagnosis. They efface even that sublimity 
of character, of desires, of wisdom which shine forth in the human 
nature of Christ, and which have lifted Him above all the thinkers, 
the masters, the wise of every century and of every nation. Under 
their pen, Jesus Christ, the consoler and transformer of souls, as- 
sumes the appearance of an insane person who communicated to 
unlearned disciples His religious folly ! 5 

With regard to the divinity of Christ and the divine inspiration 
of the Gospels, there is no sincerely Christian soul that does not 
feel the touching expression of truth contained in a famous passage 
of Jean- Jacques Rousseau, whose testimony is beyond all suspicion 
of religious preconceived opinions : " I will confess that the purity 
of the Gospel has its influence on my heart. Is it possible that 
a book at once so simple and sublime should be merely the work of 
man? Is it possible that the sacred personage, whose history 
it contains, should be Himself a mere man? Do we find that He 
assumed the air of an enthusiast or ambitious sectary? What 
sweetness, what purity in His manners! What an affecting grace- 
fulness in His delivery ! What sublimity in His maxims ! What 
profound wisdom in His discourses ! What presence of mind, what 
subtlety, what truth in His replies ! How- great the command over 
His passions ! Where is the man, where the philosopher, who could 
so live and so die without weakness and without ostentation ! Yes, 
if the life and death of Socrates are those of a sage, the life 
and death of Jesus are those of a God ! Shall we suppose the 
evangelical history a mere fiction? Indeed, my friend, it bears 
not the marks of a fiction; on the contrary, the history of Soc- 
rates, which nobody presumes to doubt, is not so well attested 
as that of Jesus Christ. Such a supposition in fact shifts the 
difficulty without removing it; it is more inconceivable that a 
number of persons should agree to write such a history, than that 

5 We allude here to the recent and sacrilegious book of a French Doctor, Binet- 
Sangle: La folie de Jesus, ses facultes intellectuelles, ses sentiments, son proces. 
Paris, 1910-1915. Four volumes. The book may be looked upon as the extreme 
logical outcome of the denial of the divinity of Jesus Christ. 


one only should furnish the subject of it. The Jewish authors 
were incapable of the diction, and strangers to the morality con- 
tained in the Gospel; the marks of whose truth are so striking 
and inimitable that the inventor would be a more astonishing 
character than the hero." 6 

But the Gospels are not purely historical documents. To men 
who boast of being Christian and of applying the rules of Christ 
in their practical life, the Gospels are something higher than 
the literary products of human writers. They bear the clear im- 
print, the stamp of Godhead. Their words reverberate in our 
souls as the echo of the voice of God, as the powerful accents 
of men writing under the guidance of the Spirit Who teaches the 
truth. As yet the traditional Protestantism has agreed with Catholi- 
cism and orthodoxy in recognizing the New Testament as the true 
expression of the highest truths revealed by God. Hence it follows 
that the criticism of Dr. Lake goes farther away from the boun- 
daries fixed by- Protestant theology. Protestantism, to use its 
own language, treads the stage of the Christian world as a legitimate 
rebellion against the all-mastering spirit of Roman theocracy, 
against the blind despotism of religious authority. It marks, ac- 
cording to its historians, a coming back to the purest wellsprings of 
genuine Christianity. By its impulse the Bible became the supreme, 
the only norm of faith, the sanctuary of revealed truths, the unique 
voice of the Holy Spirit teaching within the Church of Christ. 

From this it follows that he who repudiates the data of the 
Gospels concerning the Person of Christ, rejects altogether the 
main doctrinal position which confers upon Protestantism Christian 
citizenship. If the Christian faith is the outcome of the evolution 
of Jewish speculation brought into contact with that of Rome, 
the Gospels are no longer the ethical and religious code of Chris- 
tianity, or rather Christianity is not a religion taught, established 
and formulated by Christ. It is merely a tendency of the in- 
stinctive religious spirit of man, a tendency which develops itself, 
and assumes various forms and inner contents according to the 
individual religious experiences. In other words, Christianity is 
deprived of that character of stability which lies at the bottom 
of the works of God. It is a religion, so to speak, fluctuating; the 
ceaselessly passing and repassing wave in the stormy ocean of 
changing human opinions. It is Christianity without Christ: the 
most chaotic form of religious individualism. 

^EmitiM, or a Treatise of Education. Book IV. 


At the very moment of its clashing with the Roman world, Dr. 
Lake says Christianity was at the crossroads. In our age it stands 
absolutely in the same position, facing the same danger of being 
submerged by the storming waves of modern religious thought. 
No doubt the first statement of Dr. Lake contains a share of 
truth. His conclusion, however, is not based upon the past ex- 
perience of the life of Christianity. 

The historical past of the Church will tell us that once and 
again the divinely-instituted Catholic Church has been at the 
crossroads, in the utmost danger of being wiped out of the 
world by the increasing hosts of her enemies. Yet she has never 
doubted the conquering power of her divine Master. In our opinion 
the greatest danger with which the Church has met was not at the 
time of her onslaught against the Roman world. She was then in 
her flowering youth, in the fullest possession of her spiritual 
energies in the highest pitch of her religious enthusiasm. She 
had the indomitable will of conquering, and she conquered too. 
The last hour of her life seemed to have come in the fourth century 
when Arianism had spread all the world over, when, to quote a 
saying of a Father of the Church, in its awakening from the night- 
mare of heresy, the Christian world became aware of being Arian. 
By denying the divinity of Christ, Arianism gnawed at the vital 
organs of the Church of Christ, and the condition of the Christian 
world was becoming worse through the desperate, although fu- 
tile, attempts of Neoplatonic thinkers to master the cultivated 
minds of the decaying Roman empire by the spell of a naturalistic 
and philosophical worship of Deity. The conflict between Chris- 
tianity and science raged more intensely in the fourth than in the 
nineteenth century, and philosophy would have been able, far more 
successfully than natural science was able later, to crush and bury 
Christianity, if Christianity had been a translated message of Jewish 
pessimism to the Greco-Roman world. Yet, the heresy of Arius 
was exploded, and the central dogma of Christian faith, the divinity 
of Christ, rooted itself in the deepest recesses of Christian hearts. 
The Church conquered without being false to ber mission, without 
ever lessening or weakening her message, received not through 
Jews, but through Christ Himself and His disciples. She conquered 
against the sowers of heresies, and against the all-powerful violences 
of the Csesars who had been won over to the cause of Arianism. 

And this triumph in defence of the faith did not end her 
struggles. She stood, if you please to word it so, at the crossroads, 


in the trying period of barbaric invasion ; in the epic conflict with 
the despotism and usurpation of the Teutonic Caesars ; in the sudden 
outbreak of the Lutheran rebellion; in the orgy of the French 
Revolution. She stood and stands invincible, whether amidst civil 
or foreign wars ; whether assailed by spiritual or national weapons ; 
whether attacked by the representatives of learning or the agencies 
of political power. It may be said that war is the condition of 
her daily life, that final victory is the outcome of her bloody con- 
flicts, that a more vigorous health is the result of her bleeding 

To-day we. are witnessing far-reaching attempts to expel 
Christ not only from His sanctuary, but from the whole field 
of man's history, to reduce Him to an imponderable spirit, 
floating over the religious consciousness of mankind, emptied of all 
meaning and of all personal life. The remodelers of a " scien- 
tific " Christianity are forging a cloudy Christ, a Christ inexplicable 
to Himself and to man, a Christ Who did not know the doctrine 
of which He is held to be the teacher, a Christ Who, without 
being conscious of His divine nature, raised up an immense host 
of adorers of Himself as the Son of God, true God of true God. 
To see how such rebuilders alter every traditional feature and as- 
pect of the dogmatic, ethical and constitutional life of Christianity, 
it is but necessary to glance at her history and to ask ourselves why 
the Catholic Church whenever she stood at the crossroads failed 
not to follow the glorious paths of victory? The secret of her cor- 
rect choice, of her endurance amid the storms of men and nations 
is precisely her doctrinal, ethical and hierarchical immobility. At 
the dawn of the Church of Christ, Christian Jews of Palestine, Jews 
of the diaspora, Christians of Rome and of Greece, shed their 
purest blood for the defence of the same faith, adhered to the same 
creed, preserved the same hierarchical organization. The Church 
survived the tempest of pagan persecutions, and rooted herself in 
the soil of the Roman empire, not by drifting in the wake of the 
Greco-Roman thought, but by opposing it and mastering it with all 
the strength of her conquering youth. Dogmatic intolerance rather 
than doctrinal elasticity was the main feature of the earliest Chris- 
tianity. The saying of St. Paul: " Brethren, stand fast; and hold 
the traditions which you have learned, whether by word, or by our 
epistle" 7 marks out the line of conduct of the earliest Christians. 
They preferred to die with a Christ overpowering their souls with 

T 2 Thess. ii. 14- 


the glory of Deity than to save their lives by stripping from His 
brow His divine aureole. They could have ranked Him among the 
idols of the deified men of the Greco-Roman pantheon; but they 
persevered in adoring Him as God in the midst of the sarcasms of 
pagan thinkers, as Celsus and Lucian, or of the vilifying contempt 
of Roman historians as Tacitus, or of the exqidsitissima supplicia 
of Nero and Diocletian. It is that inflexibility of belief, that in- 
vincible opposition to every change of her doctrinal inheritance, 
which prevented Christianity from meeting the speedy fate of 
Neoplatonism. The belief in the divinity of Christ, as it is written 
in the Gospel records, rendered it impossible that Christianity 
should be moulded according to the forms of Roman thought. The 
same unchanging belief lies at the roots of the perpetual survival of 
Christianity in the midst of the ceaseless crumbling of old and new 
institutions. The marvelous vitality of the Catholic Church, inex- 
plicable on merely human grounds, is the result of her faithful 
guardianship of this foundation stone of Christian faith, the true 
divinity and the true humanity of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus 

The decaying vitality of Protestantism and the process of its 
dismemberment, come from the gradual extinguishing of that bea- 
con light of Christian truth. With the decline of its belief in the 
divinity of Christ, its apostolic energies are growing weaker, its 
influence upon souls is lessening, its creed is vanishing in a cloud 
of metaphysical vagaries or of barren negations. 

To us Catholics the future of Christianity is by no means a 
hopeless one. We do not close our eyes to the dangers which 
threaten its beneficent work among men, but we are firmly convinced 
that the Church, according to Christ's word, which history has 
again and again confirmed, will go on her way, working, toiling, 
leading countless souls to God. Her work is the work of God; 
and no shock, political or intellectual or moral, born of the for- 
getfulness or the denial of mankind, can cause a divine building 
to fall. We hold fast to her teachings, and when the ceaseless war 
waged against her old beliefs strikes us with sorrow and dismay, 
we look through the centuries to her trials and her sorrows ; to her 
victories and her triumphs; to her endless list of heroic men and 
women, saints and martyrs, and then we realize still more deeply 
the wondrous beauty and power of those words of Monsabre 
on the divinity of Our Lord : " Men, women, virgins, chil- 
dren, priests, kings, philosophers, soldiers, workers, enormous 


heaps of slain members, of bleeding corpses, who are you? 
We are the embodiment of Christian heroism. The world re- 
fused to credit either our words or our virtues. We forced then 
our blood to speak in the stead of our lips, and our blood, gushing 
out of our wounds, reddened the face of the world, while we 
launched against it our supreme profession of faith: Credo. If 
I am not void of common sense, if I am possessed of a human 
heart, I dare not stifle the voice of so many Christian peoples, and 
centuries, and doctors, and saints, and apostles, and martyrs, say- 
ing to them : 'Go on, pass away, I do not believe your testimonies. 
The isolated murmur of my reason suffices for my self -teaching/ 
No, that cry of pride is not the expression of truth. I perfectly 
grasp the meaning of Christian faith. I cannot rise up against 
the voices of a whole world, and with peoples, with centuries, with 
geniuses, with holiness, with the spirit of abnegation and of 
heroism, with the Christian -world, I affirm the dogma of the divinity 
and the humanity of Christ, I sing in the fullness of my heart and 
voice : 'I believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord.' ' 



VEN that charity which believeth all things could not 
call modern politics a nursery of virtue. The average 
politician's aim is to make the worse appear the bet- 
ter reason, to gild self-interest with a specious ap- 
pearance of patriotism, and in general to make friends 
with the mammon of iniquity, so that when the electors fail a 
substantial bank account or a generous salary may guarantee him 
a safe dwelling. In the pleasant land of make-believe where poli- 
ticians love to linger, the rigid standards of work-a-day honor are 
relaxed ; bluff and brag are the watchwof ds ; and the coming leader 
is he who dabbles opportunely in every new fad, who worships 
assiduously the idola tribus, fori, populi, who trims his sails to 
every breeze and is not nicely scrupulous as to methods. " You 
do not know, my son, with what little wisdom men are governed " 
(nescis, mi fill, quantilla prudentia homines regantur), wrote the 
Swedish chancellor Oxenstiern to his son. , Nor is the sum of 
wisdom greater in the twentieth century than it was in the seven- 

Still the names of many may be cited, who lost none of their 
young and pure enthusiasms amidst the sordid self-seeking of the 
forum. Windthorst, the organizer of the German Centrum, was a 
true Christian knight; in France, Montalembert, and but yesterday 
de Mun, were men of the purest honor; in Belgium, Auguste Beer- 
naert, de Lanshere and Van der Pseremboom were admirable 
Catholics; this last was, though a layman, of a piety that any 
religious might envy. To his place in the Chambre des Deputes 
at Brussels, he always brought his breviary, and at the close of the 
session he would go to a nearby church to read the daily office, just 
as though he were a priest and bound to do so. No wonder his 
name is still one to conjure with in Catholic Fleming land. In 
Italy, Contardo Ferrini of Milan left behind him at death the 
reputation of heroic sanctity. But of this phenomenon it must be 
said that, though he busied himself with the municipal affairs of 
his native city, yet he did not meddle with politics properly so- 
called. To Milan also belongs' the subject of the present sketch, 


Signer Filippo Meda, Minister of Finance in the Boselli Cabinet, 
unquestioned leader of the Italian Catholics, and the first of his 
creed to hold a portfolio since the establishment of the kingdom 
of Italy. 

Filippo Meda was born at Milan, January i, 1869, and like was still but a student in his teens when he succeeded in 
founding a Catholic club, whose aim and object was a literary 
apostolate in favor of Christian and religious ideals. Today the 
Gablnetto Cattolico Milanese is still flourishing, and owns a large 
building in the most coveted site of the city, the Piazza, del Duomo. 
Its founder, though barely twenty years of age at the time, began 
immediately to write, and a prodigious number of newspaper 
articles, tracts and pamphlets poured from his pen. The eldest 
born of his talent was the Foglietto Volant e, a liliputian monthly 
publication of four pages. In 1891 this was succeeded by a larger 
and more ambitious paper called the Elettore Catiolico, and almost 
simultaneously he launched his Miniature Scientific and Literary 
Library, which consisted mainly of the biographies of illustrious 
Catholics, with now and then a critical study by way of condiment 
and sauce. To this series he contributed himself the lives of 
O'Connell, Windthorst, Cardinal Lavigerie, St. Aloysius, St. Philip 
Neri and Savonarola. By writing and by word of mouth he 
labored without ceasing to propagate the ideals of our Faith; those 
golden years of youth that most young men fritter away on the 
futilities of sport or the still greater ineptitudes of society, were 
devoted by Meda to a whole-souled Christian propaganda, and his 
own picturesque description of his methods and his hopes is well 
worth perusal. 

Have you got any good newspapers, tracts, pamphlets or 
Catholic Christmas numbers ? Well, always keep some of them 
in your pocket. You go into a house? Without allowing your- 
self be noticed leave some of them in the salon, the living- 
room or the waiting room. You hire a carriage? Forget a 
few papers when you leave ; the next passenger will find them, 
or the coachman himself, and they will be read. You are travel- 
ing? Before leaving the train put some papers in the baggage 
racks, and if another train passes alongside of yours fling some 
of your papers into its open windows, someone will pick them 
up. You spend a night at an hotel ? Well, in the drawers of the 
bureau there will be always room for a paper, and your suc- 
cessor will profit by it; and do not forget either that the hotel 


has a reading-room, and there forgotten seemingly among the 
Secolos and the Figaros let a Catholic sheet finds its way. And 
then, don't you sometimes go outside the walls of your city? 
Well, let your papers fall along the wayside, put them on the 
benches in the parks, on the tables in the cafes; even though 
they reach only the hands of the ragman they may still give 
rise to a good thought or correct an idea. And let him who 
wants to laugh, laugh. Ah, if all of us young people would only 
act thus, it would very soon be seen whether we should not suc- 
ceed, willy nilly, in making our papers be read! Those who 
really act on the people have always used means which seem 
ridiculous, but which are on the contrary holy devices, noble 

To our cool, northern temperaments this may seem a little 
exaggerated perhaps the heady, effervescent enthusiasm of a 
southern boy. But how few youths of twenty in any clime are 
visited by such visions at all; and of those so blessed still fewer 
could clothe their thoughts in such striking, attractive and popular 
language. The writer of the above lines had only to continue true 
to himself in order to accomplish great achievements. 

But the young propagandist in striving to uplift his co- 
religionists did not neglect self -culture. Always an eager student 
he took his laurea degree in 1891, which corresponds, I believe, to 
our Bachelor of Arts. 1 Two years later he won his legal diploma 
at the University of Genoa. The greater part of the next three 
years he spent in the army; having obtained his discharge in 1896, 
with the rank -of non-commissioned officer, he married and opened 
a barrister's office in his native city. 

But neither family cares nor professional duties were per- 
mitted by Meda to interfere with his literary work. Indeed the 
output increased as the years brought him wider horizons of 
knowledge and riper maturity of thought. Thus he contributed 
numerous articles to the Scitola Cattolico, the official organ of the 
Theological Faculty of Milan for the past forty-four years, and 
to a Catholic review of social science called Rivistq Internationale 
di S dense Sociali. At a later period he wrote in the Rassegna 
Nazionale and the Nuova Antologia. His essays cover a wide 
range, but they invariably treat of topics that interest Catholic life, 
thought or endeavor. Thus he discourses on the career of Ozanam, 

1 The laurea requires three years' university training, and confers the right 
of teaching in college^ and high schools. 


the conversion of Brunetiere, the works of Fogazzaro, the Papacy, 
the Edict of Milan. As one would expect, the heroes of the political 
arena like Garcia Moreno, Auguste Beernaert and the Comte de 
Mun meet with large and sympathetic appreciation. A goodly 
number of these essays have been published in book form by the 
Libreria Editrice Fiorentina, under the title Nella Storia e nella 

The foregoing activities would have kept at high pressure all 
the energies of an ordinary man; they did not, however, suffice 
for Meda, who still found time to spare for notable work in 
journalism. As far back as 1890 he formed part of the staff of 
the Osservatore Cctttolico, a daily paper which since 1863 na d been 
the organ of Catholic Lombardy. As journalists he and his friends 
strove earnestly for the uplifting of the masses along the lines laid 
down in Leo XIII. 's encyclical Rerum Novarum, and they succeeded 
in forming several Catholic societies where faith and philanthropy 
worked hand in hand. But the government, frightened at the 
advances of socialism, looked askance at their endeavors; in 1898 
their paper was, I think, suppressed for a time, the editor Don 
Albertario was imprisoned, and Meda thought it best to retire to 
Parma. The storm was not long in subsiding, and some months 
later the death of Don Albertario placed Meda in the editor's chair. 
In 1907 another Catholic paper, the Lega Lombarda, joined forces 
with the Osservatore, and from their amalgamation sprung the 
Unione, of which Meda was editor for five years. The Unione 
has since become merged in the Italia, one of the publications of 
the Societa Editrice Romana, a powerful association whose aim 
is to safeguard the interests of the Church throughout the entire 

Just seven years ago in 1909 Meda was called by the votes 
of his fellow-townsmen to a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. 
His great parliamentary speech, in which he developed his ideas, 
took place April 29, 1910, in a reply to certain propositions brought 
forward by the Luzzatti cabinet. 

Without a doubt the historical changes which brought about 
the formation of Italy and produced her laws render impossible, 
and likely enough will continue to do so for long, the realization 
of a plan which we have at heart, and which we pursue as our 
objective: the plan, namely, of seeing the State of today and 
the Church, unshackled by mutual compromises and humiliating 
concessions, each Working in her own sphere by a noble and 
VOL. oV. ii 


generous collaboration to develop harmoniously her own powers 
for the conduct of mankind to a brighter and higher and 
worthier end; towards a state of things in which the upward 
flight of the human soul is no longer hindered by material needs, 
and the satisfaction of these needs does not cause forgetfulness 
of men's higher destinies. Such a conception is not the Utopia 
proned by certain mediaeval dreamers, still less is it the politico- 
religious futurism of Signer Murri: it is simply the revival of 
that Christian spirit which has conquered the world, not by 
the magic of sounds and colors, but by the preaching of that 
self-sacrifice, of that love of virtue which we maintain to be 
the essential elements of every true education whether individual 
or collective. This Christian spirit may have declined some- 
what under the pressure of material and epicurian theories of 
life, and it cries to us to strive unceasingly to endow it with 
new force, and to restore it to the honor that is its due. In 
this, honorable colleagues, and in this alone, consists what is 
called our clericalism. 

Few public men in any country would have the courage to 
make such a frankly religious pronouncement. It is worth re- 
marking that the speech won the sympathies and gained the ap- 
plause of the entire Italian parliament. For even the bitterest op- 
ponents cannot help admiring and respecting a man of firm convic- 
tions, who is not ashamed to set forth and defend his contentions 
before any and every company. This profession of political faith 
accords with the programme he had sketched for the Catholic youth 
of Italy in 1902, when he had invited them to celebrate the eight 
hundredth and twenty-sixth anniversary of Gregory VII. 's triumph 
at Canossa. 

To Canossa we shall go to seek the inspiration of memories 
which shall vivify both our -faith and our patriotism. There, 
before those very stones which saw the humiliation of a foreign 
monarch hostile to the Pope and the Italian republics, we shall 
re-assert our determination to join in an indissoluble harmony 
the destinies of our country with those of the Papacy, to work 
so that national independence and civil liberty go hand in hand 
with the independence of the Church and religious liberty. 

But though Meda is always a militant Catholic ready to insist 
on the right of his brethren, he is perfectly prepared to accord an 
unbiassed hearing to those of other creeds and give to his antag- 
onists, as we say vulgarly, a " square deal." Thus discussing the 


possibility of -a union between Catholics and liberals in the in- 
terests of their common country he writes : 

None desire more ardently than we do that the greater num- 
ber of Italian liberals, looking in the face of the situation which 
for every honest man is perfectly clear, should find the means 
of grouping themselves into a well-constituted party, whose 
platform is composed of a full and true liberty, loyal, and open 
respect for religion, and collaboration with all the healthy energies 
still at work in the constitutional camp. Such a party, un- 
trammeled by sectarian prejudices or engagements, would have 
every reason to face the country's future with confidence; for 
the Catholics, without ever abdicating their own independence 
and ideal, would certainly never refuse to march in concert 
with them to promote the great destinies of Italy. 

He goes on to say that should the liberals, overcome by the 
bugbear of clericalism, refuse to ally with the Catholics, the former 
at least would reap no advantage from the downfall of a supposed 
rival. His conclusion is, " the existence in Italy of organization on 
the part of Catholics is necessary not only for the defence of re- 
ligion, but also for the normal and progressive evolution of the life 
of the nation itself." 

No one can fail to admire the manly, straightforward tone 
of these utterances so different from the shameful abuse or the 
silly platitudes or the sonorous bunkum that generally disfigure po- 
litical discussions! To Meda his religion is infinitely precious, he 
feels that his vocation is to uphold Catholic ideals in the arena of 
public life, and that noble consciousness lends to his words an 
elevation and a penetration that no petty, personal self-seeking 
could ever bestow. Political honors have come to him unsought; 
he has never trod any of the customary roads to that goal ; at the 
most momentous epoch in history personal merit has called him to 
guide the destinies of his country. His past has been admirable, 
both a model and an incentive to all young Catholics. May Provi- 
dence grant that it blossom into a richer and more glorious future ! 



ODERN dramatists, more than modern novelists, are 
afraid to sound the Catholic note, because of the 
obvious restrictions of the stage. Every would-be 
playwright knows the difficulty of getting certain ef- 
fects across the footlights ; the point which tells when 
read aloud or even at rehearsal, may easily fall flat in the hour 
of actual production. The three walls of an auditorium have an 
atmosphere of their own; the playgoers of each night their suc- 
cessive temperature; the two may not accord. From the stage 
itself an impalpable essence wafts into space like a faint flame; 
at the barrier of the footlights it meets a cross-current which may 
check it, which may beat it back. The issues of the stage have 
deadly finality; they cannot be re-captured. In the case of litera- 
ture, a man may turn the page and re-read whatever baffled him, this 
time perhaps to grasp its meaning. But the attitude of the play- 
goer is that of a pursuer, whose quarry knows the goal, while he 
does not. He is breathless sometimes sometimes confused; he 
runs in the dark and cannot stop when he would. The modern 
Catholic writer, then, pleads in excuse for keeping back the Catholic 
note not only fear of its effect upon the audience, but also his innate 
sense of reverence. He must give " the real thing" or nothing; 
how will the " real thing " be taken ? Plays in which travesties 
of priests and nuns strut and talk cheap sentiment and behave as 
no Catholic nuns or priests ever do behave, may attract a certain 
class of undiscriminating public, unable to detect true from false. 
But the Catholic author does not want to compete with this " popu- 
lar " style. And he must write, being so often poor, something that 
will at least pay for his bread and butter. 

In reality, in dramas where the Catholic note sounds boldly, 
it tells with tremendous force, as is inevitable. Amongst the suc- 
cessful plays of the last twenty years, a few examples spring to 
the mind. In La Flambee, the brilliant French play adapted and 
produced at the St. James Theatre, London, as The Turning-Point, 
one of the finest and most dramatic scenes in the first act takes 
place between Monsignor Jussey and Monique, the heroine. Mon- 


signer has come to stay for the night at a country-house where 
Monique is a fellow-guest. She was once his childlike penitent, and 
perceiving that something is seriously amiss with her, the priest 
diplomatically manoeuvres an opportunity for a private talk. 1 

Monsignor Jussey. I should have known you, my child, by 
the look in your eyes if by nothing else. An expression they 
always wore when you were troubled, and wanted to confide in 
the old priest 

Monique. I think the comfort of a quiet talk with you must 
have been sent to me by 

Monsignor Jussey. Why do you hesitate? By God. You 
are still a believer ? 

Monique. Oh, yes, of course, but 

Monsignor Jussey. But ? 

Monique. But my religion has broadened. 

Monsignor Jussey. Indeed ? Am I to understand that it ex- 
tends beyond the limits of Holy Church? 

Monique. Yes. That is what I mean. 

Monsignor Jussey. Ah h ! I recognize the case. It is a very 
common one. You have a husband and you say, " I am alone." 
You are a believer, but the exactions of the Church appear to 
you too narrow. In a word, you are contemplating divorce ! 

Monique. It is true. I have decided to take that serious 

step But it was not this crisis in my life which taught me 

that the love of God and the love of life may be reconciled. 
Long ago I recognized that life too should be divine. 

Monsignor Jussey. Indeed! It is by means of such lofty 
thoughts as these that you regulate religion to suit your de- 
sires ? You wish to keep the name of " Christian," but as a 
woman who thought as you do once said to me, you are an 
" adapted Christian." 

Monique. Call me that if you will. 

Monsignor Jussey. Adapted to what? To a lover? 

Monique. He will be my husband! 

Monsignor Jussey. Your lover. Oh, " adapt " yourself as 

much as you can but you cannot alter that marriage is 

a Sacrament, and that the civil authority is worthless Tell 

me, are you unhappy? 

Monique. Perhaps 

Monsignor Jussey (delightedly). You are! Then everything 

1 Through the personal kindness of Sir George Alexander and Mr. Lestocq, 
manager for the late Mr. Charles Frohman, I have had access to the acting editions 
of The Turnmg-Powt and The Little Father of the Wilderness. 


will come right ! Women like you have created their own 

God Pride All your honor and chastity are in peril of 

eternal destruction. 

Thrust and counter thrust in this quick encounter get home 
and over the footlights alike. There is no compromise on Mon- 
signor Jussey's part, or faltering ; the audience is gripped. Equally 
strong, too, are Monsignor's parting words to Beaucourt, the man 
who loves Monique, in the last act : " If I mistake not, you and 
I were fighting for the possession of a human soul. It had taken 
you a year to imperil it ; it took me, with God's grace, one evening 
to bring it back." 

A one-act play which exhaled the tender sprit of Catholicism, 
and was played throughout its long runs in city and province to 
crowded houses, was The Little Father of the Wilderness. It ap- 
peared under the late Charles Frohman's management, and the title 
role in England was acted inimitably by Huntley Wright. From 
the rise of the curtain upon the entry into Louis XV.'s palace at 
Versailles of the shrinking little Jesuit missionary, frail and wan, 
and still racked by wounds received when tortured by the very 
Indians whom he was afterwards to convert, to its fall upon the 
King's belated recognition of Pere Marlotte's holiness and acts of 
courage, the audience was held spellbound. Here, before its eyes, 
pictured with a large simplicity, were the fruits of faith, humility, 
fortitude, patience that reached a sublime height. 

But there was nothing outwardly heroic or inspiring about 
the nervous, almost comic, figure of little Pere Marlotte, nor 
that of his companion, Frere Gregoire, a Franciscan Friar. Pere 
Marlotte, brandishing his large, green, cotton umbrella and a large 
cage with an American coon, which he had brought as a gift for 
the King all the way from the little village of Bourron from which 
he had been summoned, made irresistibly for merriment. Or so 
thought Captain Chevillon of the King's Guard who, receiving 
them, struck the first note of the universal mockery with which 
for so long the appearance of the two little priests was to be met. 

In spite of it, Gregoire stanchly asserts that the King cannot 
have sent " all the way " for Pere Marlotte but to reward him. 
" Nothing is too good for Pere Marlotte ! " He has suffered worse 
than death; escaped death by a miracle; he has bound the King's 
new American dominions together with cords of love, steeped in 
his own blood and sweat. 


Pere Marlotte (gasping with pain when faintness from the 
pain of the old wounds suddenly assails him). The heart can 

forgive, good Gregoire, but the body never forgets My 

Indians ! They knew not what they did But they 

didn't get away from Piere Marlotte! I baptized everyone 
of them within the year ! 

Frere Gregoire. The pitiless savages ! 

Pere Marlotte. Ah no, good Gregoire. To know all is to 
forgive all I ought to be thankful indeed that my chil- 
dren spared me my eyes. 

Henriette, the King's favorite of the moment, comes running in, 
and ruthlessly tells the two little priests that she is sure that the King 
has forgotten all about his appointment. But she has a good heart, 
and ultimately drags in Louis from a game of tennis, followed 
by his frivolous suite, who look upon the spectacle of the two be- 
wildered and incongruous religious in their midst as a new form 
of entertainment. Louis racks his brain in vain for the reason 
why he sent for Pere Marlotte, and finally comes to the conclusion 
that it must have been to decide a bet between him and his friend, 
the Due de Saint Albret, as to whether or no the Falls of Niagara 
are four miles high. 

Louis (sharply). You are sure you have been there? 
Pere Marlotte (simply). I said the first Mass at Niagara, 

He gives judgment against Louis, and impatiently the irritated 
King waves him away. With that callous farewell, Pere Marlotte's 
last faint human hope of a word of encouragement or gratitude 
dies. Henriette leads away the two heartsick and pitiful little 
priests to the back of the scene, as far as possible from the loud 
laughter and mockery of the court. 

Henriette. There are tears in your eyes, good Father. 
You're as pale as death 

She takes Pere Marlotte to a recess, and simultaneously a fan- 
fare of trumpets announce the arrival of a great personage, the 
Chevalier de Frontenac, Governor of New France, His Majesty's 
American dominions, and his suite, amongst whom are Indians in 
native attire, with feathered headdresses. 

Louis' whole aspect changes ; at the advent of these men who 
have fought and suffered for the country, he becomes at last sin- 


cere. His voice gains in nobility as he addresses them, and tells 
them what honor they have lent to his unworthy reign. 

The Governor, moved, kneels to kiss the King's hand. As he 
does so he catches sight of Pere Marlotte. 

De Frontenac. It is possible ? Pere Marlotte ? 
Pere Marlotte (tremulously). My children! 

The whole suite and de Frontenac kneel as one man: the 
Indians kiss the hem of Pere Marlotte's cassock. He puts his hand 
tremblingly on his wounded breast, and stares at the King, terrified 
at being so honored before him. 

Chevalier de Frontenac (turning to the King but still on his 
knees). Your Majesty has deigned to praise us for our deeds 
in America, but here stands the greatest of us all, Pere Marlotte. 

Louis. Pere Marlotte! 

De Frontenac. Sire, my conquests in the New World have 
left little, I fear, but whitened bones, while the victories of 
this little priest, victories of peace, of love, of savage hearts 
won and kept, will endure forever. The lilies of France would 
have perished in those dark and impenetrable forests had it not 
been for the blood and tortured body of Pere Marlotte. Ah, 
your Majesty owes a tribute indeed to the Little Father of 
the Wilderness! 

Louis. Stay ! (He removes his hat.) 

Louis. The Sovereign of France kneels before you, Pere 
Marlotte, ashamed, and he with his Court kneels to ask the 
blessing of the Archbishop of Toulouse ! 

Louis and his Court kneel at the feet of Pere Marlotte, and 
the curtain falls as the little priest tries tremblingly to raise his hand 
and bless them with the Sign of the Cross, but he is overcome, 
and hides his face in his hands. 

In modern drama there are comparatively few examples of 
the real, religious play, and not one has been actually so successful 
as was the reproduction of the old Mystery play of Everyman, 
written for all time by a monk about the tenth century, so far as 
can be traced. Modern mysteries like Laurence Housman's 
Nativity play, for instance, owe too much to their setting; to the 
luxuriance of a fine color-scheme and the help which a competent 
and sympathetic orchestra adds. Baldly and crudely presented as 
Mystery plays, and plays of every kind, were in the past, they de- 
pended upon their own merits and sincerity alone for success ; there 


is nothing either " precious " or artificial about the fine examples 
which have steered steadily towards our shores along the tide of 
centuries. You have only to compare Laurence Housman's beau- 
tiful play with the far more beautiful Every mem to see that the one 
has too much softness and sweetness in it to be really Catholic. 
In all true Catholicism the soul tastes an acrid pungent flavor; 
bitter-sweet as though it had been smeared with the Precious 

That is why Robert Hugh Benson's Christmas play is actually a 
better production, although, perhaps less intrinsically artistic, than 
Mr. Housman's lyrical Bethlehem, with that " subtle literary flavor " 
to which Father Martindale alludes. It was a humble effort under- 
taken solely for God's glory, and it has lines that will live. Zachary, 
the old man who describes with awe to the shepherd Ezra his 
meeting with " the man and maid " Joseph and Mary whom he 
met toiling up the snow-covered hill, has a moment of real illu- 

Zachary. Son, when I first began 
To see the couple coming up the height 
I had no eyes for him: for all the night 
Seemed full of glory from her face who came 

So wearily 

Ezra. Why, 

What mystery you make of nothing, uncle! 

Zachary Aye! or 'tis 

That you make nothing of great mysteries. 

Restraint and reticence are the keynotes too of Monsignor Ben- 
son's drama of John Best's martyrdom, dealing as it does with a 
period which he had studied with scrupulous care. The Cost of 
a Crown is one of the most successful of the handful of plays which 
he wrote with such zest and ardor, and again and again we come 
upon passages that literally vibrate with the real Catholic note. 

Hanse speaks of the dark hour in England and of how, con- 
trary to what might have been expected, young priests going in 
mortal danger show no signs of fear but rather 

seem to desire peril and death as others desire office and honors! 

Bost. Men say there never was such madness since the days 
of the Apostles. 

Hanse. Yes, sir. These men too are full of new wine. 
Bost. God give me too a long draught of it! It is we 


older men who need that wine of fervor more than the young 
who have never ceased to drink it. 

Again, in the second Act : 

Bost. To be a priest is joy enough for any man. But to be 
a priest in England at this time, why it near breaks my heart 

for joy! In darkness, God builds again His towers for 


But it is in Act III. that Bost rises to his greatest heights : 

Bost (about to be sentenced to death in its most cruel form). 
My lord, my Maker knows for what I shall die. (He had 
just been rebuked for saying he was dying for the Faith.) 
That is enough for me, for He is not only my Maker, but the 
Maker of the Catholic Faith as well. 

Robert Hugh Benson's Upper Room, a play dealing with the 
scene of the greatest tragedy which the world has known, is much 
less simple and convincing. The actual story of the Passion as 
told in the Gospels is enough for most of us ; and later additions tend 
rather to confuse than to diffuse the tremendous forces of the scenes. 
We would sooner meditate in solitude and silence upon the Way to 
Calvary than hear it discussed, however reverently, upon the boards 
of a theatre. The Upper Room has never been acted, but reading 
it we find inequalities, and it does not reach the level of his 
Mystery. The Maid of Orleans, another wholly Catholic play, 
frankly lacks spontaneity throughout; the characters do not live, 
and the critic notes " the strained elevation of its language and de- 
votion." It strikes the reader less as being the work of one who 
set about the task with his usual glow and fervor than of set purpose ; 
it has no spark of that inspiration which flamed out in nearly all 
Robert Hugh Benson's work as preacher, as theologian, as novelist, 
or as friend. 

The Catholic note then, clear and deep, echoes in many instances 
in modern drama. But in the case of Paul Claudel, the greatest 
living dramatist, it thunders and reverberates. Claudel has been torn 
and ravaged and re-made by the Faith; his bones have crumbled 
into dust, and the Spirit has breathed upon that dust and warmed 
it into life. Real illumination has broken upon him only after 
he has been through the abyss of purgation. To think of him 
is to think instinctively in terms of symbolism; to travel with him 
is to climb to the spur of a lofty mountain which gives upon an 
unparallelled view. 


For Claudel is a passionately ardent Catholic, a mystical 
Catholic, a fearless Catholic. He knows many things which are- 
undreamed of by other profound and deep thinkers ; his life in the 
East, his close study of Eastern occult subjects has helped him to 
realize the actual significance of words and their animating power, 
a mystical sense not generally understood by Western writers. He 
masters words, knowing that many of them contain such properties 
and forces as may make the man who does not master them their 
slave. There is one terrible passage in the Repos du Septieme Jour 
which such readers ,as have also studied Eastern mysticism know 
were transcribed at a great cost; at the price only of a conflict 
in which the victory was Claudel's. This, in the present writer's 
view, is the greatest of his dramas. It has never been acted. It 
tells how a Chinese Emperor voluntarily went down into hell to 
save his people; it plumbs depths in the deepest places of the soul 
more profoundly than even Claudel ventures to do elsewhere. It 
is a drama essentially for the serious student. The treatment of 
the tragedy reaches so high a level that it is only really comparable 
to that of the greatest Greek ..classic writers. And reading it you 
are aware at times of rolling music heard from afar, like music 
of the spheres. Claudel deals, then, with great elements whirl- 
wind, cyclone, lightning, fire. But his storms clear wastage; his 
lightning destroys what is rotten ; his fire lifts to heaven. Cathol- 
icism penetrates him through and through. The Catholic Faith 
or Christianity is a globe which contains man and his existence 
man with God. There is another globe which imprisons man and 
his existence. It holds man without God. 

Claudel has collected his dramas together under the symbolic 
title of L'Arbre, just as Balzac collected his work under the general 
title of La Co me die Humaine, with purpose. The life of man be- 
comes rich and full, and produces flower and fruit only so far as 
it is nourished by the Divine sap which gives it being. " Cer- 
tainly justice is beautiful, but how much more fruitful is that 
tree of justice for all men when its growth is nourished by the 
seed of the Eucharist." 2 God, entering in, enlarges every sphere 
and section of a man's individual work. 

The source of life flows into the great branches which stretch 
from either side of the giant tree, whose roots are planted deep 
into the soil. Love is one branch and intellect another; for the 
student, Claudel's plays form into groups under one of these head- 

*L'Annonce Faite a Marie. Act IV. 


ings or the other. His work as yet has scarcely penetrated beyond 
the boundaries of his own country. His style bewilders many 
readers; strictly speaking, the dramas are not constructed in either 
prose or verse, for Claudel obeys his own laws so far as these are 
concerned. Now and again he breaks into quite definite rhyming 
sounds, and he is almost always rhythmic. But close study will re- 
veal the illuminating point that each character speaks in accordance 
with the harmony of its own soul. " Grant that I may be a sower 
of solitude, and that he who hears my word may return within 
himself, disturbed and sober." 3 

Claudel in this prayer, epitomizes his vocation. There comes 
a time in the history of certain souls, as there comes a time in 
the history of certain nations, when peace is possible only after 
war. Claudel knows no peace that is not bought at a price. De- 
liberately he takes his follower into far places in search of it, in 
rough ways, that he may come at last upon the desert, where stripped 
of every form of human sustenance the soul must feed upon its God 
or die of inanition. 

Sacrifice is the dominant note of his bugle call, and it rings 
above the din of battle. Sacrifice transfigures, illuminates; gives 
beauty unimaginable. The Face of Christ, as outlined in His Blood 
on Veronica's handkerchief, was actually a more beautiful face 
than that of Jesus when He sat by the Lake of Galilee. It is a 
Face which once revealed can never be torn from the heart. 

'Tis impossible to wipe that image from the heart 

That Face once stamped upon the linen of Veronica 

A Face clean-cut and long, the beard envisaging the chin upon three 

sides ; 

Wearing a look so stern that terror holds us, yet so holy 
That the primeval Sin 

Shrinks back to its first roots ; whose grief is so profound 
That we but gaze, stunned like children who see their father's tears, 
And knowing not why they should fall, can only say, "he weeps." 4 

The anaemic Catholic, the slack Catholic, the Catholic without 
zeal, the man who expects his God to give him such things as 
obviously are recognizable as bounties, the man who is afraid to 
act as the unworthy channel of God's Infinite Grace these are 
depicted again and again by Claudel with pitiless analysis. But 
he shows you, too, with equally unswerving accuracy the soul 
that triumphs; the soul that stumbling, weak, blinded by its own 

3 Cinq Grandes Odes. 'La Ville. Act III. 


blood and tears, holds on in spite of repeated failure. The choice 
of doing or not doing the " thing for which you were created and 
put into the world," comes to each man in his day. He may rebel as 
Sygne de Coufontaine does, piteously, in L'Otage, but once God has 
smitten a stone, He inexorably awaits the gushing forth of water, 
as Moses of old waited for it to flow from the rock. 

In the second act of L'Otage, Monsieur Badillon, the cure 
counsels Sygne de Coufontaine to be the wife of Toussaint, Baron 
de Turelure, the son of the servant of the house, who " stands for 
all that she hates," the man whose hands are stained with the blood 
of many of her own people and of holy priests, and will be stained 
by more ; an act which compels her ultimately to make over to him 
the title, the heritage of the beloved cousin in whose service she has 
spent her life, and to whom she is just betrothed. The Holy Father, 
old and feeble, just rescued from prison by that same cousin, 
Georges, is in hiding in their house. He is the hostage demanded 
by the enemy, Turelure, if Sygne denies him. 

Monsieur Badillon. The Pope is hidden here, and is in 
your care. 

Sygne (turning to the Crucifix). Unhappy the woman 
whom Thou visitest! 

Monsieur Badillon. I seem to hear him answer: You your- 
self brought me here. 

Sygne. I have held You in my arms, and I know Your 
infinite weight 5 

Monsieur Badillon. But burdens are for the strong. 

Sygne. I know now why You helped me, and why I re- 
built our house, not for myself 

Monsieur Badillon. But so that the Holy Father might find 
shelter here ! Sygne, save him !...... 

Sygne. Never at such a cost! No, no! No! I cannot 

. .1 will never degrade my body; I will never degrade my 


Monsieur Badillon. Not even for Christ's sake? 

Sygne (looking at the Crucifix). How bitterly You mock 

me! Georges I must think of Georges He is 

poor and lonely 

Monsieur Badillon (looking at the Crucifix). And He is 
poorer still, and far more lonely 

Sygne. Georges, then, must die, that an old, feeble man 

may live ! 

8 L'Otage. Act II. 


Monsieur Badillon. It was Georges himself who sought him 
out and brought him here. 

Sygne. Oh, may God fulfill His duty as I fulfill mine! 

Monsieur Badillon. My child, who is weaker and more 
wholly piteous than God, when He can do nothing without 
our help? 

Sygne. You ask me, then, to save the Pope at the cost of my 
own soul ! 

Monsieur Badillon. God forbid ! 

Sygne (brokenly). Pity me! 

Monsieur* Badillon. God grant that I may be as a real father 
to you, not as a heartless torturer God never asks super- 
ficial things from us, my child, but deep ones. Bloody sacrifices 
are worthless in His eyes, but He accepts the gifts which His 
beloved offers from the heart 

Sygne (brokenly). Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned 

I love Georges of whom I spoke to you just now 

How can God ask me to leave him, and to be false. 

Monsieur Badillon. You have been called to this vocation 
to serve the Father of mankind. You must renounce your 
love, your name, your cause, your worldly honor; giving your 
very self into the hands of a butcher, and taking him for your 
husband, just as Christ gave Himself to be devoured of Judas 

He never asks light sacrifices from us, but deep 

ones And in tempting you, I tempt your weakness, not 

your strength 

Sygne. I then, Sygne, Comtesse de Coufontaine, I of my 
own free will am to marry Toussaint Turelure, the son of my 
servant, and of the wizard, Quiriace; and he, the butcher of 
ninety-three, wet with the blood of my own people, will take 

me in his arms, will have his will of me And I must 

bear him children, children to blend us and make us indis- 
solubly one 

Monsieur Badillon. Neither God nor man can force such 
a sacrifice from you! 

Sygne. But what then forces me ? 

Monsieur Badillon. Oh, little soul child of God! It is for 
you voluntarily to choose 

Sygne. I cannot ! And yet oh, God, Thou knowest 

that I love Thee ! 

Monsieur Badillon. But not enough to bear being spat upon, 
and depised; to wear the crown of thorns; to be disfigured; 
to stand naked before men and be nailed to the Cross 

Sygne. Jesus .... Friend ! How hard it is to wound You .... 


Monsieur Badillon. But easy after all to do Your will 

Sygne. Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the 
world, have pity upon me! 

Monsieur Badillon. He is with you, now 

Sygne. Thy Will, not mine, be done, oh, Saviour 

Monsieur Badillon. Do you mean that, my child? Is the 
struggle over? 

Sygne. Thy Will, not mine Lord, let Thy Will be 

done not mine 

Claudel sees that life without God is narrow, cramped, con- 
fined. It stands for imprisonment or asphyxiation. Life with 
God is breadth, loftiness, escape, v ihe power to soar and to breathe 
in other-worldly dimensions. 

Coeuvre in La Ville, formerly only a poet, returns home as a 
bishop to the city which in his youth kept him enchained, to con- 
quer and redeem it by conversion. " In the depth of study I found 
a new birth. Henceforth I will make amends for my hesitating 
weakness, and on the ruins of the City of Dreams I will begin to 
build up certainty." 

Ivors, his son, a modern Thomas, asks him how he can be 
expected to believe in a God Who hides from the sight of man, and 
speaks in a Voice which only saints can understand? 

Ivors. God ? He eludes the quest of my intellect. If I can- 
not know Him, what have I to do with Him? And, pray, how 
am I to learn what I cannot understand? 

Cceuvre. The whirlpool which engulfs the rash swimmer, the 
tiger that- holds a pig in its claw, need no word or phrase to 
make themselves understood. No part of us escapes His power. 
Fire does not select its fuel, but consumes all alike, dung and 
wood, flowers and the fruits, hide and flesh. But immortal man 
is susceptible of an unquenchable fire in which his entire self is 
consummated in being consumed. 

This analogy of the consuming spiritual flame occurs again 
and again in Claudel's plays. Violaine, in UAnnonce Faite a Marie, 
uses it as a symbol for willing sacrifice in the first act, when so 
far as she is concerned the flame has as yet served only to guide 
her towards the altar upon which presently she will be laid to burn 
with immortal fire. 

Violaine. Be worthy of the flame that consumes you ! If it 
be necessary that you immolate yourself, let it be upon a can- 


delabra of gold after the manner of the Paschal Candle in full 
view of the choir for the glory of the whole Church. 

Later on, as outcast and leper, her beauty gone, sightless and 
mocked by the peasants who grudge her a crust even on the vigil 
of Christmas, when the rose-leaf touch of the Holy Child's fingers 
melts most frozen human hearts, she compares the love of God 
to " the heat of the wood when fire seizes it," while Mara, her 
sister, ironically scoffs at her patient acceptance of loss and torment. 

In the last act, dying, murdered by Mara, she tells Jacques 
Hury, Mara's husband, whom Violaine gave up that her sister might 
be happy. " Happy those who suffer and who know for what 

good cause many things are consumed by the fire of the heart 

that suffers." 

Enough has been said to show the quality and scope of Clau- 
del's work. It soars and quickens. It has the ring of Truth in 
every line. And Truth has a quality all her own. Ignorantly, we 
may mistake other objects for her, or even wish that she conformed 
to some other likeness, more accessible, but meeting her we know her 
as we know the approach of dawn. To deny her is merely a phase 
of self-deception. Her look is crystal-clear and poignant; her eyes 
contain all essential wisdom, and flame immortal glows in her, as 
Claudel shows in three- fold fire, first to consume, and then to vitalize 
and re-create. 

Truth is gallant and invincible ; her enemies try in vain to be- 
smirch the fairness of her body. For her beauty is made of lasting 
elements, and mighty and firm and yet delicately poised she stands, 
as one with wings who of free choice flies not, but stays im- 
movable, making a living bridge between man's error and God's 

Catholicism is Truth, which is why her voice unlike any other 
voice in the world rings like a clarion call to the sleeping soul, and 
why her words have supernatural force and, sent out in the void, 
become as lances which thrust home into vital parts. They echo 
and reverberate in whatever language they are uttered; the Di- 
vine Breath of God vibrates within them, and so they break upon 
us like a flood. For Truth is Truth, whether we meet her in the 
pages of classic literature, or find her, audible, in great modern 
drama such as Paul Claudel's. 



DARESAY," said Raymond d'Argnes to himself, " it 
isn't the proper thing" but he did it. That is to 
say he sat down upon one of the benches in the 
Champs Ely sees. And he sat down because he found 
himself more tired by a very moderate amount of 
walking than he had expected. 

It will be obvious from his uncertainty as to the correctness 
or incorrectness of sitting down in the Champs Ely sees that he was 
not Parisian; nor was he, in spite of his name, French. Though 
his family came from Normandy it was English: if eight centuries 
and a half in England could make it so. 

He sat down, and laid on the seat beside him the walking 
stick that he had found more necessary than he had thought it 
would be. He turned to his right, and looked upon the long per- 
spective of the most splendid avenue in any city in the world, 
as it curved up to the magnificent Arch of Triumph, beneath which 
only troops returning from victory may pass. Turning to his left 
he saw the avenue end in the vast open space that has had so many 
names Place Louis Quinze, Place de la Paix, Place de la Revolu- 
tion and, at last and still, Place de la Concorde in whose midst 
stands the Egyptian monolith on the spot where the ancient monarch 
of France was martyred. 

Then he glanced with half -inattentive eyes at the stream of 
folk passing either way. Of the men, at least nine in ten were 
French soldiers, and it seemed to him that nine in ten of them 
were wounded. There was the real poilu, not absolutely young, 
and seeming older by reason of his hirsute and shaggy chin and 
neck. But there were many more to whom the term poilu could 
only be applied generally, quite young, smart, well-shorn and! 
shaven, nearly all handsome, all with expressive faces. The 
women, except the very poorest, were almost all in mourning; 
but Raymond thought with relief that in France deep mourning 
is worn for relations that in England would not be considered 
very near. 

VOL. CIV.-*-I2 


Two ladies passed quite near his seat, at a moment when there 
was a sort of gap in the stream; for perhaps half a minute no one 
else had gone by down the broad walk, though there were strollers 
under the trees behind him. 

The ladies might be mother and daughter : the elder not more 
than forty-five, if so much; the younger twenty perhaps. Both 
were rather tall, and there was a resemblance in their figures, as in 
their walk and manner, as frequently happens in the case of mem- 
bers of the same family who are constantly in each other's company. 
They were talking, as they passed, and their voices, he thought, 
had the same tone; but that might have been his fancy, for 
they did not speak loudly. They spoke French, and French they 
undoubtedly were. 

The elder lady glanced at him, not as she went by, but just 
before they came up, and he could see that she noted he was 
wounded. For a fraction of a moment his eyes and the lady's 
met, then she turned hers away ; but even in that instant she some- 
how conveyed the impression of sympathy and respect. It did 
not amount to a smile, even the gravest smile: it was rather like 
an effort to restrain a motherly benison. The younger lady, he 
imagined, had not noticed his presence at all. His eyes still fol- 
lowed them when they had gone by. Then his eyes dropped, and 
he saw on the ground, six paces from his seat, a very small case, 
probably a cardcase. He had no doubt at all to whom it belonged : 
only one of the two ladies could have dropped it. It had not been 
there before they passed. He immediately got up, and having 
picked it up went after them. The case was quite small, of polished 
leather, hard and with a fine grain in it, and dyed green al- 
most like the old-fashioned shagreen; in one corner was a tiny 

The ladies walked quickly, and he had to do the same, but he 
found his knee more painful and he limped a little. Still he did 
not doubt he would overtake them. Unfortunately, it began to 
rain and quite heavily. He could see the two ladies in front, but 
he saw also that they were going to take a taxi. He felt he must 
do the same and so looked about for one. A dozen were hurrying 
towards the Arch of Triumph, but all were occupied ; several passed 
in the other direction, but they also were occupied. The two ladies 
had found one free and had taken it. 

" I -must catch them," he thought, " perhaps there's money in 
this case." 


Presently a taxi swerved in towards the curb, and Raymond 
saw that an observant French soldier had understood his predica- 
ment and had signaled it. The young cuirassier smiled and Ray- 
mond thanked him. 

" Tis nothing," said the soldier. " Monsieur was half oc- 
cupied looking after the two ladies who went away in the other 
taxi. I happened to see this one coming and free." He opened 
the door and shut it, with another pleasant smile, when Raymond 
got in, then he saluted. 

" Follow that other taxi," the cuirassier said to the driver, 
"monsieur wishes to overtake it." With a final smile he turned 
away, quite happy in the belief that he was assisting at a little 
romance. The driver had not argued, he did not object. " There 
are forty taxis which taxi ? " but pushed down his label and made 
off. He picked up the other taxi, and soon drew near enough to 
note its number. Then perhaps he thought he might as well not 
make the journey too short; possibly he could have overtaken it 
sooner. It turned at the Place de la Concorde towards the Hotel 
Clisson, and there were many others making the same sweep to 
the left. It turned again left, towards the Madeleine, where there 
was much more traffic. Passing the big church, it took the left 
still and went swiftly along the Boulevard Malesherbes, where the 
traffic, still considerable, was not so great, and the pursued taxi 
was easier to pick out. The shower had stopped, and the glistening 
pavement was no longer pitted with heavy plashes of rain. At 
the open place in front of the Church of St. Augustine the taxi 
containing the two ladies again took the left, and bore uphill towards 
the group of rather solemn, old-fashioned, but highly respectable, 
squares of tall houses. Into one of them it turned and drew up 
about the middle of the west side. 

Raymond's taxi drew in just behind it; he got out and paid 
the man. The two ladies were standing upon the still wet and shin- 
ing pavement. 

"Claire," the elder lady was saying, "have you any money? 
I had some in my cardcase, but I can't find it " 

"Madame," said Raymond, limping forward, "it is here. 
Madame dropped it in the Champs Elysees soon after passing the 
place where I was sitting, and I saw it and here it is." 

" And you have taken so much trouble to follow us," said the 
lady smiling, and her smile was just what Raymond expected 
gracious, friendly and sincere. 


" That," declared the young man, smiling too, " was common 

" Perhaps. But extreme courtesy." 

She had taken the little case from his hand, and had drawn 
from it a note and offered it to the taxi-driver. 

" Madame, it is for a hundred francs. I have not change 

" Would you allow me to pay him, madame? " Raymond sug- 
gested. And he stepped forward and did so without waiting a 
verbal permission. 

" And now," said the lady, " that you have paid him, comes 
my common honesty. I must pay you. Will you come in and I will 
get change?" 

Raymond was delighted, and followed the two ladies to the 
door of the large, somewhat austere looking house. Over the en- 
trance was a shield of arms, surmounted by the same coronet as 
he had seen upon the cardcase. When he had rung, the door was 
opened by an aged man-servant, and all three passed in. The hall 
was wide and high, and flagged with squares of black and white 
marble; the stairs were very broad and shallow; one could easily 
have ridden up them. At the head of them was a gallery hung 
with portraits, large and imposing, evidently representing dis- 
tinguished personages, mostly in court dress. From the gallery 
several tall and wide doors opened, and through one of them 
madame led the way into a spacious salon. 

" And now," said the lady, " let me pay you my debt of 

thanks the other little debt I could have paid downstairs, for 

old Jean has always plenty of money! But I preferred to give 
you the further trouble of coming up here that I might thank you 
less hurriedly." 

" What I did was nothing," protested Raymond. " My only 
fear was less my taxi should miss yours. If it had, I would have 
looked for your card inside." 

But the address is not on the cards only Hotel d'Argnes. 

Raymond's eyes lightened with a look of surprise. 

" You say, madame," he asked, " that this house is the Hotel 

"Yes; I am Madame d'Argnes." 

" That is odd," he said, smiling, " for if my mother were in 
France she would also be Madame d'Argnes." 

" Really! That is interesting. But if you are not in a great 


hurry will you not sit down? You ought not to stand long, for 
I see you are wounded." 

"Oh, I am nearly quite well. I was wounded in the knee 
weeks ago. I am in hospital at Versailles, and they gave me 
leave to come to Paris to see my half-brother who is in an 
embassy, but I found he had gone to Chantilly ; so I was strolling 

The old butler had re-appeared and was setting out little 
tables for tea. 

" Do tell me, if it is not too inquisitive," begged madame, 
" about Madame d'Argnes. I never knew I had an English proto- 

" Well d'Argnes is the surname of my family. My half- 
brother's name is Furnival." 

" I have met him," she interrupted, " he is much older than 

" Oh, yes. Eight years older." 

" Well, monsieur, our surname is not d'Argnes. It is de la 
Mer. But my husband's title is Count d'Argnes." 

" That again is odd, for the founder of our family was 
Count d'Argnes. He was an uncle of William the Conqueror, and 
came with him to England, and our surname has been d'Argnes 
ever since. But his lands and castle in Normandy were lost to 
him before he came to England. 

" It is really strange and very interesting. But, monsieur, 
I am afraid we are not relations, for our family had nothing 
to do with the reigning house of Normandy. It was only in the 
sixteenth century that the Chateau d'Argnes was granted by Francis 
I. to one of the de la Mers ; and now it does not belong to us, but 
is, as perhaps you know, a national monument." 

" I'm sorry," said Raymond, " that we are not relations." 

" Papa," observed mademoiselle, " will be disappointed." 

" My husband," said madame, " is a great genealogist. Jean, 
will you tell the Count that tea is ready? " 

" Mother," remarked mademoiselle in excellent English, 
" could not live without her tea. Papa rather despises it, and says 
it does away with any advantage in having a good cook, since it 
spoils your dinner." 

"It never spoils mine," said Raymond. 

A distinguished-looking, rather lean, gentleman of about sixty 
came in, and the Countess said to him : 


" I have an interesting introduction to make Monsieur 
d'Argnes, Monsieur d'Argnes." 

The Count bowed, smiled, and held out a thin hand cordially. 

" But now, Henriette," he begged, " will you explain? " 

" My husband," declared the Countess, " has no patience. 
He always reads the last chapter of a novel first." 

" I see no use in suffering anxiety concerning people who never 
existed. Claire, can you explain the mystery ? " 

" It seems to me, papa, that this gentlemen is a real d'Argnes, 
and you only a nominal one." 

Then the Countess gave the explanation, concluding with: 
" But after all, we are not relations. Is it not a pity? " 

" Wait a bit," said the Count, " I know all about it. I know 
all about William, Count d'Argnes, the Conqueror's uncle. He be- 
longs to history. And also I know about the English family 
of the same name who belong " 

" Only to Devonshire," laughed Raymond, " when my Uncle 
Robert wants to tease my father he says we are famous for never 
having done anything in particular for eight centuries and a half." 

" I am quite sure," continued the Count, " that my wife is 
mistaken in saying we are not relations. Our name of de la Mer 
is the English name Delamere, and one of our family married 
an English lady, Adelais d'Argnes of the Devonshire family." 

" So," observed the Countess demurely, " we are cousins. I 
began," she continued wickedly, " our acquaintance in a cousinly 
fashion by borrowing money." 

The Count looked rather shocked; so shocked that his wife 
explained matters hastily. 

" Claire," he remarked presently, " aren't you stifled in that 
long coat? Do take it off." 

Mademoiselle obeyed and displayed a white nursing dress. 

" Claire," her mother explained to Raymond, " nurses in one 
of the hospitals in the Champs Elysees; today her time was up 
at three and I had gone to fetch her home when you saw me." 

" Tea," observed the Count, " is but a poor sort of hospitality. 
I hope, Henriette, you will make monsieur stay to dinner." 

" I believe," declared mademoiselle, " that we have been wrong 
all the time, and he is not Monsieur d'Argnes at all." 

" Claire! " cried her father. 

" I've been reading the stars (only on his shoulder, papa!) and 
I'm sure he is a captain." 


" Unfortunately," said the young man in a low voice, " it is 
true. I should not be a captain if all my friends were alive." 

" Ah," said the Countess, almost in a whisper, " the sad, sad 

Again Raymond thought how tender and delicate was the little 
glance of sympathy she gave him, how kindly, how motherly. 

His promotion had cost him the loss of the best friend he 
had ever had. 

" Our own boy's place at our table," the Countess said gently, 
" is empty. He is fighting for France. Will you not take his 
place tonight ? " 


Raymond d'Argnes was sent home to England, but before 
many weeks had passed he was back in France; not in Paris now, 
but in the fighting line, and at a point where the English and French 
troops nearly overlapped. From England he had written more 
than once to his kind friends of the d'Argnes family, and his photo- 
graph stood on the writing table of the Countess' own boudoir, close 
to that of her own son. She had opened her heart to the young 
English officer: he was just what she admired, brave and quiet, 
simple and gentle. It was only from English newspapers that she 
learned how greatly he had distinguished himself. The Count had 
brought them home. 

" There," he had observed. " See now, what your captain did ! 
And not a word about it to us. The Victoria Cross is the highest 
reward of valor the English have." 

" And many sergeants and corporals have won it," observed 
Claire with demure malice. 

" Claire," cried her father, " you are a little Jacobin." 

" Claire," said her mother carelessly, " was not so taken with 
our cousin as I was." 

" It is only married ladies of forty-five who allow themselves 
to fall in love at first sight nowadays," said the Count, with almost 
a wink at his daughter. 

" I was only forty-three last Wednesday," pleaded the Coun- 
tess, " it is ungenerous to lean upon a fact so recent." 

" Apart from all this frivolity," said Claire, " are you going 
to let me go to St. Just?" 


St. Just was a town in the north of France, not forty kilo- 
metres from the fighting lines. There was an auxiliary hospital 
there, under the auspices of the Women of France and more as- 
sistants had been asked for. The head of the Association had just 
called, and requested her parents to allow Claire to fill one of the 

The Count had several objections to the plan; he was old- 
fashioned, and it was not in accordance with his ideas that his 
daughter should be a nurse in a hospital far from home. 

Claire was not at all sure that her mother would take her part, 
and sent a most grateful glance to her when madame said : 

" Adrien, I should be quite of your opinion if Claire had to 
go and live in a hospital of which we knew nothing. But the 
auxiliary hospital at St. Just is really a convent of Reparatrice 
Nuns, and the Reverend Mother herself is an old schoolmate of 
mine. With her Claire would be in good hands. Moreover, if 
you do not wish Claire to live in the convent, she might stop with 
her cousin, Madame de St. Hilaire, who is Head Nurse at the 
hospital. She has a house at St. Just, and would be delighted to 
have Claire with her." 

" If she is to go, it certainly would be far better for Claire's 
health that she stay with Madame de St. Hilaire. She would thus 
have change of scene every day and some pleasant recreation. To 
tell the truth, I think a change from Paris, after more than a year 
here, would do Claire good rather than harm. You know she was 
never here for so long a time together in her life before." 

After a good deal of discussion the Count rather liked dis- 
cussion and hated precipitancy it was settled that Claire might go. 


One night, when Claire was on duty, a large convoy of 
wounded was brought into the hospital at St. Just. A warning 
had come earlier in the week that a larger number than usual might 
be expected, and special preparations had been made. Everyone 
was very busy; stretchers came in what seemed an unending pro- 
cession; and many operations had to be performed at once. Most 
of the cases seemed serious enough; some very terrible. 

Claire was working in the same ward with Stephanie, her 


hostess' daughter, and they were both of them fully occupied, silent 
and business-like. Presently Madame de St. Hilaire, herself, came 
into the ward and said to her daughter: 

" Claire speaks English well does she not? Yes? Well, there 
are several English brought in with our people, and I have been 
able to have them put all together in the same ward the Good 
Shepherd ward, on the ground floor. I think I will transfer Claire 
to it, and give you Marie Duphot here instead. Claire will be 
more useful there, for Marie talks no English." 

She went across to Marie and told her of the .arrangement, 
taking her off at once. 

In the Good Shepherd ward were fifteen beds, and in four of 
them lay wounded English: a sergeant, two privaites and an 

" Here they are," said Madame de St. Hilaire in a low voice, 
" what a comfort it will be for the poor fellows to hear their own 

At first Claire only spoke a few words to each by way of in- 
troducing herself, and showing them that there was a nurse who 
spoke English, and, as madame had said, they seemed immensely 
pleased to find someone whom they could understand. 

It was the officer to whom she came last. 

" Captain d'Argnes ! " she exclaimed as soon as she saw him. 

" Your brother? " cried Madame de St. Hilaire thrown off her 
guard with surprise. " But surely no ! He is an English officer, 
is he not?" 

" Certainly. But he has our name and we know him." 

At that moment one of the soldiers, the first she had spoken 
to, called to Claire: " Please, Sister," he said, and she turned at 
once and went to him. 

" Madame ! " whispered Raymond to the Head Nurse, " would 
you mind bending down, I want to say something quickly." 

" Ah ! you talk French ! " said madame, doing as he had asked. 

"Madame, that nurse's brother is here; wounded badly I 
f ear you did not know ? He was brought in with me. He is over 
there, in that bed opposite. Do not let her find him without prepara- 
tion. He is either unconscious or asleep. I do not know which; 
nor how badly he is hit; but I know he is Lieutenant d'Argnes; 
and he is exactly like her, still more like her father, only very 
boyish. He is a cuirassier, and there is a wounded soldier of his 
regiment here too; I had met him once in Paris, and we recognized 


each other and talked a little at the dressing station. He told me 
first that the young officer was Lieutenant d'Argnes there is no 

" I will at once do what you suggest. Thank you very much 
indeed, monsieur. But how are you wounded yourself? " 

" A bit of shrapnel in my lung. Please, madame, would you 
do that at once." 

:t Yes, I will, at once. But you ; you must be in horrible pain." 

" Enough to satisfy me: but please " 

And Madame de St. Hilaire, full of admiration for the courage 
and thought fulness of the wounded man, moved across to where the 
French Lieutenant lay. She did not think, so far as she could 
judge, that he was so dangerously wounded as the English officer. 
Nor did she think he was unconscious, but only dozing. And she 
was right. As she stooped down over him he opened his eyes and 

:< You are Monsieur d'Argnes, are you not? " she asked gently. 

''' Yes, of the Ninth Cuirassiers." 

" I know your friends. I am Madame de St. Hilaire, and my 
husband and I are old friends of your father's. A relation of yours 
is nursing here and I don't want her to see you suddenly. Where 
is your wound? " 

" Only in my hip. But I lost a good deal of blood, and it makes 
me weak. So I doze often. Madame, I know which relation it is. 
For I have heard of Claire being under your care." 

" But she does not know you are here. I do not want you to 
speak to her till I have told her " 

And madame left him to rejoin his namesake by whose bed 
Claire was now again standing. She knew already where Raymond 
was wounded, and that it was very dangerous. But, of course, she 
was talking cheerfully. 

" And the piece of shrapnel had not been removed yet? " 

" No, mademoiselle. It is too firmly fixed, but the doctors 
say it may loosen. I have to be patient. They dared not operate 
at the dressing station. Presently your doctors here may see their 
way to do so." 

" Claire," said madame, " go and get him some soup what you 
English call beef tea, eh." 

" I have seen her brother," she went on, when Claire had gone. 
" He knows she is here. Now I will go after her and let her know. 
If patience is to cure you, my dear Captain, you will do well." 



Raymond was fully aware of the gravity of his condition, 
though he said nothing about it, and bore his greatest sufferings with 
cheerful patience. What added to them was that he coughed almost 
incessantly, and each cough caused real agony. It might, however, 
be that the coughing would tend to dislodge the piece of shrapnel 
embedded in the lung. It had entered through the back, and there 
was no wound in front. The doctors in charge of the hospital were 
very skillful, and only too willing to operate and indeed attempted to 
do so, but found it impossible to remove the bit of shell without al- 
most certainly fatal risk to the patient's life. The chances were all 
against his recovery, and he knew that it was so. So did all 
about him; but he continued to be thoroughly cheerful, and gave 
far less trouble than many a man only superficially wounded. His 
doctors and nurses, therefore, soon grew very fond of him, and 
so did the other patients, his neighbors. 

The young cuirassier who had arrived at the same time was 
orderly to Lieutenant d'Argnes, and was the soldier who had called 
the taxi for Raymond that afternoon, months before, in the Champs 
Elysees. He was wounded in one foot, but soon began hopping 
about the ward, the foot swathed in bulky bandages, and acting 
as " orderly man." He was a most engaging creature ; full of good 
spirit and fuller of kind-heartedness. He made himself generally 
useful, but took special care of his own master, and was also par- 
ticularly glad to do anything for the English captain who had his 
master's name. 

There were two regular orderlies in the ward, and they also 
seemed to have special pleasure in attending to Raymond, not 
only because he was more dangerously wounded than any other 
patient in the ward, but also because he was a stranger in a strange 
land. Of these two orderlies the elder was about eight and twenty, 
the younger not more than nineteen. 

" Monsieur," asked Madame de St. Hilaire, on the morning 
after Raymond's arrival, "if you would rather be alone, there is a 
tiny room I could give you. But it is very small, and it is not 
specially cheerful for it has but a small window, and the trees out- 
side make it rather dark. Of course, you would) be quiieter, 
but perhaps you might find it less cheerful." 

" Yes, madame, I think I would. And I like to see my neigh- 


bors here. Thank you so much for thinking of it, but I would 
rather stay where I am." 

Madame de St. Hilaire hesitated a moment, then said : 

" It is our custom to write to the friends of any patients who 
cannot write themselves. Should you like us to do so for you? " 

" I believe I could write though not a very long letter. Per- 
haps you would also write to my mother. I will give you the 
address and tell her, if she would be allowed, to come here. You 
will not, I am sure, frighten her; but she would much rather know 
the exact truth. And the exact truth is that I shall probably not get 
over this." 

" I will certainly write. Your mother, of course, knows 
French like yourself? Yes, I thought so. But I cannot tell her 
that I think you will probably not get over this, for I have a con- 
viction that you will. I have been doing this work for fifteen 
months now, and I have almost always been right : even sometimes 
when the doctors thought there was hardly any hope, and that is 
not their opinion now. I have also to write to the other Madame 
d'Argnes, for Henri had a hemorrhage early this morning and he 
is not so well. Claire knows: it happened before her night-duty 
had ended." 

When she perceived how this news troubled Raymond she was 
sorry she had told him. 

" I had understood from Claire," she said, " that you did not 
know Henri." 

" No, I do not. But he looks such a boy, it seems pitiful that 
he should suffer so much." 

" But you," said the woman, smiling, " you do not look a very 
old man." ' 

" I am six and twenty." 

A little later, when the elder of the two orderlies was attending 
to him, Raymond asked : 

" How is he? Monsieur d'Argnes, I mean." 

" Oh, just the same. No worse, if another hemorrhage does 
not occur. And one hopes there will be no other. He does not 
fidget, but lies absolutely still, and that is a great thing." 

Raymond perceived by his voice and his whole manner that 
he was well-bred. 

" You yourself are a soldier in the Chasseurs a pied, are you 

" I was with my regiment in the Argonne, but lost my right 


eye, quite at the beginning of the war. This is a glass one. Now 
I am doing this work." 

" Monsieur," Raymond asked in a still lower voice, " has he 
Monsieur d'Argnes seen a priest? " 

" Ah! you are a Catholic? " 

" No. But half the men in my regiment are Irish and Catholic, 
and I know that to see a priest is what they think most of when 
they are even a little wounded. I will tell you the truth: I have 
seen so much in this war, that if I understood more about it, I 
should like to be a Catholic myself." 

" Monsieur, I am myself a priest, a monk too. I don't look 
much of a monk in this tunic, do I? And the other the young 
orderly (he is not strictly an orderly but what we call a stretcher- 
bearer) he is to be a priest too. He is what we call a seminarian; 
only now the war has come to interrupt his studies ; but I do not 
think these works of charity he is doing will injure him." 

" What a beautiful face he has ; not handsome, but with a 
singular expression of holiness." 

" Yes. He is a good boy. But, monsieur, do you know that it 
makes you cough to talk, and that I should not allow it." 

" I'm not sure that it does make me cough more. It takes my 
mind off, and the cough comes from a sort of irritation." 

The young priest thought. "A sort of irritation. If I had a 
jagged bit of shrapnel in my lung I wonder if I should call it a 
sort of irritation. One is always at school, and the Schoolmaster 
sets many different pupil-teachers over one." 

By the time Madame d'Argnes arrived from Paris, Raymond 
was much worse; her own boy not at all worse, if not decidedly 
better. She grieved to see the young Englishman in so grave a 
condition, and her son seemed full of interest about him. 

" Henri," she said gently, " he is interested in you too, and he 
asked a question about you, just as you are asking me questions 
about him." 

" Claire says he is always asking her about me." 

" Yes. But this question he did not ask Claire. She does 
not know." 

"Well, what did he ask?" 

" He wanted to know if you had seen a priest." 

" Mamma," answered the lad, " I have seen thousands of 
priests." And he gave a little laugh. 

" Yes. But you know quite well what he means." 


"Is he a bigot?" 

" He is not even a Catholic." 

" Isn't that odd ? " I can't understand not being a Catholic. 
But then I am French." 

" And yet you only think it a joke when " 

" Not a joke at all, mamma," laughed Henri, " just the op- 
posite. It is a very bad joke to die; and it is when one has to do 
that that a priest becomes necessary. By and by." 

" That bad joke of dying we all have to make it." 

" Some time, yes. But there's no hurry. I'm only twenty- 

" My little Henri, I hope you will live seventy years." 

" At ninety I shall send for a priest on my birthday. I 

" I hope you will not wait till so many years after I shall 
have made your bad joke. But I think if you did, you would be 
ashamed to do it then. Do you think Christ only wants dotards? 
You would think it mean to offer Him your dotage after keeping all 
the good years for yourself." 

" Mamma ! " said the lad, still teasing her, " I will send for 
a priest -even if I am quite well the day Captain d'Argnes sends 
for one." 


When Raymond's mother arrived he seemed to her less gravely 
ill than she had feared to find him. But she soon understood that 
he was much worse than she had feared. No operation had been 
possible, and he was much weaker. Almost all food, even the 
lightest, made him sick, and he was much weaker. The cough still 
continued and shook him to pieces. He could talk very little, 
though he could read, and she often sat silently, knitting by his 
side while he read. 

One morning while the doctors and nurses were changing his 
dressings, she went to the chapel of the convent and knelt down to 
pray there. At the other end of the little church a nun was kneel- 
ing before the altar of the Blessed Virgin. Presently, a bell rang 
and the Sister rose, and came down the church, passing close to 
Madame d'Argnes. As she went by she bent her head in a cour- 
teous salutation. 

" Sister," said Raymond's mother, leaning towards her : 


" Madame." 

" Sister, when you again come to pray here, will you pray for 
my boy ? " 

" We are all praying for him. I was praying for him when 
the bell rang; it was hard to stop, but Our Lady will take my 
obedience for a prayer I was asking her to do something." 

"What? " whispered the poor mother. 

" To send her own Son to him. To let Him be your son's 
doctor Himself. 'You can spare Him for a little while/ I told her, 
'you have Him at your side for all eternity.' " 

To the Protestant lady, though she was not at all bigoted, the 
nun's way seemed quaint, almost too quaintly familiar, and yet its 
simplicity moved her, and then it was so tender. 

" Ah! " she whispered, " I wish He would go." 

The nun hesitated a moment and then said simply : 

" He will go. It is His business. His own business." 

Raymond's mother turned her eyes for an instant towards the 
place where the nun had come and was startled. The sister saw 
the look upon her face, and was about to turn involuntarily in the 
direction Raymond's mother was looking, when the latter, yielding 
to some impulse, said hurriedly, laying her hand on Mother Gene- 
vieve's sleeve: 

"No. Please do not look?" 

The nun obeyed, and saying, " I must go you will pardon 
me," moved noiselessly on her way down the aisle. 

" Now, Mother," she said in her heart as she went away, 
" show this other mother what you can do. Make your Son give 
her hers." 

That " other poor mother " was looking with awed eyes up 
the little church towards the altar where Mother Genevieve had 
been praying. Over it, in a niche, stood a figure, life-size, of God's 
own great Mother. A shaft of light shone upon it and brought out 
all the colors the blue mantle flowered with lily-heads, the soft 
brown kirtle powdered with golden stars, the long dark auburn hair, 
the jeweled crown. The altar itself was in shadow, so were the 
plants and flowers decorating it. But, whereas when the nun had 
knelt before it, the Virgin Mother's arms had clasped her Son close 
to her shoulder and her heart, it seemed to Raymond's mother that 
they were empty now. 

" He has gone," she said, not aloud. She still looked and the 
arms were still empty. 

192 THE COWARD [Nov., 

" He has gone," she said again. 

And then, not willfully disbelieving, but yielding to innate 
habit of repulsion from the supernatural and miraculous, she 
thought : 

" Impossible. I am superstitious. I will go." 

And she rose to go back to her son. As she left the place 
where she knelt she did as the nun had done, and bent her knee to 
the tabernacle. 

" He is there anyway," she thought, " I believe that." 

Her obeisance, because she was not used to it, was not the 
same as the nun's; it was such a profound bending of the whole 
body as is given at court to a sovereign. 

' The King of kings," she thought, as she bent low. 




IT lies before my wounded feet: 
The cross I am to bear. 

Blocking my path, it frightens me 
To see it lying there. 

And yet, I dare not turn away, 
Nor yet dare go around. 

God, give me strength to carry it : 
The thing upon the ground. 



HE National Conference of Catholic Charities held its 
fourth biennial meeting at the Catholic University, 
September I7th, i8th, igth and 2Oth. It was attended 
by five hundred delegates. No description can give to 
one who was not present an adequate impression of 
the meaning of the Conference to the men and women who spent 
those days in intensive study of Catholic Charity. Canada, Oregon, 
Texas, Louisiana and Maine mark the outer limits of the districts 
represented among them. The printed report of the Conference will 
appear early in 1917. The tedious labor of editing the two hundred 
and forty-eight thousand word record necessarily delays its appear- 
ance. That report will furnish opportunity to study the settled 
thought of the Conference and the arguments by which policies were 
supported or opposed. Were no permanent record at all of the 
proceedings to appear, the experience of those days would give 
to those who shared them abundant compensation for the sacrifices 
of convenience that made them possible. An interpretation of cer- 
tain aspects of the meeting is offered while the memory of it is 
still vivid and the influence of its atmosphere is widely felt. 


The first impression which struck an interested observer at 
the Conference was that everything related to it quivered with life. 
No shadow of lassitude or indifference was found anywhere. 
Everything about the atmosphere and the delegates and the meet- 
ings betokened vitality. Vital topics were under discussion. Vital 
interest in them had brought these hundreds together. One found 
on all sides eagerness to learn, alert search for definite information, 
inquiry after principles, comparisons of method and experience. 
Numerous meetings were called spontaneously during the intervals 
intended for rest and recreation. From nine in the morning until 
eleven at night the halls of the University were peopled with men 

VOL. CIV. 13 


and women whose active personal interest in problems of relief 
was astonishing. 

There was in this quickened interest a peculiar touch of self- 
realization and of the mental vigor that follows it. The hundreds 
of delegates had come from many cities and many states in order 
to teach and in order to learn. They had been thinking and work- 
ing in their own circles in orderly and even activity without par- 
ticular stimulation or occasion for it. But once they entered the 
atmosphere of the Conference, experience and views melted into 
the collective spirit of the meeting and quickened minds into energy 
and speech. Experience became vital. Attitudes charged suddenly 
with unaccustomed energy took on new importance. Fluency dis- 
placed shyness and timidity yielded to self-confidence. Everyone 
was alert. Everyone appeared well informed at some point or 
other. Views and experience were vitalized. Hence the impression 
of available power and conscious purpose that the most casual ob- 
server discovered without any effort at all. 

In this experience of the delegates, charity took on greatly 
enhanced prestige both as an organic part of the life of the indi- 
vidual Christian and as a fundamental interest of the Church. This 
is an important point that might be easily overlooked. In spite of 
our best will and honest spiritual impulses, duty, business, social 
relations and reasonable ambitions drive charity into a second 
place in life. Although we look upon it as primary in the Christian 
dispensation, it is in our experience and as a factor in our average 
judgments, secondary. During the days of the Conference charity 
was held in supreme honor. Here at least was an oasis in the 
desert. Here was a tiny world in which the law of Christ could 
be for the moment seen and loved in its own appealing splendor. 
During these days the consuming passion was to learn how to 
give, not how to get, to find out the best way to serve, not a 
way to command. Here at least for a moment was respite from 
selfishness, release from the tyranny of circumstance that hinders 
one from obeying a great ideal. The collective soul of the Con- 
ference caught and asserted the sense of supernatural values that 
accepts charity as Christ declared it. 

Here, too, the delegates discovered anew the place that charity 
holds among the impulses of the Church's heart. Here the charity 
of today found an historical background that gave it new meaning 
and prophetic power. At this gathering one became conscious of the 
great, quiet, ceaseless and reverent activity fostered by the Church in 


her historical role of the Samaritan. It is not strange then that so 
many of the delegates referred frequently to this experience as 
a new realization of the place of charity in the Christian life. 
Everyone seemed filled with a sense of definite acquisition. Dele- 
gates indicated new inspiration that had touched the soul, new in- 
formation that started promising trains of thought, new impulse to 
give more generous service to the cause of poverty. One met every- 
where this sense of acquisition, this feeling that one had discovered 
new fountains of joy and new sources of power during these un- 
selfish days. 



It is the chief business of a Charities Conference to bring to 
expression differences of opinion. If there were no differences of 
opinion there could be no conferences, nor would there be any need 
of them. They who think and they who do will inevitably disagree 
in some way as to principle, method or interpretation. This is as 
true in the field of charity as it is in the field of politics or finance 
or theology. The many who are working in a common cause or 
in the same or in related fields are brought together in conferences 
in order that they may state conviction, unfold argument, appeal 
for following. Hope of progress and of the clearing of thought 
depends on contest among views, provided that honesty, zeal and 
toleration govern their expression. Judged by the differences of 
opinion that were brought forth, this Conference achieved enviable 
success. This is said neither playfully nor without reflection. Un- 
less a Conference attracts those who think and work, and leads them 
to the forceful expression of what they think and the defence of 
what they do, all is vain. 

There were differences of opinion as to the adequacy of our 
resources in relief work and as to the quality of some of our work 
where our resources are sufficient. There were differences as to 
the facts of poverty no less than as to the bearing of many related 
problems in it. Standards in relief work, the prevalence of fraud, 
the function of records in preventing it and the wisdom of methods 
to circumvent it, furnished occasion for much lively and good na- 
tured debate. Policies within our own circles, policies to be fol- 
lowed in dealing with other movements in the field of relief fur- 
nished occasion for much animated discussion. There were dif- 
ferences of opinion as to the composition and use of the family 


budget, as to the function of legislation in the field of relief and 
as to the protection of the spiritual character of charity itself. 
There was much animated debate at all such points, and there was 
no little of the enlivening repartee which redeems discussion from 
monotony and relieves the strain of serious thought. 

An incidental advantage of discussion is found in the discipline 
to which it subjects one's views. There are none of us who are not 
annoyed from time to time by discovering that what we thought 
was reasoned conviction is nothing other than prejudice, assump- 
tion or impression that has taken on an air of authority in our 
minds. Many of the positions which we most stoutly defend will 
on examination be found to be without ancestry or defence. We 
are guilty of a fault with which logic charges us. We base general- 
ization on narrow experience. We occasionally mistake vehement 
feeling for knowledge and prejudice or temperament for principle. 
Hence everyone of us is served well when we are called upon 
to state our views in public and give reasons for them. Under the 
pressure of this effort, we discover usurpers among our opinions 
and take occasion at once to expel them. Thus the Conference 
acted as a mental discipline of the very highest order, not only in 
the clash of mind with mind, but also in the interior processes of the 
mind itself. 

One feature of this was found in the general broadening of 
view which all of the delegates experienced. In one way or another 
all problems of charity were represented at the Conference. One 
who had been narrowed by specializing on one particular problem, 
discovered at the Conference that many others approached the 
same problem from another standpoint. Thus there was built up 
that organic view which alone brings sure judgment and safe 
guidance in dealing with any social problem whatsoever. 

Were there no differences of opinion there could be no con- 
ferences. Were there no fundamental agreements in opinion there 
could be no conferences. One of the distinctive features of our 
Charities Conference is the joy that we experience in discovering 
fundamental unity of faith, sympathy and purpose. The conscious- 
ness of this unity gave to the Conference great collective strength. 
There was not a single touch of doubt or even question as to the 
place of charity in the Christian life or the sincere Christian spirit 
that brought those hundreds together. They were there because 
they believed in the spiritual nature of charity; because they 
reverently wished to fit themselves for noble obedience to the law 


of Christ; because they sought to learn how better to serve the 
poor in the spirit of Christ. There was no obscurity as to the 
fundamentals of Christian morality that underlie every policy of 
relief work. There was no moment during those days of varied 
and intense discussion when the Christian fundamentals were called 
into question. Thus it was that the Conference became an ex- 
perience in faith, a revelation of the spiritual social richness of 
collective Catholic life. Much of the joy and wholesome zeal that 
were witnessed were derived from the clearer realization of the 
fundamental agreements in the Christian life that held the delegates 

The Conference served us also by making still more clear the 
understanding of what is definite in Catholic doctrine and of what 
is debatable in Catholic policy. False impressions in either field 
could not long survive the influence of the Conference atmosphere 
and the discipline of its debate. It was serviceable to all who were 
present to find the relatively large field in which frank discussion 
is encouraged. Established principles were re-stated in face of 
many complexities of modern life. Apparent conflicts were ex- 
plained away and hidden conflicts, and drift toward them, as well, 
were brought to view. New industrial and political measures were 
tested in the light of our accepted Catholic principles. Traditional 
policies and points of view were stated and challenged and de- 
fended with varying skill and outcome. Undoubtedly clearer un- 
derstanding of Catholic principles and of controverted policies was 
one of the most profitable results of the Conference. The sense of 
sure anchorage in essentials and of welcome freedom of discussion 
of transitory policies or accidental applications was among the 
greater and not the lesser joys that the delegates experienced. 


Perhaps it would serve a purpose if these thoughts were stated 
in terms of the everlasting conflict between the old and the new, 
between conservatism and radicalism properly understood. No 
stable social institution has ever failed to witness this conflict within 
itself. Prejudice, interest, custom, conviction, memory defend 
what has been, what is. Against it there arise new outlooks, re- 
statements of problems in the light of wider knowledge, new 
policies, new vocabulary, new points of view. Conflict is inevitable. 


It is given in the constitution of nature and is, within limits, in- 
tended by God as a normal social process in the development of in- 
stitutions. Now the new makes many mistakes and the old makes 
not a few. The National Conference of Catholic Charities aims 
to draw both together, and to enable them to meet in friendly con- 
test. All history tells us that new thought is usually misunderstood 
and in bad form, while old thought or traditional thinking enjoys 
the prestige of respectability and the power of establishment. New 
thought is often arrogant and intolerant. The old often lacks 
docility and information. Fortunately there is a wise and modest 
new. Fortunately there is a wise and docile old. The hope of 
progress and of peace lies in the meeting and trustful cooperation 
of the wise new which is modest and of the wise old which is 
tolerant. Their footsteps as they walk hand in hand over neutral 
valleys, lead to peace. 

The Conference served this purpose admirably. New views 
and old views met, exchanged opinions and sometimes compliments, 
and each was better for the meeting. One of the delegates re- 
marked that the greatest service rendered by it was in the pro- 
tection of new thinking. I might add that an equal service was 
added in the correction of it as well. At any rate, both types of 
thought and policy were sure of protection and of respectful hearing. 
They enjoyed all the freedom that they could ask under the reserva- 
tions already alluded to. If in anticipation of the appearance of the 
report of the Conference one may state an impression, it seems 
that the new policies are winning in the entire field of relief. This 
would not in any case be surprising, since today's radical becomes 
tomorrow's conservative and change is the law of life. 


A number of agreeable surprises were brought forth during the 
days of the Conference. The first one was in the discovery of a 
large number of experienced trained workers in the field of relief 
who had never before been brought together by any agency in our 
Catholic life other than the Conference. This has been remarked in 
each of the preceding meetings. Perhaps it was found to be the 
case more in the recent Conference than heretofore. There were 
university and college men who had given much study to aspects of 
relief and preventive work. There were many graduates of schools 


of philanthropy and of departments of philanthropy in our uni- 
versities who brought to the discussions accurate knowledge of 
literature and methods, and of the approved wisdom that relief 
work as a whole has brought to expression. There were members 
of State Boards of Charity, executive heads of philanthropic bodies, 
attorneys, physicians and business men, and women in goodly num- 
bers. Some had lived and worked out of touch with the collective 
Catholic sense. Many of them, in spite of heavy business cares, 
had spent years in faithful attention to the demands of charity, 
and had stood forth worthy representatives of the Church when 
occasion required. All of them felt the thrill of discovery and 
the spiritual joy of the collective Christian life in their experience 
at the Conference. Many of them did not hesitate to institute 
searching comparisons with other types of conference, which gave 
much joy to those through whose efforts this one was made pos- 
sible. The welding together of so many who represent varied ex- 
perience, training and outlook into one body of earnest men and 
women sharing a common spiritual philosophy, who love the Chris- 
tian ideal of charity and seek ways of acting under a common 
spiritual impulse, was a spiritual achievement of the first order. 

Another surprise was in the expression of the insistent de- 
mand by our Catholic workers for up-to-date literature of relief. 
We must admit that our slender literature is out of all proportion 
to the prestige of charity in the Christian life, to the magnitude 
of the charity interests of the Church, and to the demand of modern 
life for the best that is in us when we endeavor to serve the poor. 
The founding of the Charities Review, which will appear as a 
monthly beginning next January, was one response to this demand. 
At one session of the Conference where its publication was dis- 
cussed, twenty-three hundred subscriptions were pledged within 
an hour. Every speaker who took the floor declared that our in- 
terests in the work of charity demand such a publication at once. 
It was clearly shown that the day is past when the individual 
worker in the field of relief may think and act alone. He must 
think and act with others, in a certain sense with all others. He 
must see not only one side, but all sides of the problem with which 
he deals. He must know not only what he does but also what 
others do. He must be willing to teach and to learn. Our think- 
ing must be made more or less homogenous in respect to the fun- 
damentals in modern policies of relief. Realizations of those kinds 
create literature and a demand for it. A monthly publication of 


the kind proposed will stimulate activity throughout the country, 
improve standards and help us to assimilate everything wholesome 
in modern movements as far as consistent with the spiritual princi- 
ples which guide us. 1 At any rate, the action of the Conference 
in demanding a monthly publication and in pledging support for it, 
was welcome proof of the awakened mind that now characterizes 
our leaders in charity. 

The success that the National Conference has met and the 
warm personal interest that its members take in its aims and work, 
are sufficient proof that the creation of it was timely, and its 
methods are substantially approved. What it has done in its six 
years in developing a national outlook in our charity, serves to 
make more clear the magnitude of our interests in the field, and 
the call that we feel to meet every standard of reasonable effi- 
ciency by which we may be judged. Our charity work of what- 
soever kind in these days is described in terms not always of our 
own choosing; is judged by standards which we cannot control; 
and is treated by public and private organizations somewhat arbi- 
trarily when not with direct injustice. 

Our works must deal with bad will no less than good will. In 
every relation we have pressing need of literature, of the reading, 
speaking and thinking habit. We must modify vocabulary, change 
methods in the light of wider information and widen scope of 
action as our increasing efficiency permits. We cannot dismiss 
with a gesture proposals which we do not like, nor will our frown 
defeat philosophy or baffle a tenacious error. System, science 
formula, method have their advantages. If they do not frighten 
us in theology, why should we fear them in charity? Anyone of 
us may err. Not all of us will err in the same way. The upbuild- 
ing of a great serious collective Catholic sense in relief work can- 
not but strengthen and guide us well. As a body, we shall scarcely 
err in this regard. The National Conference has begun that work. 
If we may believe its > members, it has made marked progress in 
few years. 

J The Catholic Charities Review will be published from the Catholic Uni- 
versity tinder the editorship of Rev. Dr. John A. Ryan. It will succeed the St. 
Vincent de Paul Quarterly which completes this month its twenty-second volume. 
The Quarterly is the only Catholic periodical of its kind that has been ex- 
clusively devoted to the interests of charity in the United States. It was pub- 
lished by the Superior Council of the St. Vincent de Paul Society of the city of 
New York. 



Do you know where I have been 
So early this morning' 
Just as His day was dawning? 
I've pressed close fo the manger 
To greet the Little Stranger 
Though others gifts did proffer, 
And I could nothing offer. 
But when He saw me kneeling 
For my poor needs appealing, 

I thought He smiled on me. 
The joy of God ! 

Do you know where I have been 
So early this morning 
Just as His day was dawning? 
I've sat in grassy places 
To watch those eager faces, 
As He taught them Who was blessed- 
And I listened shame-confessed. 
But when He saw me grieving. 
So weakly unachieving, 

I heard Him calling me. 
The choice of God ! 

Do you know where I have been 
So early this morning 
Just as His day was dawning? 
I've sought again His sign-post 
From flowering by-ways, lost. 
And I trod the road it pointed 
Which His bleeding feet anointed. 
But when He saw me coming 
So desolate my homing 

I saw Him weep for me 
The grief of God ! 


President of the Irish Literary Society of London. 

links between the Victorian age and our own 
grow fewer as time goes on, and it is one of the 
many claims upon us of the work of Miss Emily 
Hickey and of her personality that she stands as one 
of these links with a great past. To have known 
Browning is already becoming a rare distinction, and to have 
been, with Dr. Furnivall, the co-founder of the Browning Society, 
and its first Honorary Secretary, is an achievement in which Miss 
Hickey may well feel a genuine pride. Something of high com- 
panionship with literary men and literature breathes in the presence 
of our poet as she comes down the steps to meet us, welcoming 
us with gentle dignity and with outstretched hand and quiet smile. 
We know her at once for a woman of refinement of mind, whose 
soul is at harmony with itself. As we talk to her we find that 
our first instinct is right, and that she has drunk deep at the foun- 
tainheads of European literature; that the poems of the Anglo- 
Saxon and Elizabethan days have not so filled her mind as to shut 
her from the enjoyment of the lyrics of Victor Hugo or of the 
massive epic of Dante. Her intellectual range of interests and joys 
is wide. Miss Hickey is no longer young, except in spirit; but is 
it her Irish birth and descent that is accountable for the fact that 
she never seems to grow old, and is it her natal Irish fairy-gift 
of humor which lights up a temperament naturally grave and much 
occupied with the serious and religious aspects of life? Perhaps 
it is the ready sympathy grown of long association with young 
lives; however it be, certain it is that though her hair is gray, no 
young girl would ever think her unapproachable, and no child would 
doubt her ready humor and ability to be a play-fellow; but then, 
Miss Hickey loves the young and she loves children, and they 
would guess this even without her child poems to tell them so. 

For Miss Hickey's natural love for study and reflective thought 
is only one side of her life. As she tells us herself, though as a 
girl she cannot remember a time when she did not care about read- 
ing poetry, so also she does not recollect any time when she did 


not love climbing trees; and the tree climbing was just as real 
and as essential a part of her nature as the poetry. The tree- 
climbing is in her cheery humorous smile today, and she will 
mentally be a tree climber to the last. We shall always find her 

When we saw her last, a few weeks ago, she was the contented 
occupant of a room in a convent of French nuns, with whom she 
was chatting in free and graceful French. This familiarity with 
the French language she likes to tell us that she owed to an early 
teacher, Madame Stuart, nee Planque, who died only a year ago 
at the great age of ninety-nine. To this truly gifted teacher and 
friend, Miss Hickey ascribes the development of her natural taste 
for poetry. With her she read Sir Walter Scott, and the old 
thrilling border ballads of Chevy Chase and Sir Cauline. She still 
possesses a little volume given to her by this teacher, and from 
which she used to learn by heart Scott's fine swinging verse. 

But it is not the echoes of Scott, but of Tennyson and Mrs. 
Browning that we catch in Miss Hickey's early poems. She was 
only twenty when her first long poem was published in Cornhill, 
and though she tells us that its form and the name of its chief 
character were taken from a poem of " Owen Meredith's " (the 
second Lord Lytton) published in the same journal, it is Tenny- 
son's voice that we seem to hear speaking behind it. The touching 
tale of the two men who loved one woman, and unconsciously told 
their story to each other on ship board, all unwitting that they 
spoke of the same woman, is, as it appears to us, influenced by 
Tennyson's narrative poems; but, it may be, as unconsciously as 
was the thought of those who told their story to each other. Many 
of her early verses take the narrative form. It was perhaps an at- 
tempt to work out in another way an early ambition to become 
a novelist. For Miss Hickey, who grew up in the beautiful neigh- 
borhood of County Carlow, had, fostered in the ambition by kindly 
friends, already in her " teens," put out feelers in the direction of 
prose writing. Together she and her elder sister wrote stories and 
read them to each other, and she has had more than one serial story 
published, and many valuable papers in later life. 1 But her real 
bent was towards poetry, and the narrative form was a good one 
to train upon, while experience was widening and life opening its 
vast possibilities before her. Narrative is not the highest use 

J Miss Hickey has published one novel, Lois, and she tells me that she has 
another ready for press. 


for poetry, but it is a quite legitimate use, and Miss Hickey has 
never entirely abandoned it; only she has gained greater force 
and terseness of expression as time went on. Her earliest book 
of verse, called from the first piece in it A Sculptor, and Other 
Poems, was published in i88i, 2 is chiefly made up of narrative 
poetry. It rather gives promise for the future than the satisfac- 
tion of achievement, yet we can feel that better is to come as we 
read Told in the Firelight, Margaret, or the two little lyrics called 
Love-song and A Song of the Unsung. She shows also that power 
of analyzing certain sides o'f character which we meet with in many 
of her poems as, for instance, in A Sculptor, the study of an un- 
successful artist, engrossed in his own poor accomplishment to the 
neglect of the faithful wife beside him. Miss Hickey has treated 
a similar theme, that of the thoroughly selfish artist, to whom 
the affections of women are only interesting as " experiences," upon 
which he, as an artist, can draw for " material," in a later and far 
more powerful poem, called Two Women and a Poet (Poems, 
1896). The study of character has evidently been always a fa- 
vorite occupation with our poet. Yet on the whole we may 
say that this first book is chiefly experimental; and the author 
indulges in it in some phantasies of spelling and expression which 
she wisely abandons in her later books. 

We feel a great advance when we come to her Verse-tales, 
Lyrics, and Translations, published in i889, 3 an ^ yet more so in 
Poems, published in i896. 4 Indeed, if we were asked where the 
finest poems of our author were to be found, we should un- 
hesitatingly point to these two books. Her power of expression has 
ripened and moulded itself to a very remarkable extent, she is no 
longer experimenting in forms and methods of self -revelation; 
above all her thought has cleared and her grasp of life deepened. 
Her most accomplished poems, from the artistic point of view, 
are undoubtedly to be found in the later book; perhaps the more 
human and interesting are collected in the earlier. This is, at least, 
our personal view, but personal preferences in poetry cannot be im- 
posed on another; each must choose as appeals to himself. 

Michael Villiers, Idealist? seems like an interlude between the 
other two. It contains Miss Hickey's views upon social problems, 
and may perhaps be connected with that period of her life when 
these problems came much before her mind through her labors 

London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. "London: Elkin Mathews. 

*Ibid. 'London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1891. 


among the poor of London. The long poem which gives its 
name to the volume deals with the history of a man of breed- 
ing and culture born to a large inheritance, but conscious of 
the tug of the social questions and the call of the human tragedies 
that come to him from the strata of life lower down beneath his 
own. We feel strongly in this poem the influence of Mrs. Brown- 
ing's personality and work; Aurora Leigh leaps to our minds as 
we read it. Not that it is in any way an imitation of Mrs. Brown- 
ing's great social poem, but we are conscious of the same spirit 
working through it, the meeting of a similar set of problems in 
the same broad way of womanly sympathy. The questions, old 
as creation and never. wholly answerable, of the relationship of 
rich and poor, of competition and labor, of the responsibility and 
use of wealth and of the grinding terrors of penury, are argued 
out by Michael with his own heart and with his friends. It was 
a good thought to place him, the idealist, in close conjunction with 
his old uncle, the practical landowner with the good heart, and 
to show how near and how far off they were from each other. It 
was a difficult thing to write a poem of such length on such a 
topic, and to write it so successfully as Miss Hickey has done. As 
is hardly to be avoided in work of this kind, the interest of the 
argument is inclined to override the human interest; in this Miss 
Hickey is less satisfying than the author of Aurora Leigh, where 
we are never allowed to lose sympathy with the sufferers under 
the strange irregularities of life, even while we are inquiring into 
the origin and causation of their sorrows. But the poem is never- 
theless fine both in spirit and expression, and we did not find its in- 
terest flag. There are, too, in Aurora Leigh, some weighty lines 
which remain in the mind. We give a specimen or two : 

And no one who is impious to the past 
Can help the present or the future time; 
And none who liveth only in the past 
Can be the servant of the present time, 
And sow the seeds to bear the future's growth. 

Or again, when a friend would argue that 

At any rate we can afford to wait 

Till the Time Spirit shape the way for us ! 

the reply comes swiftly and truly: 

Till the Time Spirit shape the way for us ! 


What is the Spirit of the Time, except 

The essence of the noblest thoughts and deeds 

Of all the strongest spirits of the time? 

A nation's life is wrong where every man 

Lives for himself, or for himself and those 

He has begotten; and her life is wrong 

If some of those her sons have set themselves, 

However it may be in ignorance, 

To live upon the work of other men, 

Whose lives are none the richer because of theirs . . 

A very charming poem which treats a similar subject in a 
lighter manner in the delightful Margery Daw* the story of a high-' 
born winsome girl intended by her relations to play a role in society, 
who voluntarily devotes herself to the well-being of her people as 
one of themselves. When the babe they have loved has grown to 
girlhood, she is sent away from her native village to see life in 
London, and these poor folk who had known her believed that 
they would never see her more, save in the occasional visit of the 
grand lady. 

They dressed her in grand attire, and took our darling away; 
She kissed us all and said, " I am coming home one day." 
We smiled, to grieve her not, but our hearts were very sore, 
For we thought we knew that day, we should see our child no more. 
See-saw, Margery Daw. 

We were very wise, you see, and yet not wise enough ; 
Her wholesome human heart was made of different stuff; 
And when five years were come and gone, with seed and grain, 
Our little Margery Daw came back to us again. 
See-saw, Margery Daw. 

Miss Dawson, the gold lady! Miss Dawson, the moneyed dame! 
A girl with big bright eyes, and happy voice, she came! 
We kissed our dear wee maid with never a touch of awe; 
Margery Daw come back ! our own little Margery Daw ! 
See-saw, Margery Daw. 

Changed? was Margery changed? yes, one way changed was she; 
We saw on her brow the star of lovely constancy ; 
We knew she had claimed and won the heritage of the years, 
The grandeur of noble thought and the glory of selfless tears. 
See-saw, Margery Daw. 

6 Verse-Tales, Lyrics and Translations. 


And this is how Margery came back to live with the poor as one of 
the poor, and to be the blessing and light of her childhood's neigh- 

To Miss Hickey no lot is more sad than that of the struggling 
solitary woman-worker, for whom the race of life has been too 
hard, and who finds herself broken and defeated at the last. This 
situation bears to our poet the aspect of the direst tragedy, per- 
haps because as a worker herself she is able to realize more keenly 
what failure in such a case would mean. Two affecting poems 
on this subject recur to the mind. One, published with Michael 
Villiers, is called Autographs, and is the story, briefly told, of a lady 
of birth and refinement, who in her youth had been loved by a poet, 
risen into fame. His early death had forced the gentle woman 
who had waited for him into a long struggle for self-preservation, 
which had ended in failure. When she was in direst want, a 
buyer of autographs came to her door and offered her money for 
the letters of her famous lover. Her indignant refusal, and the 
consuming of the little sheaf of treasured letters in her candle, 
before the slight rush-light of her own life goes out, is pathetically 
told, and we feel the tears at our eyes as we read. But Miss Hickey 
has, from the artistic point of view, treated a very similar subject 
with still greater skill in her poem While the Grass Grows. It is 
prefaced by a parable. A lean and starving steed is waiting for the 
growing of the meadow grass which will bring him nourishment, 
and save his life, " in some country, where I know not." 

There the grass was growing, growing; one who stooped could well- 
nigh hear 

Fluctuant wavelets of the spring-sap, softly throbbing on the ear, 
For the grass was growing, growing, in the growth-tide of the year. 
Sweet the smell of that fair herbage by the sheen of spring-time lit; 
Martlets skimming swiftly over slacken speed because of it; 
And the breeze above it sweeping maketh music exquisite. 
And away, away in distance, far from meadow-sheen and glow, 
On the barren moor where never grace of meadow-growth can go, 
Is the seely steed a-waiting for the goodly grass to grow. 
Patience, patience, for a little ; one must learn to bear and wait ; 
Only patience and it cometh, matters not if soon or late; 
Seely steed, have patience only, plenty knocketh at the gate. 
Now is come the time of plenty ; in the lush green shall he tread ; 
In that fairest of all meadows shall the seely steed be fed; 
Nay, my masters, take no troubling, for the seely steed is dead. 


Like the " seely steed," a " little lady " on the busy streets of 
London was daily wending to and fro, waiting for the time which 
friends, kindly hearted, told her must always come to those who 
knew how to wait; the blessed time of rest and plenty. 

She had fought a manful battle, she had worked while work she could ; 
She was only one of many struggling hard for daily food, 
And she lost her little foothold, sorely baffled and withstood. 

So the months, the years, passed by, but the lush grass was 
still far away, and the grass growing for her feeding was still un- 
cut. At last the day came, but it found her dead. 

On her thin white face of calmness now no shade of trouble falls, 
As she lies on naked boarding, bounded round by naked walls; 
You will find her little havings underneath yon Golden Balls. 

There may be technical faults in these poems, but we do not 
think of them if such there be; we think only of their tender 
human sympathy with pain and their understanding of unspoken 

But we must not leave the impression that all Miss Hickey's 
work of this period was concerned with human tragedies. All the 
while her musical sense was developing and becoming more highly 
trained, and a number of lyrics, such as Harebells, 'A Primrose, 
and Cuckoo Song, show that she could sing as well as soar. In 
time this singing quality, combining with her ripened reflective 
power, was to produce those beautiful sonnets which are to our 
mind the expression of Miss Hickey's choicest and most polished 
work. A little group of these very beautiful sonnets occur together 
in Poems, the volume which represents her high watermark of 
achievement. They are entitled: And after This, To R. N., To 
Miranda, Who Sleeps, A Choice, and two sonnets called Love and 
Grief. We give the sonnet To Miranda, Who Sleeps, as a specimen 
of what we consider the author's best work. 

Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well! 

The dawning light hath set the world astir 

With chirp and warble of birds, and faery whirr 
Of wringlets, quivering in the broken spell 
That sleep had laid on nature: strange to tell, 

Miranda sleepeth yet; strange, for it were 

A wonder if the delicate ear of her 
Knew not this multitudinous matin-bell. 


But still Miranda sleeps ! What was to meet 
In dreamland, what, or whom, for thee to lie 
Unmindful of the glory of earth and sky, 

With little quiet hands and quiet feet? 

And still thou sleepest, and thy sleep is sweet. 
Dear heart, I would not waken thee, not I. 

Nothing could well be more rounded and finished than the 
choice of phrasing and wording in this sonnet. It is beautiful. 

In this volume, too, she sums up her artistic creed in an 
epilogue called Ad Poetam, of which the following are some of 
the lines : 


O Poet of the golden mouth, on you 
God's benison for music sweet a-nd true. 

Your web of song is full divinely wove; 
A warp that's joy across a woof that's love. 

If rudest thorns have sharply pierced your hand, 
Blest, with the Rose upon your heart, you stand. 

If you have tasted bitter woe and teen, 

More wholesome-sweet for that your song hath been. 

And to the music dropping from your tongue 
No taste of morbid gall hath ever clung. 

In vital grace and virile sanity, 

Of earth and heaven, O poet, you are free. 

Sing on, sing on the strain he knoweth best 

Who hath the heavens' blue road, the earth's brown nest. 

To this poetic creed Miss Hickey has been true ; some readers 
may find her poems too intellectual (a good fault that we might 
well wish many other singers would emulate), but no one will 
fail to recognize in them the high level of her thought, the grave 
regard in which she holds the poet's office, or the serenity and 
depth of her religious belief. To her verse " no taste of morbid gall 
hath ever clung," and that is the best praise. It is true that in a mo- 
ment of impulse and uncertainty she withdrew two of her books 
from publication; an act that she now confesses to have been a mis- 
take, and which was certainly unnecessary. This happened before 
she entered the Catholic Church, of which she has now long been a 
member; and her spiritual advisers have assured her that this was 

VOL. CIV. 14 


an error of judgment, and have encouraged her to continue her 
special work, and watched over it with sympathy and interest. 
This act of conscience has hampered the recognition of Miss 
Hickey's work, which was for a time withdrawn from circulation; 
but it will not permanently injure her reputation, which is fully as- 
sured by the books still to be obtained. 

The change in her religious views has naturally been reflected 
to some extent in her later verse. Always religious, it has become 
more doctrinal, and in a little volume published by the Catholic 
Truth Society in 1902, called Our Lady of May, she gives us a 
cycle of poems relating the life of the Mother of Our Lord, quaint 
as old carols and devotional as hymns. Her last poetical publi- 
cation, also, called Later Poems, 1 contains a number of very tender 
religious poems. The conversation of St. Anne with St. Joachim 
after the Presentation in the Temple has all the fresh simplicity 
of the early Miracle Play. In simple dialogue they bewail the 
human loss of the " Babe Mary," and wonder how the little one 
will fare away from home and loving parents. Anne speaks thus : 

Dost think the angels, Joachim, 
Will sing our sweet her cradle hymn? 

Or will the Lord, of His gentle grace, 
Lend one angel her mother's face? 

The couplet form, so suitable to such subjects, is a favorite 
one with our poet. She used it with great effect in her strik- 
ing poem, The Ballad of Lady Ellen (Poems), a poem the sub- 
ject of which has attracted' more than one writer. It is founded 
on a weird and pathetic story printed long ago by W. B. Yeats 
in his collection of Fairy and Folk Tales, under the mistaken belief 
that it was an Irish legend. He himself has dramatized it, and 
Mrs. Tynan-Hinkson has founded a poem upon the same subject. 
The story is as follows: a great famine raged in a land, which 
Mr. Yeats believed to be the west of Ireland. Day by day the 
people died, and when the misery and want were at their height, 
the Evil One sent two emissaries with the promise of bread to 
those who would sell their souls to him. The Lady Ellen, daughter 
of the Duke, had long relieved their distress, so far as her means 
lasted ; but in the end, seeing no way out of the misery but one, 
she sold her white soul to the evil messengers. Then the famine was 
stayed and the people ate, but the soul of the Lady Ellen fared forth 

'London: Grant Richards, 1913. 


to hell, for the salvation of her people. Miss Hickey has treated 
the subject with freedom, and the Lady Ellen, in her fine version 
of the legend, attains eventually to the Lord's heaven, " and 
is laid to rest on the bosom of Mary." We do not recollect how 
the folk-tale, which seems to be founded on a French or Breton 
story, ends, but though our author has lightened the close of the 
tragic episode, she has not lost any of its poignant meaning, which 
the short crisp couplets help to accentuate. And this brings us 
to say something of her Irish poems. Though Miss Hickey has 
lived most of her life out of Ireland, the land of her birth has 
never relaxed its hold upon her affections and her thoughts. Al- 
ready in Michael Villiers, Idealist, she had argued out the old un- 
solved, and it would appear insoluble, questions of Ireland's wrongs 
and difficulties. To-day, when they are before our minds again, we 
may well re-read the words with which she ends the argument. 
When a friend has reasoned with Villiers that England " long ago 
has seen the wrong, and striven to make amends, and still she 
strives with all her might and main," Villiers replies : " I know it 
well, nor would I be unjust." 

But it may be that vision came too late, 
And that amendment cannot now be done ! 
The bitterest punishment of punishments 
To nations or to men is impotence 
To mend a wrong they knew not when they did. 

As time has gone on, and Miss Hickey has familiarized her- 
self with the old literature and legends of Ireland, many subjects 
have suggested themselves to her out of that great storehouse of 
material. She has a fine rendering of the legend of the death of 
King Conor, the ancient Ulster King, who is said to have died on 
the same day as Our Lord from the results of his anger and agony, 
when news was brought to him that men were slaying the Guiltless 
and Pure One in Jerusalem. Her long poem on the fairy legend 
of Etain the Queen we think less successful, and the frequent 
changes in metre give it a jerky and uneven sense, which helps to 
destroy its charm; but then the story, as the old bards told it in 
prose, was so enchanting, and the Gaelic poems with which it is 
intermingled have such melody, that we feel that any English poetic 
version must lose heavily in the exchange of tongue and sentiment. 

Far more successful are her translations from the Anglo- 
Saxon, a study which she has made her own, and in which sphere 


she has done excellent work. Her poetical renderings of The Battle 
of Maldon, The Dream of the Holy Rood, and Judith are valuable 
aids to the understanding of the form and spirit of these splendid 
fragments of early English literature. They have been approved 
by such great authorities as Professor Earle of Oxford and Pro- 
fessor Skeat of Cambridge; while Dr. Edward Dowden, the 
Shakespearean scholar and critic, wrote to the translator that he 
considered these translations " a distinct gain to English literature." 
Miss Hickey always acknowledges the debt that she feels to the 
early English verse of Cynewulf and his contemporaries; the sin- 
cerity and directness of the old writers delight her, and she ascribes 
to their study something of the strength which her own poems 
possess. A prose rendering of the romance of Havelok the Dane 
appeared from her pen some years ago, and the same early English 
affections are visible in her book, Our Catholic Heritage in English 

Miss Hickey has rejoiced in the friendship of many literary 
and thoughtful people. We have already spoken of her connection 
with the Browning Society, which brought her into a circle of in- 
tellectual fellow-workers. Her edition of Browning's Stafford, an- 
notated by her hand, is one outcome of this association. One of 
the friendships which she counts among the great incentives of her 
life was that with the Hon. Roden Noel. What she thought of 
him is summed up in her splendid eulogy which bears his name, 
and in an unpublished paper read before the Royal Society of 
Literature. To the Nineteenth Century and After she contributed 
papers on Browning and on Mrs. Browning in the years 1909 and 
1913. She has also made several successful translations from the 
French, and in particular from the lyrics of Victor Hugo. 

We will close our study of Miss Emily Hickey's work by a 
reference to two poems, not yet mentioned, which show her power 
in very different styles of verse. The first is the story of a wolf 
in the land of the Great White Czar. Two travelers, crouching in 
bitter cold beside a river bank near which their boat is moored, 
see a great gray wolf, lean and hungry, coming down the hillside 
on the further bank of the stream. In an instant it has sprung 
upon and slain a deer, but instead of demolishing it on the spot, 
it leaves the carcass lying on the ground, and returns to fetch the 
pack of which it was leader. While it was gone, the travelers, in 
careless sport, to see what w r ould happen, crossed the river and 
carried off the deer. We will let our poet finish the story : 


Hungry and cold we watched and watched to see him return on his 


At last we spied him a-top of the hill the same gray wolf come back, 
No more alone, but a leader of wolves, the head of a gruesome pack. 
He came right up the very place where the dead deer's body had lain, 
And he sniffed and looked for the prey of his claws, the beast that 

himself had slain; 
The beast at our feet, and the river between, and the searching all 

in vain! 

He threw up his muzzle and slunk his tail, and whined so pitifully, 
And the whole pack howled and fell on him we hardly could bear 

to see. 

Breaker of civic law or pact, or however they deemed of him, 
He knew his fate, and he met his fate, for they tore him limb from 


I tell you, we felt as we ne'er had felt since ever our days began; 
Less like men that had cozened a brute than men that had murdered 
a man. 

Whence we shall probably agree with the writer's verdict that the 
distinction between instinct and reason is small indeed ! 

Our last quotation, and one with which we may gratefully part 
company with Miss Hickey's work, is found in her last slight 
volume called Later Poems. 


In the day of understanding, 

Shall we know, 

We who grieved each other so, 
All the wherefore, all the why, 
You and I? 

In the day of understanding, 

Shall we see, 
Eyes enlightened perfectly, 

How it was that heart and heart 
Went apart? 

In the day of understanding, 

Shall we say, 
Each to each, O Love, today 

Do I love you, love you, more 
Than of yore? 



HREE times Congress has passed immigration bills 
with a literacy test, and three times Presidents have 
returned the bills with their veto because they were 
opposed to that test. The recent Congress returned 
to the subject, and the House of the Representatives 
passed a bill with the literacy restriction. The Senate was 
again willing to pass the measure, but in the press of business did not 
wish to devote its time to legislation which it believed would certainly 
be vetoed. The difference between Congress and the President in 
the past and at present is not that Congress wishes the nation to be 
literate, and that the President does not, but that Congress wishes 
to cut down the quantity of immigration, and that the President 
considers that the method proposed is un-American, and is doubtful 
of the need of the restriction. The issue is primarily an economic 
one rather than an educational one. It is a question of the oppor- 
tunities for making a living rather than of the need of reading the 
newspapers. As a preliminary to the consideration of that economic 
problem the present article will discuss the causes which have led 
the immigrants to make America their home, and the conditions 
under which they are providing for themselves in the new home. 
A few comparisons will aid in giving an idea of the magnitude 
of the immigration movement. At the outbreak of the Revolution- 
ary War there were two and a half million people in the United 
Colonies. In 1820 there w r ere four times this number or ten millions 
in the United States. In 1910 there were ninety-one millions of 
population in the Continental United States. Out of the two and 
a half millions who were here in 1775, one million two hundred 
thousand were white persons who were born here. One million two 
hundred thousand persons immigrated to this country in the fiscal 
year preceding the outbreak of the present European war. That is, 
we had as many immigrants in the fiscal year ended June 30, 1914, 
as there were native white persons in the colonies in 1775. During 
the ten years preceding the outbreak of the European war, over ten 
million foreigners came to our shores, or an average of over one 
million a year. In other words, those who came in the ten years 


preceding the war, were four times as numerous as the total popula- 
tion of the colonies in 1775. They were as numerous as the total 
population in 1820. They were one-ninth as numerous as the total 
population of the Continental United States in 1910. These figures 
naturally lead us to consider the problem of finding working room 
for the immigrants. 

Many a theorist has told us that as population increases in a 
given country, whether by natural increase or by immigration, it 
becomes ever progressively harder for the increased numbers to 
find food upon which to subsist. This difficulty of finding food 
applies, of course, to the native-born as well as to the immigrant. 
According to this point of view, the living which can be obtained 
by the native-born is a poorer living after the immigrant has arrived 
than it was before he came. This view of numbers and of the 
possibility of feeding them is a pessimistic view. And naturally the 
theory of the case is not completed until the optimist also has had 
an inning. When a child is born into the world, says the optimist, 
it brings with it a mouth to feed ; but it brings also two hands which 
will, in the course of time, produce the subsistence to supply the 
increased demand. When an immigrant comes he brings with 
him two hands already developed to supply the newly-arrived mouth. 
Therefore, says the optimist, a large population finds it no harder 
to make a living than a small population. In fact, he says, a large 
population finds an easier living in any country than a small popula- 
tion would find in that country; because as population is massed 
together there are many opportunities for cooperation and the elim- 
ination of waste effort that are not to be found in sparsely settled 

At this stage in the controversy the economist enters. Both 
optimist and pessimist are partly right and partly wrong, says the 
economist. According to the law of diminishing returns, increased 
efforts to produce wealth do not necessarily result in increased 
product proportionate to the increased efforts. Or, in other words, 
assuming that methods of production do not change, if the number 
of workers on a given area of land is increased sufficiently, a point 
will finally be reached where additional workers added to the 
working community will succeed in producing an increased product, 
but an increased product which is not relatively as great as the 
increase in the number of the workers. Here we are assuming that 
the methods of production do not change; and under this assump- 
tion the pessimist is right. But, as a matter of fact, in progressive 


countries methods of production do improve; and improvements in 
methods of production may well be sufficient to overcome the evil 
consequences of the law of diminishing returns. The overpopula- 
tion of a country is thus seen to be not merely a question of num- 
bers. It is rather a question of numbers and of methods of pro- 
duction. When there was free land to be had by all comers to this 
country, the law of diminishing returns had not yet begun to get 
in its deadly work. But even after the free land had been prac- 
tically all taken up, the law of diminishing returns might be kept 
at bay as long as improvements in methods of production kept pace 
with our increasing numbers. 

Whatever may be the extent to which the law of diminishing 
returns is pressing upon us in this country, it is certain that its 
pressure is less here than in Europe. Europe is overcrowded; 
America is relatively undeveloped. In Europe wages are low; in 
America they are much higher. In Europe the possibilities of im- 
proving one's economic status are small; America is the land of 
opportunity. There have been, of course, other reasons than the 
purely economic for immigration to this country. People have 
come here to escape religious and political persecution. Men have 
come here because they have heard that in this land of liberty 
employers address employees as social equals; women have come 
here because they wished to wear hats, and in their own country 
on account of their social status they were not allowed to do so. 
But taking the immigrants by and large, they have come here to 
earn a better living than they were able to earn in Europe. Cotton 
Mather, back in colonial days, told a story of a preacher from a 
neighboring town who paid a visit to Marblehead, and commended 
the people there for their devotion to principle in migrating to 
the New World. But the people of Marblehead were not much 
impressed. " You think you are talking to the people of the Bay," 
interrupted one of the citizens, " we came here to catch fish." 

When the American colonies were first being settled, Europe 
was already overcrowded. Great Britain at that time contained 
only four millions of people as against forty millions today, but 
Great Britain had not at that time the foreign trade which would 
support a large population, and she was driving the yeomanry from 
the land in order to raise sheep where once men were reared. Nor 
was the situation much better in other European countries. The 
Pilgrim Fathers fled from England to Holland to find religious 
freedom. They found in Holland, indeed, the religious freedom 


which they sought, but they found also a poor market for their 
labor. In the language of one of their leaders, " Old age began to 
steal on many of them (and their great and continual labor has- 
tened it before the time). And many of their children that were 
of the best dispositions and gracious inclinations, having learned to 
bear the yoke in their youth, and willing to bear part of their 
parents' burdens, were oftentimes so oppressed with heavy labors 

that their bodies became decrepit in their early youth, 

the vigor of nature being consumed in the very bud, as it were." 
And so the Pilgrim Fathers came to America to find an easier living. 

It has been estimated that half of those who came to America 
in colonial times came as indentured servants. For the most part 
these were persons who were dissatisfied with living conditions in 
the Old World, and who hoped to improve their position in the 
New. They were free persons in Europe, but they sold themselves 
for a term of years to the agents of planters or to shipmasters or 
emigration brokers to pay the cost of transportation to America. 
Likewise the colonists who were not servants came to better their 
economic condition. 

In the latter part of the eighteenth and the beginning of the 
nineteenth century, the same cause continued to contribute an active 
immigration, but it was not until towards the middle of the nine- 
teenth century that a really heavy immigration set in. The famine 
in Ireland at that time and the hard times in Germany, together 
with the discovery of gold in California, were added to the normal 
differences in opportunities in the two worlds as causes for a rapid 
increase in numbers, of immigrants. The contrast between the 
economic conditions of America and those of Europe during this 
period are well brought out by an English writer, who says : " On 
their return from the United States travelers are not infrequently 
asked what feature struck them most favorably in their journey 
through the country. Looking to the territory I should certainly 
answer to such a question : its wide expanse and its abundant re- 
sources; but looking to the people, I should say, the absence of 
pauperism. Nothing is more striking to a European than the 
universal appearance of respectability of all classes in America. 
You see no rags, you meet no beggars." 

Immigration to the United States has been at all periods almost 
entirely from Europe; but about thirty years ago a gradual change 
came over the immigration with respect to the geography of its 
origin. The Irish and the Germans had been the first immigrants 


to come in large numbers, but they were soon accompanied by 
immigrants from other countries of northwestern Europe. Not 
more than five per cent of the total of our European immigration 
before 1883 came from Eastern and Southern Europe. In that 
year an eighth of the European immigration to America was from 
the south and east of Europe. At the outbreak of the European war 
four-fifths of our European immigrants were from those sections. 

The immigration from northwestern Europe, which is usually 
referred to as the " old " immigration, has fallen off not only rela- 
tively to the " new " immigration from the countries of eastern 
and southern Europe, but it has also fallen off in absolute numbers. 
Thus there were seven times as many immigrants from Germany in 
1882 as in the fiscal year 1914; one hundred and five thousand 
came from the Scandinavian countries in 1882 and twenty-nine 
thousand in 1914; twelve thousand came from Switzerland in 1883 
and four thousand in 1914. In 1882, one hundred and seventy- 
nine thousand came from Great Britain and Ireland, and in 1914 
only seventy-three thousand came. 

The falling off in the " old " immigration was due largely to 
improved conditions at home. The land legislation of Ireland, the 
social legislation of Germany, and similar legislation in other coun- 
tries of northwestern Europe during the last three or four decades, 
have done much to restrain the impulse to emigrate of the workers 
in those lands. Moreover, many of the " old " immigrants formerly 
became farmers in the New World, but the opportunities of ob- 
taining farm lands as a gift have practically ceased, and the lure 
of the land no longer attracts immigrants in large numbers. Those 
seeking land in recent years have gone to Canada or South 

More rapidly than the " old " immigration has fallen off the 
" new " immigration has increased. The new immigrants come as 
the old immigrants came, for the most part, to better their economic 
condition. But they were later in learning of the opportunities 
for improvement that awaited them in America. In 1880 only 
twelve thousand came from Italy to the United States. During 
the year preceding the outbreak of the war two hundred and eighty- 
three thousand, or twenty-three and a half times as many as in 
1880, came from Italy; in 1880, seventeen thousand came from 
Austria-Hungary ; in the year preceding the war two hundred and 
seventy-eight thousand, or sixteen times as many as in 1880, came 
from that country. Russia sent seven thousand in 1880 and two 


hundred and fifty-five thousand, or thirty-six and a half times as 
many as in 1880, in the year preceding the war. 

To a certain extent it may be said that other than economic 
causes have been -at work producing immigration. Thus the treat- 
ment received by the Poles and Finns and Jews in Europe would 
have led many of them to emigrate even in the absence of an 
economic motive. But for the most part the low wage which the 
worker received in the countries from which the bulk of our immi- 
gration has come in recent years, accounts sufficiently for the extent 
of the immigration. It is sometimes said that the lower cost of 
living in Europe makes up adequately for the lower money wage 
which the worker earns there, but this is only partially true. The 
European worker has not been able to buy as much and as great a 
variety of food with his smaller money wage as can the American. 
In southern and eastern Europe the standard of living of the work- 
ingman, as regards food and clothing and shelter, has been very 
much below that of the American workingman in similar occupa- 
tions. It was not that the European worker could not earn a living, 
but rather that he could not earn a living that satisfied him. He 
wished to raise his standard of living and so he came to America. 
When the Italians first came to this country in large numbers 
they suffered as all non-English-speaking immigrants have suf- 
fered, because they could not understand the language of the country. 
They were dependent upon and often the victims of members of 
their own race who had learned our language and customs. It was 
under these circumstances that the so-called padrone system was 
developed. Italian contractors hired their fellow-countrymen at a 
low wage, often furnishing them board and a place to sleep, and 
secured a profit from the fact that the newly-arrived immigrant was 
ignorant of labor conditions in this country. The contractor was 
the padrone, the master, and the labor of the Italians who worked 
under these conditions was padrone labor. The padrone system 
among the Italians was confined mainly to laborers employed on 
railroads, and under the direction of their own countrymen, but 
this phase of the system has largely disappeared. 

The Syrian peddlers who used to peddle dry goods and notions 
in the country districts a few years ago, operated under the padrone 
system. Their outfits were furnished to them by a padrone of their 
own race, who boarded them and gave' them either a salary or a 
commission on their sales. In recent years this system has dis- 
appeared, partly because peddling has become less profitable, and 


partly because the Syrians who have remained in the occupation are 
able to get along without a padrone. 

The best examples of the padrone system today is to be found 
among Greek immigrants. To a certain extent it is to be found 
among railroad laborers, and flower and fruit and vegetable vendors, 
but its most successful application is to be seen in the shoe shining 
business, where the Greeks are practically driving all other races 
out of the field. The padrone in that business imports young boys 
from Greece, keeps them at work for long hours, and under the 
cheapest of living conditions, and pays them a low wage. There is 
an agreement that all tips are to be paid to the padrone. The tips 
often amount to a sum sufficient to pay the wage and living expenses 
of the boy, with the result that the whole of the regular charge is 
profit for the employer. The working conditions of this occupa- 
tion, and the living conditions of the victims of the system, are so 
unsatisfactory and insanitary that practically all of the Greek phy- 
sicians of Chicago addressed a statement to the United States Im- 
migration Commission expressing their conviction of the dangers to 
health in the occupation, concluding as follows, " We deem this 
occupation highly injurious and destructive to the physique of 
young Greek boys, and believe that the United States Government 
would do better to deport them rather than to allow them to land 
if they are destined to this employment under existing conditions." 

In recent years more immigrants have been employed in coal 
mining than in any other occupation. Thirty years ago the workers 
in the bituminous coal mines of Pennsylvania were native Ameri- 
cans, English, Irish, Scotch, Welsh and Germans. There were 
fewer workers then in this occupation than there are today, because 
there was not the demand for coal that there is today. Since 1890 
there has been a falling off in the numbers of workers of these races 
of the earlier immigration, and in their places we find the races of 
southern and southeastern Europe, that is, the new immigration. 
The Slovaks, Magyars, Poles and Italians, especially, are numerous 
in the Pennsylvania coal fields. In the coal fields of Ohio and 
Indiana and Illinois there are also a great many immigrants of the 
new immigration, but they seem of less importance here because so 
many of the older immigrants from northwestern Europe, following 
the lead of the larger wage, left Pennsylvania in the nineties for 
these fields. As the coal mines of Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas and 
Colorado were developed, native Americans and men of the older 
immigration were again drained off from Pennsylvania, leaving po- 


sitions to be filled by the new immigration. At. the present time 
more than three-fifths of the workers in bituminous coal mines are 
foreigners, and the larger part of these are foreigners of the new 

The first employees for the New England cotton mills came 
almost wholly from the farms and villages surrounding the early 
cotton goods manufacturing centres. The French economist, Cheva- 
lier, who visited this country in 1832, tells of their good wages and 
their high standard of living. " The cotton manufacture alone," 
he stated, " employs six thousand persons in Lowell. Of this num- 
ber nearly five thousand are young women from seventeen to twenty- 
four years of age, the daughters of farmers of the different New 
England States, and particularly from Massachusetts, New Hamp- 
shire and Vermont. They are here remote from their families and 
under their own control. On seeing them pass through the streets 
in the morning a-nd evening and at their meal hours, neatly dressed ; 
on finding their scarfs and shawls, and green silk hoods which they 
wear as a shelter from the sun and dust (for Lowell is not yet 
paved) hanging up in the factories amidst flowers and shrubs, 
which they cultivate, I said to myself, This, then, is not like Man- 
chester;' and when I was informed of the rate of their wages, I 
understood that it was not at all like Manchester." 

Between 1840 and 1860 the Irish immigrants came to the cotton 
mills in large numbers, and somewhat later the English came. The 
Scotch and Germans were never largely represented in this industry. 
Although there were many French-Canadians in the cotton mills 
in the fifties, the large influx of these immigrants into the industry 
took place in the decade after the Civil War. 

Since 1890 the places of the older immigrants in the New 
England cotton mills have been filled by Greeks, Portuguese, Poles, 
Russians and Italians. Other races represented in smaller numbers 
are the Lithuanians, Hebrews, Syrians, Bulgarians and Turks. 
Nearly three- fourths of the cotton mill operatives of the North 
Atlantic States at the present time are foreigners, and by far the 
largest part of these are of the new immigration. 

Somewhat more than half of the employees in the iron and steel 
manufacturing industry are of foreign birth. The principal races 
of the old immigration in that industry are Germans, Irish and 
English in the order named. Of the more recent immigrants, the 
Slovaks, Poles, Magyars and Croatians are the most numerous. 

Sixty per cent of the employees in the slaughtering and meat 


packing industry are immigrants. Here the Poles are in the lead, 
followed by the Germans and the Lithuanians. The Irish and the 
Bohemians and Moravians are also well represented. 

When the old immigration was at its height, the principal at- 
traction which America had to offer was its land, which could be 
had practically for the asking. The consequence is that a large part 
of the old immigration is engaged in farming. More than half of 
the Norwegians in America are on the farm, and almost half of 
the Danes are there. Over a third of the Swiss, thirty per cent 
of the Swedish and twenty-seven per cent of the German immigrants 
are employed in agricultural pursuits. The English, French, Scotch 
and Irish follow in the order named. 

When the new immigration arrived the best of the oppor- 
tunities for securing government land had disappeared, and they 
were attracted to the cities by the higher wages offered there. 
There are, of course, numerous agricultural colonies of Italians, 
Hebrews, Poles, Bohemians and others of the new immigration, but 
the totals are small as compared with the native farmers. A great 
many of the new immigration are employed, too, as agricultural 
laborers as distinguished from farmers. But of the twelve million 
persons reported in the 1910 census as gainfully employed in agri- 
culture, only one million were foreign-born whites. Three millions, 
nearly, were negroes, and seventy- four thousand belonged to the 
Chinese, Japanese and other races than white. 

As a general thing the latest arrivals among the immigrants 
have to start at the bottom of the industrial ladder, and the races 
which have been here longer occupy the more desirable places. In 
other words the incoming of the new immigration has made it pos- 
sible for the members of the old immigration to climb the industrial 
ladder. In a study of fifteen thousand heads of families engaged 
in industry, the Industrial Commission found the average income 
of the immigrant considerably lower than the average income of 
the native-born worker. The greater proportion of the immigrant 
heads of families received yearly between three hundred dollars and 
six hundred dollars, while the heads of families who were native- 
born received for the most part between four hundred dollars and 
eight hundred dollars. Again, the members of the " old " immigra- 
tion received higher wages than the members of the " new " im- 

As a result of the higher wage of the native-born, the families 
of the native-born are able to live upon the income of the head of 


the family better than is the case among the foreign-born. To make 
the family budget balance, the foreign-born families are compelled 
to put their children to work, and to take in boarders and lodgers 
to a greater extent than is customary among the native-born. The 
custom of taking in boarders and lodgers is much more common 
among the races of the new immigration than among the foreign- 
born of the old immigration. Thus out of the families studied by 
the Immigration Commission, none of the races of the older im- 
migration showed as large a proportion as one-fifth of their house- 
holds with boarders or lodgers, while more than one-fourth of the 
Portuguese, Slovenian and Syrian households, more than one-third 
of the Italian, Polish and Slovak, and more than one-half of Cro- 
ation, Lithuanian, Magyar, Rumanian, Russian, Ruthenian and 
Serbian households had boarders or lodgers. Among the families 
studied seventy-eight per cent of the Rumanians and ninety-three 
per cent of the Serbians had boarders or lodgers. The greater 
number of boarders and lodgers among the new immigration than 
among the old immigration, or the native families, is accounted for 
partly by the lower earnings of the heads of families of the new 
immigration; but also partly by the fact that there are so many 
more of the new immigrants who are unmarried or who have left 
their families in Europe, and consequently there is a greater demand 
for board and lodgings among those races than among those longer 
here. The statistics of school attendance tell the same story of 
lower earnings of the recent immigrants or of their greater desire 
to save. 

While wage averages must not be used recklessly, they may be 
employed to indicate tendencies. For the families studied by the 
Immigration Commission, the average family income was seven 
hundred and twenty-one dollars a year; the average for the native 
white of native parentage was eight hundred and sixty-five dollars; 
the average for negro families was five hundred and seventeen dol- 
lars. For the native-born of foreign parents the average was 
eight hundred and sixty-six dollars, or practically the same as for 
the native-born white of native parents ; the average for the foreign- 
born was seven hundred and four dollars, or nineteen dollars less 
than the general average for all families investigated. 

There has been much discussion as to what the effect of im- 
migration in recent years has been on the earnings of the natives. 
The fact seems to be established that the average of money wages 
has increased during the last twenty or twenty-five years, but that 


the cost of living has increased still faster, so that the larger wage 
of today will buy no more than, and probably not as much as, the 
lower money wage of the closing years of the last century. On 
the basis of the census reports it has been estimated that the average 
of wages per employee in manufacturing industries increased from 
four hundred and seventy-one dollars in 1899 to five hundred and 
ninety dollars in 1909, an increase of twenty- five per cent. During 
the same period it is estimated that the level of prices rose thirty 
per cent. Assuming that these figures represent approximately 
the truth, does this mean that the native American wage earners 
are worse off than they were ten or twenty years ago ? Not neces- 
sarily. Since the natives receive higher wages than the immigrants, 
and since the immigrants have been increasing rapidly in numbers, 
it is possible that the natives have not suffered at all in well-being, 
and that the smaller average real wage is due entirely to the larger 
number of foreigners who are working for wages below the average. 
Of course there is a possibility that the native wage earners have 
actually had their real incomes reduced, but there is no statistical 
evidence to prove it. And even if it were proved, that would not 
be conclusive evidence that the damage was caused by immigration. 
It might, for example, be the result of a growing exploitation of 
labor by capital, as is charged by some of the socialists. 

Certain advocates of immigration restriction have been able to 
arouse themselves to a state of indignation over the fact that many 
of the recent immigrants send money to their families in Europe, 
and even return to Europe themselves, after they have saved enough 
money to give them a high social position in their native villages. 
Much of this indignation, however, is uncalled for. In the first 
place, the immigrant is contributing his labor to the upbuilding 
of this country, and his employer who is not unduly sentimental in 
the matter thinks that the labor is worth what is paid for it. So 
that while it is true that the immigrant sends much purchasing 
power to Europe, it is also true that he has left at least a corre- 
sponding amount of labor power in this country to pay for it. In 
the second place, the foreigner who is anxious to save money to 
send to Europe, is more likely to unite with the native in an en- 
deavor to keep up wages than he would be if he was not anxious 
to save money. And finally the foreigner who goes back to Europe 
whenever he finds the labor market here depressed, really confers a 
favor on the native worker. The statistics of emigration from this 
country show that the volume of immigration falls off and the 


volume of emigration increases rapidly in times of industrial de- 
pression. Thus in the crisis year 1907-1908 the immigration fell 
off by nearly a million, and the emigration increased from five 
hundred and fifty thousand to six hundred and fifty thousand. 
For that year there were two hundred and thirty-seven thousand 
more emigrants than immigrants. Every foreign workingman who 
left our shores tended to relieve the difficulty experienced by native 
workingmen in finding work. It would, therefore, seem illogical 
to find fault with the foreigner for coming here to work and then 
to find fault with him again for going back to Europe. 

Since the outbreak of the European war immigration has fallen 
off in a marked degree. During the calendar year 1915 the excess 
of immigrants over emigrants amounted to only one hundred and 
two thousand. At the same time the European war-demand for 
our goods and the returning prosperity of this country, have les- 
sened unemployment and raised wages for native as well as for 
immigrant. What effect the outcome of the war will have upon 
immigration it is of course impossible to foretell. Those whose 
interests or convictions or prejudices in the past have led them to 
favor greater restriction of immigration, profess to foresee as the 
result of the war added reasons for favoring a restrictive policy, 
while those who have opposed a literacy test in the past, insist that 
when the \var is over the diminished stream of immigration will 
leave no excuse for the imposition of that test. In a later number 
of THE CATHOLIC WORLD the present writer will analyze the 
current arguments for and against the literacy test. 

VOL. CIV. 15 




HE prevailing impression with regard to the history 
of organized care of the insane is that in our time 
the process of evolution and the gradual development 
of a right spirit of humanitarianism has, for the 
first time in history, lifted the efforts of our gen- 
eration to a plane of high humane thought fulness for these poor un- 
fortunates who were so sadly neglected in the past. I feel sure 
that this does not represent any exaggeration of the impression on 
this subject, which is shared not only by those whose interest in the 
insane is merely academic or purely social, but also by physicians, 
and even by many of those who have specialized in the care of the 

Of the serious neglect of the insane and of defective children 
and imbecile adults in the older time may not, of course, be ques- 
tioned. In the eighteenth century insane patients were brutally and 
inhumanly neglected, and at times positively misused. Indeed it is 
only in our own time, that is within a generation, that anything 
like proper care for the insane has developed, and even that is 
limited to certain of our municipalities and states which take their 
duty in this matter quite seriously. The care of the insane in many 
American country districts is even now a disgrace to our civiliza- 
tion. We shall have occasion to see at least one phase of some 
striking evidence for this in the course of this article. 

The facile presumption is at times made that if in the 
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there was so much neglect and 
abuse of the insane, the treatment of them must have been 
still worse in the seventeenth and sixteenth centuries. For those 
who interpret history by this constantly descending scale, the 
further conclusion is that the insane must have been grievously 
mishandled in the later Middle Ages, and unspeakably confined 
and manacled and brutalized in the earlier mediaeval centuries. 

We have already seen in the preceding articles in THE 
CATHOLIC WORLD on The Care of the Dependent Poor 1 and on The 

September, 1916, p. 721. 


Care of Children and the Aged, 2 that any such presumption of 
evolution and upward development of the exercise of charity is 
utterly unjustified by the actual history of social service. Progress 
in the earlier centuries, decline later, and then an awakening social 
conscience on the subject is the historical truth. When the great 
French physician, Pinel, struck the shackles from the insane of 
Bicetre Asylum near Paris, the abuse of the insane had reached 
such brutal height that it could go no further; a reaction had to 
come. There were those who did not fail to raise their voices in 
protest. Quaker philanthropists in England had revolutionized the 
care of prisoners and of the insane. In this country under similar 
Quaker influence a corresponding change began to take place. The 
modification in the treatment of the inmates of asylums, however, 
came very slowly, and was not welcomed by those who might be 
supposed to have desired it most. Dr. John Conolly in England 
and Miss Dorothea Lynde Dix in America carried still further the 
practical reformation of institutions for the insane. But their in- 
fluence was not felt until well on toward the middle of the nineteenth 
century, so that it is only a little more than half a century since 
the English-speaking countries have taken up the problem of the 
rational, humane care of the insane. 

Up to that time when a poor human being became insane, es- 
pecially if he or she had shown any symptoms of serious lack of con- 
trol, he was likely to be confined in an asylum for the rest of his 
days, no matter how much his mental condition might improve. If 
these patients became violent they were put in chains, and the chains 
would likely not be taken off for the rest of their lives. The in- 
sane were very much feared, and their malady was always con- 
sidered incurable. The number of attendants in institutions was 
entirely too small; the feeding of the patients was often utterly 
inadequate ; the buildings for their accommodation were allowed to 
go into decay; they were like jails with barred, narrow windows, 
dark cramped corridors, small straitened doorways, lacking both 
ventilation and cleanliness. In order to appreciate the extent to 
which neglect of the insane had gone in this last regard, one must 
read some of the accounts of the investigation of institutions not of 
long distant centuries, but of the middle of the nineteenth century. 
It would be quite impossible to reproduce some of the expressions 
with regard to them here. Medical attendance on the asylums was 

'October, 1916, p. 56. 


entirely inadequate, and the ordinary physical ills of the patients 
were as a rule neglected. 

Anyone who thinks this picture exaggerated should read the 
account of conditions prevailing in some of the insane asylums of 
New York State, made by a commission a few years ago, or 
better still, obtain descriptions of the conditions that exist in the 
insane departments of poorhouses in the Southern States. During 
the past five years it has been found that there exists in these poor- 
houses through the South, and especially among the insane, a 
disease which was thought a few years ago to be non-existent in this 
country. It is a disease called pellagra, and is due to malnutrition 
and insufficient variety in the food served. A distinguished profes- 
sor of medicine, in his textbook published less than ten years ago, de- 
clared that pellagra was of very little interest to students of medi- 
cine in America because we had no cases of the disease here. 
Since that declaration we have found nearly one hundred thou- 
sand cases of pellagra in our Southern States hidden away in 
the county insane asylums and the poorhouses, and the disease has 
evidently been in existence for at least one hundred years. 

This striking incident will furnish abundant evidence of the 
neglect of the insane even in our own time. Of the eighteenth 
century very little need be said. Probably the most interesting 
feature of the history of the insane asylums of that period is given 
not in histories of medicine, but in essays and other literary efforts, 
as well as private letters of the period. A number of these describe 
visits paid to Bedlam, the large London insane asylum. These 
visits were made by cultured people, members of the nobility and 
others who were prominent in social and intellectual life, and who 
went to the great city asylum to view, as a pastime, the antics of the 
insane. It was the custom to arrange parties as for the theatre;, 
a regular admittance fee was charged, and it is noteworthy that 
a very large part of the hospital's income was obtained by the col- 
lection of fees of this kind. Quite needless to say though Bedlam, 
or Bethlehem, as it used to be called, was a church foundation of the 
thirteenth century, the Church had nothing to do with it at this 
time. It was purely a State institution. 

The number visiting the asylum for the purpose of being en- 
tertained in this way must have been enormous, for though the 
admission fee charged was only a penny, the resulting revenue is 
calculated to have amounted, according to definite records, to some 
four hundred pounds sterling annually, showing that nearly one 


hundred thousand persons visited the institution in the course of 
a year. 

It is sometimes maintained that there are three phases in the 
history of the care for the insane. The first was the period or era 
of exorcism, on the theory that insane patients were possessed 
by the devil. TJie second was the chain and dungeon era, during 
which persons exhibiting signs of insanity were imprisoned and 
shackled in such a manner as to prevent injury to others. The third 
is the era of asylums, and the fourth, only just developing, is the 
era of psychopathic wards in general hospitals for the acutely in- 
sane in cities, with colonies for the chronic insane in the coun- 

The era of exorcism and of the chain and dungeon are sup- 
posed to include practically the whole history of the care of the 
insane previous to the nineteenth century. Now it would be quite 
improper to claim for the Middle Ages any absolute solution of 
the serious problem that the care of the insane always creates. 
One might think from the arbitrary classification given above that 
nothing at all was done for the insane except to exorcise or confine 
them. But history tells us that any such supposition is absolutely 
unwarranted and is directly opposed to facts. 

The care of the insane in the Middle Ages rivals in its thought- 
fulness their charitable solicitude for the ailing poor, both young 
and old. In reviewing the place of diversion of mind as a thera- 
peutic measure in the history of psychotherapy at the beginning of 
my volume on that subject, I pointed out that the old Egyptians 
had recognized the usefulness of various forms of mental diversion 
in the care of the insane. Pinel, the French psychiatrist, recalled 
that the Egyptians provided, in their temples dedicated to Saturn 
whither melancholies resorted for relief, " games and recreations 
of all kinds, while the most enchanting songs and sounds the most 
melodious took prisoner the captive sense." " Flowery gardens and 
groves disposed with taste and art, invited them to refreshment and 
salubrious exercise, gaily decorated boats sometimes transported 
them to breathe amidst rural concerts the pure breezes of the Nile. 
Every moment was devoted to some pleasurable occupation or 
rather a system of diversified amusements." 

The people of the Middle Ages also recognized the value of 
recreation and diversion for the insane. The poor insane were, for 
the most part, kept at home and cared for by their own. But it 
soon became apparent that such care asked too much of the sane 


people who 'undertook it. The monasteries and convents then took 
upon themselves the care of the insane. They built for their 
use separate structures, and as they were usually situated in the open 
country the conditions were favorable to the patients. And the later 
Middle Ages saw a great reawakening of interest in the use of 
hydrotherapy, diet, exercise and air, as cardinal features of treat- 
ment for chronic diseases. This chapter of therapeutics opened up 
at Salerno as a reaction against the poly pharmacy of the Arabs, 
who at times gave so many drugs in a single prescription that these 
documents are spoken of as " calendar prescriptions," because they 
resemble a list of the days in the month. The little book of popular 
medicine, Regimen Sanitatis Salernitana, which went out from 
Salerno to all the known world, declared that the three best phy- 
sicians for mankind were : " Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet and Dr. Merry- 
man." Proper eating, rest of mind and body and diversion of 
mind these were the best remedies. This period furnishes us much 
evidence of the thoroughly rational care of the insane, care that 
anticipated many of the ideas now in vogue, and supposed to be so 
modern in origin. 

It is easy to understand after reading this paragraph that the 
treatment of the lunatics of that time must have been very reason- 
able. The acute mental diseases of the ordinary people of the cities 
and towns were cared for, at first, in ordinary hospitals where 
special wards were set aside for them. This may seem an unde- 
sirable mode of treatment, but as a matter of fact in our time 
we have come to realize that it would be much better for our insane 
patients if there were psychopathic wards in the general hospitals, 
ready for their reception. The old mediaeval idea, then, was an an- 
ticipation of what we are gradually adopting. 

After a time certain hospitals were reserved entirely for suffer- 
ers from mental diseases, and one of the earliest of these was Beth- 
lehem Hospital in London, the name of which gradually became 
softened in popular speech to Bedlam. In pre- Re formation days 
the inmates of Bedlam, when they had recovered their reason and 
shown for some considerable time that they could be trusted, were 
allowed to leave the institution. 

However, every inmate who left was compelled to wear a 
badge or plate on the arm, which showed that he had once been an 
inmate of Bedlam. This may seem to us an unnecessary stigma; 
but its effect in the later Middle Ages was to make everyone who 
met these poor people sympathetic toward them. People did not 


attempt to impose on them, fearful lest there might be an uncon- 
trollable access of rage; they treated them, as a rule, with con- 
sideration, and in many cases cared for them. This was so well 
recognized that after a time a certain number of lazy people, 
" sturdy vagrants," as they were termed, tramps as we call them, 
took advantage of the kindly feelings of people generally toward 
ex-Bedlamites. They obtained possession of Bedlam badges, and 
putting them on imposed on the good will of the community. In- 
deed, " Bedlam beggars " became a by-word. 

In one phase of the handling of the problem of insanity, the 
mediaeval period was far ahead of our own. Curiously enough 
this phase concerned the prevention of the affection. It must be 
remembered that the insanity rate in the Middle Ages was very 
much lower than that of our own day; in fact the awful increase 
in that rate is one of the most ominous features of our own day. 
A recent report of the Lunacy Board in Great Britain shows that 
there are three hundred and seventy-seven insane to every one hun- 
dred thousand of the population. Fifty years ago the number was 
less than half this. England is however practically no worse off 
than we are in this country. Massachusetts has some three hun- 
dred and fifty insane to every one hundred thousand inhabitants, 
and New York about the same number. The number of insane 
in Great Britain has doubled in about fifty years, but the number 
of insane in this country has doubled in the past twenty- five 

Perhaps the most interesting phase of the subject we have un- 
der consideration is the care of the mentally defective. During the 
past twenty years or so we have come to recognize that the best 
way to care for defectives of various kinds is to give them an 
opportunity to live a village life, that is, to live out in the country 
under circumstances where various simple trades can be practised, 
where nearly everybody knows them and realizes the need of sur- 
veillance over them, where they will not be abused nor exploited, 
but kindly encouraged to occupy themselves with various kinds of 
work which interests them and gives them exercise and occupation. 
The State of New York has, for instance, created the State Craig 
Colony, as it is called, for epileptics. Here the unfortunate vic- 
tims of this disease, especially in its severer forms, can be cared 
for in country surroundings where they have sympathetic treatment. 
More recently Letchworth Village on the lower Hudson has been 
created for the accommodation of defective children, who are there 


taught as much as they may be able to learn, and are trained in 
various trades and live under circumstances best suited to their de- 
fective condition. 

In the appendix of my volume Old Time Makers of Medicine, 
I have quoted from Bartholomseus Anglicus, who wrote in the 
thirteenth century a well-known popular encyclopedia which, with 
the similar works of Vincent of Beauvais and Thomas of Contim- 
prato, initiated this mode of diffusing general information. Bar- 
tholomew has described insanity in a wonderfully informing para- 
graph, in which he sums up the causes, the symptoms and the treat- 
ment of the affection. The mediaeval encyclopedist said : 

Madness cometh sometime of passions of the soul, as of busi- 
ness and of great thoughts, of sorrow and of tpo great study, 
and of dread: sometime of the biting of a wood (mad) hound, 
or some other venomous beast ; sometime of melancholy meats, 
and sometime of drink of strong wine. And as the causes be 
diverse, the tokens and the signs be diverse. For some cry and 
leap and hurt and wound themselves and other men, and darken 
and hide themselves in privy and secret places. The medicine 
of them is, that they be bound, that they hurt not themselves 
and other men. And, namely, such shall be refreshed, and com- 
forted, and withdrawn from cause and matter of dread and 
busy thoughts. And they must be gladded with instruments of 
music, and some deal be occupied. 

It might be thought that such developments were absolutely 
new; and, indeed, most of those who have been engaged in their 
organization have been quite convinced that they were developing 
absolutely novel ideas. As a matter of fact, however, such insti- 
tutions, or at least corresponding arrangements founded on the 
same principle, though less artificial, have been in existence for 
a very long time in Europe. Probably the best known of these 
was the famous village of Gheel in Belgium, where defective chil- 
dren of all kinds were cared for. The story of Gheel is inter- 
esting. In this village, according to a very old tradition, there 
is situated the shrine of an Irish girl martyr, St. Dympna, who lost 
her life at the end of the eighth century when the Irish missionaries 
were spreading Christianity among the Teutonic tribes which then 
held Belgium. It came to be a pious belief that at this shrine de- 
fective children of various kinds, sufferers from backwardness in 
intelligence, from defects of speech and from certain constitutional 


nervous diseases, were cured through the intercession of the saint. 
Accordingly a great many of them were brought to the village, 
and the villagers became quite accustomed to care for them. 

Not a few of those who were brought to Gheel in the hope 
of cure at the shrine of the saint remained unimproved. Parents 
and relatives stayed with them for a while, hoping against hope 
that further prayers might avail, and then made arrangements 
to leave the children in the village in the hope that they might yet 
be bettered throught the saint's intercession. They also realized that 
this village, where there were a number of other defectives to 
whom various trades and occupations were taught, was a very 
suitable place for the children to stay. Gradually, then, the village 
system of caring for defectives grew up ; the ecclesiastical authori- 
ties instituted regulations to prevent abuses; and Gheel continued 
for probably a thousand years to harbor and to care for defective 
children. Its mission of charity and helpfulness continues even 
until the present day, if the work has not been disturbed by the 
war. American psychiatrists and neurologists, and especially those 
interested particularly in the care of defective children, have gone 
to Gheel, and have described just how the work was carried on. 
Anyone who visits the town recognizes at once that it represents 
an extremely suitable mode of caring for these poor people, who 
will never be quite equal to the struggle for existence under or- 
dinary circumstances, and who if subjected to the strain of com- 
petition with their better mentally endowed fellows will almost in- 
variably succumb, if not physically then morally. 

Nor was Gheel unique in this regard. Similar arrangements 
were made in other villages, particularly of northern France. De- 
fectives of all grades and epileptics were cared for in the midst 
of a simple village life under circumstances where all the villagers 
practically were interested in their care, and where, to as great a 
degree as possible, they were shielded from their own foolishness, 
and above all from the impositions of others. 

It is sometimes the custom to say that such developments when 
noted in the mediaeval period are merely happy accidents, but 
then let us not forget that it is the taking advantage of happy ac- 
cidents which more than anything else shows the genius of a peo- 
ple of a generation and of an individual. Newton is said to have dis- 
covered gravitation as a consequence of seeing an apple fall to the 
earth and wondering why it did so. Lord Kelvin attributed his 
discovery of the use of a mirror for ocean cable purposes from 

234 URANIA [Nov., 

having his eyeglass reflect the sun, and show him that the re- 
flected beam of light 'represented an absolutely weightless arm of 
any desired length for an indicator. Galvani saw frogs' legs twitch, 
and becoming, as some scoffingly said, a dancing master for frogs 
opened up the whole series of questions relating to animal and 
vital electricity. Others might have witnessed these same happy 
accidents, but only genius could take full advantage of them. So 
it was in the Middle Ages. The Christian genius of the people 
enabled them to take advantage of circumstances that seemed at 
first to have no significance at all with regard to the beautiful 
good work into which they ultimately developed. 



THE splendor of the sun that like a god 

Flames unconsuming, the lone deeps of night 

As a spirit vast and free, these lay no rod 
On thee, O god-like spirit of delight, 

Whose wing invisible sweeps the firmament 
In race with death and life ; to whom the pain 

Of martyrs is as music's ravishment 
Calling thee back to Paradise again. 




HE two men worked on, came and went in silence. In 
some indefinable way Mary, felt that she had lost her 
hold. No matter how quietly, how secretly, still she 
had hitherto really ruled old Amos; had been at all 
times a restraining force upon him. Now, without a 
word said, he was suddenly grown arrogant; he took 
the lead, not she. She was losing hold losing hold on herself, too. 
Every task of her life of drudgery seemed harder and heavier now. 
She tried to rally herself, to mend her broken spirit with hopes and 
dreams of Davy. But they, too, had lost their old time potency. 

Then Davy's answer to her letter came and it frightened her. 
It was an angry letter, full of indignation against his father; and it 
told her news : " I am coming home the first week in September, 
mother. Then you must be ready to go away with me. You can't 
live any longer in that place, with an escaped murderer and a crazy 
man for company. Be ready, mother. I won't ask any more. I'm 
coming. You'd better tell father." 

She did tell him. " Davy's coming home in September," she said 
that night while she was washing the supper dishes. 

" I suppose he thinks the gold is all dug and ready for him ! He 
needn't come." 

" But he is coming, Amos." 

" He'd better keep away." 

" He won't stay long." 

" No, he won't stay long ! 

She could make no progress ; and now she had neither the wit nor 
the tact to manage him as she once had done. She suddenly felt herself 
growing uncontrollably angry; with her two hands in the dishwater, 
she did the most inexplicable thing broke a china plate in two, so 
overwhelming was her passion, so great the pent-up forces in her, and 
then the blood grew hot in her cheeks with shame at the thought that 
she could ever have hated her husband as she had for that flashing in- 
stant hated him. She wiped her hands in her apron and walked 
trembling into her bedroom and took out Davy's letter to read again. 

Then came a day when she had good news to write her boy. 
" It is wonderful news ! " she told him. " Do you remember the talk 

He'll let me break my back in the 

236 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

two years ago about them putting in a water power up on the Willow 
River east of us ? Next spring they are going to build an immense power 
plant and run everything in the whole county by electricity. And the 
company is buying up land all through Paper Jack Valley to divert 
the stream. Well, Mister Davy Reid, just you listen! Will Mc- 
Allister and Dr. Shaw drove out here this afternoon to talk about our 
selling, and they'll give us twelve thousand dollars for the place. 
Everything for their power scheme depends on our selling. If only 
your father will be sensible now. I haven't told him yet. McAllister 
and Shaw talked to me; he has scarcely been in the house the last 
two days, and he keeps poor old Ben right with him. Don't worry 
about Ben being dangerous. He's perfectly harmless, and oh, so 
pitiable. There's a new discovery in the mine, and it has your father 
horribly excited. He has the cellar nearly full of rock. There won't 
be any place for the potatoes this winter. I'll have to put them in my 
bedroom for company." 

It was true the old man had made a new discovery, and he kept 
his wretched helper's nose to the shovel from morning to night. That 
poor creature was wasting away, but as yet he had not dared to 
attempt an escape. In fact Mary grew to think he would not risk it, 
but Amos guarded him as closely as ever in his night-locked room, 
with its windows securely nailed at the sash. 

Amos paid no attention to the call of McAllister and Dr. Shaw. 
Mary was hoping he would ask about it, or take some notice of it. 
Finally, after supper that night, she told him. He laughed at her. 

" You know what the trouble is, don't you ? They've found out 
what I've struck in the mine. They've been spying! I wouldn't be 
surprised if they had something to do with that assay I got. They're 
after the gold, and they think they can fool me with their yarn about 
water power ! " 

" But twelve thousand dollars ! We'd be free of debt and be rich 
besides! Surely you don't mean you'll let it go? " 

" I can make that much in a week. Do you know how much there's 
in the cellar now? Wait till I put in a mill! Shaw and McAllister 
had better talk to me the next time they come around." 

" But what if Mr. Warden back East hears of this ? He'd fore- 
close the mortgage and put us off." 

" No, he won't." 

The worn-out wife was in despair. She had not dreamed that 
Amos could be so mad as to refuse the sum they were offered, and go 
on digging and hacking in the sand and rock. Her head whirled. Now 
with all her heart she wished for her boy to come home. But no! 
Let Davy come and see her, and talk it over ; but she must stay. She 
must stay here. This was her place. 

1916.] PURE GOLD 237 

As the day for Davy's coming drew near, his mother grew more 
and more agitated. He would be in town Monday evening. If he 
came right out to the farm and of course he would he would be 
with her by dark. Oh, it was a task she had before her to send her 
boy away again alone! To give up all those dreams, in which even 
she had been tempted to indulge, of the two together, in cosy little 
rooms in Davy's town, living in peace and quiet. No! not for her. 
Her place was here. And Davy must go back alone. Some day he 
would be married and would . understand. Monday night he would 
be here! 

Saturday night, from her restless sleep, Mary Reid woke sud- 
denly. She heard a voice calling; then the night air was split by the 
crack of a gunshot. All a-tremble she lay listening. She knew what 
it was Amos at his guard frightening away some imagined prowlers 
from his mine. Then a horrible fear paralyzed her and made her 
heart stop beating! What if it were Davy, come tonight unexpectedly, 
and mistaken for a marauder! Oh, with what wild terror did she 
leap from her bed and run to the window ! No figure showed in the 
moonlight. Then she heard a step in the kitchen and went to see 
who was there. It was Amos; he was turning the key in old Ben's 

" What has happened ? " Mary asked. 

" I thought he was trying to get out," came the answer aloud 
and sharp for the prisoner's ears to hear. " I just shot off a cartridge 
to let him know I was awake." 

" Well, be careful," she commanded him. " Remember, Davy is 
coming home Monday night." 

He said nothing more, and went to his room, and she to hers, 
to dream a terrifying dream of Davy Davy all blood and sand from 
the quarry, and the sand glittering like gold. 

"I'm as good as useless ! " she told herself a dozen times Sun- 
day. She was finished with her farmyard duties early. She had 
been cooking and " baking lip " for the visitor. " To think that 
I haven't seen him for two whole years ! " she would tell herself over 
and over again. " I wonder how he looks ! " He had sent her his 
picture, but it showed no change; and yet she was steeling her heart 
to meet great changes in her lad. And that thought sent her early to 
her bedroom, to the dresser with its little mirror. " If I look worse 
than when he left he must not see it. If only I wasn't so thin ! " It 
was with a beating heart that that sweet souled woman dressed her- 
self and made ready, with as many little feminine touches as were 
left her by the grace of her ever-young heart, to meet her boy. 

She had it all planned. There must be no quarrel between Davy 
and his father; and yet the boy must come into the house, eat with 

238 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

them at table, stop with them, take his proper place. Oh, it was a 
hard task she had before her! But she would meet him at the gate, 
or run up the road, and calm him and counsel him. She felt she 
could rely on the boy's love for her to keep his temper. But to send 
him away again, alone, after all his planning that was the greatest 

At supper she reminded the old man again of Davy's coming. He 
did not answer. Anyway, he was not excited, and she felt relieved 
at that. She washed her dishes, and set the table again for the tasty 
little luncheon she had prepared for the boy. What love and what 
trembling delight she put into every touch of that worn old table, 
with its snowy cover, its white plates polished like porcelain, its bone- 
handled knives, its jelly dish shaking with ruby beauty, its tea- 
cups, its biscuits and cake and crullers; and there was a bouquet of 
red dahlias from her poor neglected garden. 

Old Ben had been locked in his room. " Poor creature, he 
couldn't run away if he tried," she thought as she saw the worn and 
weary and silent wretch imprisoned for the night; and Amos was in 
the cellar fumbling over his " gold." Now everything was prepared 
and there were hours yet to wait! an hour at least. 

There was a flush in the mother's cheek, a light spring in her 
nervous step, as she set out finally for the road-gate, unable to 
endure the waiting in the house any longer. Still, it was nearly time 
almost dark and maybe he would catch a quick ride out from town. 
Besides, out at the gate she could better time the coming of the train 
by its distant whistle. 

It was a dainty dress that faded figure wore, a pretty summer 
dress of gray, made over many times, and retaining in its old- 
fashioned frills something of a grace long lost from feminine attire. 
Her best white lace-edged apron was tied with a wide bow. Around 
her pretty white collar was a band of lavender chiffon, and at her 
throat a bow of the chiffon a soft touch that gave her lovely old 
face, her fine wrinkled skin, a beauty that she was wholly unconscious 
of. Her gray hair, with its underlying strands of faded gold, was 
coiled softly around her head. As she held up her flounced skirt from 
the dust of the lane, and moved up toward the gate, there was such 
a beauty and grace and loveliness in the whole expectant figure as 
would make old men bow with admiration and young men gaze with 
loving reverence. 

She rested at the gate. " My, how tired I am ! Too much ex- 
citement ! " But that excitement had put a rose in her sweet faded 
cheeks, and a brightness in her eye that would make her boy's heart 
dance. She knew it. The thought made her almost laugh. 

It was time for the train to come almost time. As soon as 

1916.] PURE GOLD 239 

she heard the whistle she would walk up the road toward the grove. 
That would be a safe place to wait; because, if he drove out, she 
would meet him there ; and if he walked by the short-cut through the 
woods, neither could she miss him there. 

She waited what seemed a half hour, and no train whistle broke 
the evening quiet. She listened so intently that she began to imagine 
sounds distant wheels on the road, voices over the hill. Presently 
a faint echo came it was not the whistle, but surely it was the last 
stroke of the train bell? Yes, she was sure of it. She was sure 
of it. She opened the swinging gate and went up the road tried 
to go leisurely, but how all her heart beats urged her to run! 

She walked up the road to where the path comes out of the 
grove, and even went past it a little, keeping an eye on the shadows of 
the wood. There was no sign of anyone. She turned back, but had 
gone only a step when she distinctly heard the sound of wheels coming 
up behind her. Her heart stood still as she waited, stepping to the 
roadside to make way for the vehicle. It was Davy, come at last! 
But the rig barely slowed up as it neared her, and then, after a 
second's hesitation, a surprised greeting, whirred on. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Reid! Waiting for someone?" 

" Davy's coming ! " she called after them ; but they scarcely heard 

After the dust of the buggy had settled, Mary walked back toward 
the gate. She was convinced now that she had made a mistake about 
the train bell. She began to imagine sounds again and again walked up 
the road. Two or three other rigs passed her. In the gathering dark- 
ness she was now a scarcely discernible figure moving like a gray shadow 
in the dusk. Finally, sure that the train was late or now and again 
clasping her heart at the thought of some accident, and praying, and 
dismissing such fears as foolish she pushed open the gate and walked 
slowly back down the lane. As she neared the house her ear caught a 
sound which at first she could not define or locate; then she decided 
it must be Amos, down in the cellar, for the cellar way was open. 
Coming nearer she wondered for a moment if it could be in Ben 
Adams' room. Maybe the old man was sick. It was in his room, 
that inexplicable disturbance ; and then it ceased suddenly. She went 
into the kitchen and called through the prisoner's door, " Is anything 
the matter? Do you want anything? " But no answer came. 

She touched and retouched the things on the table, stirred the 
fire to make the tea for Davy, and then was suddenly sure that in the 
distance, but farther away than ever before, it had sounded, the train 
whistle broke the silence. She listened again, provoked at herself 
for having made " such a racket " at the stove, and, leaving everything, 
hurried out again to the gate. 

240 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

" Oh, why am I so nervous? " she cried to herself. " Davy will 
see it and blame it all on his father ! " 

It was quite dark now, but over the hill the moon was rising. 
Yet it had scarcely shown its honey-golden shield through the tangle 
of trees that crested the hill when a black cloud swallowed it. But 
it would be out again in a moment, making the roadway light. Mary 
went up the road and waited at the juncture of the grove-path and 
the highway. By this time she did not care whether passers-by saw 
her or not; she must meet Davy; and, besides, it was now too dark 
to make her out. And so, with heart beat ominous for no reason 
that she could tell, with ears throbbing for every faintest night sound, 
to discern his step, his voice, the worn-out, excited mother waited in 
the dark. 

She stood by the fence, over in the dusty grass of the roadside, 
and almost unconsciously moved step after step along the way, until, 
her everyday sense suddenly asserting itself, she became aware that the 
wire here was broken and down, and resolved that it must be mended 
tomorrow. It was this fence that skirted the pasture and overlooked 
the quarry. The edge of the bluff was not one hundred feet away. 
She paused there by the broken fence, straining eye and ear for sight 
or sound of Davy ; and then she heard him not on the road, but com- 
ing down the path in the woods. Back to where that path stepped 
down into the road she flew ; and here he was ! Striding through the 
darkness, how great and stalwart he seemed, as she called " Davy ! " 
and ran to meet him ! 


" Oh, mother, what a start you gave me ! " He put his arms 
around her and kissed her trembling lips and faded cheek, with the 
old laughing " One ! Two ! " of boyhood days. 

" My mercy ! " she laughed, wiping away a glad tear from her 
shining eyes with a corner of her apron. " I told you in my letter 
I'd meet you! How you've grown! And such arms! Why, you've 
got me all mussed up ! " 

"You're just grand, mother!" She had startedto walk beside 
him, and he halted and looked down at her. " Oh, my, but it's good 
to see you. Two whole years, think of it ! " 

" It hasn't been bad," she began. But she said no more just 
then, for his silence disputed her more than words. He had come to 
take her away with him, his every stride and motion said it; and the 
time was not yet for her to begin her argument. 

" Two whole years ! and father is the same ? " He hardly asked 
it; he knew it. " And. he won't sell to the water power company? 
Well, we can't make him." 

1916.] PURE GOLD 241 

" We'll have to have a good talk together about it tomorrow." 

" And, look here, mother, you stick by your guns ! Don't you go 
back on me ! I'm going to put the whole thing plain to father ; either 
he's got to sell, or else you come with me, and he can take the whole 
place and keep it." They were silent for a while; then 

" There's one thing that must be understood before you go in- 
side the house, my boy," said Mary Reid they were at the foot of 
the wood path now, standing on the edge of the road; Davy helped 
her across and they walked toward the gate " there's one thing that 
must be understood, Davy. No quarreling ! " 

" I'll not quarrel, mother. I didn't come home to quarrel. But 
I made up my mind when you wrote about Adams being here 
does he keep him locked up every night ? " 

" Yes; and the poor old thing couldn't get away if he wanted to, 
he's so sore and stiff. Oh, Davy, it's awful ! " 

" Has he tried to get away at all?" 

" No. One night your father thought he did and he shot off the 
gun to frighten him." 

" And I suppose he'd shoot him, if he did try to escape oh, it's 
barbarous ! I won't have you living in a madhouse like this any more, 
mother. They'll drive you crazy if you don't look out!" 

" Hush ! " she pressed a loving and a quieting hand on his arm. 
" You haven't promised me yet, Davy." They were at the gate now, 
standing before it. 

" Promised what, mother? " 

" About quarreling. Listen to me." With her hand on his arm, 
she faced up the road again and then, pace by pace, the two walked 
together in the darkness, she using all her wit and strength of mind 
to win her point, he fighting for his. Twice they went up to the 
crest of the hill road, to where she had found the broken fence, and 
back to the gate; then up the road again, until, quite tired out, she 
paused by the post with the hanging wire. 

" I won't quarrel. I promise that," he was saying. " I didn't 
come home to quarrel. But you can't go back on me like that, 
mother ! Why, I've got the rooms for us there in Wayne you've got 
to come. You've got to come ! " 

" You shouldn't have done that, Davy. I didn't promise I'd 

" Oh, but I was sure you would. Besides you must! Mother! " 
He gripped her arm in the vehemence of his argument; and at that 
moment a sound of wheels broke the stillness. The two moved back 
from the road, the mother lifted her skirt as they stepped over the 
fallen wire of the fence. Retreating into the shadow for the moon 
had not yet broken from the cloudy night they were not seen by the 
VOL. civ. 16 

242 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

passers-by. After there was silence again, Davy resumed his argu- 
ment, his mother hushing him at every dozen words, so vehement did 
he become, so carried away by his feelings. 

" Mother ! You can't stay here ! It's killing you ! Your nerves 
are going now yes, they are, mother; I know it! I can see it in 
your letters and in you ! It will break you down in the end, and then 
you'll be gone. You'll be gone ! " 

With a passionate toss of his head the boy dashed the tears 
from his eyes with his clenched fist, and then seized his mother's two 
hands and looked at her at her little faded figure shadowy in the 
darkness, at her hair of gray and gold, at her tear-filled eyes. " Then 
you'll be gone ! " 

" You musn't feel that way about it, dear little boy ! " his mother 
whispered with trembling lips. " Oh, it is breaking me down ! " She 
-swayed, and he caught her, then gently made her sit on the grass, and 
lie sat beside her. 

" Like two Indians," she whispered, trying to be merry, with a 
plaintive sigh out of the darkness. 

" But you don't and you can't understand, Davy, and I guess 
there's no use in my talking about it; but I can't go. I belong here 

and I must stay here. For better, for worse, Davy What if 

anything should happen him ? Oh, you don't understand ! " she went 
on, not permitting his interruptions, " you can't understand what a 
great sin I would commit to go away and leave him so ! " 

" Gold ! " the boy cried bitterly, as if speaking to himself, as if 
he had not heard her words. " He thinks this whole hill under us 
is solid gold, and he can't see, he can't see, he can't see ! " 

"He can't see what, Davy?" she was troubled at his strange 
utterance, at his bitter voice shaken with angry tears. 

" He can't see the gold he's got, the pure gold you mother, you ! 
You've fed him and slaved for him, planting and hoeing and reaping, 
wearing yourself out body and soul to keep the farm, so that he could 
dig for his fool's gold in that rock pile there ! Gold ! Why, he'll get 
gold out of that moon there quicker than he'll get it out of this hill ! " 
The moon was wheeling out now over the black trees, very pure and 
very golden and beautiful. " But he can't see the gold the gold 
mine he's had by his side yes, under his very feet, all these years! 
Oh, what a shame ! What a shame ! Sh, listen ! " 

Piercing through the night came an angry cry, up from the dark- 
ness below them. " Get down ! Get down ! " cried the mother in 
terror, pulling at the boy who stood above her. " Be still ! " 

He dropped on one knee, and they listened. The cry came again, 
then the muffled sound of running feet, then silence again; then, as 
if at their very knees, out of the depths, a moan. 

1916.] PURE GOLD 


Mary clasped her hands together and whispered: " It's Adams! 
He's got out. Oh, Davy!" 

" I'm going down there, mother ! " 

"No, no! Stay here. Wait!" 

They could hear nothing now, but the next instant came the 
sound of sand running down the quarry, then a low thud of rock 
falling, tumbling, then a panting and heaving, and over the edge of 
the quarry appeared the fearful head of Adams, white and shining in 
the moonlight, the face drawn with terror, the sunken eyes bulging. 
His hands pawed and scratched at the grass and crumbling sand as 
he tried to drag himself up. He seemed to be saying over and over 
again: "O God! O God!" 

" Lie flat on the grass, mother ! " Davy whispered, gently thrust- 
ing her down. But Mary Reid had never known what it was to cover 
her eyes in the face of danger. With her heart absolutely still, she 
squatted there in the grass and watched the boy, as, first on his hand? 
and knees, and then, a few paces onward, flat on his stomach, he 
swiftly dragged himself toward the half-demented creature who sud- 
denly with a lunge seemed to save himself and then lose hold. At that 
instant Davy's hands grasped his. 

" Hang on! " the boy whispered. " I'll pull you up." The merci- 
ful moon wheeled in again behind the stormy clouds, and a low mutter 
of thunder rumbled up in the west. 

" O God ! O God ! " She could hear old Adams plainly now. 
"He's after me!" 

"Hang on!" Davy was bracing himself, and with one pull 
dragged the panting old man over the edge of the precipice. " Now 
lie flat." 

The two lay there, both breathing hard. Then Mary heard an 
ominous sound. "Davy! He's coming!" she cried in a fearful 
whisper; and the boy seized the panting old man, and the two be- 
gan moving rapidly back toward where Mary crouched. 

" If you could get into the woods there ! " Mary whispered. 

" Oh, I can't, I can't ! " the old man whimpered. " Save me ! 
Please save me ! " 

" Yes, you can ; there's time," Davy answered. " He's hunting 
for you in the quarry yet. Come ! " 

Half-crawling, half-running, Davy began dragging Adams to the 
road. Then on Mary's ear fell another fearful sound again the soft 
rattle of running sand, the tumbling of loosened stones. " Davy ! " she 
called out, knowing well, without looking, what was behind her 
the panting figure of Amos Reid, his maddened eyes glittering with 
fury as he lunged up over the edge of the precipice. 

How the mother sprang to her feet, how she beheld as in a 

244 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

blazing flash of lightning the wild form that leaped up out of the 
pit of darkness below, how she saw the rifle aimed, and cried out 
and leaped toward her husband to stop him, to hold him words 
cannot tell it fast enough or half as fast as it all happened. Before 
her was the madman, behind her boy, plunging and crouching with his 
pitiful burden in the dark. All that wind-swept hill, suddenly lit with 
a beam of moonlight breaking like a livid smile through the lowering 
cloud all that wild scene she saw as the gun blazed and roared 
and then with a cry, " Davy ! " she fell. Old Amos, with his maniacal 
shot, aimed at the fleeing Adams, had cut her down. 

With a cry Davy dropped his burden no, he fairly threw it into 
the black edge of the wood and turned. He, too, saw the blaze 
of the gun barrel, and so quickly did he leap to his mother's side that 
he caught her as she sank to her knees. 

" Mother, mother! " he whispered. " You're not shot! " 
She writhed in pain, then swooned. Still at the edge of the preci- 
pice the father stood, shaking with a new terror, for through his 
fuming senses that apparition of his wife springing from the darkened 
hill, that cry of the mother for her boy, had pierced him and stunned 
him. What was she doing here? And he, the boy? 

" Father ! " Davy cried. " Oh, see what you've done ! " 
" Your mother ? and you ? Oh ! Oh ! " The old man lunged 
forward, fumbling at his head as if dizzy, and fell on his knees beside 
his wife. 

" You've shot her! " the boy cried. " You've killed her! " 
" No! no! " the old man moaned. " Oh, no, Davy, no I haven't! 
No, I haven't ! " His long arms went around the senseless figure 
that the boy was supporting. He lifted her up, Davy helping him. 
" Mary ! " he whispered, rising to his feet with that beloved burden 
at his breast. " Run to the house, Davy, quick ! " 

He might have been some tragic Lear or woe-distracted Creon 
bearing his loved one in his arms, that gaunt, white-bearded man 
stalking down the slope toward the house, all the haste and eagerness 
of fear and love, and all love's tenderness in his stride. Little love- 
moanings and wild inarticulate prayers broke from his lips as he 
strode on. His eye caught the flash of the lamp that Davy winged 
on the heels of love and terror, leaping down the quarry-steep and 
plunging into the quiet house had lit. All the wide night seemed 
opened to the old man's gaze as he still strode on; and yet one only 
thing he saw the limp hushed figure in his arms ; one only thing he 
felt the dead pressure of that dear form against his heart, on his 
curved arms that held her so tenderly. And " Mary, Mary, Mary," he 
whispered over and over again, fighting off the spectre of death that 
strode beside him, plucking and fumbling at his precious burden. 

1916.] PURE GOLD 245 

Davy, tearing a sheet in strips for bandages, was at the door, and 
without a word led the way into her room; and there old Amos laid 
her, oh, how gently, on her bed, then seized the brandy flask the boy 
held for him, and poured the liquor down her throat, while Davy 
loosened her dress her sweet gray dress, with its soft lavender chif- 
fon, all stained with blood and suddenly with a cry of love and 
horror disclosed the wound that the shot had made. " Oh, father ! 
the words seemed wrung from the very depths of the boy's being. 
The reproach of them, overwhelming and terrible, drowned the senses 
of the old man as in a vortex. But no more was said; not another 
word was spoken in that throbbing room, as the old white-haired man 
knelt and held the basin of water while the boy washed the blood 
away; not a word till the mother opened her eyes, and looked into 
the faces bending over her. 

" It'll be all right. It doesn't hurt now ! " she whispered ; then 
the tender lids closed again, and the old man's closed too, in a sudden 
pain, as the tears welled up in his eyes. 

The bandage on, Davy whispered, " I'll jump on old Fanny and 
ride for the doctor. Keep her quiet ! " and was gone. 

And then suddenly it seemed to the old man that she, too, was 
gone, so still did she lie, the frail shadowy eyelids closed, the sweet, 
soft, wrinkled face pallid and sunken. Surely she had not ceased 
breathing? The old man leaped from his knees in terror he pressed 
his ear to her heart, his dark old hands fluttered over the pillow, his 
seared old heart cried out until it found voice and utterance: 

" Mary ! Oh, my dear girl ! My wife ! My little wife ! Can't 
you hear me? What have I done? Oh, if you should die! Mary, 
you're not dead? She's so still, so quiet!" 

He was kneeling again beside her. " Can't you hear me ? I 
want you to hear me before you go, Mary, before you go! I didn't 
know what I was doing. I've been a bad man to you, Mary; wicked 
and stubborn and bad! I was sure of the gold, sure of it! There is 
gold there! but I'll give it up if only you'll get well. I'll give it up! 

Mary! Mary! God curse me if I've killed you! Killed my 

wife ! " The old white-haired head shook to and fro, the old bent 
figure rocked in its awful grief. 

But Mary heard. Those wild poignant words pierced her swoon- 
ing senses. Through the long dark abyss she struggled to call back 
to him: 

" No curse, Amos ! God bless us ! Say God bless us ! " 

"God bless you, Mary! Oh, you're not dead! Yes, yes, I'll 
say jt God bless us ! Oh, can you forgive me ! See all I've done to 
you! Broken your life, worn you out! I can see it all now but 
I was sure of the gold, Mary, sure of it ! " 

246 PURE GOLD [Nov., 

Again she was very still. Again the heart-core of the man cried 
out for her to come back, to live, to speak, to say she forgave him. 
" But you can't ! You can't ! " 

And again soul answered soul. " I'm so happy, Amos Say 

a little prayer." 

She was quite conscious when Davy and the doctor arrived. The 
old man was still kneeling on the floor by her bed. 

She opened her eyes when Davy spoke. " It's not so bad," she said 
as the doctor bent over her. " Nothing so bad but it might be worse," 
and she smiled. " You didn't get any of your hot biscuits, Davy. 

They were all ready You must give Dr. Shaw a bite before he 

goes No, it doesn't hurt now, but I am weak! There now, 

I told Amos not to be kneeling there he'll be too stiff to move. I 
said you'd be in the doctor's way ! Don't be foolish ! " For now the 
old man, instead of getting up as he had been bidden, suddenly leaned 
over and buried his face in the bed clothes, and broke down and 
sobbed. Her gentle hand found its way to his silvery head. " Sh," 
she whispered. " Don't be upset ! " 

"I'm praying! I'm praying!" is all the old man could say. 

" It's only a flesh wound," was the doctor's verdict. " How in 
the world did it happen ? " 

" Amos thought someone was breaking in," Mary answered 
promptly " into his gold mine. He always keeps watch at night, you 
know, and Davy and I were walking " 

" Will she get well? " the old man interrupted, looking up. " You 
can have the whole gold mine, if you'll only cure her, doctor." 

" Father means we've decided to sell to your power company," 
Davy interjected; and his mother smiled up at him, wisely and ap- 
provingly. Her boy had a good head on him! 

" That's good ! Let's see those biscuits, Davy." The doctor 

led the way into the kitchen. 

And then old Amos looked up at his Mary, with such a clear 
light in his eyes, dimmed by tears as they were, that she almost swooned 
again not for pain, but for joy; for now in his face there was some- 
thing she had not seen for twenty years and more, something that had 
long ago vanished, vanished she had feared forever. " Thank God 
for that gunshot, if it only has broken the spell at last," was her silent 
prayer as she watched him; but he kneeling there only fingered 
lovingly her thin braid of gray-gold hair that had fallen loose on the 
pillow, and then suddenly pressing it to his lips, he whispered 

"Pure gold! Pure gold!" 


IRew Books. 

JOSEPH CONRAD. By Hugh Walpole. New York: Henry 

Holt & Co. 50 cents net. 

In compact form, within one hundred small pages done in 
large type, is here presented what one would wish to know of 
Conrad and his work. Mr. Walpole handles his subject lucidly, 
sympathetically, temperately, and leaves the reader not only pos- 
sessed of facts, but breathing the atmosphere of Conrad and pon- 
dering his philosophy. His biography simply states three periods : 
life in Poland, life on the sea, life in England, as background 
against whose form and color his art has been placed. At first his 
works are reminiscent, then creative, then studies of " cases." The 
works of every period receive a passing comment. In The Novelist 
are discussed the form of Conrad's work, the themes which engage 
him and his creative art, and his handling of character, sufficient 
illustration being given to recall to the knowing, or to inform the 
inquiring, just what Conrad's books are like. The Poet is a fair 
critique of his style, showing the weakness and promise of his 
early works maturing to present mastery. The glamour or atmos- 
phere which Conrad throws about his work is attributed to his 
lyric vein, his poetic vision of life working through the media of 
realism. And as for his philosophy, he is " of the firm and resolute 
conviction that life is too strong, too clever and too remorseless for 
the sons of men." This obsession of " the vanity of human strug- 
gle " drives him to present everyone of his characters as facing 
an enemy, for whom he is by temperament least fitted, and ac- 
counts for the irony that runs through his tales. His men of 
brains are melancholy; his happy characters are devoid of imagina- 
tion : grimly he enunciates his philosophy. " If you see far enough 
you will see how hopeless the struggle is." With this outlook of 
life, the qualities of the human soul that appeal most to Conrad 
are blind courage and obedience. In Romance and Realism, Mr. 
Walpole, defining the one as " a study of life with the faculty 
of imagination;" and the other as "the study of life with all 
the rational faculties of observation, reason and reminiscence," 
rightly states the trend of modern literature to be towards romantic 
realism. This is seen through all the writings of Conrad. He is 

248 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

credited with influencing the younger generation of writers, and 
assured of a place in the galaxy of contemporary brilliant novelists 
as giving fresh impulse to the literature of our language. 

Phelps. New York: Dodd, Mead & Co. $1.50 net. 
In announcing the forthcoming series of articles by Professor 
Phelps of Yale, which are here collected, the Bookman for August, 
1915, promised something very different from the majority of works 
on the development of the novel. The present volume proves that 
promise abundantly fulfilled. Differing from Cross, or Bliss Perry, 
for instance, in his angle of vision, Professor Phelps writes for 
the reading public rather than for the student, and organizes his ma- 
terial accordingly. After an introductory chapter upon the present 
state of the novel, the chapter containing the definition which pro- 
voked so much discussion, " a novel is a good story well told," 
he ranges, within one hundred pages, from Defoe to Stevenson, 
leaving two-thirds of the book to the treatment of English and 
American fiction after 1894. One finds here sane criticism upon 
our own contemporaries, upon Meredith, Hardy and Henry James, 
upon Conrad, Galsworthy, Bennett and Wells, upon Churchill, 
Tarkington, London and Harrison, and a host of others; and, 
best of all, it is criticism in accord with true moral standards. It is 
refreshing and consoling in these days to find one who speaks with 
authority calling attention to the fact that the famous, or in- 
famous, " novel of life," which figures so prominently in the ad- 
vance sheets of every publisher, is false to itself and to art when 
the life it pretends to portray is all sordid; to find one noticing 
the spiritual development between Locke, the pagan, in the Morals 
of Marcus Ordeyne, and the Locke of Christian ethics in Septimus; 
to find condemned, as strongly as a priest would condemn them, 
the whole class, and specific books of the genus best called " porno- 

There are conclusions, no doubt, to which we cannot assent. 
We would be loath to admit that Churchill's attack upon the 
modern church was " devout and reverent," or that the Harland of 
The Cardinal's Snuff-box belongs to the " marshmallow school," 
or that Butler's " diabolical novel " will prove of " real service to 
Christianity;" the present reviewer would have enjoyed a fuller 
treatment of de Morgan. But these are matters of inference or 
of taste, about which, the adage says, there is no disputing; and 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 249 

it is cheering to find Professor Phelps so sound on those principles 
for which we are constrained to battle against the loose thinking 
and loose morality of much in modern fiction. 

THE TIDE OF IMMIGRATION. By Frank Julian Warne, A.M., 

Ph.D. New York: D. Appleton & Co. $2.50 net. 

This volume is a plea for the restriction of immigration to the 
United States through the adoption of a literacy test. Such a test 
is not put forward as a means of selecting the quality of the im- 
migration, but rather as a means of limiting its quantity. The 
author insists that there is need of quantitative restriction in order 
that we may be able to assimilate the immigrants whom we admit 
into the country. Throughout the greater part of the book the 
assimilation desired seems to be an economic assimilation which 
would lead the immigrant to demand an American wage and to 
live up to the American standard of living, but in the closing 
chapter the assimilation upon which stress is placed seems to be of 
a non-economic character, and is concerned with " hyphenated- 
Americans " of a disloyal turn of mind, who " are not strangers 
to the hand that stabs in the dark or the lips that betray with 
a kiss." 

The author presents the statistics of immigration in an at- 
tractive manner. The comparison of the tide of immigration with 
the ocean tide is also handled in a way to hold the reader's at- 
tention. There are chapters on " the flow of the tide," " sources 
of the tide," " the ebb of the tide," " the tide's flotsam and jetsam," 
" immigration's tide-rip," etc. Altogether the book is entertain- 
ingly written. 

Dr. Warne is frankly partisan, and sometimes uses arguments 
which belong on the other side of the question to bolster up the de- 
mand for a restriction of immigration. Thus from the point of 
view of the native born it is desirable that immigrants return to 
Europe in large numbers in times of industrial depression in the 
United States, in this way leaving to the native-born such oppor- 
tunities of finding work as they could. But somehow Dr. Warne 
fails to see this, and it is a large part of his grievance against im- 
migrants that they return to Europe in large numbers in times of 
business depression here. 

A good deal of space is devoted to showing that for the past 
hundred years there has been violent agitation against immigration. 
Dr. Warne thinks that the opposition in the past was ill-advised, and 

250 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

that it would have been a mistake to restrict seriously the immigra- 
tion of earlier days. But he thinks that conditions have changed, 
so that today such restriction is desirable. He does not, however, 
take the pains to show in what way the coming in of immigrants 
works a hardship on the people already here. To establish that 
fact, if it is a fact, would require a careful statistical study of 
wages and costs of living. Such a study is lacking in the book. 

The author is not fair to the reader in presenting the majority 
report of the Commission on Industrial Relations as unbiassed testi- 
mony in favor of restriction without explaining that three out of 
the four signers of the report were leaders of organized labor 
in other words, that it was a partisan report. Similar liberties are 
taken with the reader in presenting the testimony of the Immigra- 
tion Commission. 

Unlike so many immigration restrictionists who believe that this 
country is nearing the limit of its resources, Dr. Warne sees a 
rosy future for the United States. He wishes us to remember 
"that the United States has hardly begun the development of its 
material resources; that these are in such abundance as to give to 
us wealth beyond human comprehension." Perhaps, after all, we 
may be able to take care of the normal immigration for a long time 
to come without danger to our own standard of living. 


Leathley. London : John Long. 

This is one of the most inaccurate, unfair, and prejudiced 
books on marriage we have ever read. The writer, in the first 
place, attempts the impossible task of writing the history of mar- 
riage and divorce from earliest times to the present day in the brief 
compass of one hundred and fifty pages. Like many a High 
Church Anglican who holds the indissolubility of the marriage 
bond, he is indignant at the findings of the Majority Report of the 
Royal Divorce Commission a few years ago. It recommended 
extensions of the grounds of divorce to desertion for three years, 
incurable insanity after five years, penal servitude for life, cruelty 
and habitual drunkenness. He praises the Catholic Church for 
her strong stand against divorce, but then, to save his face with 
his co-religionists, he does his utmost to travesty her teaching, and 
to denounce in the most extravagant language " the errors of 
Rome." He loves to talk about Rome's arrogance, unnatural 
spirituality and superstition; he rants about the Marian persecu- 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 251 

tions and the terrors of the Inquisition; he accuses the Romish 
Church of casuistry, chicanery and deliberate dishonesty. 

It is hard to be patient with a controversialist who repeats 
oft-refuted calumnies without the slightest regard to the Eighth 
Commandment. Mr. Leathley, for instance, charges the mediaeval 
Church with continually granting divorces under the plea of nul- 
lity. He writes : " The canonists succeeded in devising a canonical 
computation that left it an extremely uncertain event, if they wished 
to attack the marriage, whether or not the union would stand." 
Or again : " The whole practice of deciding the validity of mar- 
riages was utterly inconsistent." He never attempts to prove his 
accusations, but quotes complacently the false statements of Bryce 
in his Studies in History and Jurisprudence, and of Pollock and 
Maitland in their History of English Law. 

Of course we do not maintain that powerful princes never ob- 
tained decrees of nullity by fraud, nor that every bishop without 
exception in all the centuries of Catholic history gave righteous 
judgment in all matrimonial cases ; but we do protest most strongly 
against the charge that mediaeval canonists were dishonest in their 
framing of matrimonial impediments. The impediments to mar- 
riage then, as now, were based on the divine law, the lessons of 
experience, the good of society, and the protection of the individual. 
Pre-contract, pace Mr. Leathley, simply meant the bond of a pre- 
vious marriage, and invalidated a second marriage by the natural 
law; impotency came under the same category; force, fear and 
abduction were meant to protect the weak against the violence 
of the strong; consanguinity and affinity were founded on the 
natural reverence for blood and marriage ties, the desire of pre- 
venting immorality among kinsfolk, and of bettering the physical 
well-being of the offspring. 

The laws were clear enough, although the application of prin- 
ciples in particular cases might cause wonderment to the ignorant 
lay mind. The Church modifies her laws from time to time, ac- 
cording to the demands of the age, especially with regard to the 
degrees of consanguinity and affinity, but she never will yield, as 
modern States or Churches have done, to the public clamor for 
divorce in a valid marriage. This is one of her chief claims to the 
respect of devout and intelligent men. 

Again, when Mr. Leathley informs us that divorces were com- 
mon in England before the Conquest, he is guilty of false witness. 
This reckless statement is on a par with his other assertion that 

252 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

the Canon Law was introduced into England by William I. Even 
if the Penitential of Theodore be authentic, which is doubtful, it 
proves nothing about the teaching or practice of the Anglo-Saxon 
Church. The Anglo-Saxon Church was just as vehement in its 
denunciation of divorce as the Catholic Church today. We have 
only to allude to the provincial council of Hertford in 673, the 
witness of the Abbot ^Elfric, of St. Wulfstan of Worcester, of 
Archbishop Egbert of York, of St. Bede, St. Willibrord and others. 
It is rather amusing to read of " the fortunate change " brought 
about by Henry VIII., the very man whom Anglicans should forbear 
quoting as a defender of the sacredness of the marriage bond. But 
if Mr. Leathley had a saving sense of humor, he would never have 
written so unscholarly a volume. 

ited by Reginald S. Moxon, B.D. New York : G. P. Putnam's 

Sons. $2.75 net. 

This volume, one of the series of Cambridge Patristic Texts, 
gives us an annotated edition of the Latin text of the Com- 
monitorium of St. Vincent of Lerins. In an introduction of 
seventy-five pages Mr. Moxon, headmaster of Lincoln School, dis- 
cusses the authorship and contents of the Commonitorium; St. 
Vincent's semi-Pelagianism; the Rule of St. Vincent and modern 
Christianity; the Commonitorium's Latinity and style, its Biblical 
quotations, and its relationship with the Athanasian Creed. He 
concludes with a list of the most important editions of the text, the 
various manuscripts extant, and the translations into various 

Just as the Protestants of the Reformation translated the 
Scriptures and annotated them with the special view of setting forth 
their objections to Catholic doctrine, so some modern editors of 
Patristic texts take occasion of the Fathers to teach heresy in their 
anti-Catholic notes. 

It is impossible to set aside St. Vincent's witness to the au- 
thority of the Apostolic See, but Mr. Moxon does his utmost to 
minimize it. If St. Vincent speaks of the peremptory decision 
of Pope Stephen in the re-baptism controversy, we are told " he 
makes the history of the episode seem much simpler than it really 
was." If St. Vincent reserves the title of Papa or Pope to the 
Bishop of Rome, and speaks of Rome always as the Apostolic 
See, Mr. Moxon adds that " papa of itself did not necessarily mean 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 253 

to him the Pope," and Apostolic See only referred to Western 
Christendom. When Pope Celestine condemned Nestorius, we are 
told " that he went beyond all precedents in the extension of the 
power of that see, and assumed the right to depose Nestorius." 
Mr. Moxon even goes so far as to intimate that St. Vincent 
" seemed to recognize the supremacy of the Roman See " in order 
to flatter Sixtus III., and so win the Pope's favor in his semi- 
Pelagian attack upon the teaching of St. Augustine. 

In discussing the Nestorian heresy, Mr. Moxon holds the view 
of some modern Anglicans that the Council of Ephesus condemned 
Nestorius unjustly, for " there remains the question whether Nes- 
torius was guilty of holding the opinions for which he was con- 
demned." St. Cyril, who presided at the Council, was perhaps a 
heretic, for " his Christology contains traces of a relationship 
with Apollinarianism ! " 

Mr. Moxon also approves of the semi-Pelagianism of St. Vin- 
cent as holding the mean between Pelagianism and ultra-Predesti- 
narianism, but Catholics know that the second Council of Aries in 
529 condemned it as heretical. Nature and free will left to them- 
selves are incapable of accomplishing, and even of beginning, the 
supernatural work of salvation. God is the primary and necessary 
Agent Who creates in us the first desire of good, and brings about 
its effective accomplishment. Mr. Moxon, who has no clear idea 
of what the Church means by tradition, naturally cannot understand 
the Rule of St. Vincent. He states that Cardinal Franzelin in his 
De Divina Traditions practically repudiates St. Vincent. This is not 
the fact. Franzelin merely stated that St. Vincent's Rule is true in 
its positive sense, namely, so far as it claims that doctrines that have 
been taught Everywhere, Always, and By All are of faith, but that it 
cannot be admitted in a negative or exclusive sense, namely, in the 
sense that doctrines that have not' been taught Everyivhere, Al- 
ways and By All cannot be of faith. For it is contrary to the 
whole economy of the faith to maintain that only those things which 
have been explicitly believed from the first are contained in the de- 
posit of faith. 

To say "that modern Catholicism has abandoned the Rule of St. 
Vincent altogether," is to bear false witness; to say that Papal in- 
fallibility does away with all study of antiquity, and treats all ap- 
peal thereunto as " treason and heresy," is utterly unworthy of a 
serious scholar. The Pope does not claim to be inspired, as Mr. 
Moxon falsely asserts, but he speaks ex cathedra under the guidance 

254 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

of the Holy Spirit when, having examined carefully the teaching of 
Scripture and tradition, he finds a doctrine of faith or morals taught 
by Jesus Christ and the Twelve Apostles. He never adds to the de- 
posit of faith, for with St. Vincent he holds: "There is to be 
progress in religion, but not change of faith." We would advise 
Mr. Moxon to read again carefully the twenty-third chapter of the 
Commonitorium, and then compare its teaching with the teaching 
of Cardinal Newman in his Doctrine of Development, and with 
Cardinal Franzelin's teaching which he has entirely misrepresented. 


York: The Macmillan Co. $1.50. 

This stirring account of the conquest of Mexico is based on 
the True History of the Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Diaz del 
Castillo, an eyewitness to one of the most picturesque military ex- 
ploits of all times. It is only within the past twenty-five years that 
the old Conquistador's history has been unearthed in the archives 
of Guatemala, where he finally settled after the conquest. It was 
published by Senor Genaro Garcia. Padre Remon published a 
garbled version of the history in 1632, and various renderings have 
been published in English by Thomas Nicholas, Maurice Keatinge, 
and John Lockhart. These volumes are all out of print, and prac- 
tically unknown to the average reader. 

These pages, as the author states, picture " a human Cortez, 
untiringly active in mind and body, gently intimate and comrade- 
like of heart, subtle in speech, but ardent, imaginative and ambitious 
enough to grasp opportunities and mould them to his advantage. 
These pages prove that the conquest was a democratic, community 
affair, each soldier of fortune present by his own choice and with 
vote and speech indicating his personal, independent wish in 

general matters all its members were served by a substantially 

founded education, and gifted with the ability to do their own 
thinking in the practical affairs of life." 


George H. Doran Co. $1.25 net. 

These vivid tales of the war in Europe are drawn from life. 
Though colored a bit by a masterly hand, they could only be 
written by a man who has been through the scenes he describes. 
They tell of life in the trenches, of suffering in the hospitals, of 
the valor of heroes and the cowardice of deserters, of Christmas 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 255 

truces, and of the fate of spies. The humor occasionally is a bit 
exaggerated as in the " Charge of the Cooks," but perhaps this was 
required to offset the strain of continual stories of wounds and 
death. Most graphic are the tales of the experiences of the mining 
engineer, the death of the brave German spy, and rescue of 
the wounded between the English and the German trenches. 

THE BORODINO MYSTERY. By Maria Longworth Storer. St. 

Louis: B. Herder. $1.00 net. 

Mrs. Storer's latest novel is a clever detective story, in which 
an Englishman disguises himself as a Russian nobleman in order 
to win the girl of his choice. He has to feign death to bring 
this about, and the humor of the tale lies in the fact that he is 
pursued to the end by an amateur detective, anxious to convict him 
of his own murder. The characters are all well drawn. We 
thoroughly enjoyed the prim and precise French Duchess of the old 
regime, the unconventional Lady Betty, the over-zealous and over- 
suspicious Breton Cure, the loyal friend Bertie Harding, and the 
pure, clean-cut hero and heroine. The story is well told, and the 
style vivid and full of distinction. 

THE CROWD IN PEACE AND WAR. By Sir Martin Conway. 

New York: Longmans, Green & Co. $1.75 net. 

The individual or the crowd this is the balance that Sir 
Martin Conway, late Professor of Art at Cambridge and writer of 
many books on art and travel, strikes in his elaborate study of social 
phenomena. In a close analysis of man's " crowd instincts " the 
writer finds that the crowd is peculiar in characteristics and action, 
differing in these respects from the individual alone. Composed of 
intellectual units the crowd is moved by passion merely, and acts 
on impulse but never with moderation. It is tyrannical, harsh, 
overwhelming and jealous of its continuity. These are its principal 
defects. The crowd's greatest merit lies in its work of preserving 
ideals, of perpetuating the inspiration given it by the individual. 

These are " crowd " days, the author declares, and shows in 
many examples the tendency of government today to take down the 
last few restraining barriers and place all control in the multitude. 
There is great danger in this, he holds, and, in conclusion, points 
out the just mean the individual "to keep his mind free of 
crowd dominance," and the crowd to continue its preservation of 

256 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

In considering social, political and economic crowds, the author 
brings forward a great wealth of material that contains many well- 
substantiated truths. But when he leaves this fertile field and 
enters the realm of morals and religion, he seems like a child who 
has collected all the pieces of a picture puzzle, yet fails to put them 
together properly. The reason for this failure is clear, for the 
author, by assuming that all causes influencing crowds arise from 
natural sources, discards the fundamental principle underlying 
morals and religion, and makes all conclusions deduced from these 
premises vain and fruitless. " Religion," he states, " is man's 
description of his ideas about the great unknown, his projections 
on the darkness of what he conceives that darkness to contain." 
With such a false tenet as a first principle it is only natural that 
many errors follow in its wake, for without a true basis for religion, 
morality cannot be explained or ciphered out as the vagaries of 
crowd impulse or social mutation. 

The book is scholarly in tone, but contains many errors both 
of fact and interpretation concerning the Catholic faith and the 
Church's history. 

THE GREAT PUSH. By Patrick MacGill. New York: George 

H. Doran Co. $1.25 net. 

There has not been written a narrative of the present war that 
so grips the reader as does this story by the author of The Rat-pit. 
It tells of the British offensive a year ago at Loos, and it gives 
a startlingly vivid picture witnessed by one who had the power to 
see keenly and the genius to transmit his perceptions in terms of 
the real. 

Patrick MacGill, the navvy-author, was stretcher-bearer 3008 
of the London Irish. His work was to care for the wounded in 
the great offensive that all were expecting. It came ; and the writer 
was a living unit in the terrible combat. He felt the spirit of the 
men before the attacks; he swept with them over the open when 
they kept up their courage by kicking a football across the inter- 
vening ground ; he was among the first to enter the enemy's trench. 
In his spare moments he set down these soul-stirring impressions, 
and wrote practically the whole book in the trenches. It could 
never have been written by anyone less in contact with the scenes 
it portrays they are so real, so genuine, so moving in their char- 
acterizations of the soldier and the sense impressions of warfare 
and death. 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 257 


M. Searle of the Paulist Fathers. New York : The Paulist 

Press. $1.25. 

Father Searle is right in styling Christian Science " the most 
surprising delusion of modern times." Its very name is dishonest, 
for, as has been frequently pointed out, this new theory is neither 
Christian nor scientific. It is not Christian, for it denies every doc- 
trine taught by Jesus Christ; it is not scientific, for it does not 
rest on a solid basis of fact. The gospel of this impious cult is set 
forth in Mrs, Eddy's book, Science and Health a great hodge- 
podge of contradictory philosophies without trace of sequence or 
logic. It would have been simpler to refute Christian Science by 
showing the falsity of its tenets, but to offset any possible charge 
of unfairness, Father Searle determined to discuss Mrs. Eddy's 
remarkable volume chapter by chapter. 

His analysis of Mrs. Eddy's book is most thorough and search- 
ing. He shows that it is the book of a woman ignorant of the very 
first principles of science, and ignorant of the most elemental truths 
of the Christian Gospel. He points out on every page her inac- 
curacies, her lies, her absurd and meaningless statements, her pious 
posing, her constant fighting with men of straw, her pretended 
cures, and her impiety. 

" This impiety," says Father Searle, " consists, fundamentally, 
in its regarding of sin as being merely an error of mortal mind, 
having no real existence, instead of being, as it actually is, a real 

and terrible disease of the passions and the will Exalting 

itself to the throne of God, it tells us we have no need of His help; 
that sin is no danger to us, except by our false belief in it; that 
if we abandon this belief, sin will trouble us no more." Father 
Searle well says that Christian Science is " most dangerous be- 
cause it has superficially such an appearance of good; particu- 
larly because in those who are victims to its delusions, it presents 
such a fair-seeming counterfeit of the joy and peace which Christ 
promised to His true followers." 

mann Wedewer, Professor at the Royal Gymnasium of Wies- 
baden, and Joseph McSorley, of the Paulist Fathers. St. 
Louis: B. Herder. $1.00 net. 
The twelfth edition of Professor Hermann's Grundriss der 

Kirchengeschichte, published at Freiburg in 1907, forms the 

VOL. CIV. 17 

258 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

groundwork of the present volume, although Father McSorley has 
made so many changes in the original text as to make it practically 
a new work. Besides he has added one hundred and twenty-eight 
pages of original matter on the Foreign Missions in Asia, Africa 
and America, and on the entire modern period from 1789 to 1914. 
We recommend this history of the Church to our schools and 
academies. It presents the main facts in brief but accurate outline, 
and its generous use of heavy type and judicious paragraphing will 
prove most helpful to the young student. The best part of the 
volume deals with the Foreign Missions and the history of the 
Church in the nineteenth century, especially in the United States. 
Father McSorley has crowded into these pages a great deal of in- 
formation which has never been published before in any textbook. 


& Sons. 40 cents. 

This attractive book for children is the joint product of five 
authors. The lives of the early Irish saints are told in rhymes both 
English and Irish, the latter in Irish lettering, and with each story 
is a picture in outline to be filled in with color by the pupil. These 
are well drawn, and the ornamental panels and tail-pieces, also to 
be colored, are adaptations or reproductions of the designs seen on 
the Celtic crosses. The book enables the child to be instructed and 
his taste to be trained at the same time, and in a manner most 

THE LIFE OF ST. COLUMBAN. A Study of Ancient Irish 

Monastic Life. By Mrs. Thomas Concannon, M.A. St. 

Louis : B. Herder. $2.00 net. 

This volume is not alone a complete biography of the illus- 
trious Abbot, who was in Italy and whose name added lustre to the 
great Abbey of Bobbio ; it is also an interesting scholarly study of 
ancient Irish monastic life of the clays when Erin was deservedly 
known as the prolific Mother of saints and scholars. 

Clonard and Bangor, with copious accounts of many of their 
sons, are passed in review as the writer records the story of Co- 
lumban, till at about the age of fifty the " Desire of Pilgrimage " 
arose in his bosom, and urged him to bid farewell to his native 
land which he was never to see again. Then the story carries us 
to the land and the stormy times of the Merovingians and the great 
Abbey of Luxeuil, afterwards to the Lombards, Bobbio and peace. 


The biography, while it is a first-rate piece of exact critical 
scholarship, is throughout suffused with well-regulated religious 
fervor. It is furnished with a full, judiciously chosen bibliography, 
and besides the numerous footnotes and references, includes an ap- 
pendix consisting of longer notes supplying further criticism and 

It is proper to observe here that this book owes its existence, 
as the author records, to the generosity of the Right Rev. Bishop 
Shahan, Rector of the Catholic University of America. Bishop 
Shahan deplored the fact that we possessed no worthy life of this 
great Irish saint. He offered, through the bishops of Ireland, a 
prize of 200 for the best life of Columban. The present volume is 
the .result. 

A LITTLE WHITE FLOWER. The Story of Sceur Therese of 

Lisieux. A new translation by Rev. Thomas N. Taylor. 

Rochdale, Lancashire, England : The Orphans' Press. 75 cents. 

The explanation of this new translation of the autobiography 
of the Little Flower lies in the fact that the Carmel of Lisieux has 
only now published for the first time the full text of what Sceur 
Therese wrote, and this definitive edition differs greatly from its 

The autobiography is based upon three different manuscripts 
written by Soeur Therese at the command of her superiors. The 
first and longest manuscript Chapter I.-IX. of the present volume 
was addressed in 1895 to the prioress, Mother Agnes of Jesus; 
the second Chapters X.-XII. was addressed to Mother Mary of 
Gonzaga who had received her into the Order; the third Chapter 
XII. was written for her eldest sister, Marie. 

The publishers are to be congratulated upon the splendid press 
work and the tasteful illustrations which characterize the volume. 

PHILOSOPHY: WHAT IS IT? By F. B. Jevons, Litt.D. New 

York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.00 net. 

The average man, who has probably heard the Scotchman's 
definition of metaphysics, is inclined to believe that philosophy is 
a study of something or other that has nothing whatever to do 
with our practical life: It is productive of nothing; it does not 
pay as " the inductive sciences do." If he has read Macaulay on 
Bacon he will perhaps quote some bouncing, brilliant, but shallow 
and inaccurate, judgments passed by that essayist on the waste of 

2<5o NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

human intellect that philosophy has provoked. When a student 
of philosophy undertakes to set such a person right, he very often 
finds that the technical language in which he is obliged to convey 
his ideas, and the abstract character of the ideas themselves, wholly 
foreign to the mind of his auditor, render his well-meant effort 
futile. The author of this book, who has written many philosophi- 
cal studies of value, endeavors to meet this situation. He presents 
here five lectures, first delivered before a Worker's Educational 
Association, some members of which had expressed a desire to know 
what philosophy is. The titles are: "Philosophy and Science;" 
" Materialism and Idealism ;" " Skepticism in Philosophy ;" " Phil- 
osophy in Practice;" "Personality and the Whole/' Nowhere, 
in English, have we a happier attempt to provide a simple, lucid 
exposition of the meaning and import of philosophy, and, in more 
detail, some of its paramount problems, in concepts and language 
suitable to the popular mind. The keynote of the author's purpose 
is struck in the opening page : 

In the lives of most, perhaps of all, of us there come mo- 
ments of dejection, or even of despair, when the burden and 
the mystery of this unintelligible world come with such crush- 
ing weight upon us that, in spite even of religion itself, we ask, 
" What does it all mean ? " " What is the good of it all ? " 
The questions are asked in a despair which implies that there is 
no meaning in it all, and no good in life ; or that, if there is, 
at any rate we cannot see it. 

But though the questions may be asked, and in moments of 
personal despair are asked, in a tone which implies that no 
satisfactory answer is or can be forthcoming, they may also 
be considered, in a calmer mood, as questions which call for a 
reasoned answer, and with regard to which we must ask, as a 
matter of deliberation rather than of despair, whether an 
answer is possible at all. Now it is the calm consideration of 
these questions that is to be given to them if any answer can 
be given that constitutes philosophy. 

Though one might be inclined to append a note of interroga- 
tion to some of Dr. Jevons' incidental positions, or reasonings, the 
following passage from " Personality and the Whole " bears wit- 
ness to the soundness of his philosophic creed on the great crucial 
questions, the existence of a personal God, and man's free will. 

On the assumption, which we now see that all have made 
from the beginning, that experience is a whole and has a 

: 9 i6.] NEW BOOKS 261 

meaning-, and that the reality of the whole is a Perfect Per- 
sonality, it will follow that our human personalities are but 
feeble copies of it, if, for no other reason than for the reason 
that none of us can say that we are not in process, not be- 
coming, that as yet we are human copies made in the Image of 
God. As copies, we have free will given to us by Him Who 
made us. Because we have free will the future is not pre- 
determined, but will be what we help to make it. Because we 
have free will we are helping to determine for better or for 
worse what the future will be. The whole, that is to say, is in 
process. Process or activity in process, implies an end a good 
which is being realized and an end which is yet to be attained. 
That good is expressed in the words, " Thou shalt love thy God 
with all thy heart and with all thy soul, and thy neighbor as 

SHAKESPEAREAN STUDIES. By the Members of the Depart- 
ment of English and Comparative Literature in Columbia Uni- 
versity. Edited by Brander Matthews and Ashley Horace 
Thorndike. New York: Columbia University Press. 
The eighteen essays of this volume were prepared by pro- 
fessors of Columbia University as the contribution of that insti- 
tution to the celebration of the tercentenary of Shakespeare's death. 
As the editors inform us, no effort has been made to conform them 
to a general plan, or to harmonize conflicting opinions. 

Brander Matthews, writing on Shakespearean stage traditions, 
adduces a number of instances in which an unexpected illumination 
of Shakespeare's text has been accomplished by inventive actors 
and ingenious stage managers. F. T. Baker writes rather pessimis- 
tically of the use of Shakespeare's plays in the schools. W. T. 
Brewster gives a brief but exhaustive sketch of the attempt to re- 
store the personality of Shakespeare from his plays. He concludes: 
" Doubtless he is the supreme poet, but from that it does not fol- 
low that he was a particularly interesting man, or that his per- 
sonality was more important than that of hundreds of his con- 
temporaries." W. W. Lawrence treats of Troilus and Cressida, 
J. Erskine of Romeo and Juliet, de Vivier Tassin of Julius Ccesar, 
and J. W. Cunliffe of Henry V. H. M. Ayres sums up what we 
know today of Shakespeare's pronunciation, F. A. Patterson shows 
the poet's debt to the mediaeval lyric, and H. R. Steeves gives a list 
of American editors of Shakespeare. 

We commend this volume to all lovers of Shakespeare. They 

262 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

will find many things to agree with, many things to argue about, 
and many things to reject with scorn. But the essays are all care- 
fully written, and well thought out. 

MODERN ESSAYS. Reprinted from Leading Articles in The 
Times. With Introduction by J. W. Mackail, LL.D., Fellow 
of the Royal Society of Literature. New York: Longmans, 
Green & Co. $1.40 net. 

The " Third Leaders " in The Times, as the editor of this 
volume remarks, do not deal with the news of the day. Instead 
they are short essays, from a detached point of view, on manners, 
tendencies, springs of action, problems of life and conduct. The 
selection here offered covers a widely varied range of subjects, 
many of them of deep import; others concerned with the minor 
moralities and proprieties. Genial in their tone they frequently 
embody shrewd psychological observation and excellent advice. 
Their spirit and style are so nearly uniform that one is 'prompted 
to conclude that a great many of them must be from the same 
pen. But this common resemblance may be the result of having 
been prepared to conform to some established journalistic type. 
Some of the titles selected haphazard will best convey a notion of 
the topics : The Wisdom of the Ages; Charlatans; Moral Indigna- 
tion; On Giving Advice; The Latin Genius; Grumbling; The Per- 
spective of Life; Man and Nature; Good Friday; Cynicism; Old 
and New. 

Some of the essays discuss matters of grave importance, while 
the subjects of others are comparatively superficial. We should 
say, however, that there is not one among even the latter class that 
is not worthy to be preserved in permanent form. 


Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.00 net. 

The editor of The Sacred Heart Review is already well known 
for his excellent verses published under the titles of A Round of 
Rhymes and Voices from Erin. His last volume of verse will be 
welcomed by all lovers of true lyrical poetry. Only one Irish-born 
could write The Little Town of Carrick, St. B rigid and Bally- 
knockin, or that delightful skit, the Leprechaum. His patriotic 
poems America First, The Dream of Columbus and The Land 
Where Hate Should Die should be memorized by every American 
boy and girl. 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 263 


Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.25 net. 

The five one-act plays of this delightful volume Duty, Juris- 
prudence, Magnanimity, Matchmakers and Retribution are full 
of that rich Irish humor which characterize the stories of Seumas 
O'Brien. The dialogue is always pointed and clever, the situations 
mirth-provoking in the extreme, and the characters well portrayed. 

THE HERMIT AND THE KING. By Sophie Maude. St. Louis: 

B. Herder. 75 cents net. 

Mrs. Maude is well known to Catholic readers through her 
charming historical romances of the days of Henry VIII. and Eliza- 
beth. Her latest novel centres about Henry VI. and the stirring 
days of the War of the Roses. The true Earl of Castle Avon, 
robbed of his earldom by a cruel stepmother, becomes a hermit to 
pray for the souls of sinful men. The story is told in a simple and 
moving style, and pictures well the Catholic spirit of the time. 
The author is hardly justified in making Henry VI. a martyr and 
a saint, but that may easily be overlooked for the sake of the quaint 
story she tells. 

SOUTH AMERICA. Study Suggestions. By Harry E. Bard, 

Ph.D. Boston : D. C. Heath & Co. 

This book is written for travelers intending to visit South 
America. It contains a brief but fairly complete list of the chief 
books in English dealing with the intellectual, social and economic 
conditions of the South American Republics. The author rightly 
insists on a better understanding of our Southern neighbors from 
the standpoint of Pan-Americanism, which is winning over the 
leading men of both continents. 

THE WORLD FOR SALE. By Gilbert Parker. New York: 

Harper & Brothers. $1.35 net. 

The author prefaces his work with a few half -apologetic words 
explaining that it was written before the outbreak of the present 
war, therefore it must go as a story of " peace-life " of the Cana- 
dian Northwest. It is a term that scarcely applies to this story of 
the turbulent life of a frontier town, its divisions and its feuds, 
and the resolute efforts of one man, Max Ingolby, to bring it into 
alignment with advanced civilization. To the readers of this popular 
author the ground he covers here is familiar. He has, however, 

264 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

introduced a new interest in a gypsy heroine, so fine and loyal in 
her support of Ingolby during his adventures and heavy trials. He 
wins her in the end, he counts the world for sale. The tale is pic- 
turesque and full of action. It is safe to predict that it will soon 
be spread upon the screens of the moving pictures. 

THE GREEN ALLEYS. By Eden Phillpotts. New York : The 

Macmillan Co. $1.50. 

The title refers to the green alleys of the Kentish hop fields. 
Through this " emerald architecture " which the author describes 
enchantingly, his people intermingle and have their exits and their 
entrances so much of the time that the book is rightly named. 
They are an interesting group, intangibly but unmistakably racy of 
the soil; and the story, which has originality and quiet strength, 
is the outcome of reactions of individual temperaments. 

No one can do this sort of thing better than Mr. Phillpotts, 
and none of his contemporaries exerts a spell of more fascination 
than he when, as in the present instance, he is at his best. Though 
the book is appropriate only for readers of mature judgment, its 
tone is wholesome and elevated and closely human. The vigorous, 
pointed dialogue is refreshing, and the personages who express 
themselves are all distinct to our mental vision, and some of them 
most welcome to our acquaintance. Rosa May is as delightful a 
young woman as is to be found in fiction, a fitting mate for even 
so fine a man as the principal, Nathan Pom fret. 

Though the picture is of life in a rural community, the char- 
acters are not slow-witted rustics. The action of the story closes 
with the beginning af the war, and in their conversation on this 
subject there is much that is fresh and shrewd and even stirring. 
The introduction of the war is not the easy expedient of a per- 
plexed author; his dignified novel finds a suitable ending in the 
absorption of heartburnings, jealousies and fraternal strife into the 
cleansing fires of the national sacrifice. 

MY SLAV FRIENDS. By Rothay Reynolds. New York : E. P. 

Button & Co. $3.00 net. 

In this charming, touching and beautifully written book, sea- 
soned with a kindly humor, and as entertaining as a novel, Mr. 
Rothay Reynolds gives his impressions about two Slavic races 
which, long divided by religious and political hatreds, now unite 
their efforts to crush the same common foe. His pen is filled with 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 265 

enthusiasm for the Russian, an enthusiasm, however, which does 
not interfere with his seeing the dark sides of a country where so 
many cruel attempts against religious and intellectual freedom have 
been taking place for long centuries. 

The aim of the writer is to point out the characteristics of 
Russian and of Polish character. He selects the form of literary 
sketches to set forth the results of his own experiences; and his 
book shows a wonderful knowledge of the Slavic psychology and 
of the past and present history of Russia. 

Mr. Reynolds finds the reasons of the secular torpor of the 
Russian soul in that spiritual catastrophe which destroyed the 
union of Russia and the West the schism of Photius and Michael 
Cerularius Byzantium not only marred the unity of Christendom, 
but isolated Russia from Western Christianity. 

Mr. Reynolds raises his voice against the systematic defamers 
of Russia. We must acquaint ourselves with Russian history in 
order to understand the character of the Russians and to sympa- 
thize with them. This acquaintance is extremely important if we 
would sound the heart of Russian Orthodoxy. It is a mistake to 
look at Russian Orthodoxy as a superstitious worship of images, 
or a mechanical making of the sign of the cross. Some features of 
Russian piety go back to the earliest days in Christianity. " At 
every journey and movement," writes Tertullian, " at every coming 
in and going out, at the putting on of our clothes and shoes, at 
baths, at meals, at lighting of candles, at going to bed, at sitting 
down, whatever occupation employs us, we mark our foreheads 
with the sign of the cross." Russian Orthodoxy participates in the 
fondness of Byzantine Christianity for religious symbolism. It 
celebrates the victory of the spirit over the flesh, by lighting tapers 
before a picture of Christ, or of the Blessed Virgin. It is not the 
inner nucleus, the vital cells of Russian Christianity which are cor- 
rupted, it is its exterior garb, its outward organization, which is ill- 
affected; and unhappily in the ranks of the Russian hierarchy we 
find a low conception of the Church which makes of her a servile 
tool in the hands of political rulers. 

The sympathies of the writer for Russia do not go as far as 
to silence the voice of his conscience concerning the saddest epi- 
sodes of the religious intolerance of Russian bureaucracy. We are 
glad to hear from the lips of an Anglican, well disposed towards 
Russia, a confirmation of what we have said in THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD as to the conditions of Galicia under Russian rule : 

265 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

Religious liberty [says Mr. Reynolds] is not yet full in 
Russia. The spirit of persecution is not yet exorcised, and 
some of the clergy still resent the loss of past privileges. The 
methods by which Eulogius, Bishop of Chelm, sought to drive 
the Uniats into the Orthodox fold during the Russian occupa- 
tion of Galicia, show that the-clergy can only be restrained by 
the vigilance of the secular arm. I do not care to dwell on this 
subject, which is as painful to the vast majority of Russians as 
it is to Englishmen. It will suffice to say that the proceedings 
of this prelate led more than two-thirds of the members of the 
Imperial Duma to include in the list of reforms, which they 
desire to be made immediately, the complete cessation of re- 
ligious persecution. 

The book contains some beautiful and striking chapters about 
Poland. In a chivalrous phrase the writer says that the secret of the 
unity of Poland is the charm of the Polish women. Permitting that 
to pass, we claim the right of asserting that lacerated Poland owes 
her political unity mainly to the ufiity of her Catholic Faith, and 
we can fully agree with the words of our writer when he says : 
" The Catholic Church has been a refuge to the afflicted in the 
darkest hours of Poland's tragic history. The clergy have been a 
powerful force to keep alive the spirit of the nation during a cen- 
tury and a half of unparalleled misfortune, and the Pope has been 
the only sovereign who has dared to raise his voice in the defence 
of the Polish people." The Catholic Church has saved Poland 
from the danger of being absorbed into national German Protestant- 
ism and into national Russian Orthodoxy. As long as the Polish 
people will keep alive their wonderful devotion towards the Catholic 
Church, the mother of their high civilization, the ethnical unity 
of their own race will never be effaced or submerged by the rising 
tides of Pan-Germanism, or Pan-Slavism. 

In some points we disagree with Mr. Reynolds. He states, 
for example, that the friction between Poles and Lithuanians arises 
in the main from class- feeling. It seems to us that this friction is 
the natural outcome of the development of Lithuanian literary 
culture and national consciousness. He also brands as a ridiculous 
story the strange influence exerted by Rasputin, a vulgar peasant, 
upon the Tsar and his family, but we claim that such influence 
was de facto exercised. 

The book deserves to be read by men who long for a deeper 
insight into the enigmatic Slavic soiil. It does riot parade a 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 267 

laboriously stored erudition. But its writer is thoroughly acquainted 
with the historical past of Russia, and this acquaintance enables 
him to discover the true aspect of Russian religious and political 

It may be said that the writer sometimes forces the note of 
optimism as to the future destinies and mission of Russia; but 
when so many clouds and columns of thick smoke darken the 
horizon of Europe, it is fair to read books which trace out the 
hopeful prospect of a renaissance of the Slavic race in the spirit of 
justice and Christian friendship. 

DANTE: HOW TO KNOW HIM. By Alfred M. Brooks. Indian- 
apolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co. $1.25 net. 
In a long and well-written introduction, Professor Brooks 
cites the tributes paid by the world's great writers to the splendor 
of Dante's genius, gives a short sketch of his times, explains the 
motive and scope of the Divine Comedy, and states that the pur-, 
pose of the present work is to interest and aid the many who are 
deterred from this reading by its difficulties. 

The book, therefore, is not a contribution of fresh apprecia- 
tions, but a guidebook for beginners. The student is conducted 
through the poem, and at every step his attention is directed to 
special instances of beauty and power; sometimes the significance 
of an entire canto is given in a few lines, sometimes it is con- 
sidered at length, with quotations. 

The exposition is painstakingly thorough. The author seems 
to look for none but the most rudimentary education in his read- 
ers, nor does he place too much faith in their intelligence. There 
is a profusion of footnotes designed to meet a lack which, if 
existent, would seem to preclude their necessity, as it is improbable 
that people thus handicapped would turn their attention to the 
study of Dante. Those who are looking for some such manual, 
however, will find one here that is wholly trustworthy and leaves 
no point untouched or obscure. 

PEOPLE LIKE THAT. By Kate Langley Bosher. New York: 

Harper & Brothers. $1.25 net. 

This is a novel with a purpose. It tells the story of a 
young, unmarried woman of society who, by the death of a rela- 
tive with whom she has made her home, is left with an income 
sufficient for her support, but not as she has lived hitherto. Rather 

268 NEW BOOKS [Nov., 

than be a hanger-on, she elects to take up her residence in a part of 
a house belonging to her, situated in " the last square of respecta- 
bility " in a long-since fashionable quarter of the city of her birth, 
but now given up to stenographers, shopgirls and " people like that." 
Immediately beyond lies the region of the underworld. Life as 
she now sees it is an absorbing and often painful education. She 
observes undreamt-of conditions of poverty and hardships, and 
is brought into contact with one of the unsuspected overlappings 
of her former world with the one below her present sphere. 
Shocked and indignant, she appeals to " good women " to realize 
their responsibilities, and see to it that the penalty for wrongdoing 
shall not fall upon the woman alone. 

The idea offers great possibilities, and the earlier chapters give 
a promise that is not fulfilled by the finished product. The demands 
of fiction intervene to the detriment of the book's interest as 
a sociological study, and the author's generous sympathies do not 
take into account the individual problems that impose deliberation 
upon the judgment of experienced social workers. 


York: D. Appleton & Co. $1.35 net. 

It is the historic Lewis and Clark expedition that is indicated 
by the title of this book. The author has put into the form of fic- 
tion the history of that great enterprise, introducing, of course, the 
conspiracy of Aaron Burr and the love between his daughter, 
Theodosia Alston, and Meriweather Lewis. 

As a novel, it is an only moderately successful effort. The 
material is assuredly all that a writer of romance could desire; 
but Mr. Hough has not taken his dramatic values as effectively as 
he might have done. The expedition itself is not presented with 
the feeling which he evidently had in mind, as shown by the foot- 
notes, which are more forcible and spirited than the body of the 
text, displaying full appreciation of matters he might have wisely 
dwelt upon at greater length, even to the exclusion of some of the 
sentimental portion. 

IRecent Events. 

The Editor of THE CATHOLIC WORLD wishes to state that none 
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of 
the magazine, ivith the exception of " With Our Readers" voices 
the editorial opinion of the magazine. And no article or department 
voices officially the opinion of the Paulist Community. 

Among Great Britain's many difficulties the 
Great Britain. increase in the cost of living is by no means 

the least. While in Berlin the general level 

of retail prices during July was one hundred and seventeen and 
six-tenths per cent above that of July, 1914, and in Vienna one 
hundred and forty-nine per cent, the average increase in Great 
Britain of the retail price of food is put at sixty- five per cent, 
which is reduced to fifty-nine per cent if allowance is made for 
the increase in the duties on tea and sugar. In other countries the 
increase is not so marked. In Italy it amounts to thirty-three and 
three-tenths per cent; in Switzerland to forty and six-tenths per 
cent ; in Denmark to forty-six per cent. In Norway, however, it 
has reached eighty-one per cent. This increase has not affected a 
large number of the working classes, such as munition workers, 
for it has been accompanied by an equal or even greater rise in 
the rate of wages. But upon those, and they are numerous, whose 
wages have not increased, and upon those whose incomes are fixed, 
a heavy burden has been imposed. Among those are the railway 
men. At the beginning of the war those workers received a bonus, 
and thereupon entered into an agreement that on no account would 
their unions ask for an increase of wages until the Government 
should give notice of its intention to relinquish control of the rail- 
ways. Circumstances, however, they thought, altered cases, and 
when for every twenty shillings which they received they found 
themselves unable to purchase more than twelve and a half shillings 
worth of food, they made a demand, under the threat of a strike, 
for an increase of wages amounting to ten shillings a week. As 
a strike would have been fatal to the prosecution of the war, a 
series of conferences between the general managers of railways 
and the representatives of the unions was held. The Board of 


Trade intervened to prevent the deadlock which was threatened. 
Both sides made concessions; instead of an increase of wages the 
unions agreed to accept the doubling of the weekly bonus, making 
it ten shillings instead of five shillings a week. 

There are those who question the sense of justice of the 
railway men in making this demand, and who look upon it as an 
abuse of the power which is now in their possession. Under the 
existing agreement between the railways and the Government, it 
is the State, that is, their fellow-citizens, including a large number 
who are suffering in an equal degree from the rise in the price 
of food, who will have to pay the thirty-seven millions and a half 
which the doubling of the bonus involves. This double burden is 
thrown upon them by the concession of demands made under a 
penalty which involved a national disaster. Does it not give to 
all who are subject to an increase of taxation as well as to the 
increase of food prices, a right to be compensated by the Ex- 
chequer? So far, however, no further demands have been made. 
In fact there seems to be, with the possible exception just men- 
tioned, an almost universal willingness among workers of all 
kinds, even the engineers on the Clyde, and the miners of 
South Wales, to make every sacrifice for the sake of their fellow- 
workers who are now giving their lives on the battlefields. This, 
indeed, is the special aspect of this war. The army is not now 
made up, as it has been hitherto, of soldiers by profession. It 
consists of men of every walk in life. All classes are represented, 
and, of course, the most numerous class is the most fully repre- 
sented. Eight out of every ten of Kitchener's soldiers are working- 
men. This fact gives them a claim on the support of their fellow- 
men who are left behind. It is for this reason that so complete 
a unity exists, and so full a determination one that seems to be- 
come stronger in proportion to the sacrifices that have been made, 
so that they may not have been made in vain. 

This does not, however, prevent the expression of the de- 
termination of the trade unions to resume to the full all the rules 
which they have laid aside when the war is over. This, in fact, 
was one of the most prominent of the subjects which was dis- 
cussed at the recent Trade Union Congress, a body which is now 
recognized as being almost as powerful as the House of Commons. 
These rules have the effect of limiting output. For the time in 
which a bricklayer in this country would lay three thousand bricks, 
the British union rules allow his fellow-workman in England to 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 271 

lay only eight hundred. Similar rules are made for every trade, 
and when enforced they manifestly seriously limit the output of 
the country as a whole. 

Opinions differ as to what will happen after the war, and 
whether there will be a demand for labor or the reverse. But 
all agree that in order to make good the losses that have been 
sustained, Great Britain will have to build up its trade again, and 
indeed vastly increase it. Ca'canny and the other trade union 
rules if renewed will prove an insurmountable obstacle. Solemn 
promises, indeed, of this renewal have been given by the Govern- 
ment. An appeal, however, is now being made to the patriotism of 
the workingmen that even after the war they should preserve that 
union between capital and labor, which for the time being exists, 
as a condition absolutely essential for the upbuilding of the na- 
tion. To prevent the renewal of the industrial strife which was 
the characteristic of the two years before the war, efforts in various 
quarters are being made. At the meeting of the Trade Union 
Congress, to which reference has been made, its President de- 
clared that the workingmen were tired of war in the industrial 
field, and that they hoped for something better than a mere avoid- 
ance of unemployment and strikes. " Would it not be possible," 
he said, " for the employers, on the conclusion of peace, to agree 
to put their businesses on a proper footing by admitting the work- 
men to some participation, not in profits, but in control in those 
matters which concern us directly?" This suggestion may pos- 
sibly be an indication of the opening of a new era in the relations 
between capital and labor, a hope which is encouraged by the plea 
for a rapprochement made at the Congress by the Lord Mayor of 
Birmingham, who is himself one of the largest employers of 
labor in that city. No signs, however, of the practical acceptance 
of the President's suggestion by capitalists have yet appeared, but 
earnest thought is being given to the matter, and doubtless under 
the pressure of the necessity which will arise after the war an 
improvement will be effected in the relations between capital and 

That there is great room for this improvement, some of the 
resolutions of the Congress clearly show. Among those passed 
unanimously was a demand of the Congress that such a propor- 
tion of the wealth of the country as should be necessary to defray 
the expenses of the war should be conscripted immediately, in order 
that future generations should not be burdened by the payment of 


loans. In preparation for this it was resolved to make a census 
of wealth immediately. A more patriotic resolution was the one 
by which a refusal was given to the invitation to attend an In- 
ternational Congress to be held at the same time that the Plenipo- 
tentiaries were arranging terms of peace. Not until the democracy 
had dissociated itself from the crime of the sinking of the L-usitania, 
would it be possible for the British democracy to associate with 
the Germans. The Congress' attitude to the Church of England, as 
well as to the various bodies which dissent from it, was shown 
by a resolution which was carried by a majority of one hundred 
and seventy-nine thousand votes condemning the exemption from 
conscription allowed by the Military Service Act. Its proposer, 
indeed, disavowed any attack on the clergy, but considered their 
exemption an anomaly. As, however, there were one million two 
hundred thousand votes against the resolution, it would not be fair 
to draw the conclusion that the workingmen of England are hostile 
to the Churches, still less to religion. 

The attitude of organized labor as represented by the Congress 
to the probable change in Great Britain's fiscal policy after the war 
from free trade to protection, showed that a surprising change 
has taken place in the views of skilled labor. Before the war 
they had stood as an impregnable barrier to the movement in be- 
half of tariff reform initiated by the late Mr. Chamberlain. An 
attempt was made by those who are still opposed to any change to 
commit the Congress to active opposition. This attempt led to 
an emphatic protest in the opposite sense, and this was endorsed 
by a majority of three to one. Instead of condemning protection 
it repudiated free importation by adopting a resolution calling for 
the restriction or prevention of the importation of cheap manu- 
factured goods produced abroad under worse labor conditions than 
those at home. No longer do the trade unions, any more than the 
chambers of commerce, regard cheap imports as a sacred law which 
must never be broken; in fact, they are prepared to modify it to 
suit circumstances. 

The vast increase due to the war of the powers exercised by 
the state has led to the outcry that Great Britain is being Prus- 
sianized. The Fight for Freedom is the title of a periodical which 
is being published to point out the effects of the war on British 
freedom, and to state the case of civil liberty now and in the 
future. Censorship of private letters, suppression of news- 
papers, prohibition to reside within special areas are only a 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 273 

few of the powers exercised by the civil and military authori- 
ties under the Defence of the Realm Act. The safety of the 
state, which is the first law of all, justifies those interferences for the 
time, galling as they are. Nor is there any real danger that Great 
Britain will not revert to its old-established institutions, both 
in their letter and in their spirit, as soon as the war is over. An 
attempt made by the military to revive the old press-gang method 
of recruiting failed at once, even in the present need of men. One 
of the things which has been made manifest during the past two 
years is the imperishable character of national characteristics. The 
war, however, may bring about certain corrections due to the mis- 
takes of the past. The chief among these will be a very much 
wider extension of the powers of the state. Important steps in this 
sense have already been taken by the appointment of commissions 
to deal with education, the control of commerce and other matters. 
Anxious thought is being given to the question, how to pay 
for the war ? The figures are so large as to have lost all meaning. 
At the meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of 
Science, recently held at Newcastle, this subject, although it seems 
alien to the object of this Association, was discussed by financial 
experts. Five hundred millions in British money is now being' 
raised annually by taxation, and this is considered to be as much 
as can be raised in this way. Recourse, therefore, must be had 
to loans, and the opinion was expressed by one of the experts 
that the amount of internal war loans that might be raised by an 
advanced community under modern banking conditions was almost 
unlimited, provided the terms of issue and methods of collection 
were made sufficiently attractive. Under certain conditions he 
could conceive of the United Kingdom being able to mortgage 
property to the extent of at least ten thousand million pounds 
sterling. Up to the present time it was declared the war expendi- 
ture had been met with comparative ease a fact which demon- 
strated both the wealth of the United Kingdom and the soundness 
of its financial system. Some economists, indeed, hold that the 
country will emerge from the war as rich as before or even richer. 
A speaker at the meeting, however, declared that such a state- 
ment made him conclude that either he or they were living in a 
lunatic asylum. 

Want of shipping due to the large number of the vessels taken 
over by the Government and to the loss through submarines and 
other causes, is another and a fundamental difficulty with which 

VOL. civ. 18 


the country has to cope. To this is largely due the rise in the 
price of food. In this case, too, it would seem the crisis is 
past. Shipbuilding works, hitherto employed exclusively by the 
Government in building and repairing vessels for the navy, are 
being released for other work, and are now employed in building 
ships to make up for the loss of merchant vessels. This process 
is being expedited by the adoption of a method of standardizing 
ships, by which means the time is much shortened. 

As the war goes on, the determination not to make a prema- 
ture peace is becoming ever stronger, and as the enemy's methods 
by sea and land are being more clearly revealed, the terms on 
which peace will be made are becoming more severe. The execution 
of Captain Fryatt has led to the declaration by Mr. Asquith that 
due amends for outrages of that kind will be included in any peace 
treaty, while the demand is becoming ever stronger for every ton 
of British shipping destroyed by the submarines, an equivalent will 
be exacted at the end of the war. Whether or no trade relations 
will ever be resumed, or only after a long term of years and on 
what conditions, is a matter more in dispute. As to the result of 
the war, there is practical unanimity that the Allies are sure to 
win. The only question which exists is how soon that will happen. 
Some think they see the end, others that it is not yet in sight. 

A few signs of wavering in the determina- 
France. tion to push the war to a decisive conclusion 

have served the purpose of manifesting the 

practical unanimity of the nation. A member of a tiny fraction 
of Socialists having ventured in the Chamber of Deputies to sug- 
gest the opening of negotiations with a view to seeking peace of 
Germany, M. Briand concluded a speech, which is said to have 
surpassed in eloquence all his previous utterances, with the words: 
" This peace which you want is an outrage, an insult, a challenge 
to those who have died for France." The House leaped to its feet 
and broke into prolonged cheers for the Prime Minister, who had 
translated into words the feeling of the whole of France, determined 
as she is to fight on to the end, and more confident than ever of 
the result. In the course of his speech, M. Briand said : " When 
your country, which has for years had the honor to be the champion 
of right, has stayed the invader, and is defending the whole world, 
when its blood is. flowing, you say 'Negotiate peace/ What an 
outrage to the memory of the dead! Ten of your Country's 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 275 

provinces are invaded, our old men and women and children have 
been carried off; they bear their misery bravely, awaiting de- 
liverance at your hands. Is it then that you come to us saying: 
'Negotiate, go and ask for peace.' You little know France if you 
imagine that she can accept economy of milliards, or even of 
blood, in such humiliating circumstances. There is not a French- 
man in the world that can desire it." By four hundred and twenty- 
one votes to twenty-six the House ordered the speech to be placarded 
throughout France. 

In the French press there has of late appeared a demand " for 
unity of conscription," based on a belief that the Allied resources 
of men are not so well pooled as their other resources, and aiming 
at Great Britain as one among the other States who are thought 
to be behindhand in comparison with France. When the subject 
was brought up in the Chamber, M. Briand showed how each 
ally was doing his best. " Tomorrow will see an extension of 
this common cooperation. Men, money, material, everything must 
be pooled among the Allies. As for Great Britain, at the be- 
ginning indeed she had no army, but at the present time she was 
not only fulfilling her role of guarding the seas, but had done a 
thing unheard of in her history by her acceptance of military serv- 
ice, and had succeeded in raising a redoubtable army, and had 
sent hundreds of thousands of men to our land. Britain has 
never answered 'No' to an appeal for assistance." 

Some time ago it was among the possibilities, perhaps even 
the probabilities, that M. Briand might be overthrown. His posi- 
tion, however, has become stronger, rather than weaker. His fore- 
sight in insisting upon holding Saloniki after the overrunning 
of Serbia by the Central Powers has contributed to this result. To 
his efforts and those of General Joffre it is due that the British 
Government's wish to evacuate Greece and to transport the troops 
to Egypt was not carried into effect. Subsequent events have amply 
justified both the wisdom and the generosity of his policy. 

That the financial world looks with confidence to the victory 
of France, seems clear from the fact that the price at which the 
new loan issued is less favorable to the subscriber than was that 
of last year. The old loan, moreover, is quoted at the present 
time at a higher price than that of issue, it having risen from 
eighty-eight to ninety, whereas British loans are at a small dis- 
count. Revenue from taxation is returning to conditions existing 
previous to the war, notwithstanding the occupation by the enemy 


of some of the richest French territory, seventy-eight and seven- 
hundredths of the normal revenue having been collected. Arrange- 
ments have been made with Great Britain for mutual help, by 
means of which England's gold reserve has been strengthened. In 
fact, all the Allies, have pooled their gold. 

Never probably was a country in such a 
Greece. plight as Greece. Its King, who reigns 

solely by virtue of the Constitution, trying 

to play the part of an absolute monarch, so far as foreign affairs 
are concerned ; surrounded by officers in whom fear is their ruling 
principle; a succession of ministries, coming and going every two 
or three weeks; one part of the army declaring a revolution at 
Saloniki, and placing itself under the command of the General of 
the Allied forces; another part treasonably giving itself up to 
Germany and suffering itself to be deported into its terri- 
tory; its leading statesman in open revolt; an Allied force 
consisting of British, French, Italians, Russians, Serbs and 
Albanians within its territory, with another part of that terri- 
tory given up voluntarily to the most hated of its enemies 
Bulgaria; such is the present state of things. What will come 
of it all no one can tell; it seems however, easy to see that 
it has resulted from the coward's fear to risk anything for a good 
cause. Loyalty to Greece's best interests might have led to success, 
and certainly would have deserved honor. Disloyalty has resulted 

in both failure and shame. 


Except upon one of the fronts, the war is 
Progress of the War. going well for the Allies. The enemy is 

on the defensive, and every effort to break 

through has been defeated. So far from accomplishing this pur- 
pose at Verdun, he has lost ground, and has sacrified hundreds of 
thousands of men without result. The British Secretary of State 
for War during his visit to the front went to Verdun, where he 
made a short but moving speech to the officers of the French army, 
" the sentries on those impregnable walls." " The name of Verdun 
alone," he said, -" will be enough to rouse imperishable memories 
throughout the centuries to come. The memory of the victorious 
resistance of Verdun will be immortal, because Verdun saved not 
only France, but the whole cause which is common to themselves 
and humanity." There is no doubt that the tenacity of the French 

1916.] RECENT EVENTS 277 

gave time both to Great Britain and Russia to make the preparations 
for their subsequent advances. The Military Cross has been awarded 
to the town, the President of the Republic visiting the fortress of 
imperishable memories, while the Sovereigns of the Allies paid 
homage to its victorious resistance. 

The Great Push, as it is called, has made good progress. 
Some one hundred and twenty square miles of territory 
formerly occupied by the Germans and fortified to the best of even 
their ability, have been occupied by the Allies, over six hundred 
guns and fifty thousand prisoners have been taken, and four hun- 
dred thousand of the enemy put out of action. The " crushing su- 
periority " of the British and French artillery, for such it is de- 
clared to be by the military correspondent of the Frankfurter 
Zeitung, makes him ask, " How long can this slaughter last?" 

Little progress has been made on the Eastern front; the Ger- 
mans are not, as they hoped, on their way to Petrograd, nor have 
the Russians taken either Kovel or Lemberg. In the Carpathians 
some little progress has been made. The too rapid advance of 
Rumania has been repulsed. This is the one part of the field which 
is causing anxious thought to the Allies. Germany's aim is to crush 
Rumania as she crushed both Belgium and Serbia. It is still doubt- 
ful as to whether or not she will be able to do so. Serbia is again 
fighting in her own territory, having driven the Bulgarians across 
the border, although the goal aimed at, Monastir, has not yet been 
reached. Some small progress has been made by the rest of the 
Allied forces in Greece. Surprise is felt that General Sarrail has not 
made a stronger attempt to push on into Bulgaria. Nothing could 
be more helpful to Rumania or more damaging to Bulgaria and her 
Allies than an advance across the railway which leads to Constanti- 
nople. Perhaps he is afraid of treachery in his rear. Little change 
has taken place in the position of the Turkish and Russian forces in 
Armenia and Persia. Egypt has not been in any way disturbed by a 
further attempt to cross the Suez Canal. The few miles that are 
still occupied by the German forces in East Africa are the last 
remnant of her colonial empire, and it is only a question of a few 
weeks when even this will disappear. The Belgians occupied the 
chief inland town of Germany in East Africa Tabora. Last, but 
not least, Italy is slowly but surely gaining ground, both on the 
Carso and in the Dolomites. She is said to be within ten miles of 

With Our Readers. 

A FTER reading Miss Bateman's article on The Catholic Note in 
t Modern Drama, with its warm eulogy of Paul Claudel, our read- 
ers will be delighted to learn that one of his plays The Tidings 
Brought to Mary has just been issued in English translation by the 
Yale University Press. 

A reading of it will prove beyond all doubt that the exceptionally 
high praise sounded by Miss Bateman is amply deserved. The Yale 
Press deserves both our thanks and our congratulations for presenting 
Paul Claudel's work to the American public. The publication is a 
happy sign that many are turning from the weak and irresponsible 
work of unprincipled dramatists, and welcoming that which is whole- 
some, lofty, inspiring. The greater eternal meaning of life is receiving 
more and more of a hearing; materialism is losing its hold: through 
many and varied processes men are freeing themselves from its slavery. 
The spiritual nature of man, and indeed, for him, the spiritual value 
of all things created, is being more and more deeply and widely recog- 
nized. The moderns have but played with problems that really over- 
powered them, as they must overpower all men who do not recog- 
nize direct, personal responsibility to a personal, living God. The 
modern world determined not to listen: to entertain itself with the 
light things of the hour, the engaging attractions of the flesh. It will 
demand a cataclysm for the many to awake; for the many to under- 
stand that they are subjects, free, responsible agents of an eternal law 
from which there is no escape. Europe is being brought to its spiritual 
senses by the shock of fearful war ; the daily messages of death ; the 
piercing light of the battlefield that shows against the background of 
dark earth both the passing and the eternal value of human life, and 
bids us look to heaven if reason is to remain master of itself, and hope 
is to be known among men. 

IN our own country many are not only blind to the ravages of doc- 
trinal disruption and denial, of a vulgar rationalism, of an increas- 
ing materialism, but many in speech and publication and organization 
are doing all in their power to drive God out of the world, and, as of 
old, to assure man that all his problems are to be solved by his own 
hands. But the greatest problem of all they never touch; and a 
problem avoided is not a problem solved. Signs are not wanting, 
however, that many also of those who really think are seeing that the 

1916.] WITH OUR READERS 279 

problem of life and death, of suffering and of happiness, of God and 
man, is still the one great problem that is at the root of all other 
problems: that no question of life, economic, social or individual, is 
ever going to be solved unless that first problem is solved. Man was 
born for God and it is only when his relations with God are right 
that he is right or can be right with his fellowmen. Discord with 
God means strife upon earth that is deadly. Harmony with God means 
peace upon earth, even through the strife and suffering and anguish 
that every human heart must bear. 

WE will not discuss the literary merits of Claudel's drama. The pub- 
lishers, in an extract from the London Nation, speak of it " as an 
illuminated page taken from a mediaeval manuscript." It is rather a 
chapter glowing with the light of Catholic truth from the book of 
human experience which bears no date, but is ever ancient and ever 
new. It is mediaeval in its setting ; it is ancient, mediaeval and modern 
in its substance. The love of husband and wife; the love of family; 
of land; of country; the lust of the flesh; the pride of living; the 
problem of the poor; of the laborer; the failure and treachery of 
government all are treated here with a wisdom of which the present 
might well learn. It preaches again the supreme lesson of the Cross, 
still to many a stumbling block, still to many an utter foolishness, 
" but unto them that are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ, the power 
of God and the wisdom of God." 

GOD'S will directs the world and it is the highest wisdom of a 
creature to accept that will. 

" It is not for the stone to choose its own place, but for the 
Master of the Work Who chose the stone." 

" One day as I went through the forest of Fisme, I heard two 
beautiful oak trees talking together, 

Praising God for making them immovable on the spot where they 
were born. 

Now one of them, in the prow of an ocean raft, makes war upon 
the Turks. 

The other, felled under my care, supports Jehanne, the good bell in 
the tower of Laon, whose voice is heard ten leagues away." 

And Violaine who found herself so happy, so entirely content 
where God had placed her, is set upon the altar of suffering for her 
own glory and for the consolation and the salvation of others. She 


leads the sensual sinner to penance and to that full liberty with which 
Christ has made us sinners free. The purified one exclaims : 

" Truly I have always thought that joy was a good thing. But 
now I have everything! I possess everything, under my hands, and I 
am like a person who, seeing a tree laden with fruit, and having 
mounted a ladder, feels the thick branches yield under his body. 
I must talk under the tree like a flute which is neither low nor shrill ! 
How the water 

Raises me ! Thanksgiving unseals the stone of my heart ! 
How I live, thus! How I grow greater, thus mingled with my God, 
like the vine and the olive tree." 

r PHROUGH the Cross, and immediately through her who has united 
1 herself .in suffering to the 'Victim on the Cross, is he thus brought 
back to life. The sufferer asks : " Of what use are you? " and Violaine 
answers: "To suffer and to supplicate." " But of what use is it to 
suffer and supplicate ? " and again she answers simply, " God knows. 
It is enough for Him that I serve Him." 

The stone has submitted itself to the hand of the Master of 
the Work. 

" Oh, how beautiful is stone, and how soft it is in the hands of the 
architect! and how right and beautiful a thing is his whole com- 
pleted work. 

How beautiful is stone, and how well it preserves the idea, and what 
shadows it makes ! " 

/^LAUDEL looks not upon life as a plaything. Life is a drama: 
v^ more tragic, more terrible, more grand than the greatest of hu- 
man artists can ever put upon paper, or the most gifted actor can 
ever present upon the stage. To every individual is assigned an 
eternal part. He carries with him a divine spark, his soul. It may 
glow with the life-giving flame of paradise, or torture itself with 
the fires of hell. He carries in his hand the eternal scales, and as 
he turns them this way or that he keeps or he destroys the wonder- 
ful order of Infinite Wisdom. The sun in all its glory is not sufficient 
to show the glory that shall be revealed in him; the quiet heavens 
cannot adequately express the peace that is his inheritance; nor the 
boundless sky the freedom which is his possession. Great as are his 
powers for good, infinite as his capacity for glory tremendous, un- 
speakable also, are his powers for evil. The great wind that mars 
the beauty of the forests, that uproots the aged trees, that takes 


in its arms the homestead and leaves the children desolate, is not so 
terrible as the individual who giving himself to rebellion and to 
evil destroys his own soul and sows the seed of death through the 

Only through the definite truth of the Cross is man able to re- 
cover his inheritance and walk in the way of peace. " Powerful is 
suffering," says Claudel, " when it is as voluntary as sin." 

"The Cross 

Behold how it draws everything to itself. 

There is the stitch which cannot be undone, the knot which cannot 
be untied, 

The heritage of all, the interior boundary stone that can never be 

The centre and the navel of the world, the element by which all hu- 
manity is held together." 

Faculty of Fordham University are to be congratulated upon the 
opening under their patronage and supervision of a school of Sociology 
and Social Service. The extent of this field of work which engages so 
much of the time and the money of every government today, munic- 
ipal, state and national ; the vast sums o>f money expended upon it ; 
the professional methods necessary for its right conduct, are known by 
all. It is most peculiarly the inheritance of our Holy Church, the 
Mother of charity. It must be founded on true Christian principles, 
else it will be a force making in the long run for evil, giving itself 
over to purely naturalistic and materialistic principles. 

We are sure, therefore, that as this new school will fill a need 
that has long existed and that has been very pressing, so also it 
will receive the loyal and generous support of Catholics who have an 
intelligent insight into the needs of the Church in this our day. 

The school under the Presidency of Father Joseph A. Mulry, S J., 
has an efficient Board of Directors. It will train students for all 
branches of Social Service, grounding them thoroughly in the history, 
principles and methods of social work. The prescribed course of 
studies will occupy two academic years. 

All desired information may be obtained by addressing the Regis- 
trar, Fordham University, New York City. 

WE are sure that our readers will be pleased to see reprinted here 
the generous amende which Father Keating, the distinguished 
editor of The Month, publishes in its October issue, for his doubt 


expressed in The Dublin Review concerning the thorough orthodoxy 
of Father Hecker's views on the origin and nature of civil authority : 
" In the August number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD the editor, 
courteouly but quite effectively, dispels a doubt hazarded by the present 
writer regarding the complete accord of the late Father Hecker's 
doctrine on the origin of civil authority with that of the Church. We 
frankly own that, if we had known Father Hecker's writings better, 
we should never have suspected him even for a moment to have leaned 
to the side of Rousseau in this matter. Even the phrase cited with 
hesitation -'All political authority in individuals is justly said to be 
derived, under God, from the consent of the collective people who are 
governed. The people, under God, associated in a body politic are 
the source of the Sovereign political power in the civil State' is 
sufficiently orthodox as it stands and appears still more clearly so in 
its context. Father Burke adds further valuable testimony from 
Father Hecker's other writings, which conclusively prove him to be a 
stanch and eloquent upholder of the Catholic teaching in favor 
of civil liberty and against State absolutism. In view of the fact that 
Rousseauism has colored the speculations of some of our Catholic 
writers, it is of great importance that the orthodoxy of Father Hecker, 
ardent democrat as he was, should be fully and universally recog- 

A RECENT volume which adds to the evidence of a reawakening 
-t*- to that which is the peculiar inheritance of Catholics, is a work 
published by the Houghton Mifflin Company in its series of The 
Types of English Literature. It is entitled, Saints' Legends, and is 
written by Gordon Hall Gerould. Professor Gerould studies and 
records the English Lives of Saints in the light of the definition given 
by Father Delehaye of the Bollandists, " a new genre develops which 
is concerned with biography, with panegyric and with moral instruc- 

Besides the literary value of Professor Gerould's book, there are 
many conclusions which he comes to as a result of his extensive 
and laborious researches that are very valuable, very timely, and we 
hope to many enlightening and inspiring. 

THE reading of the lives of the Saints is not a feverish occupation 
of Catholics now-a-days. In fact, one can hardly be too emphatic 
in condemning the indifference and the ignorance of very many 
Catholics with regard to this field of literature, one of the richest in 

1916.] WITH OUR READERS 283 

the treasury of the Church, because it has been made and fed by her 
holiest children. Indeed some are prone to scoff at such Lives, and 
to think that the reading of them is weak milk fit only for babes. 

It would be well for such also to look into this book. The author, 
who is not a Catholic, after his critical survey of the whole English 
field, thus writes : " The Lives of the Saints demand reverence of 
maker and reader alike: but they do not require superstitious credul- 
ity. Though many of them are stained by ignorant and unworthy 
association, as a type they are inspirers of purity, and militant guard- 
ians of the integrity of the human soul. Thus the view of history 
exemplified by them is that the forward movement of the world has 
been hastened by great leaders, but by leaders working with and for 
their followers, and always under the guidance of the divine Hand. 

Whether in fantastic apologue and parable, or in sober narrative 

of well-authenticated history, the lives of the Saints represent the 
search not only for goodness but for truth." 

The story, that he reviews, says Professor Gerould, " is, for the 
most part, of a day long past, but its significance remains. I have 
tried to show that legends are dry and dusty, merely because the dust 
has been allowed to settle upon them. The dryness I fancy is merely 
a matter of ourselves, in any case." 

ONE of the notes of the true Church of Christ is holiness. This 
note extends not only to her doctrines that beget holiness, but to 
her children who live it : who love it in others even when they have 
it not in themselves and who love those who have exemplified it. 
The higher their example, the more love will be given to them. 
They will cherish their memory: write their lives and their deeds 
into books. No organization ever yet left unrecorded its heroes. It 
is a curious and pregnant fact that the Catholic Church alone has 
fostered and produced as a living, vital literature the lives of the 

When the Reformation came in England, " along with shrines 
and images, books of saints' lives fell under the ban of the Church. 
One has only to see the defacement of surviving books to under- 
stand the fanatical fury of the crew that was only less zealous to 
destroy than to acquire." Never was a government more ruthless 
than that of Henry VIII. in crushing opposition. " The less said of 
the motives of Henry and his ministers, the greater the charity: 
but in its effects the Reformation made England whole-heartedly 

The writing of Saints' Lives came to an end in England. How- 
ever we have, 1596, the chap-book, entitled The Seven Companions, 


part of the contents of which has become the common heritage of 
the English-speaking world. In an age that had been bullied into 
hatred of the Saints, to use Professor Gerould's words, this book 
served as a sorry burlesque of saintly lives to amuse children. " It 
formed a curious eddy of Catholic tradition in the midst of Protest- 
antism. An eddy, alas, that quite shockingly belies its source." 

The seventeenth century, particularly in the Catholic College of 
Douay, saw something of a -revival in the writing of the Lives of the 
Saints. The latter half of the century witnessed a decline. After 
the first quarter of the eighteenth century a better era opened for 
hagiography. Professor Gerould praises the work of Bishop Chal- 
loner who " excelled in acuteness most scholars of his day." 

IT is gratifying, indeed, to read in the volume that " the work of 
Alban Butler, with which the eighteenth-century hagiography 
reaches its climax, was recognized at once as of outstanding value, 
and it has never lost the admiration which it excited from the first. 
Butler's The Lives of the Saints is the great classic of modern English 
Catholicism, and it is time-defying in the same way as is the history 
of Butler's great contemporary, Gibbon. Indeed, even Gibbon has a 
good word to say of 'the sense and learning it displays.' 

" Whether The Lives of the Saints be read as a book of devotion 
or of history, whether by the man of doubting or of believing mind, 
it cannot well fail to attract and give profit. To any person of dis- 
cretion and taste the clear, dry light of the author's personality has 
an abiding charm. Butler's great work is the masterpiece of modern 
English hagiography : an almost inexhaustible treasury of learning, 
the wealth of which is arranged with consummate skill." 

WE might quote further with pleasure and with profit, but we 
must forbear. We are grateful to Professor Gerould for his 
scholarly volume. To know the Saints will mean surely to bring 
more of virtue, more of self-denial, more of Christ and of God into 
the world. Professor Gerould tells us " that Saints' lives have not 
regained in pure literature, whether verse or prose, the place they 
lost when the schism of the sixteenth century rent the Western world 
apart." " It is permitted," he adds, " the lover of saintly lore, to trust 
that they may again become such a factor." It is surely our inherited 
duty and glory to do all we can to bring this about. It is often 
said that only a saint can write the life of a saint. By studying the 
Saints we can bring them back to the world the memory and the 


reverence of those who have passed from it, and the example of 
those called here to be saints even us ourselves. 

IT is hard to conceive of a sin greater than that of Satan whereby 
he sought to make himself like unto God: and yet it might have 
been greater if Satan had tried to make God like to himself. George 
Moore seems to have outdone Satan in his latest work called The 
Brook Kerith, for in it he deliberately makes not only Christ, but 
God Himself like to George Moore. 

It is a fearful thing to utter these words of any man; yet if a 
critic who views the book simply from a literary point of view feels 
called upon to utter them, it is well to publish to the full the iniquity 
of this work issued by a reputable house. 

The keenest insight not only into the book, but into the whole 
character of George Moore is shown in a masterful review of the 
work which appeared in The Nation for October iQth. 

"TF one writes well enough," the reviewer says, " one may say any- 
1 thing he pleases. If he unites with his talent for dulcet utterance 
a certain instinct for 'sex' and salacity, and shocking middle-class 
sensibilities, he is pretty sure to become a celebrity, and he has a fair 
chance of becoming a classic, in his own life time. There is at present 
a strong demand for the sanction given to the discussion of ques- 
tionable subjects by an unquestionable style." 

MR. MOORE for many years, continues the notice, has done not 
much thinking, but much musing about Christ and the teachings 
of Christ. These teachings have vexed his spirit and annoyed his 
flesh. They disturbed his musings; ran counter to his instinct; upset 
his comfort; blocked the way he would go. Consequently to be at 
peace with the self he loved, he must get the thought of Christ out 
of his system. But that is a very difficult, indeed an impossible pro- 
cess. " Anyone who desires to rid himself of the obsession of the 
spiritual Jesus has but to put his own natural instinctive self in the 
place of Jesus. The substitution brings instant relief from the pressure 
of an exacting alien force." Therefore George Moore made of Christ 
an Irish sentimental naturalist and was m> longer troubled by the 
call, " Follow me," for the undisciplined self of George Moore smiled 
at the words, since they were now but an invitation to follow his own 
inclinations. Into the life and character of Christ he reads the ex- 
periences, even the degrading stuff of Memories of My Dead Life, 
and reaches the conclusion, " God is but desire; " " to be without sin 


we must be without God; " and Jesus stood before the cenoby 

asking Himself if God were not the last uncleanness of the mind." 
And this work, the last word in blasphemy, has received commendable 
notice from many American periodicals! The review in The Nation 
is healthy, invigorating and altogether praiseworthy. 

WE are pleased to publish the following letter from a subscriber 
who has evidently followed THE CATHOLIC WORLD faithfully for 
many, many years: 


With much interest I read your account of Father Cuthbert's tribute to 
the memory of Wilfrid Ward, late editor of The Dublin Review, who was 
in active sympathy with the " new intellectual awakening " which came with the 
pontificate of Pope Leo XIII. For about four centuries before that date the 
Catholic Church had been in " a state of siege," and a sort of martial law 
had taken the place of the ordinary law which governs and guides individual 
action in times of peace. Catholics had grown accustomed to look upon un- 
questioning obedience as the one law of life, and to go to authority for guidance 
which in more normal times would be left to individual initiative. 

Newman's theory of development was proposed by Wilfrid Ward to meet 
the need of the modern world, but it was to be taken in conjunction with the 
scholastic system which embodied the teaching of the two great constructive 
periods of Catholic thought, the patristic and the mediaeval. In the accurate 
process of separating the true from the false adopted by the mediaeval cham- 
pions, he saw the working principle for that synthesis of thought which will 
bring together the historic Christian Church and the modern world. 

The above summary from Father Cuthbert's article in The Dublin Review 
for July, 1916, recalled to my mind some other book or magazine in which 
the same argument had been presented. Following an old habit, I began 
a search among the back numbers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD. The miss- 
ing link was found in Volume XXI. which begins with April, 1875. It 
was an article entitled An Exposition of the Church in View of Recent Diffi- 
culties and Controversies and the Present Needs of the Age." The editor of 
THE CATHOLIC WORLD announced in a footnote that the article was reprinted 
with the author's permission from advance sheets of a pamphlet published by 
Basil Montagu Pickering of London. The name of the author was not 
given. His argument may be seen from the following quotation : " All re- 
ligions viewed in the aspect of a divine life find their common centre in the 
Catholic Church. The greater part of the intellectual errors of the age arise 
from a lack of knowledge of the essential relations of the light of faith 
with the light of reason; of the connection between the mysteries and truths 
of divine revelation and those discovered and attainable by human reason; 
of the action of divine grace and the action of the human will. 

"The early Greek and Latin Fathers of the Church largely cultivated this 
field. The Scholastics greatly increased the riches received from their prede- 
cessors. And had not the attention of the Church been turned aside from 
its course by the errors of the sixteenth century, the demonstration of Chris- 
tianity on its intrinsic side would ere this have received its finishing strokes. 

I 9 i6.] BOOKS RECEIVED 287 

The time has come to take up this work, continue it where it was interrupted; 
and bring it to completion. Thanks to the Encyclicals of Pius IX., and the 
decisions of the Vatican Council, this task will not now be so difficult. 

" The denial of the Papal authority in the Church necessarily occasioned 
its fuller development. For as long as this hostile movement was aggressive 
in its assaults, so long was the Church constrained to strengthen her de- 
fence Every new denial was met with a new defence, the danger was 

on the side of revolt, the safety was on that of submission. The chief occu- 
pation of the Church for the last three centuries was the maintenance of 
that authority conferred by Christ on St. Peter and his successors; the 
contest was terminated forever in the dogmatic definition of Papal In- 

The article from which the above extract is taken was at a later date re- 
produced in the volume called The Church and the Age, bearing the signa- 
ture of Father Hecker. For an old reader like myself of THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD, it is a pleasant reflection to know that its pages contained several 
years in advance the same line of argumentation which was afterwards 
adopted by Wilfrid Ward for The Dublin Review. Father Hecker's 
early books, Questions of the Soul and Aspirations of Nature, were also in 
harmony with the object of the Synthetic Society, of which Wilfrid Ward 
was one of the founders, together with Arthur Balfour and others. The chief 
aim of this Society was to promote a union of effort to provide a philosophical 
basis for religious belief. SENEX. 


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VOL. CIV. DECEMBER, 1916. No. 621. 



T has been well said that man is a rational being, be- 
cause whenever he wants to do anything he can al- 
ways find a reason for it. In other words, he reaches 
his conclusions first and establishes his premises 
afterwards. This principle is well illustrated in the 
debate concerning the merits and demerits of the proposal to re- 
strict immigration to the United States through the application of 
a literacy test. The proponents of the measure agree in just one 
thing, their demand for the restriction of immigration. But their 
agreement upon this point is so perfect and sincere that they seem 
to be unconscious of the medley of arguments which are brought 
to bear upon their opponents like great siege guns. The opponents 
of restriction are logically in a somewhat better position than their 
adversaries, since they are in possession of the field, but they too 
are often careless of the arguments with which they ward off attack. 
During the last few years there has grown up a sort of gentle- 
man's agreement according to which the immigration question is 
to be considered an economic one. Individuals will, of course, 
line themselves up for or against restriction according to their 
tastes, but in presenting the arguments for restriction the soft pedal 
will be put on all non-economic considerations. Miss Grace Ab- 
bott drew sparks from the chairman of a Congressional com- 
mittee which was investigating the immigration question last year, 




when she failed to observe the convention on this point, and hinted 
that much of the demand for a literacy test both inside Congress 
and outside might be traced to religious bigotry in the backs of the 
heads of the people who were making the demand. Mr. Steiner, 
too, strayed somewhat from the reservation when he wrote : " The 
one institution in America most gravely concerned with the com- 
ing and staying of the immigrant is the Protestant Church. Each 
shipload of people from Southern and Southeastern Europe in- 
creases the already-crowded Roman Catholic parishes, lays founda- 
tions for the perpetuation of the Greek Orthodox Church in the 
United States, and enlarges the tents of Israel whose camps encircle 
the dying churches." 1 But then Mr. Steiner was not arguing. He 
was just telling us about it. 

A great many Catholics agree with Mr. Steiner, that immigra- 
tion ought to be restricted, but as a general thing they maintain 
the convention and consider the question an economic one. When 
they do discuss religion they take the stand that although a great 
many of the immigrants are Catholics when they leave Europe, 
very few of them are Catholics when they get to America. In 
other words the great influx of Catholic immigrants does not seem 
materially to affect the Catholic census figures in this country. 
These Catholics are at one with Mr. Steiner as to the conclusion, 
but they differ with him as to the premises. This, however, is not 
an unusual situation when questions of this kind are under dis- 

Besides religion, another question which it was agreed by 
common consent to leave out of the immigration discussion, was 
that of race superiority. Before the present war broke out, it was 
considered a sign of superior intellectuality to assume that one 
race was intrinsically as good as another. Men would stand up 
in public meetings and say that although their forefathers had been 
in America for two hundred and fifty years, they themselves were 
no better than some poor German immigrant who landed only 
yesterday. The Chinese and Japanese well, that was another 
question, but immigrants ought not to be excluded just because 
they were born in one country rather than in another. Of course, 
where the immigrants break down standards of living they ought 
to be excluded, etc. The convention which requires the suppression 
of the racial superiority argument is pretty well observed, but now 
and then there is a falling away. For example, only last year a 

l The Immigrant Tide, p. 311. 


professor of sociology published a book in which he hinted that 
our descendants are to be preferred to the descendants of other 
races. This, of course, is a perfectly natural feeling, but under the 
terms of the agreement it ought not to be openly urged, because 
it is not an economic argument. In fairness to the professor, 
however, it must be said that this view was put forward in con- 
junction with a standard of living argument, which is, of course, 
an economic argument in good standing. 

Dr. Hayes (for he is the sociologist in question) wrote: "If 
we should grant that the immigrants are of a stock that is quite as 
good as ours, and that they worthily represent the stock from which 
they spring, still it remains unquestionable that their standard of 
living is lower than ours, and by unrestricted admission of immi- 
grants having such a standard of living we more or less substitute 
them and their offspring for our own unborn children." 2 And he 
concludes : " We invite the gradual but inevitable approach of old 
world standards of living, and sacrifice the opportunity to estab- 
lish a higher level of general welfare which ought to prevail in 
this country, and we do so without any assurance whatever that, 
save very temporarily, the number of those who enjoy the ad- 
vantages of the new world is materially greater, or the number of 
those who struggle against old world conditions is materially less, 
than if we enforced a policy of restriction." 

The theory adopted by Dr. Hayes that immigration does not 
increase the population of the United States, belongs by right of 
discovery and occupation to the late General Walker, who. de- 
veloped it at some length in his Discussions in Economics and 
Statistics. During the decade 1830-1840, five hundred and ninety- 
nine thousand foreigners came to the United States. " Was the 
population of the country correspondingly increased? I answer, 
No! " says Walker. " The population of 1840 was almost exactly 
what, by computation, it would have been had no increase in 
foreign arrivals taken place." Between 1840 and 1850 the immi- 
grants to this country amounted to not less than one million and 
seven hundred and thirteen thousand. " Again we ask : Did this 
excess constitute a net gain to the population of the country? 
Again the answer is, No ! Population showed no increase over the 
proportions established before immigration set in like a flood. In 
other words, as the foreigners began to come in larger numbers, 
the native population more and more withheld their own increase." 

Introduction to The Study of Sociology, p. 269. 


The reason for this situation was that " the American shrank from 
the industrial competition thus thrust upon him. He was un- 
willing himself to engage in the lowest kind of day-labor with 
these new elements of the population ; he was even more unwilling 
to bring sons and daughters into the world to enter into that 

In order that there might be no doubt about his facts, Walker 
reen forced them with figures. Elkanah Watson, it appears, made 
an estimate in 1815 of the probable future population of the United 
States. On a basis of the study of the increase in population be- 
tween 1790 and 1 8 10 he predicted that the population in 1840 
would be 17,116,526, and that in 1850 it would be 23,185,368. 
Watson could not, of course, foresee the great increase in immi- 
gration that was to come in the second quarter of the century, but in 
spite of that fact his forecast proved to be remarkably accurate. His 
estimate for 1840 differed from the census returns by only forty- 
seven thousand and seventy-three, and for 1850 by only six thou- 
sand five hundred and eight. Now, says Walker, although more 
than two and a quarter million people came to this country between 
1830 and 1850 the population was practically the same in 1850, 
as it would have been if the birth-rate of 1790-1810 had been 
maintained and the immigration had remained a negligible quan- 
tity. Nothing was easier for Walker than to draw the conclu- 
sion that an increase in immigration meant a correspondingly great 
decrease in birth-rate. 

Professor Willcox, who has devoted much attention to the 
study of population statistics, avers that Elkanah Watson was mis- 
taken in his estimate of what the population of 1850 would have 
been without immigration. Watson's estimates were based upon 
the increase in population between 1790 and 1810, but Professor 
Willcox assures us that the birth-rate had already begun to de- 
crease in 1810, and that between 1810 and 1820 there was a de- 
crease of more than nine per cent in the birth-rate as compared 
with the rate upon which Watson based his estimates. Therefore, 
concludes Professor Willct>x, the population of the United States 
is much larger now than it would have been if there had been no 
immigration during the nineteenth century. And to further sup- 
port his contention, he adds that in Australia, where there is 
practically no immigration, the birth-rate has fallen off about as 
rapidly as in America. Professor Willcox himself is not convinced 
of the need of further restriction on immigration, 


Professor Fetter will serve as an example of a high-grade 
economist of the present day who has examined Professor Will- 
cox's argument with care and who rejects Walker's premises, but 
accepts his conclusion with regard to the desirability of restricting 
immigration. Professor Fetter says: 3 "The assumption that im- 
migration constitutes a net addition to the population is not in 
accord with the well-known theory of Francis A. Walker. He 
believed that immigration had the effect of reducing the birth-rate 
of the native-born so greatly that the net increase was about what 
it would have been without immigration. Let it suffice to say that 
this view seems to be a misreading of the evidence and an exaggera- 
tion of a truth of limited .application." But Professor Fetter sees 
other reasons for shutting out the immigrants. " In the light of 
the doctrine of population," he says, "there is no mistaking the 
influence of continually increasing numbers in gradually and per- 
manently depressing the whole plane of wages. It is generally 
assumed that when the immigrants and their children become 
Americanized and raise their standard of living, their presence no 
longer has any effect in depressing wages below what they other- 
wise would have been. Indeed it is tacitly assumed that the law 
of increasing returns operates as population becomes denser, and 
that the general prosperity is enhanced by the mere growth of 
numbers. This idea was measurably true so long as national 
growth was one of extension into unoccupied areas, and the average 
density of population was low. It ceases to be true whenever the 
ideal point of equilibrium between population and resources has 
been attained. The territorial distribution of immigrants, their 
training in the English language, and their adoption of American 
standards of living, cannot change a mathematical fact." 

In a word, Walker wanted the foreigners kept out, because 
their presence here kept the native-born from perpetuating their 
race. Fetter is convinced that there is nothing to Walker's argu- 
ment, but he wishes the foreigners kept out because the law of in- 
creasing returns has ceased to operate because of the fact that our 
population has become too great for our resources. He does not 
take any stock in the view that if the immigrants would adopt 
American standards of living, the situation would be improved. 
Dr. Warne, who has recently written a popular book on immigra- 
tion, is in favor of the literacy restriction, but he does not accept 
Walker's argument that immigration does not increase the num- 
8 The 4merican Economic Review, Supplement, March, 1913. 


bers of the people. On the other hand, he appears to accept the 
view which Fetter condemns, viz., that if the foreigners raise 
their standard of living to meet that of the native Americans, their 
presence will no longer have the effect of depressing wages; and 
he condemns the view which Fetter accepts, viz., that we have 
already passed the point of diminishing returns, and that further 
increase of numbers will result with mathematical certainty in 
making it harder for the average person to make a living, no mat- 
ter whether he desires to adopt a high standard of living or not. 
Dr. Warne is far from being pessimistic in this regard, and he 
looks forward to a golden age of increased production when every- 
body will live in plenty, provided, of course, that the foreigner's 
psychological attitude towards consuming food can be changed. 

On the question of the law of diminishing returns, Dr. King 
of the University of Wisconsin, who has recently published a book 
on The Wealth and Income of the People of the United States, 
is against Dr. Warne and on the side of Professor Fetter. Dr. 
King, who is an ardent restrictionist, presents a table to show " that 
the American laborer has been unable to withstand the continuous 
onslaught of the alien hosts, and that he has been forced to yield 
all the advantages derived from the economic progress during the 
decade, and to content himself with a slightly lower commodity 
wage than he received in 1900. After all, the law of diminishing 
returns is inexorable," he says. 

Dr. King's book appeared as late as 1915, and is well supplied 
with tables and graphs and other statistical machinery to make his 
arguments convincing. In fact, there is every inducement to lead 
the innocent reader to say : " Now at last we have the facts. We 
know now what we are talking about. Whatever else there may 
be in the immigration discussion that is doubtful, it would seem at 
least that there can be no doubt that commodity wages have been 
declining." But wait. Professor Fairchild has not been consulted 
yet. Professor Fairchild, writing in The American Economic Re- 
view in March, 1916, says that we do not know for certain whether 
commodity wages are going up or down; or at least that we did 
not know until he told us in March, 1916. He says: "In the 
United States diametrically opposite views are repeatedly expressed, 
with great conviction, as to the course of the standard of living, 
and each of these views finds ready acceptance with various 
audiences, according to their prejudices or preconceived no- 
tions It is significant that no reliable proofs have been 


presented in support of either view For some time the writer 

has experienced a growing conviction that this question of the 
course of the wage earner's standard of living is altogether too 
vital to be left to random guesses and rash assumptions." There 
appears to be danger, therefore, that Dr. King's perfectly good- 
looking figures fall either in the class of random guesses or in that 
of rash assumptions. However, we shall forget the weakness of 
the statistical arguments used in the past to show the need of 
restriction, because we have now before us Professor Fairchild's 
conclusions. It is not of much consequence that we believed in 
restriction in the past on inadequate grounds. The important 
thing is that we shall now believe in restriction on adequate 
grounds. And so, skipping Professor Fairchild's figures, we hurry 
to his conclusions. " The writer is well aware," he says, " that the 
foregoing data do not prove that the common laborer's family was 
better off in 1890 than in 1908. Nothing statistical is proved if 
there is a single estimate, a single approximation, a single gap in 
the demonstration, a single chance for error. But he does believe 
that they furnish very strong evidence in support of the proposi- 
tion It is probable that more exhaustive study of prices ac- 
tually current in 1890 might necessitate some minor modifications 
in various items of the budget. It does not seem possible that it 
would materially affect the general conclusions. One thing seems 
safe to say that the foregoing data, disprove the right of anybody 
to assert with serene confidence that the standard of living of the 
American common laborer has improved in the past thirty years. 
The burden of proof is laid on the optimists, to bring forward some 
positive verification of their assumptions." Well, there you have 
it. If the restrictionists are not able to prove that the standard 
of living has been going down, at least they have the satisfaction 
of knowing that their opponents cannot prove that it is going up. 
The cry that immigration is responsible for an undue share 
of poverty and crime is an old one. The managers of the Society 
for the Prevention of Pauperism in New York were already ac- 
quainted with it in 1819. " First, as to the emigrants from 
foreign countries," they say, " the managers are compelled to 
speak of them in the language of astonishment and apprehension. 
Through this inlet pauperism threatens us with overwhelming con- 
sequences An almost innumerable population beyond the 

ocean is out of employment, and this has the effect of increasing 
the usual want of employ. This country is the resort of vast num- 


bers of those needy and wretched beings. Thousands are con- 
tinually resting their hopes on the refuge which she offers, filled 
with delusive visions of plenty and luxury. They seize the earliest 

opportunity to cross the Atlantic and land upon our shores 

What has been the destination of this immense accession to our 
population, and where is it now? Many of these foreigners may 
have found employment; some may have passed into the interior; 
but thousands still remain among us. They are frequently found 
destitute in our streets; they seek employment at our doors; they 
are found in our almshouse and in our hospitals; they are found 
at^the bar of our criminal tribunals, in our Bridewell, our peni- 
tentiary, and our State prison. And we lament to say that they 
are too often led by want, by vice, and by habit to form a phalanx 
of plunder and depredations, rendering our city more liable to in- 
crease of crimes and our houses of correction more crowded with 
convicts and felons." 4 , 

This indictment of foreigners on the charge of pauperism and 
crime sounds so familiar that one is disposed to accept it without 
further proof. In fact, it is not at all unlikely that similar charges 
against immigrants could be found in the literature of every one 
of the ninety-seven years since the managers of this society came 
to this profound conclusion. We have not time to make the search 
through the literature of the succeeding century, nor the space 
to present it when found, and so we shall content ourselves with 
quoting from Dr. King, to whom reference has already been made, 
for similar testimony from the year 1915. Dr. King has just been 
discussing the economic evils attendant upon immigration and he 
adds : " The political and social evils wrought by the invading hosts 
are perhaps just as destructive to American welfare. Poverty, 
corruption and crime are the constant camp-followers of the foreign 
army." And to prove that this is so, Dr. King refers the reader 
to Professor Edward A. Ross' The Old World in the Neiv. 

But the iconoclasts among the restrictionists will not even let 
the good old argument of the poverty and vice of the immigrants 
rest in peace. Fairchild says: 5 "The prominence of pauperism 
as an item in the immigration agitation has led to the production 
of a large amount of material on the subject. Nevertheless, most 
of it has been fragmentary and untrustworthy. This has been 
largely due to the incompleteness and lack of uniformity of the 

4 Quoted in Report of the Industrial Commission, 1901, vol. xv. 
6 Immigration, pp. 311, 323, 329.. 


records of various eleemosynary institutions, and the difficulty 
of securing returns from all the manifold agencies of relief .'..... 
There can be but one conclusion from the foregoing discussion, 
namely, that our foreign-born add to the burden of public and 
private relief an amount largely out of proportion to their relative 
numbers in the general population, and that this burden is likely 

to be an increasing one In the matter of crime the effort 

to make generalizations is complicated by the fact that it is neces- 
sary to take into account, not only the number of crimes, but the 
nature and severity of the criminal act. Tests of criminality, to 

be accurate, should include quality as well as quantity These 

conditions frequently result in an injustice to the immigrant. The 
police and court records of our great cities show an amazing pro- 
portion of crimes chargeable to the foreign population But 

when these records are studied more closely it becomes apparent that 
a large share of the offences of the foreign-born are violations of 
the city ordinances offences which are comparatively trivial in 
themselves, do not indicate any special tendency toward criminality, 
and are in many cases intimately associated with a low station in 
life." Although this testimony still leaves much to be desired it 
indicates, at any rate, that there has been much recklessness in the 
past in charging immigrants with pauperism and crime. 

Jenks and Lauck, who are both firm believers in the desira- 
bility of the literacy test, testify as follows with regard to the 
criminality of the immigrant: 6 "It is perhaps sufficient to say 
here that on the whole, in spite of the inclination apparently shown 
by certain nationalities to commit certain classes of crime, it is 
impossible to show whether or not the totality of crime has been 
increased by immigration." And the United States Immigration 
Commission, which stands for a pro-literacy test, says: 7 "While 
it does not appear from available statistics that criminality among 
the foreign-born increases the volume of crime in proportion to 
the total population, nevertheless the coming of criminals and per- 
sons of criminal tendencies constitutes one of the serious social 
effects of the immigration movement." Or, in other words, while 
the immigrants are not criminal to the extent that the native-born 
are, still there are criminals among them who ought to be prevented 
from landing. 

An interesting question that has been discussed in relation 

6 The Immigration Problem, p. 57. 
''Reports, vol. i., p. 27. 


to the subject of immigration restriction is that of the effect of 
immigration on the introduction of machinery. Some restriction- 
ists hold that immigration should be held in check because the ten- 
dency of unrestricted immigration is to discourage the introduc- 
tion of machinery. Other restrictions hold that immigration 
should be held in check because the tendency of unrestricted im- 
migration is to encourage the introduction of machinery. In other 
words, the restrictionists debate among themselves the question 
as to whether more immigration does or does not mean the em- 
ployment of more machinery, but they are agreed that whatever 
may be the fact, that fact leads to the conclusion that immigration 
should be restricted. 

The Federal Immigration Commission, which has already been 
cited as a friend of the literacy test, was of the opinion that im- 
migrant labor and the wide use of machinery harmonized well 
with each other. In speaking of the more recent immigrants from 
Southern and Eastern Europe the Commission says: 8 "Before com- 
ing to the United States the greater proportion were engaged in 
farming or unskilled labor, and had no experience or training in 
manufacturing or mining. As a consequence their employment in 
the mines and manufacturing plants of this country has been pos- 
sible only by the invention of mechanical devices and processes 
which have eliminated the skill and experience formerly required 

in a large number of occupations In bituminous coal mining, 

for example, the pick or hand miner was formerly an employee 

of skill and experience By the invention of the mining 

machine, however, the occupation of the pick miner has been largely 
done away with, thereby increasing the proportion of unskilled 
workmen who load the coal on cars after it has been undercut and 
the holes drilled by machinery, and the coal knocked down by a 
blast set off by a shot firer specialized for that division of the labor. 
Such work can readily be done, after a few days' apprenticeship, 
by recent immigrants who, before immigrating to the United States, 
had never seen a coal mine. The same situation is found in the cot- 
ton factories In the glass factories, also ...... In the iron 

and steel plants and other branches of manufacturing, similar in- 
ventions have made it possible to operate the plants with a much 
smaller proportion of skilled and specialized employees than was 
formerly the case. It is this condition of industrial affairs, as 
already stated, which has made it possible to give employment to 

* Reports, vol. i., p. 494. 


the untrained, inexperienced, non-English-speaking immigrant of 
recent arrival in the United States." Jenks and Lauck 9 discuss 
this phase of the question in a paragraph, the heading of which 
reads, " The Inefficiency of the Immigrants Has Encouraged the 
Use of Machinery." 

If one takes the view of the situation presented above, one 
arrives at the conclusion that a literacy test is needed by way of 
the line of reasoning that immigration is substituting unskilled labor 
for skilled labor, and thus lowering the economic status of the 
American workingman. If, however, one takes the opposite view 
of the facts and believes that immigration is hostile to the ex- 
tensive use of machinery, one comes to the conclusion that there 
is need of a literacy test by way of the line of reasoning that immi- 
gration discourages inventive skill, and stands in the way of the 
progress that would harness machinery to the uses of mankind. 
It is the latter point of view and the latter line of argument which 
is adopted by Dr. Warne when he says : 10 " Cheap labor prevents 
invention and retards the introduction of machinery. A country 
that has an over-supply of cheap human labor has no record of 
any consequence in machine invention. The opposite is true, 
however, of countries where wages are relatively high. It is so 
because of the necessity capital is put to in order to keep down the 
cost of production, and this urges capital to substitute the cheaper 
machine labor. This encourages inventive skill, and in the absence 
of immigration would encourage it still more, thus improving the 
arts and also relieving human beings of some of the present in- 
human toil." 

It is not at all a strange and unusual phenomenon to see men 
who are heartily in favor of some line of action grasping at all 
kinds of arguments, good, bad, and indifferent, to convince others 
of the desirability of pursuing that line of action. These immigra- 
tion restrictionists are all firmly convinced of the desirability of 
legislation which will put a check upon the number of the in- 
coming foreigners. Unfortunately, they cannot agree upon the 
facts upon which their arguments are to be based, but, after all, in 
the case of the great majority of the arguments no one person is 
responsible for more than a half of each contradiction. Each one 
may recognize the contradiction, but may honestly believe that his 
own ratiocination is unimpeachable. The situation becomes much 

*The Immigration Problem, p. 186, second edition. 
10 The Tide of Immigration, p. 185. 


worse where the same author is responsible for both sides of the 
contradiction. For example, it is not at all unusual to find a re- 
strictionist arguing that immigration causes the population to in- 
crease too rapidly, and then, as soon as he has established this 
point to his satisfaction, insisting that a considerable fraction of 
the immigration be cut off, and that no foreign workingman be 
allowed to land unless he bring his wife, and children with him and 
declare his intention to remain permanently in America. The in- 
nocent bystander is likely to ask why, if population is increasing 
too rapidly, it would not be better to shut out the foreigner who 
comes with a family, and to admit only those foreigners who come 
without families and with the intention of returning to their native 
country after a few years of work in this country. 

The place of honor in presenting both sides of the last-named 
contradiction belongs probably to the Federal Immigration Com- 
mission. It not only contends strongly for the need of restriction, 
and argues that the proper persons to exclude are those who would 
contribute the least increase to the population, 'but it brings these 
two contentions together in the same paragraph. Thus, in Sec- 
tion 8 of the Recommendations of the Commission, we read : " The 
investigations of the Commission show an over-supply of unskilled 
labor in basic industries to an extent which indicates an over-supply 
of unskilled labor in the industries of the country as a whole, a 
condition which demands legislation restricting the further admis- 
sion of such unskilled labor. 

"It is desirable in making the restriction that: (a) A suffi- 
cient number be debarred to produce a marked effect upon the 
present supply of unskilled labor, (b) As far as possible, the 
aliens excluded should be those who come to this country with no 
intention to become American citizens or even to maintain a 
permanent residence here, but merely to save enough, by the adop- 
tion, if necessary, of low standards of living, to return permanently 
to their home country. Such persons are usually men unaccom- 
panied by wives or children." 

The unwary reader is in danger of being misled by the 
language of the Commission into believing that it is not because 
they are unaccompanied by wives and children that these aliens are 
to be excluded, but because they send a part of the money which 
they receive to Europe. The unwary reader should, therefore, be 
(referred to standard works on economics, in which it will be 
explained to him that under normal conditions each nation will 


tend to keep its share of the total money supply of the world, 
and that if it sends away an undue proportion of it at one time 
it will receive it back at another time. In the seventeenth and 
eighteenth centuries there were many intelligent persons, called 
Mercantilists, who gave thought to this problem, and who did not 
accept the principle just laid down. In the nineteenth and twentieth 
centuries there have also been Mercantilists, but their intelligence 
has been more or less under suspicion. 

Dr. Warne wishes to shut out the foreigners who leave their 
wives and children in Europe, but his reasons appear to be social 
rather than economic. " I do not know I know no one who might 
know," he says, " because scientific information is lacking on the 
subject but I venture the assertion that if the facts were ascer- 
tainable they would prove that certain crimes of a peculiarly 
atrocious character among our alien population diminish according 
as the number of the sexes approach an equality." Dr. Warne is 
on fairly safe ground in venturing an assertion in a field where 
scientific information is lacking, but Jenks and Lauck think that 
undue importance has been attached to the social effects of immi- 
gration. They say : " In most of the discussions on immigration 
that have appeared during the last few years, whether the immigrant 
came from Europe or from Asia, great importance has been at- 
tached to the social effects of immigration arising from the per- 
sonal qualities of the immigrants The late investigations of 

the Immigration Commission show that undue significance has 

been attached to these social effects during the past few years 

The chief danger of immigration lies not in this direction, but in 
the field of industry." They believe 11 that "tendencies toward 
lowering the American standard of living are at work at the present 
time in this country through our large immigration, and that, 
therefore, it is desirable that by some wisely effective method we 
restrict such immigration." In other words, they think there are 
too many laborers in the country, but on the next page they make 
it clear that their sympathies are with the proposal to let in the 
foreigners who come with their families, and to shut out the 
foreigners who leave their wives and children in Europe and expect 
to return to Europe themselves in a few years. 

Before the outbreak of the present war, when immigrants were 
coming to this country at the rate of more than a million a year, 
the restrictionists insisted that then was the time to apply the 

11 The Immigration Problem, p. 339- 


severe restrictive tests in order to keep the country from being 
overrun with a European horde that would depress our American 
standard of living. Diagrams were made which could be read from 
left to right, or from top to bottom, hinting at the great increase 
in immigration that might be expected in a few years. Little was 
said of the half million and more emigrants who left our shores 
each year, because many of these were the people who came to 
this country without their wives and children, and the restrictionists 
may have thought that they had given these persons sufficient notice 
when they had explained how reprehensible was their conduct, 
in the first instance, in coming here without their wives and chil- 
dren. Since the outbreak of the war, with the number of immi- 
grants falling off to such a degree that in some months the emigra- 
tion exceeds the immigration, the argument is that now is the 
time to begin to apply the restrictive test because it will be easier 
to apply it now, and because the immigration will be so much 
greater after the war than it was before if the test is not applied. 
While others are speculating as to whether the wastage of men oc- 
casioned by the war will not lead foreign nations to place re- 
strictions upon their emigration, the restrictionists in this country 
appear to be supplied with advance information which enables them 
to predict that the volume of immigration will not be decreased. 

It will be interesting to wait and observe whether, if there is 
a reduction in the volume of immigration after the war as com- 
pared with that of former years, the restrictionists will work out 
an argument to show that there is need of a literacy test because 
of the decreasing volume of immigration. 



T is now three hundred years since the torch lit at 
the blazing pile of seventeenth century Catholicism 
kindled that same fire on the heights of Quebec. 
The tercentenary of the establishment of the Faith 
has been celebrated by a remarkable demonstration 
in the ancient capital on the sixteenth and seventeenth of October. 
On the Sunday previous a pastoral letter from Cardinal Begin 
was read in all the churches announcing that festival of gratitude 
and remembrance, and emphasizing the high motives which led the 
pioneers of Christianity and of civilization into the heart of the 
Canadian wilderness. 

" Give thanks to God," says the pastoral, " Who willed that our 
country should have been discovered, explored and colonized by the 
Catholic sons of a most Christian kingdom, and that our French- 
Canadian race, born of Catholic faith and French patriotism, should 
have preserved in all its integrity and without alteration the Catho- 
lic doctrine preached by our first evangelists in New France." 

In the pastoral and in the addresses which marked the celebra- 
tion, notable tributes were paid to the memory of Samuel de 
Champlain, surnamed " the Father of New France," whose genius 
was so many-sided. He is the daring explorer, the cartographer, 
whose charts, it is said, are still reliable, the witty and charming 
chronicler whose immortal Voyages are of perennial interest, 
the military commander of signal ability, and the wise, enlightened 
and broad-minded governor who saw far beyond the narrow con- 
fines of the moment. 

The founder of Quebec was profoundly Catholic. To the 
Queen, Marie de Medici, he declared that his expedition to Canada 
was " to make the lilies flourish there with the one religion, Catholic, 
Apostolic and Roman." In his Relation of 1613, he expresses the 
desire to bring " those poor people to the knowledge of God," and in 
dedicating his Voyages to the French king he emphasizes his inten- 
tion of " planting in those regions the standard of the Cross, and 
teaching the savages the knowledge of God, to the glory of His holy 


Name." To this end, he secured the services of four Recollets, who 
had obtained authorization from the Holy See and letters patent 
from the king to undertake that hazardous mission. From the Cardi- 
nals and Bishops, just then assembled in Paris, they received money 
for the purchase of portable altars, church ornaments and other nec- 
essaries, while the Company of Canada undertook to feed, support 
and transport them. These monks, whose work figured so largely 
in the recent celebration, belonged to one of the branches of the 
great Franciscan Order, which for centuries has played so im- 
portant a part in the history of Christendom. They preached the 
doctrines of love and charity, poverty and lowliness, voluntary 
suffering and privation to a world corrupted by the luxurious pa- 
ganism of the Renaissance. None too partial a witness, Sir James 
Stephen, thus testifies to the effectual reform they accomplished: 
" Nothing," he says, " in the histories of Wesley or of Whitfield 
can be compared with the enthusiasm which everywhere welcomed 
them, or with the immediate and visible result of their labors. In 
an age of oligarchical tyranny, they were the protectors of the 
weak; in an age of ignorance the instructors of mankind; and in 
an age of profligacy the stern vindicators of the holiness of the 
sacerdotal character and the virtues of domestic life. 

" The patrons of art and the inspiration of many an artist, they 
were the impelling force in the creation of much literature, and 
they gave great Doctors to the Church; they were the friends of 
the poor and the lowly, so that the very term of Friar came to have 
a peculiar significance, and to connote a tender relationship between 
them and the poor of Christ." 

That little band of adventurers, planting the lilies of France 
and the standard of the Cross in the New World, hailing from a 
genial climate, tasted all the rigors of a Canadian winter, un- 
tempered by civilization, endured without flinching indescribable 
hardships, and held their lives at the mercy of the red barbarians. 
Despite all that has been written, it is doubtful if the world at large, 
and even the world of Canada, realizes to the full the debt which 
is owing to Champlain, or the heroism with which he and his as- 
sociates endured the horrors of that primeval existence. Champ- 
Iain's idea of an empire to be established on American soil was 
frustrated by the weakness and indifference of the French court 
dominated by unworthy favorites. It remained a dream or has 
been far otherwise realized, but Champlain, by statues of bronze 
erected on various sites, has been acknowledged one of the strongest 


forces in the foundation of the North American confederation. 
" The story of those one hundred and fifty years of the French do- 
minion abound in soul-stirring and inspiring incidents," says a Non- 
Catholic historian, 1 " which can never fail to excite the attention of 
the lovers of the romantic and the picturesque elements of history, 
as well as the student or the statesman who is interested in the 
political conditions of the past and its effect upon the present." 

Canada has, indeed, continued to attract the lovers of the pic- 
turesque, in all its phases from those first early glimmerings of tra- 
dition which displayed the Raven of the Norse adventurers, pre- 
ceding the Lilies of France, on the quest for unknown lands and 
seas. And from the viewpoint of the romance-lover, the dra- 
matist and, as shall presently be seen, the Catholic, this interest is 
chiefly centred upon that period of the French domination which 
Parkman thus graphically describes : " The French dominion is a 
thing of the past, and when we evoke its departed shades, they rise 
upon us from their graves in strange, romantic guise. Again, their 
ghostly campfires seem to burn, and the fitful light to cast shadows 
around on lord and vassal and black-robed priest, mingled with 
wild forms of savage warriors, knit in close fellowship on the same 
stern errand. A boundless vision grows upon us, vast wastes of 
forest verdure, mountains silent, in primeval sleep; river, lake 
and glimmering pool, wilderness oceans mingling with the sky. 
Such was the domain which France conquered for civilization. 
Plumed helmets gleamed in the shade of its forests; priestly vest- 
ments in the dens and fastnesses of ancient barbarism; men 
steeped in antique learning, pale with the close breath of the cloister, 
here spent the noon and evening of their lives, ruled savage hordes 
with mild, parental sway, and stood serene before the direst shapes 
of death. Men of courtly nurture, born to the polish of a far- 
reaching ancestry, here with their dauntless heroism put to shame 
the boldest sons of toil." 

Four Recollets sailed from Honfleur on the St. Etienne, and 
under the protection of the Proto-Martyr had a prosperous voyage 
of thirty days, and landed one May day, the Feast of the Trans- 
lation of St. Francis' body, at Tadousac. There on the shore of 
that beautiful bay, encircled by hills which legend declares to have 
been the playthings of giants, they first encountered the savages, 
news of whom had been thrilling religious circles in France and 
exciting the interest even of the court. As if to impress them 

*$ir John Bourinot. 
VOL. CIV. 20 


with the appalling perils that beset their path, they witnessed the 
burning at the stake, with every refinement of torture, of an Indian 
prisoner. If any heart quailed it was certainly not those covered by 
the frieze of St. Francis. Those holy missionaries were more eager 
than ever to hasten to the evangelization of the tribes, and thence- 
forth became an integral part of the animated drama of early Canada. 

Those first Franciscans were Fathers- Denys Jamet, Jean d'Ol- 
beau, Joseph Le Caron and Brother Pacifique du Plessis. Father 
Jamet, taking up his abode temporarily in the governor's habitation, 
devoted himself to the study of the country, its climate, topography, 
upon all of which he made a report to his ecclesiastical superior, 
the Archbishop of Rouen. He said the first Mass, not at Quebec, 
but on the island of Montreal, that is to say the first since the days 
of Car tier and Roberval, who had with them two Benedictines, 
Dom Guillaume Le Breton and Dom Antoine. At the spot where 
the first Mass was said in 1615, the Recollets later gave a martyr 
to the Church in the person of Father Nicholas Viel, treacherously 
drowned in the swift flowing rapids by the savages, with his faith- 
ful disciple, Ahuntsic. This event is immortalized by four statues, 
and by villages named respectively Sault-au-Recollet and after his 
Indian follower. 

Father d'Olbeau, called " the first pastor of Quebec," though 
charged also with the care of the Montagnais tribe at Tadousac and 
other aborigines of the Lower St. Lawrence, said the first Mass, 
after the settlement of Quebec, on June 26, 1615, where now stands 
the chapel of Our Lady of Victory. " Nothing was wanting," 
writes Father Le Clerq, " to render that action as solemn as the 
simplicity of the little colony permitted. Having prepared 
themselves beforehand by confession, all received their Saviour 
in Eucharistic Communion. The Te Deum was sung to the sound 
of their little artillery, and by the acclamations of joy that re- 
sounded everywhere the place was changed into a paradise, whilst 
all invoked the King of heaven." 

" That was a beautiful day for Champlain and his fellow 
colonists," says the Abbe Ferland, " when in the poor, little chapel 
at Quebec they assisted for the first time at the Holy Sacrifice of 
the Mass on the banks of the great River St. Lawrence, inaugu- 
rating thus the Catholic faith in Canada. For a century and a half 
the Church of Quebec was the centre and hearthstone of Catholicism 
in the immense regions extending from Hudson Bay to the Spanish 


And so with that first Mass began, it may be said, that won- 
derful Canadian Church which has given to Catholicism a whole 
galaxy of resplendent figures, a hierarchy headed by the heroic 
Montmorency de Laval, unsurpassed for learning, wisdom, pure 
doctrine and intrepid defence of the people's rights; Jesuit mis- 
sionaries, discoverers, martyrs, whose names and thrilling story 
have resounded from one end of Christendom to the other; the 
sons of Olier, who brought their science and their virtue to the 
wilds of New France, giving new names to the Canadian mar- 
tyrology and playing an important part in the founding of Ville- 
marie. In the train of those pioneers came many other religious 
orders of men and women, every one of which has impressed its 
special character upon this portion of North America. 

Father Le Caron set out with Champlain for the country of 
the Hurons, meeting at the Falls of St. Louis a delegation from 
that tribe, urging them to hasten to their fellows' help. The Re- 
collet went forward with twelve Frenchmen and some Indians, 
being the first apostle to penetrate those savage wilds, and to dis- 
cover the territory of the Great Lakes. 

" Years before the Pilgrims anchored within Cape Cod," says 
Bancroft, " the unambitious Franciscan, Le Caron, had penetrated 
the land of the Mohawks, had passed to the north into the country 
of the Wyandots, and, bound by his vows to the life of a beggar, 
had gone onwards and still onwards, taking alms of the savages." 

That journey, which must have borne so hardly on one who 
had passed years in the atmosphere of a court, Le Caron having 
as a secular priest been preceptor to the Duke d'Orleans, is thus 
described by himself : " It would be hard to tell you the lassitude 
I suffered, having been obliged all the long day to take the oars in 
hand and row with the Indians; more than a hundred times I 
waded through rivers on sharp stones that cut my feet, in the 
mud, or through the woods, carrying my canoe and my little 

outfit Nor need I mention the painful fact, which distressed 

us, of having nothing to eat but a little sagamite, a paste made of 
water and Indian meal, which was given to us in small quantities, 
morning and evening." 

"It was in the hot sun of a July day, 1615," says a recent 
writer, 2 " that Father Joseph Le Caron, after days of incessant toil, 
reached the mouth of French River. He is suddenly aroused by the 
cries of his Indian companions. Raising his head, he sees before 

1 Brunet. The Cross in Huronia, vol. ii., p. 783. 


him a vast sea stretching away until it meets the sky. He dips his 
hand into the wave and raises it to his lips. The water is sweet. 
It is the Mer Douce, the great, fresh water sea, of which he had 
heard so much. He lands at once and plants a cross in the sand. 
It was thus that the humble Recollet discovered the first known of 
the Great Lakes. The first monument of civilization on Lake Huron 
was the little cross of Le Caron." 

He was afterwards rejoined by Champlain, and together they 
penetrated more than three hundred leagues into those territories, 
the monk celebrating the sacred mysteries amongst the barbarous 
tribes in the very heart of savage idolatry. " They were compelled 
to remain there during that whole winter. This gave Father Le 
Caron an opportunity to study the various dialects for the dic- 
tionary which later he compiled. During the fourteen years that 
he spent in New France, despite his ardent desire, he never revisited 
Huronia, but was intrusted instead with the instruction of the 
Montagnais and other tribes of the Lower St. Lawrence. He died 
in France of the plague. 

Brother Pacifique du Plessis was stationed at Three Rivers, 
where he was employed in the instruction of the children, and made 
himself exceedingly useful by his knowledge of drugs, having been 
previously an apothecary. He rendered an important service to 
the colonies by discovering through one of his neophytes that the 
tribes in alliance with the whites having taken umbrage, had as- 
sembled to the number of eight hundred for a general massacre 
of the whites. His timely warning saved the situation. He only 
survived his arrival in New France by three years. The Recollets 
were denied the privilege of returning to Quebec, after the taking 
of that city by the Kertk brothers in the service of England and its 
restoration by treaty to the French. It was not until 1670 they 
were recalled, as is chronicled by the Jesuit Relation for that year. 

" The Reverend Recollet Fathers," writes Father Le Mercier, 
" who have been brought from France as a new help to the mis- 
sionaries and to cultivate the soil of the Church, have gSven 
us a great increase of joy and consolation. We received them as 
the first apostles of this country, as did all the inhabitants of 
Quebec, in acknowledgment of the obligation which the French 
colony is under to them for having accompanied it in the period 
of its first establishment. All were delighted to see these good 
religious in the place where they lived forty years ago when the 
French were driven out of Canada by the British. 


They rebuilt then that monastery of Our Lady of Angels and 
remained there until 1692, when they were permitted to 
build a regular convent, named after St. Anthony of Padua, by 
Monsignor de St. Vallier, who, like his predecessor, Laval, paid 
them high tribute. He declared that in their fourteen years of 
labor they had " penetrated to the extremity of the lands watered 
by the great river " (the St. Lawrence). 

The Recollets were also active in Acadia laboring amongst the 
savages and fur-traders, several dying of hardships in the woods. 
They strove to establish there a seminary for the training of In- 
dian youth. As a chronicler 3 observes: "The great Cardinal of 
France was interested in Christianizing the tribes of New England, 
before Plymouth or Massachusetts or the English government had 
thought about them." 

Were it possible to follow the history of exploration and 
colonization over the whole country, the brown-robed sons of the 
Italian Saint would be found at every stage of the journey. After 
the English conquest they remained in Canada, and have ever 
since been securely established in the affections of the people, 
having churches and monasteries in most of the chief cities. It is 
a notable coincidence that the first resident Apostolic Delegate to 
the Dominion, Monsignor Falconio, was a Franciscan. 

It was to celebrate, then, the beginnings of a Church, as 
prolific in noble achievements, as in remarkable personalities, 
and those missionaries who were the precursors of a glorious 
band, that thirty thousand persons, it is estimated, gathered 
about the monument which was unveiled on October i6th. 
His Eminence Cardinal Begin pontificated at the Mass, assisted 
by Monsignor Pelletier, Rector of Laval, and the Reverend 
Fathers Etienne and Adolphe, Capuchins, and Fathers Jean Joseph 
and Odoric, Franciscans. Abbe Brosseau, of Montreal, preached 
on the gratitude due by Canadian Catholics to God for the mag- 
nificent work done in the New World by the pioneers of the Faith 
and their successors during the last three hundred years, illus- 
trative once more on this Western hemisphere of the f( gesta Dei per 
Francos." The historic basilica saw again a profoundly impressive 
ceremony, the latest of that long series of pageants witnessed by 
this venerable edifice. 

In the afternoon the General Committee of the celebration, ac- 
companied by His Honor the Mayor, went to lay a wreath upon 

*J. G. Shea, Catholic Missions. 


the tombs of Champlain and Laval. The zouaves and various cadet 
corps accompanying them also served as escort to the Cardinal, 
who proceeded to the former Place d'Armes, close to the spot 
where once stood the church of the Recollets. Then to the sound 
of the " Papal Hymn " and " O Canada," the monument was un- 
veiled by the representatives of the civil and ecclesiastical powers, 
the Cardinal and the Governor. A thrill of enthusiasm passed 
through that vast multitude and cheer upon cheer broke forth. It 
was the acclamation of Catholic Canada of today to Catholic 
Canada of the past, and it sprang from the heart of a people pro- 
foundly Christian, saluting thus the symbol of its Faith. 

The speeches on the occasion were notable, not only because 
of the eloquence of trained orators, but because of the passionate 
earnestness with which they voiced the aspirations and ideals of 
a people to whom the most sublime of causes had always ap- 
pealed, and to whom the memories of the past were living and 
vibrant. " Memorare. Je me souviens" words inscribed upon 
the monument, were reechoed in the hearts of that eager, wistful, 
devout assemblage. 

The monument consists of an ornamental fountain, thirty-seven 
feet in height, in granite and bronze, with four sides precisely 
similar. The buttresses are adorned with two gargoyles, the water 
from which replenishes the basins. Through an arched open- 
ing, divided by a column in the interior, the water gushes from 
a rock, glides along the sides, and falls from basin to basin to the 
bottom. The bronze figure on the pedestal signifies Faith. In her 
outstretched hand is the symbol of Redemption, the Cross, while 
in the left she holds the palm of victory awarded to nations as to 
individuals that have remained faithful. Bronze plaques at the base 
of the structure bear the names of the four Recollets and com- 
memorative scenes, that of Father Jamet saying the first Mass 
on the island of Montreal ; Father d'Olbeau arriving with Champlain 
at Quebec ; Father Le Caron amongst the tribesmen in Huronia. 

The proceedings began with the reading of a cablegram from 
the Cardinal to the Holy Father, offering him the filial veneration 
of the Catholics of Canada and the assurance of their attachment 
to the Church, which has been strengthened by three centuries of 
struggle, of devotedness, and asking for his paternal benediction. 
The answer through the Cardinal Secretary of State conveyed the 
expression of Benedict's paternal benevolence, and the blessing 
accorded from his heart to his children assembled at Quebec for 


the celebration of the third centenary of the establishment of the 
Faith in Canada. It seemed as a voice not only from across the 
ocean, but across the distant centuries, that of another Pope sending 
those apostolic laborers to the difficult vineyard of New France. 

A cablegram was also received from the General of the Fran- 
ciscans in answer to one offering him the homage of gratitude and 
respect. A touching letter was read from Cardinal Amette of 
Paris, from whose diocese the first missionaries had set forth, 
deploring the sorrowful circumstances which prevented him from 
being present or even from being represented. 

Cardinal Begin referred to the moving spectacle before him of 
a multitude present to offer grateful homage to God, Author and 
Preserver of our Faith, and to pay a well-deserved tribute to the 
first missionaries, men of apostolic hearts, men of God, true heroes, 
those dear sons of St. Francis who had come hither to seek, in the 
forest of the New World, ferocious pagan Indians who were to be 
civilized and Christianized, knowing well what obstacles they had 
to overcome, and welcoming probable martyrdom. He showed how 
they had traveled over the country, following the savages in their 
wanderings, and everywhere causing the Catholic Credo to resound. 
" Quebec," he continued, "whose gracious device is f Je me souviens,' 
had never ceased to accclaim the names and deeds of those, who 

had founded, colonized and evangelized the country On such 

a festival day it is good to evoke those deeply touching and apos- 
tolic memories, and to recall those historic lives which gave true 
glory to our city. The superb monument before me, on which I 
offer my most cordial congratulations to the committee, will re- 
main to tell a grateful posterity the edifying story of our first 
pioneers of the Faith and our religious beginnings in Quebec and 
Montreal." Having enumerated the many monuments already in 
existence, he declared it fitting that " Quebec, the first bulwark of 
the Faith in North America, the first beneficiary of the preaching 
of the Gospel, should commemorate in such imperishable fashion 
the tercentenary of the establishment of the Faith on the shores 
of the St. Lawrence." 

The Cardinal in his remarks epitomized the object of the 
celebration and the reason for the erection of the monument. It 
is the apotheosis of the past, and of the sons of him who upon the 
Umbrian hills gave to the world of the thirteenth century, in con- 
crete form, the old message of the Gospel. Francis chose my Lady 
Poverty for his bride, and it was my Lady Poverty, clad in heroic 


rags, who accompanied the first Canadian missionaries and took up 
her abode with them on this arid soil. 

Sir Evariste Le Blanc, the Lieutenant-Governor, quoted the 
words of Champlain : " Having learned on my preceding voyages 
that in certain districts there were sedentary tribes, devoted to the 
culture of the soil, who had neither faith nor law, living without 
God or religion like brute beasts, I judged that I would be com- 
mitting a great sin if I did not take means to bring them to 
the knowledge of the true God, and I strove to find some good 
religious who would be inspired with zeal for the glory of God." 
And he described how those four apostolic men " burned to 
make that voyage in which by God's grace they might plant 
in these countries the standard of Jesus Christ, with a de- 
liberate resolve to live and, if it were necessary and the occa- 
sion offered, to die for His holy Name The seed which 

they sowed in the holy earth of Canada has blossomed into 
magnificent flowerage. Fertilized by the devotion of these first 
missionaries and watered by the blood of our Canadian martyrs, 
the Tree of Faith has struck deep roots into our soil, and cast 
tutelary branches over the whole country. We are a believing 
people. The religious idea is traditional with us; our hearts and 
our national life bear the imprint of its strong and mysterious 
influence, and by carefully preserving it we shall best secure the 
future of our race. In the words of Henri Lavedan, religion alone 
teaches the highest morality, and has the strength to enforce it, 
the power and the gift to animate and enkindle it, rendering it 
living and glorious, making it a necessity and a commandment." 
He touched briefly, but in moving terms, upon the war now raging 
in Europe, and declared that the Canadian hierarchy, continuing 
the traditional loyalty of the Catholic Church to the government 
and to the authorities, has clearly indicated the line of duty to be 

Sir A. B. Routhier, President of the Monument Committee, 
spoke with his customary grace and charm of the " event of 1615 " 
as "not only the supernatural illumination of a people, but a covenant 
between this people and God. The humble chapel erected by the 
Recollets was not only a house of prayer but a bow of promise, 
a symbol of the union between God and the people of Canada, like 

that which Jehovah made with the Hebrew nation Behold 

that Covenant, says the Lord, which I make with the House of 
Israel. I will put My law into their mind and I will engrave it upon 


their hearts; and I will be their God. and they will be My peo- 
ple." Then taking a step forward, he added : " In the name of the 
General Committee of Citizens, who have erected this monument, 
I have the honor to announce that dating from this day it shall 
be called The Monument of the Faith/ and shall belong to the 
city of Quebec, if it will accept the gift thus made and the charge 
of preserving and maintaining it. It is just that this city which is 
the theatre of great events in our history, should be also the city 
of monuments, and I hope that in the course of years all the 
glories of the past will be revived in a number of statues." 

The Mayor having accepted the gift, gave the assurance that 
the city of Quebec would receive and ratify through a by-law the 
donation made, guaranteeing the maintenance of that superb 
memorial erected to the glory of Quebec and the honor of the 
Canadian Church. 

Having paid a graceful tribute to His Eminence, he concluded : 
" Therefore at the foot of the monument which expresses our faith 
and gratitude and the perfect understanding which existed between 
the founder of this city and the missionaries, I am certain of inter- 
preting faithfully the thought of my fellow-citizens when I say that 
we are proud of the close alliance which has always existed between 
our people and our clergy, by means of which the latter have shared 
in all the vicissitudes of our national life. That alliance has been 
more than a guiding star in the darkest hours of our history. It 
has been a beneficent shelter and often even a bulwark." He quoted 
a noble tribute paid by the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, 
when visiting Quebec for the centenary of the English Cathedral. 
Recapitulating all the marvels of courage and endurance on the 
part of the early evangelists, the Archbishop said : " 'In presence 
of the heroism and unshakable faith of those first missionaries, of 
Breboeuf and Daniel, we should be wanting in truth and yielding 
to a mean and narrow sentiment, did we not pay them the homage 
which is their due.' Such are the sentiments of us all," concluded 
the Mayor, " in this solemn moment when we inaugurate this 
monument to the glory of God and of His Church." 

This homage of an entire people, which so truly reflects the 
sentiments of that Catholic province and of the descendants of the 
hardy colonists who are scattered through the Dominion, is a 
highly significant fact in these days when materialism, the glori- 
fication of merely secular achievement, and the mean and cowardly 
surrender of the rights and claims of the Church in so many coun- 


tries is lamentably common. It is a fact of the highest interest, 
and one which should thrill with pride Catholics of other nationali- 
ties, and especially the descendants of other saints and martyrs. 

The Premier of the Province, Sir Lomer Gouin, also paid his 
tribute to " The Makers of Canada," dwelling particularly upon the 
services rendered by the Recollets in the domain of education and 
particularly primary education, and he urged the people to take 
the fullest advantage of the instruction that was provided for them, 
making special mention of the agricultural schools. He described 
the tie that bound Canadians to the soil, in the centuries' old strug- 
gle, as titanic as that of Hercules with Antaeus. Like the latter, 
the people of Quebec gained new strength each time they came in 
contact with the earth, which, as a good mother, gives them her 
treasures of mental and physical vigor. 

A most touching incident, which evoked rounds upon rounds of 
deafening applause, was the placing of a wreath upon the monu- 
ment, accompanied by a parchment scroll upon which was written : 
" To our First Missionaries. From the grateful Hurons." These 
are the Hurons of Lorette, the remnant of a once powerful tribe. 

That evening the monument and the square round about, there 
on the heights of Quebec, between that river which Cartier, in the 
twilight of the past, had named, and that other christened the St. 
Charles by the Recollets, was brilliantly lighted by electricity. The 
ancient town was in its gala attire. Bands played stirring music, 
and speeches were made reflecting from different sections of the 
people the common sentiment. Also, there was an entertainment 
of a high order, at Laval, where the intellect, as well as the social 
life of the provincial capital was fully represented. The proceed- 
ings began with the graceful and heartfelt welcome of the Rt. Rev. 
Rector, and his assurance that Laval was fully in accord with 
the spirit of the occasion. Monsignor P. E. Roy made a stirring 
address concerning that act of Faith of a whole people which had 
been that day accomplished. The Abbe Camille Roy's splendid 
" Page from Our History," which reviewed all the leading events 
commemorated by the tercentenary, was a chief feature of the eve- 
ning, together with a fine poem, " To the Pioneers of Our Faith," 
written and read by the well-known French Canadian poet, W. 

The next day, October i'7th, there were to have been demonstra- 
tions at the foot of the monument for the youth of both sexes. 
Owing to bad weather that part of the programme had to be carried 


out in the Hall of Promotions at Laval. At 10 o'clock in the morn- 
ing the pupils of the convents gathered there and listened to an 
admirable discourse from Mr. C. J. Magnan, Inspector-General of 
Schools. He exhorted them to remain true to the traditions of- 
the past. The Hon. Cyril Delage, Superintendent of Public In- 
struction, also painted for his young auditors a stirring series of 
pictures taken from the historic page. He brought before them 
Cartier and Champlain, Montcalm and Laval, and drew from that 
context an inspiring lesson. A most interesting feature of that 
morning reunion was the discourse of Monsignor Belliveau, Arch- 
bishop of St. Boniface, who withdrew the minds of his hearers from 
Quebec to that new theatre of Catholic enterprise, the Canadian 
Northwest. He reviewed the noble struggle extending over so many 
years for Catholic education, a struggle still continuing, and where 
but few privileges had been obtained. 

In the afternoon the boys from all the colleges and schools 
of the city and environs were assembled, as in the evening were 
brought together the young men, students and those of the profes- 
sions, the Jeunesse Catholique, who were by no means behind their 
elders in professions of loyalty to the Faith. 

We may be permitted here to give some paragraphs from the 
discourse of the Abbe Camirand of Nicolet College, because it 
showed how the enunciation of great truths and the performance 
of great deeds through the inspiration of faith have circled the 

" Look upon the monument," he said. " The statue which 
crowns it symbolizes the Faith of our race. Its right hand presents 
to the world the Cross.' That noble figure fixed in bronze reminds 
us that in the Name of Christ and for the salvation of souls, our 
first explorers and the founders of our country came, and that 
grand chivalric song which you have just sung is reechoed over 
the distance of centuries, the great voice of your ancestors, who 
also said in speaking of their future conquests, 'We wish for God 
Nous V onions Dieuf " 

The orator made a beautiful allusion to Christopher Columbus 
coming out of the Cathedral of Palos, and crying to the crew of 
his light caravels: "In the Name of God unfurl your sails." 
Touching the soil of the New World, he bent to kiss the earth, and 
drawing back his sword in salute displayed his standard adorned 
with a Cross. Cartier, too, coming forth from the Cathedral 
of St. Malo, with the blessing of his bishop upon him, planted the 


Cross and took possession for France of new territory in the Name 
of Christ. 

Such were the ideals and exemplars held up to the Catholic 
youth of the country. Their significance assuredly is profound, far- 
reaching and of universal application. Is it of no slight importance 
in this day, when secularization in one form or another is the pre- 
vailing spirit, that such ideas be consistently maintained? Youth, 
at least, may learn from the lessons of the past, when religion was 
the motive power of the most splendid achievements, to avoid the 
specious reasoning of a false liberalism, of an easy tolerance, which 
would avoid at all hazards what might put them in the wrong with 
the world about them. 

In the face of these solemn memories, and of such noble enthusi- 
asm, should not those minor differences which have unhappily arisen 
in Canada of today be imperiously brushed aside? The children of 
the Faith, the sons of saints and martyrs should stand shoulder to 
shoulder. For between them is that vital bond, a communion of 
interests which will stretch forward into eternity, and to which that 
other great passion of humanity, love of race, must be at times sub- 
servient. How great soever be that love of race, greater still are the 
interests of religion and country, both of which are those of God. 
Union amongst Catholics, the promotion of Catholic education and 
the preservation of Catholic ideals and Catholic principles is surely 
the truest patriotism. In all the storm of contending passions, there 
has arisen on the heights of Quebec, as on another Mount of Vision, 
that monument of the Faith, consecrating the past, definitely com- 
mitting the present to the first and greatest of causes, and stretching 
out an inspired arm towards the future. 

And in this pleasure-loving age is it not of good omen that a 
memorial should arise at the very gateway of this Empire of the 
West to the apostles of poverty and humility? On the monument 
is inscribed: 

j(5/5 I 9 I 5- 
A Nos Premiers Missionaires. 

Les Recollets. 



Les Canadiens Reconnaissants. 

And below, encircled by a wreath of maple leaves, is the motto 
of Quebec : Je me souviens, 




UTSIDE the Good Shepherd ward was a little office 
where Madame de St. Hilaire did her writing, and 
carried on her other business of administration. 

Mrs. d'Argnes knocked at the door, which was 
standing open, and said : 

" Madame, may I go back to Raymond ? " 

Madame de St. Hilaire got up from the table and drew the 
English lady in. " Not for a few minutes, please. The doctors 
have finished with your son, but they are still in the ward. They 
will be gone very soon " 

" I wonder what they thought of him. When I left him I 
thought him worse." 

" I thought so too, dear madame. I saw him just after you 
had left him. And I was with him all the time the doctors were 
examining him. But, courage! I have always felt a conviction 
of his recovery. Today he is, I confess, worse than any day since 
he came here: but there must be fluctuations tomorrow may be 
a good day for him." 

While Madame de St. Hilaire was speaking, more hopefully 
than she felt, Claire d'Argnes came out of the ward. 

" Madame," she said, " Doctor St. Simon wants you again." 
Then turning to Raymond's mother she said : " Madame d'Argnes, 
I do not know if I am indiscreet, but Raymond is better." 

The girl did not notice that she had called her patient by his 
Christian name, nor did his mother. Madame de St. Hilaire no- 
ticed it ; but not on that account did she think that perhaps Claire 
was indiscreet. Her own opinion was that Captain d'Argnes was 
very much worse. She, however, had to obey the doctor's summons 
and went away at once. 

" You say he is better ! " said Madame d'Argnes. " Madame 
de St. Hilaire and I were, alas, agreeing that he was worse." 

" Yes : he was, this morning, before the doctors came and 
while they were examining him, But twenty minutes ago I felt 


certain I saw a change. The doctors had gone to attend to other 
cases, and I was finishing up with him. He gave a little start as 
though I had hurt him, touching the wound, but I had not touched 
it at that moment. All the same I apologized for hurting him 

'But you did not touch me, did you ?' he asked, and I had 

to say that I had not. A few minutes after that he said: The 
pain is gone. And I do not want to cough. I am not choking/ 
It was true that he was no longer coughing. He has not coughed 
once since. And he asked me to give him some soup. He said 
he felt hungry. The soup did not make him sick. I am sure when 
the doctors are gone and you can go in that you will see that he 
is better." 

" He did go," thought his mother. 

She was so quiet that Claire suggested she could not trust 
herself to believe such good news. 

" I am not deceived," she added gently, " it would be cruel 
to buoy you up with false hopes. Only I know that he is better. 
He is reading again : all yesterday and the day before he was not 
able to read." 

" What is it he reads ? I did not, for some reason, care to 
ask him." 

" Catholic books," the girl answered simply. " I hope you do 
not mind. He asked for them." 

" No," his mother answered quietly, " I do not mind." She 
paused a moment and then said : " But I am very selfish. How 
is your own brother? " 

" Doing very well. The doctors think there is now practically 
no danger of another hemorrhage. He was so much troubled all 
yesterday that Captain d'Argnes was so ill. As soon as I came on 
duty this morning he began asking about him." 

" Raymond is very fond of him. He said : 'I can't talk to 
him, because I can't raise my voice enough; but we smile at each 
other;' and Claire, my dear ( you don't mind my calling you so?), 
your brother has a most entrancing smile." 

His sister laughed and said : " He is a naughty boy. He 
teases our mother. She wants him to be good and he says: 'I 
haven't been bad enough yet.' He hasn't been to confession for 
ever so long and he says : 'It's better to wait till one has more to 
tell, thus one can be sure of contrition.' He is not bad at all; only 
he is very frivolous." 

Raymond's mother gave a little reserved smile. She was any- 


thing but frivolous; a religious woman in her way, but all her 
habits had made her think religion a thing it would be almost in- 
delicate to discuss in Claire's easy-going fashion. She herself had 
a special voice for religious topics, and Claire talked of them in 
just the same voice she would have used had she been discussing 
her brother's taste in dress or amusement. Above all she was taken 
aback by the girl's way of mentioning confession Catholics, she 
supposed, ought to go to confession, but it seemed to her quite awful 
to talk about it. 

Claire, who was far from being obtuse, perceived that she had 
somehow been indiscreet. Her mother was much in the habit of 
reproving her indiscretions. 

" All the same," she thought, " I think English men are nicer 
than their mothers. Raymond would not have looked like that." 

Presently the doctors passed out to go to another ward and 
Claire said: 

" Madame, you may go in now. You will find he is better." 

They entered the ward together, but Claire left Mrs. d'Argnes 
to go to her son's bed alone. She herself went to her brother. 

" Did the doctors say anything about d'Argnes? " he asked her 
at once. 

" They did not to him of course. But they told Madame de 
St. Hilaire he was very much worse." 

!< You speak very coolly about it. I suppose you felt sure of it 

" Yes. But, Henri, he is not worse now. He is much better." 

" Really! in this short time? " 

" Yes." And she told him what she had told Raymond's 

Henri was unfeignedly delighted. Jie had taken an immense 
liking for his English brother-in-arms. 

" His mother," he said in a low voice, " she is excellent : and 
very nice to me. She often comes over to chat with me, and one 
can see that she is full of sympathy. But, oh Claire! she is stiff. 
Why do English ladies feed on pokers?" 

" To stiffen their backs. The seat of the English conscience 
is in the back." 

" The seat of mine is in my pocket : and sometimes it drops 

"No one would hear it fall; it is too light. But, Master 
Henri, one of these days you'll lose it altogether." 


" No. I shall tell St. Anthony of Padua to find it for me. 
He always finds my collar stud." 

" You'd better not talk to the Saints about your conscience : 
they might tell you some disagreeable things about it." 

" Oh, no ! It is pert misses, like you, who do that. They know 
all about it and have unlimited tact. I think that little stretcher- 
bearer is a saint." 

" Does he talk to you about your conscience ? " 

" No, I tell you he is a saint. But when he talks to me I 
remember that I have one. If Raymond d'Argnes were a Catholic, 
he would probably be a saint too." 

" Good gracious ! " 
' Yes. He and the stretcher-bearer are much alike." 

" I can't imagine two people more unlike." 

" That is your mistake (one of your mistakes). One is tall, 
noble and very handsome you need not blush, mademoiselle, I am 
not describing you the other small, plain-faced and insignificant, 
but they have the same expression, the same sort of expression. 
They are supernatural creatures, and you and I, my dear, are natural 

Claire did not know that her brother and the little stretcher- 
bearer had struck up a kind of intimacy. But she knew Henri 
well enough to guess that his talk with the young seminarian would 
be very different from his talk with her. She and he were always 
chaffing each other, even when the subject of their conversation 
was a serious one. 

" After all," said Henri, " it's just as well d'Argnes is not 
a Catholic." 


" The day he sends for a priest I have to send for one. I have 
promised mother." 

" And you would keep your word ? " 

"Of course I would. I am supposed to be a gentleman." 

Claire laughed and went off to attend to her duties. 


The little stretcher-bearer, whose name was Roussel, liked very 
much to wait upon the young lieutenant of cuirassiers; and the 
lieutenant's own orderly was not at all jealous. He had a cordial 


liking for Roussel ; and was fond of helping him in his tasks about 
the ward. Roussel never bored Henri and never tried to talk 
about religion. He had a certain impression that the young 
officer was not religious, but he thought Our Lord must be fond of 
him all the same. " I don't see," thought the little seminarian, 
" how He can help it. / am, and I have done nothing for him, 
while He has done everything." 

" What a lot of trouble I give you ! " said Henri to him, on 
the afternoon of the day on which Raymond began to grow better. 

" No trouble. Only little pleasures. And and I think it a 
great honor. In my heart I salute all the wounded and in the 
street and here in the ward. 'Voila, des braves!' I think. It is 
wonderful to be brave. I am not." 

" Eh ! but that is untrue. You are much braver than a fellow 
like me. You have no human respect. I'm full of it." 

The lad regarded him with a quiet, direct look out of his grave 
eyes and said : 

" Perhaps what you call human respect is shyness." 

" You, my dear Roussel, are the first person who ever thought 
I was shy ! " and he laughed. 

" Still it may be so." 

" You have something in your head, say it." 

" Perhaps I had better not. I do not say things well." 

" Well enough for me. I am not a master of good French." 

He knew very well the boy did not mean that, and said : " It 
is you who are shy." 

" May be. But it is not that. When one talks amiss one in- 
jures the subject." 

" You will not. Say what you meant. I give you an 
obedience there ! " 

He laughed, but Roussel's rather pallid face flushed a little. 

" Well, I accept the obedience you give me," he said. " When 
I said that perhaps what you call your human respect is shyness, 
I think I meant this you might omit some external proof of 
reverence for what is right, not because you are on the side of 
what is wrong, but because you are too shy to range yourself on the 
side of" 

" Well, mon petit, go on." 

"Of Our Lord then, lest it should seem you were claiming 
a friendship with Him that does not exist: taking a certain 

VOL. CIV. 21 


" It certainly would be a liberty for me to claim that friend- 

Roussel did not go on; and did not guess that Henri really 
wished that he would. 

" Why," asked the young soldier after a pause, " did you 

" I had said what I meant, and badly ; as I knew I should. 
That is a liberty. No one has a right to speak ill in a good cause 
unless he is bound to say what he can." 

" You have not injured your cause; don't be afraid." 

Henri meant more than he said. To him it seemed that the 
lad, even if he spoke far more clumsily than he did, must help 
" his cause " by being what he was. He felt sure that it was 
purity, faith, religion that had made the boy what he was. No 
doubt he was the son of a peasant, a peasant himself, with not much 
general education, but the young officer recognized in him a nobler 
creature than himself, and knew well in what school that nobility had 
been learned, Who was his Schoolmaster, what His lessons had 

" Listen, mon cher," Henri said presently, " all talk worth 
listening to is of the things with which one's heart is full. I wish 
you would, when you talk to me, not try to choke yourself up, 
but speak of what is in your heart." 

" I can't talk much of anything. I have not the habit. At 
home even I picked up the habit of silence. My mother's heart 
is full of us (her seven children) and of our father, but she does 
not talk of us." 

" Not to you." 

" There are hardly any neighbors. We live three -kilometres 
from the village & little tiny village. It is only when she goes 
to Mass she sees people, and then she has to hasten home. There 
is so much work." 

" But you have had to learn the habit of thought. You have, 
for instance, to make meditations." 

" I do it ill. I have always distraction. Everything distracts 
me." . 

"For instance?" 

" Well anything. I try to meditate about Our Lady and I 
look perhaps at her statue to help me ; and my eye falls on a flower 
and I think of that how wonderful its color is and then I say 
to myself : 'God thought of everything, even the color of the flower.' 


What kindness! He need not have made any, people do not eat 
them: or He might have made them all green or all red. And 
then I think of the smell of them. He thought of that too, and I 
suppose they smell like Christ's Feet. And then very likely I think 
of some poor soldier's feet, crushed and wounded and lame perhaps 
forever, and one thinks : 'You will have to take his arms, poor 
brave; it is hard enough to get to heaven on two sound feet. You 
will have to help him up that steep road.' And then my thoughts 
wander to other wounded to you, often, lately : and instead of 
mediating on the Blessed Virgin's humility, I am begging her to 
obtain that you have no more hemorrhage. I am a wool-gatherer." 
" Eh, my little stretcher-bearer, go on gathering your wool for 
me, and perhaps she will weave a white garment out of it for some 
poor devil of a soldier who hasn't kept his own very clean." 


Meanwhile Raymond and his mother were talking too. He 
had been reading; and looking up he caught her eye. 

" You wonder what my books are? " he asked smiling. 

" I used to wonder. I think I know." 

" They are about the Catholic religion. I want to know more 
about it. I think it always interested me; but only as a fine thing 
out of date like chivalry and the Feudal System : a great idea that 
had made the Middle Ages more picturesque than our own. Still 
one could not now go back to the old feudal ways." 

" I suppose not," said his mother, rather uncertainly. She was 
a Tory of Tories, and was not sure that modern times were all that 
they should be. 

" Well, I think there is always affectation in ignoring that past 
things are past. Tournaments and jousts now they would be an 
affectation; and we do not need to fortify ourselves in castles. An 
old castle is most fascinating, but to build a new one is appalling. 
I suppose I thought Catholicism was gone like the castles. Just as 
in some old families there are the castles still, and their owners 
do right to preserve them carefully, so in some of our oldest families 
there is still the Catholic faith, and I thought them also right, having 
it, to keep it a sort of heirloom and relic. But where it was gone, 
it seemed to me, it would only be an affectation to pretend it hadn't 
gone like building a new castle. You see I thought it also a 
relic, and relics are of the dead, not of the living. So I thought 


there would be a sort of vulgarity in becoming a Catholic as if 
a man should buy some other family's heirloom ; imagine a nouveau 
rlche buying at an auction the shirt Charles I. was beheaded in ! " 

" It's just what Lord would do if he had the chance! " 

declared Mrs. d'Argnes with disgust and conviction, and rather glad 
to be able to say something quite on Raymond's side. 

" You understand then. Well, since I came out here I have 
found how different it is. The Catholic religion is not antique: 
it is eternal. It is not mediaeval a bit; the Middle Ages belonged 
to it; but it did not belong to them. It is quite as modern as 
being alive, and eating and drinking and being happy and sad ; and 
instead of being an obsolete phase it is an undying principle, and 
the only one for which hundreds of millions of living men would 
care to die. It is no more dead than Christ. He paused an instant 
and said in a very low voice : " It is Christianity." 

" Oh, Raymond ! " 

" Yes. I have come to feel sure of that. All others are broken 
chips knocked off Christianity by the jostle of doubt and opinion. 
The difference, I have come to see, between the Catholic Church 
and other Churches is the difference between God's revelation and 
man's opinion. Perhaps, what first set me on that train was a 
thing a young officer of my regiment said. He is a Catholic, and 
very devout, but not fussily or obtrusively. Everybody respects 
him because one feels that his religion is part of himself, not part 
of his talk. Well one evening we were taking our rest, and were 
all together some of us were talking about religion and he was 
reading. One fellow said: 'My idea is so and so,' and another 
said : 'The way I look at it is this/ and someone else said : 'And 
my notion of it is that,' and so on. It was interesting, but simply 
a clatter of theories: then one of us asked Chichester what his 
ideas were. 'I am,' he answered simply, 'a Catholic. It is not 
with us a question of notions, but of what God has revealed. The 
Catholic Church teaches us that.' And, mother, I think that is why 
other Churches keep changing their teaching and the Catholic 
Church never does. They started with human opinion and so they 
naturally feel they have a right to modify it. The Catholic Church 
knows she has no right to change one jot or one tittle of what 
Christ revealed and set her to guard. She is the trustee of His 
bequest of faith, and cannot cheat His children of the smallest 
coin of it." 

" You intend to become a Catholic? " 


" Yes, dear mother. I hope you will not mind very much." 

" I am sure you will only do what you think right. But it will 
divide us so ! " 

"You and me?" 

" Yes, dear. It will build up a wall between us." 

[C There is no wall between you and Lionel : you and he are 
just as much to each other as ever you were." 

Her son, Lionel, had abandoned all faith and said so. His 
mother had been shocked, but, as Raymond said, it had not divided 
her from her son. 

She could not answer that, but spoke of something else. 

Raymond was saying : " I do not believe you will love me less 
because I am a Catholic, and if I could love you more I should be- 
lieve it would make me love you more." 

She just touched his hand, smiled and said : " If you turn 
Catholic you will have to go in for miracles and all that sort of 
dreadful stuff." 

Even as she spoke she felt an uncomfortable twinge, and really 
thought she heard a voice say, not in her ear, but in her heart, " I 
did go." 

" Go in for them ! " said Raymond, with a little smile, " if you 
mean believe in them, I do; God is always the same, omnipotent 
and kind. There are still blind men to be made to see, and dead 
folk to bring to life." 

She was not really listening to him, but wondering whether, 
if she were incredulous, this miracle of his being better might be 
canceled through her fault. That frightened her. Then she 
thought, " It was not I who asked Him to go. It was the nun who 
asked His Mother to send Him. Her faith was rewarded, not 
mine, and her faith doesn't stumble." That comforted her, but she 
prayed in her heart, " Do not let me spoil it." 


When Claire entered the ward next morning- for she was on 
day duty her brother's little friend, the stretcher-bearer, said to 
her at once: 

"Please, will you go to Monsieur d'Argnes?" 

"My brother?" 

"Yes, mademoiselle. He asked me to say you were to go 
first to him/' 


" Here I am, Henri, what is it? " she asked as soon as she had 
reached his bedside. " Is anything the matter ? Did you have a 
bad night?" 

" No." Then he looked queer and said : " But you will have 
to send for a priest." 

" Oh, Henri ! Do you mean that you are worse ? " 

"Worse than I thought perhaps but, oh, don't look 

frightened. I was teasing you." 

" You don't really want a priest? " 

" Yes, I do. I told you I would keep my word ; and Raymond 
d'Argnes is to have a priest. The little stretcher-bearer told me. 
He is going to become a Catholic. Roussel is so nearly in heaven 
already with delight, that if we don't hold on to him he will slip 
off altogether." 

" I'll tell you who won't be in heaven then Madame d'Argnes. 
She will hate it." 

"Mamma?" said Henri, hypocritically pretending to misun- 
derstand. " I should think she would be glad." 

" Not our mother, but Captain d'Argnes. She is Protestant 
all down her long back." 

" People," observed Henri audaciously, " always do dislike 
their mothers-in-law." 

His sister darted a most savage look at him, which he sus- 
tained with unflinching effrontery. 

" It is perfectly beastly of you to say that," she remarked 
hotly, in English. 

" Ah, ha, Miss, you would not dare to use such expressions in 
French ! Stick to your mother tongue ; it restrains you. It wasn't 
at all 'beastly' of me to say that. It was to clear the ground. It 
was to save you the embarrassment of having to make a certain 
announcement one of these days." 

Claire did not look much mollified by this. 

" If mamma heard you talking like that," she observed, " she 
would wash your head for you." 

"If mamma heard you talking of 'perfectly beastly' you would 
be soaped, my dear. As a matter of fact she and I quite approve, 
and you know very well that she and I can persuade papa of any- 
thing; if you are too uppish I shall withdraw my consent, and then 
see what papa says ! " 

" You don't mean to say," said Claire in a tone of horror, " that 
you and she have been discussing this," 


"Yes, I do. It is quite correct. Young ladies are not to 
arrange these matters for themselves. The heads- of their families 
have to adjust their opinions first." 

" You one of the heads of my family ! What I shall have 
to talk English again." 

" Well ! " 

"Claire! I'm sure your excellent Meess (what names Eng- 
lish Meesses do have! Mac-Gilly, Cudd-y, wasn't it)? I'm sure 
she never taught you to say 'what cheek !' ' 

" No, it was you." 

" Pray understand that though there are no genders in Eng- 
lish, there is masculine English and feminine English. I may talk 
of your cheek, but you may not talk of mine. Yours by the way 
is slightly flushed ...... " 

Claire, still unreconciled, went off to her duties. All the same 
there was a grain of truth in what Henri had said. If something 
did happen, the fact that her mother and brother were cordial in 
approval, would certainly go far to secure her father's consent. 


Raymond continued to improve. He was able to eat well, and 
almost hourly seemed to recover strength. The cough was wholly 
gone. The doctors, who had not yet made another examination of 
the wound, began to hope that an operation might be possible, and 
the piece of shrapnel be removed. When they did examine the 
wound they found that the piece of shell had come away and was 
near the entrance of it. It could be taken out instantly and with- 
out an anesthetic. The wound itself was already much more 
healthy, and now it would only be necessary to encourage its 
healing. Hitherto it had been essential to keep it open. 

As Raymond was now able to talk, not only without fatigue or 
danger of bringing on the cough that had agonized him, but in a 
much stronger voice, Henri asked to be moved across the ward to 
the bed next his, rendered vacant by the departure of one of the 
wounded. Raymond was delighted, and Madame de St. Hilaire 
gave her consent. 

Henri could not help teasing his sister, and said to her before 
he was moved across : " You see I shall thus be able to improve 
my mind by hearing your conversation with Captain d'Argnes." 


" He talks a great deal more to your little stretcher-bearer than 
he does to me." 

" One can understand that. Roussel is not frivolous. He does 
not say 'cheek/ " 

The priest came to Raymond and gave him conditional baptism 
and heard his confession, his profession of faith, and absolved him. 
For his first Holy Communion it was decided that he should wait 
till he should be able to go to the convent chapel. But at St. Just 
there lives a bishop, not the bishop of the vast diocese, but one of 
his Vicars General, and he came to the hospital and gave Raymond 
confirmation. While he did this screens were arranged around 
the patient's bed. As he came out, when the brief rite was finished, 
he saw Henri looking up in his face, and he smiled. 

"Everything goes well, my brave man?" asked the bishop, 
and as he smiled the young cuirassier thought : " What a good 
man. There is my priest." 

" Monsignor! " he said aloud. And he made a little gesture 
for the bishop to stoop down. 

" Yes ? What is it my brave man ? " 

" You have just made a soldier of Christ of that Christian," 
said Henri, " now make a little Christian of this soldier. I want 
to confess myself." 

For a bishop, monsignor was young; he was not yet ten years 
old in the priesthood. 

" I had to do that before," he said, smiling down into the honest 
young eyes. "I was a soldier too : not an officer, just a little corporal 
of infantry " (he was about six feet high) " and one day The 
Captain called me and orders are orders I had to obey. I had 
to change armies and make myself a Christian. I tell you this 
that you may feel that I know all about it. I do not mean that one 
cannot be a good Christian in our glorious French army; I know 
there are hundreds of thousands : I only mean that / was not." 

He spoke so simply, so wholly without pose or unctuousness, 
that Henri was quite sure he had been right in thinking, " Here is 
my priest." 

The screens were still round Raymond's bed, and as Henri's 
was the last at the end of the ward, no one saw that the bishop was 
sitting at his side. It was only just as he was going away that the 
little stretcher-bearer came to take away the screens. Claire came 
up at the same time. When the bishop had gone Henri, who was 
as teasing as ever, said to her: 


" I shall not send for a priest." 

" Oh, you have changed your mind." 

She did not speak reproachfully, but he saw at once that she 
was disappointed that he had gone back of his word. 

" After all a bishop is a priest," he observed, making a queer 
little face at her. 

" Do you mean ? " she asked eagerly in a low voice. 

:< Yes." And though he only nodded she understood. 

" Isn't he nice? " she asked. She had far too much tact and 
instinct to gush forth in congratulations. All the same she was in 
her heart thanking God : she felt sure it was years since he had been 
to confession. 

" After all," whispered Henri, with a little jerk of his head to- 
wards Raymond's bed, it was his idea, wasn't it? I had not the 
least thought of it." 

Another patient called her, and Henri looked towards Roussel 
who had just finished taking away the screens and was about to 
go away himself. He caught the lad's eye and with a gesture of 
the head invited him to come near. 

" Roussel," he said, when the little stretcher-bearer was stand- 
ing by his bedside, " did you hear my sister and me talking? " 

"Of course I did. But I was going and coming, and only- 
caught one sentence; besides you were neither of you talking 

" What was the sentence? " 

" I thought," the lad answered honestly, " that I heard you 
say, 'I shall not need a priest.' I then took one of the screens 
away to the end of the ward." 

" I suppose you were sorry? " 

" I had not known you had ever thought of sending for a 
priest. But I was sorry." 

"You would like me to confess myself? Don't you often 
find it hard to find anything to say ? " 

" No. But I have heard some people say that they found it 

" Ah ! that's the worst of going too often. I had no diffi- 

He could not help teasing even Roussel a little, but he liked 
much better making him happy. 

" I told Claire," he said, " that I should not send for a priest 
because I had confessed to the bishop." 



By the time Raymond was well enough to go to the chapel for 
his First Communion, Henri was also able to be up ; though he could 
not walk. He went in a wheeled chair to the chapel and received 
Holy Communion too. On the afternoon of that day he was again 
wheeling himself about in the chair, though only in the ward. And 
Claire was helping him. Their mother and Mrs. d'Argnes were 
talking to Raymond quite at the other end of the ward. Presently 
the door opened, and Madame de St. Hilaire came in and at her side 
walked Count d'Argnes. Neither of his children saw him enter: 
their backs were turned to that end of the ward. 

" Claire," Henri was saying, " today has an odd feeling. Can 
you understand ? " 

" Yes, I think so." 

" It feels," the young cuirassier said, " like the day of my First 

" Henri," she said, almost in his ear as she leant over the back 
of the wheeled-chair, " I was afraid you would have had too much 
human respect. The chapel was so full, and you not being able 
to go to the altar made it worse." 

He had occupied a bench quite at the front, and the priest had 
brought the Blessed Sacrament to him there. 

" Oh," he said, " the little stretcher-bearer taught me not to 
mind about human respect. He thinks he is a coward, and I know 
he would go to Holy Communion before ten thousand unbelievers." 

Madame de St. Hilaire touched Claire upon the shoulder and 

" Look down there, you two people, see what visitor I have 
brought you." 

Claire turned the chair round with a rapid sweep, and at the 
same moment they both saw their father and mother coming to- 
wards them. 

" Papa ! " they cried. 

" Yes. I am here ! I took it into my head to come and see 
what you were all about." 

. Madame de St. Hilaire went away and left them to themselves. 

" Sit down," said Henri, " that's my bed." 

And M. d'Argnes sat down upon it. 

" Henri," he said, " I find you very well. You have recovered 


nicely. And Claire I think the change of air has done her good. 
Madame de St. Hilaire tells me she is a very good nurse, but she 
does not look overworked/' 

" Oh, no," declared her brother, " Claire has excellent distrac- 

His sister looked savage and her mother looked inclined to give 
her son a slap; but one cannot box wounded men's ears, and he 

" Captain d'Argnes," said the Count, " looks almost well. His 
mother is not much like him a very noble woman, but : no I find 
no resemblance." 

" Claire does not find any either," remarked her brother in a 
disengaged manner. " Papa ! should you like Claire to enter holy 

My dear boy," cried her father, " what on earth do you 
mean ? " 

" She is determined never to change her name." 

Count d'Argnes adjusted his pince-nez and looked at each 
member of his family in turn. 

"What is Henri talking about?" he asked appealingly. 

" Well, circumstances," said Henri, " lead me to the convic- 
tion that she is resolved to stick to the name of d'Argnes." 

His mother was trying not to laugh, and Claire was trying 
(with very indifferent success) to look loftily unconcerned by her 
brother's foolish remarks. His father, without any endeavor at 
all, was looking thoroughly puzzled. 

" There seem," said Henri, " only two ways in which she can 
carry out her plan; one way is to enter holy religion; the 

other ," and he gently raised a crutch and pointed down the 

ward to Raymond's mother, whose tall figure was turned their 
way. Raymond himself, with his back to them, was hidden in the 

big armchair in which he was sitting. " the other," explained 

Henri, " is to do as she did." 

" As she did ? " repeated his father. 

" Yes. Didn't she marry a Mr. d'Argnes ? I think it an 
excellent plan: and so does mother. As for Claire, I suspect it's 
about the only thing in which she would be disposed to imitate our 
good friend, Raymond's mother." 



(BETHLEHEM, 1916.) 

" Close to your heart, O take Me, Mother ! 

Close to your bosom hold ! 

There are cries in the night that shake Me, Mother, 
And the wind of the world is cold ! " 

Sweet, O be quiet; safe in my keeping 

Nothing shall hurt or harm! 
('Tis only the throb of my wild heart weeping 

The pulse of my loving arm.) 

" But the wind is bitter and chill, My Mother, 

And the world is turning dark, 
And the voice of Love is still, My Mother, 
While the Wolves of Anger bark ! 

" And where is the light of My Star, O Mother, 

That was so wont to glow, 
Beckoning far and far, O Mother, 
Over the Christmas snow? 

" Will the Shepherds come no more, My Mother, 

Nor hear when the Angel sings ? " 
They come no more! They have lost one another! 
And they quarrel with the ancient Kings! 

" And the Kings ? they bring no more love-treasures ; 

Nor magi nor paladin " 

They have gone them down, for hates and pleasures, 
Into the V 'alley of Sin! ' 

1916.] THE CRIMSON SNOW 333 

" O, cry to the Kings then, Mother My Mother, 

And call to the Shepherds dear! 
Tell them I love them, brother and brother, 
Plowman or prince or seer 

" Call to them sweet and loud, O Mother ! 

Cry, ere the Star be lost 
For a terrible dark cloud, O Mother, 
Breathes through the Christmas frost, 

" A cloud that is deathly mortal, Mother " 

('Tis smoke from the gates of hell!) 
" But who hath opened that portal, Mother?" 

Ah, who? And who will tell? 

"And look, O Mother, My Mother, look! 

There is blood on the Christmas snow, 
And blood on the sea, of brother and brother, 
And blood where the rivers flow ! 

" And O, the grief on the wind and storm, 

And O, the cries of pain ! 
And whiter than snow, the stark white form 
Of brother by brother slain! 

" Mother, My Mother, lift Me high 

Ere the sun in the dawn hath swooned, 
And show Me to my brother's eye 
Ere he die of his gaping wound! 

" Higher and high, O Mother, hold ! 

And cry to the world of men, 
Till Shepherd and King and Seer, as of old, 
Come back to My crib again ! " 



Make we merry on this feast, 
For Verbum Caro factum est. 

HAT is known as the Christmas spirit is rather wide- 
ly believed to have been either invented or discovered 
about midway in the Victorian era by one Charles 
Dickens. With his name are inseparably connected 
the holly and the mistletoe, the roaring fires bidding 
defiance to the blasts without, the loosening of purse and heart- 
strings, and the generally prevalent jollity. Of course what Dickens 
really did was to rescue the shreds of Catholic merriment which 
had survived Elizabethan scolding and Puritan frown. 

The Christmas spirit has had for centuries a hard struggle 
of it, but there are evidences that it is coming into its own again. 
In New York, for instance, within the past few years, a beautiful 
custom has grown up. In the centre of one of the open squares a 
gigantic tree is erected, which after nightfall is ablaze with in- 
numerable lights, and in their glow multitudes pause in their haste 
and lend their voices to the carols that ring out across the snowy 
streets. Day laborers and shop-girls on their way homeward, dere- 
licts whose feet have long forgotten that way, and occasionally 
fine ladies and scholarly-looking men join, timidly at first, and 
then with full tones, in the strains of " Holy Night " and other 
Christmas anthems. 

There is an air of groping about the affair, but unquestionably 
it. is a step in the right direction, an attempted return to the days 
of wassail and carol and noel. The pity is that the step should 
not have been taken under Catholic auspices, that the Christmas 
spirit should be credited to the pen of a Protestant novelist and 
the revival of carol singing to a movement for civic improvement. 
For a merry Christmas is a matter of logic, and Catholics alone 
have never deviated from the premises to which a merry Christmas 
is the conclusion. Quid natus est vobis hodie Salvator mundi, 
was the angelic explanation, and this quia runs like a golden note 
through all the mirth of the Christmas season. It is the only 
explanation of the boar's head and the plum-pudding, of the 


Christmas tree and the rierges de Noel and the gleeful governance 
of the Lord of Misrule. It is the motif of all the Christmas carols 
that ever were sung and they all are, moreover, a peculiarly Catholic 
institution and possession, so much so that a statute of Elizabeth 
visited dire penalties on the heads of carol singers, while the Crom- 
wellian Parliament, in its efforts to suppress Popery, went farther, 
and enacted that " no observance be held of the five and twentieth 
day of December, commonly called Christmas Day." 

There is, notwithstanding these repressive measures, a volu- 
minous literature on the subject, although much of it is fragmentary 
or mutilated, and we can only fear that many a melodious round 
has been hushed into oblivion. The noe'ls have fared somewhat 
better, for those that live on in the patois of the provinces are still 
sung at each succeeding veillee, which is the period between the 
family supper and midnight Mass, a service attended by the entire 
community as a matter of course. The same simplicity of concept 
and expression characterizes all these outpourings of the faith of 
a people, whether in English or patois or pure French. If we 
sometimes meet with a phrase or a word which does not measure 
up to our standards of literary elegance, we must remember that 
these songs were produced by people given to plain-speaking, to 
whom religion was for everyday use, and whose religion was 
characterized by a loving familiarity with God. They were, as 
it has been said, " at ease in His Presence." To them the Redemp- 
tion was not a remote historical fact, but an ever present source 
of exuberant joy, an event of the most vital importance to Mall 
and Will and Margoton. Hence the ineffable charm of their 
anachronisms, as in the noe'l which describes the Infant Jesus as 
saying the rosary on His Mother's breast. 

As a general thing both noe'l and carol w r ere folk-songs pure 
and simple, handed down from generation to generation, sometimes 
by word of mouth, sometimes by being preserved in commonplace 
books. The noe'ls of Burgundy, however, belong to a different 
category, being the work of Bernard de La Monnoye, who deserves 
more than a passing mention. He was a native of Dijon, who, in 
the reign of le roi soleil, abandoned the profession of law, in which 
he had brillant prospects, to devote himself to literature. Five 
of his poems were crowned by the academy, but despite this success 
he declared that next to pure water he hated pure French, and for 
the purpose of exalting his native Burgundian speech he wrote in 
that dialect, under the name of GUI Barozai, a collection of noe'ls 


which have had all the popular vogue of songs born of the hearts of 
the people. 

There was not a detail of the great mystery with which these 
songs did not deal in loving fashion, the Annunciation especially 
seeming to hold particular charms for the carollers. Thus the 
fifteenth century " Listen, lordings both lief and dear," treats it 
exquisitely : 

The angel answered anon full well, 

" Mary, dread thee never a deal, 
Thou shalt conceive a Son full well, 

The Holy Ghost shall shadow thee." 

Mary on breast her hand she laid, 

Still she stood and thus she said : 
" Lo me here, God's own handmaid, 

In heart and will and body free." 

This was the note which Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his 
brethren sought in vain to capture, and which can only be caught 
in the meshes of a simple faith. What the pre-Raphaelites achieved 
was art; what eluded them was artlessness. 

In many of the carols will be noticed a facile mingling of Eng- 
lish and Latin words, an evidence of the people's familiarity with 
what Blessed Edmund Campion called " a language that God under- 
stands : " 

Mary mother, be not adread, 
Jesu is in your body bred, 
And of your breast He will be fed 
Cum pudoris lilio. 

A Breton nativity play accompanies Our Lady and St. Joseph 
to Bethlehem. On the weary road they discuss the edict of Caesar 
and the great Event which is about to transpire, and St. Joseph 
calls Our Lady's attention to the fine appearance of the little town, 
with its towers and maisons fermees. At last they come to an inn, 
but are roughly told to be off, as this hostelry is not for trundaille, 
but for travelers by coach and horseback. Disheartened, they be- 
take themselves to a stable, which they describe ruefully as not 
being fit for " a king or a constable." " The hour is come," says 
this Princess of the House of David, and the stage directions which 
followed read with terrifying simplicity : " Icy naist Jesuschrist." 


The visit of the shepherds and the kings to the crib was a 
subject so universally attractive as to give rise to a quite distinct 
class of noels, which consisted in the description of whole retinues 
of people who came to pay homage to the new-born Saviour. 
Here anachronism ran riot and joy joined hands with love in an 
exultant dance about the manger. Sometimes this form of noel 
afforded the opportunity for a bit of sly fun, as in La Monnoye's 
Noel des Princes and the satirical Noel de Luneville, in which St. 
Michael receives and rejects on the score of some shortcoming the 
representatives of the various religious orders of that town. In this 
category belongs what is perhaps the most delightful noel ever 
written, the Breton Noel des Qiseaux, in which all the birds of 
the air accompany the angels on their earthward flight and flutter 
lovingly around the crib. The swallow expresses his regret that 
the Divine Child should have such a wretched house and offers 
to help build another, "I am something of a mason," says he; 
the skylark alights from a prolonged flight and expires beside her 
Lord (Dom Gueranger's comment on this verse is that the lark 
has reached heaven at last) ; the chaffinch amuses the Child with 
his "little language;" the canary announces that he flew from 
New France the moment he heard of the Saviour's birth; the 
magpie comes hopping towards Him, bearing in her beak a present, 
we hope well-gotten; while the linnet sets a magnificent song to a 
new air for " the sweet Son of the Most High." 

There is a strikingly life-like air about the shepherds of the 
noels of Lorraine, which were the products of a pastoral people, 
an added touch of realism consisting in the fact that in the dialogue 
the shepherds speak patois and the angels and the kings pure 
French. A certain fine courtesy distinguishes all these rustic folk. 
Thus a Burgundian politely greets Our Lady and St. Joseph at 
the door and requests to be allowed to see " the Fruit of Life." 
A Breton reassures his diffident companion, who fears that he will 
not be equal to the occasion, by declaring that when he reaches the 
stable he will inquire concerning the health of all whom Our 
Saviour has left in His heavenly home. Elsewhere St. Joseph 
apologizes to the three Kings, " masters in astrology," who are 
warrantably dismayed by the ass' extraordinary contribution to 
the general rejoicing, his effort being described as " un beau couplet 
d'Arcadie." "Lo! he merries," cries out Pastor primus, in a 
Townely mystery, and acting on that impulse, which stirs every 
.heart that comes to Ithe knowledge of the Gift of God, he exclaims : 

VOL. CIV. 22 


" Have a bob of cherries ! " Another offers Him a bird, another 
a ball that he may play tennis, another a pot of cream, and 
Blaizotte conjured Gui Barozai, " Thou who makest rhymes, offer 
him songs." 

In the " chant natal " of Barthelemy Aneau, an attempt at 
historical accuracy has been made by calling the shepherds by 
Hebrew names, but the jocund singer of the carol known as " Jolly 
Wat " was undisturbed by such solicitude. 

The shepherd upon a hill he sat, 
He ware his tabard and his hat, 
He had tarbox, pipe and flageolet, 
And his name was Jolly, Jolly Wat, 
For he was a good herd boy. 

Wat, having heard the angel's tidings and visited the crib, 
is not to be outdone in generosity and courtesy by Breton or Bur- 

Jesu, my pipe, I give to Thee, 
Robe, tarbox, scrip I offer free, 
Home to my fellows now I flee, 
The sheep, methinks, have need of me. 

Ut Hoy. 
What shall I sing? 

Now farewell, Wat, my herdsman true. 
What, Lady, so my name ye knew ? 
Lull ye my Lord to sleep anew, 
And Joseph, now good day to you. 

Ut Hoy. 
What shall I sing? 

Now dance and sing full well I may, 
For at Christ's birth was I today, 
Home to my mates I'll take my way, 
Christ bring us all to bliss I pray. 

Ut Hoy! 

In his pipe he made so much joy, 
What shall I sing but Hoy? 

The shepherd's pipes figure in the following carol also, and 
it is not difficult to imagine what feats of skirling accompanied the 
jubilant lines ; 


About the fields they piped right 

So merrily the shepherds began to blow ; 

Adown from heaven that is so high 

Tyrle, tyrlow, tyrle, tyrlow. 

Of angels there came a company 
With merry songs and melody, 
The shepherds anon gan them aspy, 

Tyrle, tyrlow, tyrle, tyrlow. 

But what makes the strongest appeal to all these sturdy hearts 
is the littleness of the Lord. It seems as though women must have 
had a hand in some of the carols, so mothering are they. They 
delight in coining diminutives for the Divine Infant. "Little day 
star," they call Him, and they fashion for His Mother's lips such 
adoring lullabies as " Lullay, Thou little tiny Child," and 

Lullay, mine liking, my dear Son, my Sweeting, 
Lullay, my dear Heart, my own dear Darling. 

In " Quid petis, O Fili ? " the Holy Child stammers delicious 
baby Latin to His Mother, and it would be difficult to surpass the 
mingling of awe and tenderness in these lines : 

"Ah, my dear ! ah, my dear Son ! " 
Said Lady Mary, " Ah, my dear ! 
Kiss thy Mother, Jesu, 
With a laughing cheer. 

" A laughing cheer." So all the laughter at Bethlehem, they 
would assure us, was not brought thither by the shepherds and 
the kings : 

There was mickel melody 

At that Childes birth, 
Though the songsters were heavenly 
They made mickel mirth. 

And having given us a vision of mirth-making angels they 
depict a still more startling picture in this carol from the west of 
England : 

As I 'sat under a sycamore tree, a sycamore tree, a sycamore tree, 
I looked me out upon the sea, 

A Christmas day in the morning. 


I saw three ships a-sailing there, a-sailing there, a-sailing there, 
The Virgin Mary and Christ they bare, 
A Christmas day in the morning. 

He did whistle and she did sing, she did sing, she did sing, 
And all the bells on earth did ring, 
A Christmas day in the morning. 

After this the wassails and the waits are so much a matter of 
course as to be almost an anticlimax, and we know that he did not 
appeal in vain who sang: 

Bring us in good ale, bring us in good ale, 

For Our Blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale. 

And still less astonished are we to hear : 

Wassail, wassail, wassail, sing we, 
In honor of Christ's Nativity. 

The famous boar's head song is still sung at Queen's College, 
Oxford, in reminiscence of the days when England was merry 
England because it was Catholic England. The mumming which 
prevailed at this season is said to have been derived from a pagan 
festival which was observed in similar fashion. There is nothing to 
prevent our seeing in the Christian adaption of the custom a com- 
memoration of Our Saviour's masking of His Divinity when He 
assumed human nature and lay at Bethlehem between the ox and 
the ass, but indeed there is no necessity of going in search of an 
explanation beyond the child-like love of make-believe, which gave 
" Nicholas and his clerks" such a high hand at this season. It was, 
as it is today, according to the spirit of the Church to make merry, 
and everyone was expected to do his share : 

Let no man come into this hall, 
Groom, page, nor yet marshall, 
But that some sport he bring withal, 
For now is the time of Christmas. 

The honor of adorning the festival was hotly contested by 
the holly and the ivy, and the partisans of the holly invested it 
with a beautiful symbolism. 

I 9 i6.] A MERRY CHRISTMAS 34 r 

The holly bears a blossom 

As white as lily flower, 
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ 

To be our Saviour. 

The holly bears a berry 

As red as any blood, 
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ 

To do poor sinners good. 

The holly bears a prickle 

As sharp as any thorn, 
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ 

On Christmas Day in the morn. 

When the Chinese wish to describe a man's lack of literary 
ability they say, " he has no ink in his stomach." The stomachs 
of these singers may have been empty of ink, but how full their 
hearts were of poetry. They have, moreover, left us a glorious 
heritage, and it is not fitting that we, who have kept the faith which 
was their inspiration, should relinquish the songs which that faith 
inspired. It is well also to bear in mind Our Lady's pact with 
her Son: 

Whosoever they be 

That can and will be 

Merry on this day, 

To bliss them bring 

And I shall sing 

Lully by, by lully, lully. 



WO incidents in the New Testament contain a certain 
element of surprise: the Lord's manner of ad- 
dressing His Mother when she found Him in the 
Temple ; and when, some years later, at the wedding 
feast of Cana, she turned to tell Him that the guests 
were in want of wine. The abrupt, incisive answer of the Saviour 
on these two occasions has been the theme of commentators since 
Christianity began ; and to many, if not to most, the text seems to 
stand in need of some explanatory softening. It is not our in- 
tention to marshal the host of comments which these passages have 
occasioned, or to crowd the reader's vision with their detailed 
review; one could scarcely compass an end so vast in a thick 
and heavy tome. Ours is the more modest purpose of suggesting 
a principle of explanation which is capable of strict establishment 
from the Scriptures, and which, whatever else one may say of it, 
cannot be charged with having been " piously invented " to gloss 
a difficulty or smooth a wrinkle of the sacred page. In the 
course of the theme we shall endeavor also to establish that the 
principle of explanation here tentatively thrown out is of general 
validity and sweep, by no means confined to the pair of incidents 
first considered, but running through the whole course of the Lord's 
utterances from the Temple to the Cross, as an adopted policy of 
speech, as part of a deliberatively chosen and effective teaching 
method, in the light of which, as in a dissolving medium, apparent 
incivilities disappear, and one's ruffled sense of fitness regains com- 

The Finding in the Temple is one of the most familiar, moving 
incidents in Holy Writ. 1 The Child Jesus, then a boy of twelve, 
went up from Nazareth to Jerusalem in the custody of His parents 
to celebrate the feast of the Pasch, as was their yearly wont. The 
sacrifices over, His parents began their plodding journey home- 
wards, little dreaming that the Child had remained behind in the city 
for purposes of His own. The returning pilgrims had left Jerusalem 
a good day's march behind and had halted for the night, before 

*Luke ii. 41-52. See verse 40, preceding, for the reason of their confidence. 


the Child's absence was discovered. The tardiness of this recogni- 
tion be it noted in passing argues no negligence on the parents' 
part. The Child's obedience and prudence had hitherto been of the 
kind that inspires perfect, unquestioning trust; and the apparent 
unconcern of His parents was the natural fruit of this experience 
a revelation of their confidence, not a proof of their remissness or 

It was not unusual in those days for the inhabitants of a single 
village, or of several neighboring towns, to travel together in a 
caravan; and if customs now prevailing in Bible lands are any 
clue to the way pilgrimages were conducted in Gospel times, the 
women set out first, and the men followed, older children traveling 
with either parent, the younger with the mother. What more 
natural, were such the case, as in all likelihood it was, than that 
each parent should fancy the Child returning with the other, and 
give the matter no further thought. Nothing out of the ordinary 
had thus far happened to ruffle the even coursing of His way. The 
Child as yet had exhibited no sign of taking over the government 
of His conduct into His own hands. He had behaved after the 
manner of ordinary children, and this had led His parents to feel 
assured that the time of His public self -manifestation was far from 
nigh. One day, indeed, He would define Himself and His mission 
quite independently of parental influence and control, but that day 
lay somewhere in the distant future, they thought, and sufficient 
forewarning would be had against its coming. The charge of 
parental neglect can find lodgment only in the minds of those who 
have no eyes for the exceptional in history, who see nothing but 
the usual occurring everywhere, and whose wits are never so readily 
assembled for any purpose as for that of vulgarizing the uncommon. 

The surprise of Mary and Joseph, when they discovered 
that the Hope of Israel was not returning in their company, may 
be left to noble souls, whose sense of trust is perfect, to imagine. 
They beheld their well-established confidence melt suddenly into 
self-reproach, and they felt their spirits toss in the cross-currents 
of wonderment. Little recked they that the Eternal Day had 
broken without the expected previous heralding of the Dawn! 
They turned back at once to seek Him, mentally ill at ease that He 
should have taken it upon Himself to act in such an unaccountable 
manner. It probably took them a whole day to make a thorough 
search among their kinsfolk and acquaintance of the Nazareth 
caravan, which had a peopled length that must have seemed well nigh 


endless to their disquietude of spirit. Another day of inquiry spent 
in the city itself saw evening fall without advantage to their quest. 
The third day brought their anguished footfalls to the terrace within 
the Temple enclosure, where members of the Sanhedrin, on sabbaths 
and festivals, gave public instruction to the remaining pilgrims; 
and there, seated among the Doctors possibly Gamaliel, Joseph of 
Arimathea, Annas, Caiphas, Simeon, and Nicodemus a rapt lis- 
tener and a searching questioner, they found the Child Whom their 
weary minds and hearts and feet had been three days seeking ; and 
to their intense agony and surprise they found Him upon far other 
things intent than the anxiety of His questing parents. 

The hurt and astonished Mother was the first to speak : " Son, 
why hast Thou done so to us ? Behold, thy father and I have sought 
Thee sorrowing." To which the Child made answer, not by prof- 
fering excuse, but by publicly intimating His Divinity before the 
learned circle in the centre of which He stood : " How is it that you 
sought Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father's 
business? " Even should we translate the ambiguous Greek dative 
in another way, so as to make it read " in My Father's house " 
rather than " about My Father's business ;" the place where they 
should have looked for Him rather than what He would be about 
when found it was the public intimation of His Divine Sonship 
that proved astounding and unintelligible to His Mother. 

She naturally thought it strange that without parental consul- 
tation or consent, He should reveal Himself to the Temple teachers 
who neither knew nor loved Him, as she did, for all the gentle 
wisdom of His years. It was the telling of the mystery to others, 
without admitting His Mother and adoptive father into the secret 
of His design, that proved so utterly surprising. His choice of 
moment, place, and audience for His first partial self -disclosure 
this and the secretive way He went about it proved a mystery 
beyond their full fathoming at the time. The Mother felt that she 
had lost the Child in more senses than the spatial; and she had. 
In Him were the two orders of action, one referring to the common 
life of men, the other directly to His mission. In the first He was 
her subject; in the second, her Lord and King. The visit to the 
Temple belonged to this second order of operations, and stood out- 
side the range of her personal jurisdiction. His Mother was not 
ignorant of this mysterious economy ; but she could not know in- 
dependently of a special revelation, which was not fitting in the 
circumstances that her separation from Jesus belonged to the 


second order of His activity," 2 as above described. Her thoughts 
were all of the first sphere of relationship, and hence the genuine- 
ness of her wonder and the intensity of her pain. 

The Mother's knowledge is not the least in question. The sur- 
prised counter query of the Child, " Did you not know that I must 
be about My Father's business? " is ample proof of that assertion, 
were other evidence lacking, which is not the case. It is not a 
question of her knowing the mystery of His nature and mission, 
it is a question only of her being able at the moment to under- 
stand the mystery of His conduct; to account to herself fully 
for the reasons prompting Him to act in this strange and unac- 
customed way. Knowledge must not be confounded with ability 
to explain conduct, as will become still clearer in the paragraphs to 
follow. Perfect knowledge of the Son's Divinity, allotted work, and 
destiny was perfectly compatible with the genuine feeling of sorrow 
and surprise that this was to be the manner of its divulging; the in- 
dependent, unconsulted way it was to break its seal of secrecy and be- 
gin. Nothing in her previous experiencing of Him as a babe in arms, 
learning to frame His first human words, after the model of her 
own rapt speech ; nothing in His hitherto unbroken silence concern- 
ing His Person and mission had led her to expect that a public act 
directly relating to the accomplishment of His ministry was about 
to be performed. He that was later to counsel the leaving of father 
and mother for the Kingdom's sake, practised that doctrine before 
He preached it, ennobling literature and life with the first example 
of the New Detachment that rose not without its thorns, that 
crown which is set with sacrifices for jewels, and significantly sur- 
mounted by a cross. 

The general law of His public conduct, namely, that He would 
forbear acknowledging His human parentage, and preach His Di- 
vinity outright, as if He knew no earthly tie, taxed the powers of a 
mother's mind and heart, in the first instance of its application. 
What a self -commending story, this The Finding in the Temple ! 
over which an ocean of Christian tears has been sympathetically 
shed. Keim says of it : " This fine and tender picture, in which 
neither truth to nature, nor the beauty which that implies, is violated 

in a single line cannot have been devised by human hands, 

which, when left to themselves were always betrayed into coarseness 
and exaggeration, as shown by the apocryphal gospels." 3 

8 La Mere de Dieu et la Mere des Hommes. By B. Terrien, SJ. Vol. ii., 
p. 64, note. 3 Jesus of Nazareth. English translation. II., p. 137- 


The thought that they, His parents and the privileged sharers 
of His intimacy, were to be as members of the multitude when the 
hour of His self-disclosing came; the knowledge that no private 
announcement of intention had preceded the semi-public avowal, all 
this had its pain of mystery in a mystery so largely one of pain. 
And here we are introduced to the secret of that departure from 
the ordinary conduct of ordinary sons which marks the manner of 
the Lord's discoursing with reference to His Mother. In the ex- 
planation which we are gradually unfolding, to wit that Christ is 
publicly teaching, and not addressing His remarks either personally 
or exclusively to His Mother, but to the listening crowd, whose in- 
struction He has primarily in mind the whole difficulty of a 
slighting reference disappears, and phrases that were dark and 
puzzling become suffused with explanatory light. 

The Lord's answer to His Mother on the terrace of the Temple 
took the form of insistence on His Divine, as distinct from His 
human, Sonship. When He says, "My Father," "My Father's 
business," it is obviously to claim and teach another origin than that 
implied in her statement, " Thy father and I have sought Thee, 
sorrowing." All through His ministry, from these, His first re- 
corded words, to the last, He speaks of My Father, never of Our 
Father, save only in the Lord's Prayer, which was manifestly in- 
tended for utterance on other lips than His. Some critics try to 
sustain the claim that in the Temple Discourse the Child is merely 
insisting on His Abrahamic descent; but the text completely dis- 
poses of this clumsy attempt to limit its significance. It states that 
His parents " understood not the word that He spoke to them," 
and adds that " His Mother kept all these sayings in her heart." 
Were the Child merely confessing that He was a son of Abraham, 
would the Mother, think you, ever have made a mystery out of a 
thing so obvious, and kept it in her heart for further pondering? 
Mature minds do not mistake the commonplace for the mysterious. 
Only critics of an unabashed type do that, as when they would have 
us, like themselves, become evasive, and profess to see a tremendous 
mystery in the profession of descent from Abraham ! 

No, the mystery which His Mother pondered was why the 
Child should secretly leave the tutelage of His parents, and lift, 
even for an instant, the veil of secrecy behind which He had re- 
mained hidden in the solitude of Nazareth. 4 The reason of this 

'La Mtre de Dieu et la Mtre des Hommes. By B. Terrien, SJ. Vol. ii., 
p. 63. 


sudden behavior she could not understand; it was concealed from 
her for the time being; and only in the perspective which the 
years were sure to bring, would it become clear and evident why 
it was that at an age so tender He should in part abandon His 
voluntary obscurity and half-reveal the wondrous character of His 
Person unto men. A knowledge of the mystery that the Son of 
God was tabernacling with her in the flesh did not carry with it 
a comprehension of the reasons impelling Him to this unexpected 
change of conduct; nor did it give immediate insight into the bear- 
ing which this change of conduct had on the fulfillment of His 

What would have happened, had the Child informed her before- 
hand of His prospective visit to the Temple? Would the astound- 
ing event ever have taken place? Did not the very condition of 
its coming to pass require that the parents be kept without knowl- 
edge of the project, lest the privacy of His human relations to 
them take precedence over the publicity of His Divine relations to 
humanity at large? Had He acted otherwise than He did, would 
the world have witnessed the manifestation of His early plenitude 
of wisdom? Would it have marveled at the superiority which He 
claimed over His earthly parents ? Would it ever have had the oc- 
casion to grasp the full significance of the statement : " He went 
down to Nazareth and was subject to them? " Would it ever have 
had before its eyes the wondrously sad yet wondrously instructive 
spectacle of the Divine distinguishing itself from the human; of 
the Divine seeking self-assertion, without asking leave; that by 
the wounded astonishment of the Mother, and our vicarious ex- 
periencing of it, ever afresh, in a world that changes its denizens 
more swiftly than it does its ways, we might, in the sacrificial 
depths of a Mother's tears, and in the aroused sense of a mystery 
not fully fathomed, cleanse our small souls of the science that 
puffeth up, and refill them with the faith that passes understanding ! 

The Lord's reply to His Mother in the Temple when He so 
strangely confessed His Divinity, instead of acknowledging His 
human parentage, is a vignette, a miniature of His attitude and ac- 
tion throughout the whole course of His public ministry. And it was 
the detection of this fact, the discovery of this general law of con- 
duct, that suggested the present theory in an intuitional flash. The 
thought leaped to light, that the Temple Story contains two fea- 
tures which are characteristic of the Lord's preaching, His whole 
life through the affirmation of Divinity, coupled with the omis- 


sion of all reference to His human origin, or to the relations thence 
deriving. This is clearly the kernel of the narrative, the very 
pith of its substance, the actual reason for its insertion in the 
Gospel of the Infancy, where coming events are seen casting their 
shadows before for whoso would penetrate beneath the letter which 
killeth to the spirit which giveth life; and this astonishing revela- 
tion of a plan and method, right here at the threshold of His 
career, nay, long before that career was to see its real inception, 
linked up so consistently, and fell in so readily, with the whole 
chain of subsequent events and incidents in the Lord's teaching 
ministry, that it seemed to furnish a forecast, an anticipative sketch, 
a leading clue; and the present writer determined to work it out, 
to see if it really had the potency, of which it gave such roseate 
promise in advance. 

Taking it simply as a forecast, one finds oneself prepared for 
much that follows, and things come out of their surrounding hazes 
with astonishing ease. The Man, we may safely predict, will follow 
the leadings of the Child. His teaching of the multitude will be as 
His teaching of the Doctors. He will emphasize His Divine Sonship 
in contradistinction to the human. He will take occasion, even of 
His Mother's words and presence, to accentuate the Divine. He will 
not call her " mother " in His public utterances, we feel sure, lest the 
thought of His hearers be drawn away from the recognition of His 
heavenly origin, by the employment of that most tender of all human 
words. And she will understand was it not one of the sad 
thoughts she gathered from the Discourse in the Temple? that it 
must needs so be for the successful accomplishment of His teach- 
ing mission, especially among a people already wrongly persuaded 
that " when the Messiah comes, no man will know whence He is." 5 

Had He not asserted His filial relation to the Father of all 
light, when she had asked Him before the Doctors why it was that 
He had caused her and her guardian spouse a triduum of quest 
and grief ? The visible and obvious side of His being would mani- 
festly have to suffer lack of public stress, even to the suppression 
of filial human references to His Mother, lest its familiar mention- 
ing distract from that other and higher filiation which it was the 
burden of His life, His work, and His example to preach and 
teach. His Mother would know from His private manifestations 
of love and fealty, that the publicly unexpressed concerned her 
relations to the Teacher, not her relations to the Son; and that 

"John vii. 27. 


it was dictated by the pressing necessity of making known the 
Divine, not by any personal desire to minimize the human or 
disown it. To this urgency of the teaching office, to this spread 
of redeeming knowledge, maternal affection w r ould have to yield 
the customary civilities, sacrificing love to light, that the Orient 
from on high might win His way without distraction into the souls 
of men ! 

When we turn to the subsequent pages of the New Testament, 
we find that this was the actual manner which the Lord's discoursing 
took. Events fell out just as the Temple Incident foreshadowed 
that they would. At the wedding feast of Cana 6 when the Mother 
called the Son's attention to the deficiency of wine, she elicited a 
reply that has seemed brusque to many the ages through, but 
which, strange to say, left her perfectly tranquil and untroubled, 
as may be seen from the confident manner in which she ordered 
the servants to do as the Messiah bade. " Woman, what is it to 
Me and thee? " He had replied. " My time is not yet come." 

Understood as a personal statement, directed by the Gentle 
One to her from whom He drew His earthly frame, this reply has 
all the appearance of a discourteous incivility. It amounts to a 
declaration that there is nothing in common between the Mother 
and the Son. But must it be so taken ? A precious incidental re- 
mark made by the Evangelist shows that the answer was not 
really intended for the person addressed. The sacred writer states 
that "His disciples were also invited;" 7 and this statement, from 
the point of view which we are now occupying, puts an entirely 
different complexion on the Lord's answer and the direction in 
which He meant it to travel. It contained a certain amount of in- 
struction for His disciples, and it was they who were in the mid- 
field of His attention when the remark was made. That no ele- 
ment of personal rebuke to His Mother was either intended or 
conveyed is amply established by the fact that her request was at 
once granted and that she herself felt so sure of its granting as to 
advise the servants of their part in the preliminaries to its accom- 
plishment. " The conscious water saw its God and blushed; " and 
if the Mother's countenance imitated its incarnadining, it was not 
from confusion at what the Son had said, but from the joyous 
realization that He had done this gracious deed for love of her and 
" before His time." 

It is evident from the circumstances narrated that the " mys- 

"John ii. i-n. *lbid., v. 2, v. u. 


tery " of the Lord's manner in the Temple had by this time cleared 
itself up for His Mother, in the recognition of His teaching method, 
and of her own self-sacrificing position as an occasion for its exer- 
cise. She could now well understand the instructive sadness of the 
Finding in the Temple, and see to what wondrous purposes it was 
wed. The great sacrifice His and hers had revealed its inter- 
active nature and function. The didactic character of the Lord's 
manner of address; the element of instruction wrapt up in it for 
conveyance unto others what was this but the uplifting of her 
unmentioned motherhood into the service of the Divine, that her 
self-emptying might not leave His uncompanioned and unshared? 
The two psychologies the Divine and the human had met mid- 
way in the perfect reconcilement of sacrificial self-giving. Justice 
and love had kissed in the fullness of mutual understanding. 

The presence of instructive elements, the fact that the con- 
versation is not personal but official, furnishes the key to its 
rightful understanding, or rather to put it more modestly seems 
to provide a means to that most desirable of ends. Nor need we 
have recourse to proving, from current or previous literary usage, 
that the word " woman," which the Lord used in addressing His 
Mother at Cana and from the Cross, is interchangeable with that 
of " lady," even though the best of cases may be made out for that 
contention. In the explanation which we are developing, the 
significance of the title " woman " need not be raised, since it is 
employed, not from a filial or personal, but from a didactic or 
official point of view, and has about it none of the features or as- 
sociations of a directly intended discourse. Its use is part of that 
prudential teaching method, in which all the Lord's public refer- 
ences to her who bore Him in the flesh are seized upon as so many 
salient opportunities for the more forceful bringing-out, by contrast, 
of that other and eternal Sonship which is His. Over and above 
His human birth must be emphasized His procession from the 
Father, lest men continue to think of Him as merely the son of 
Joseph, the carpenter, and not be brought to recognize that He 
is verily the Son of God; for this is the baptism with which He 
is baptized, and how straitened is He until it be accomplished ! 

Neither need we trouble to soften the answer : " What is there 
common between us?" It is exactly what our theory would lead 
us to expect; and the phrase may be left as it stands, without our 
attempting in the least to turn or dull its edge by the refinements 
of exegesis. If we take it as said for the instruction of others, 


and cease to view it as a personal reply, the disparaging quality in 
it vanishes like mist, and we behold the Lord teaching His disciples, 
not rebuking His Mother; instructing the guests unto salvation, 
instead of singling out one of the company and she the dearest 
for a barbed allusion and public humiliation. 

And this reminds us of something we have deferred for this 
late mentioning. Commentators agree we are looking backwards 
for a moment that the two verses in St. Luke, 8 which describes 
the Blessed Virgin as " not understanding the word spoken to her " 
by the Child in the Temple, and as " keeping all these sayings in 
her heart " after she had returned to Nazareth commentators agree 
that these two verses contain the actual record of her experience 
at the time, and that she it was who personally told St. Luke of 
the impression of mystery which the Lord's first public words had 
made upon her. If this be so and there is nothing to impair its 
likelihood what a world of difference in the impression which the 
Son's manner of speech made upon her at Cana, from that which 
she had received from His mysterious bearing in the Temple the 
one, all joyous; the other not unmixed with wonderment and 
pain. It is holy ground, and we would be the last to approach it 
with unshodden feet, especially in these novelty-seeking times when 
the venturesome boldly enter where the reverent fear to tread. 

The theory that Our Lord takes occasion of His Mother's 
presence to teach His Divine Sonship in contrast to the human, 
and that not her reproving, but the education of the multitude is 
what He has in mind, finds its likelihood further increased, its 
explanatory power still more strikingly confirmed, by a third in- 
cident 9 recorded in the Gospel, on meeting which the unbeliever 
sharpens his wits, and the faithful become suddenly hushed and 
pensive, it seems so out of keeping with the postulates of the heart. 
Our Lord is preaching, when a voice is heard, conveying the in- 
formation that His Mother and kinsfolk stand without, and would 
have speech with Him. What did the Lord do? Go at once to His 
Mother? No! He turned to His informant, and exclaimed: 
" Who is My mother, and who are My brethren ? And He stretched 
out His hands towards His disciples, and said, Behold My mother 
and My brethren. For whosoever shall do the will of My Father 
Who is in Heaven, the same is My brother, and sister, and mother." 

What are we to think of this arresting passage? There are 
those who would have us gather that it indicates an unsympathetic 

8 Luke ii. 50, 51. "Matt. xii. 47-5. 


attitude towards His Mother and Tdnsfolk, nay, that it is tanta- 
mount to a public disavowal and criticism. They go to great 
lengths of scholarship, such men as these, to link the incident up 
with the previously mentioned hostility of the Lord's " brethren," 10 
and this in glaring despite of the fact that no resumptive particle 
is to be found in the Greek text. Thus theories are ground out 
almost without end, all of them deriving from the parent suppo- 
sition which we have shown to be false that the Lord is here 
uncovering His innermost personal feelings for the vulgar inspec- 
tion of the curious. 

Pause with me, reader, and reflect, lest we, too, go the un- 
worthy way of these, and mistake instruction for personal psy- 
chology; examples of a teaching method for the intimate mental 
history of the Teacher Himself. Give Our Lord the credit of 
knowing the circumstances in which He had to speak, and the 
hostile, self-confident audience, with which He had to deal, then 
as now, and in both cases, equally, to their clear confounding. 
Open the New Testament Scriptures it does not matter much 
at what page; notice the obstacle which the Lord is everywhere 
encountering, in the public fact of His human parentage; and 
think, while so doing, of the simplest, most rudimentary, and, at 
the same time, most efficient method of instruction that which 
proceeds by contrast, with a view to making the opposite of the 
obvious more strikingly known; and ask yourself, in the light 
of this governing reflection, if the theories which refuse the Lord 
this minimum of equipment in knowledge, this fundamental princi- 
ple of common sense, are for an instant worthy to receive a mental 
housing, much less a lengthy entertainment. Are they not intruders 
and obtruders all? Do they not base themselves on a psychology 
so low and common that the very stones cry out in protest, as the 
Master threatened they would, when He rode defiantly into Jeru- 
salem, on the Sabbath of the palms? 

Sursum corda! Such puny edifices of interpretation, built up 
by puny men from the puniest of reflections, all come a-tumbling 
about our ears, are all sapped, undermined, and made collapsible, 
by the fact that the Lord of Israel steadily follows from the Temple 
to the Cross the same highly instructive contrastual method of as- 
serting His heavenly relations, every time His human origin is 
thrust forward upon attention. In the light of this central, con- 
stant, and leading fact, insinuations perish, and the Lord is seen 

"Mark iii. 20, 21. 


to stand at the door of every mind, knocking for entrance against 
the prejudice that would view Him then, that would view Him 
now, as of purely human stature in all things save sin O sar- 
castic exception ! made like unto the rest of men. 

Turn back again this time with purified eyes to the Gospel 
incident; see how it ceases to be a difficulty of exegesis and be- 
comes an illustration of that imperative teaching method which the 
Lord so unswervingly followed from His first recorded words to 
the last. Behold the same quick, sharp reference to "My Father 
Who is in Heaven," the instant His Mother's presence is announced. 
Consider even the gesture: He extends His hands out over the 
crowd, as He tells them that they are His brother, and sister, and 
mother a statement that corrects theirs as sharply, as He cor- 
rected His Mother's gently but firmly in the Temple a statement 
calculated to have a tremendous psychological effect on hearers 
so forcibly reminded of His special relations to God, and His 
special relations to them, at the very moment when their minds 
were all intent upon His human origin, because of the announce- 
ment of His Mother's presence. 

There is not the least indication that He is denying, disown- 
ing, or even underrating His Mother; there is every indication that 
He is proclaiming Himself Divine. The phrase, " My Father Who 
is in heaven," offers ample proof of that, carp at it as critics may 
to eviscerate its substance. The scene is redolent of His manner 
in the Temple, of His manner at Cana; it is not an isolated inci- 
dent, but one of a chain. In this scene, as in the other two, He is 
recalling the minds of His hearers from fleshly to spiritual relation- 
ships, from the consideration of His earthly, to the fact of His 
heavenly, descent; endeavoring thereby to distract attention from 
the one, that the other may receive its due meed of consideration, 
from the sheer force of the contrastual stress which He lays upon 
it. Could further proof be needed that the public is in the focus 
of His attention, His Mother in the margin, and that this displace- 
ment is due, not to a personal, but to a [Messianic attitude having 
for its object no expression of how He personally felt towards her, 
but of how He was compelled to feel towards His listeners, because 
of the prejudice created among them by the fact of His human 
birth and ties? Could any more vivid, dramatic, touching, telling 
example of the teaching art be imagined than this seizure of the 
concrete opportunity offered by His Mother's presence, to con- 
trast His filial relations to her with the filial relations He had to 

VOL. CIV. 23 


God before Abraham was and time began? And should there be 
a reader so coarsely fibred in mind and feeling as to think or say 
of the theory which we are here proposing, that it makes the 
Lord sacrifice His Mother for His own enhancing, let him see the 
grossness of such a view dissolve before his eyes, in the illumi- 
nating reflection that the purpose of the sacrificing was to enrich 
our life by His, not His by ours; for His inner personal glory as 
Son of God is neither enhanced by our recognition of it, nor di- 
minished by our opacity to its claims. 

Who, then, can behold in the scene described, if it be ap- 
proached as we have shown it should, anything more than a didactic 
statement, akin throughout with that other confirmatory passage, 
in which the woman who interrupted His preaching with the cry, 
" Blessed is the womb that bore Thee " n was instantly confronted 
with the reminder that " far more blessed are they who hear the 
word of God and keep it." And who can critically ponder these 
three incidents Jerusalem, Cana, and the visit of His Mother and 
kinsfolk without rising from his reflections with the clarifying 
thought in mind, that the Lord's public statements are all prompted, 
and His public conduct steadily governed, by the necessity of pro- 
claiming His Divinity, and not by any intention or desire to 
disparage her who, alone of all, ministered full human companion- 
ship to His spirit, and who grieved, as none other, when that com- 
panionship was first interrupted on the occasion of His unannounced 
visit to the Temple at the tender age of twelve; a visit which let 
her see, through misting tears, that thenceforth her Child's public 
appeal would sheer away from the whole graded spectrum of human 
relations and emotions, because only in that way and by that re- 
course could existing prejudice be overcome, and the saving in- 
tuition gain credence that " the Word was made flesh and dwelt 
amongst us." 

This was the supreme urgency, and nothing must be suffered 
to stand in the path of its realization. The spiritual had the right 
of way, and must keep it to the end, whatever the cost to human 
emotion, whatever the price affection would have to pay even a 
Mother's and a Son's. Not even on the cross would He call her 
Mother, when He gave us into her care and keeping, in the person 
of the Eagle of Ephesus, the saintly John, who was the disciple 
that had loved Him most, and was most loved in turn ; a mystery 
of supernatural solidarity, this final, soul-stirring commendation of 

"Luke xi. 27. 


His Mother for the Master was teaching still; a mystery of 
solidarity in which the Mother and the Man of Sorrows became as 
one with us, of alien days and climes, who fill up in our pitiably 
poor and unruly members those things that are wanting to His 
passion and to hers. For she is part of the world's redeeming, and 
none may deny her the fullest measure of her voluntary human 
share. As Mother, she suffered eclipse in His public references, 
that the Light might be made to shine in undistracting splendor for 
those that sit in darkness, and in the valley of the shadow of death. 
She made the supreme human sacrifice while He was making the 
Divine. She gave Him the sublime, unprecedented, cooperative 
companionship of self-effacement. She, as Mother, remained in the 
shadows, to give unrequited testimony to the Light; and when 
that testimony was given; when the teaching necessity that called 
it forth no longer urged, she suddenly found herself made forever 
glorious, in a new and unsung Magnificat, by the reflected splendors 
of the Son, which she so self-sacrificingly had aided in increasing 
and spreading. The triumph of her motherhood had to wait until 
the triumph of her womanhood was complete. Ave Maria! Blessed 
indeed art thou among women, and blessed indeed is the fruit of 
thy womb, Jesus ! 

The explanation broached in these pages has all the freshness 
of novelty, but there is about it not the least suggestion of an 
iconoclastic touch. Its proposer confesses that it has been for 
him a luminous ray which he would gladly see shine for others, unto 
joy of the heart and peace of the understanding. It searches many 
dark places in the Scriptures, and leaves them shot through with 
light. It brings her, who was immaculately conceived, into a more 
prominent share in the Redeemer's work, into a more public part 
in the ministry of Him, Who came to save the race from error, as 
He came to deliver it from sin. It explains away the difficulty 
so hard for the heart to understand that He never publicly called 
her by the name of mother. It lifts the Lord and the Lily of 
Israel above the criticism of the profane, the self-questionings of 
the devout; and it does all this, not by lessening, but by increasing 
the sweetness of the Christian tradition concerning her and Him. 
It offers a striking proof, also, that the Gospel of the Infancy is 
not, as so often alleged, an invention of St. Luke; because the 
same general rule or law governing Christ's public references to 
His Mother is as much in evidence there, as elsewhere in the Scrip- 
tures. Nor does it seem too much to say in view of the last re- 


mark that it deals a heavy, if not a mortal, blow to those theories 
of the Messianic consciousness, now current, which strive to prove 
that Christ came gradually, through circumstance and accident, to 
a knowledge of His Divine nature and teaching mission. It stands 
up, moreover, without apparent sign of faltering or collapse, under 
the weight of difficulties fully as heavy, if not heavier than those 
which have here received solution through its means ; and this story 
of its still further efficiency, we hope at a not too distant date- 
to lay before the reader. But best of all, perhaps, is the clear proof 
which this newly-discovered explanation offers, that the Lord's man- 
ner of speech to His Blessed Mother was not such as the children of 
darkness in every generation would have had the children of light 



O SWING and sweep of circling angel wings, 
O roseate sea of Heaven's transcendent grace! 
Dear Bethlehem the Blest, white-wreathed place 

Of this sad world's divinest visionings! 

We seem to see the holy Light that flings 
Celestial splendor on the narrow space 
Where a glad Mother first beholds the Face 

Of her rare Glory-Babe, our King of kings. 

And, as we gaze, a mighty wave of love 
Still sweeps us on to unimagined deeps. 

The Calvary-love has won us. From above 

Garlanded cherubs smile! And still He sleeps, 

The Virgin-Born, as pure as buds that spring 

From ruddy stems in rose-white blossoming. 



T was not that Thomas Donahue did not know the 
anti-Christian arguments. Baptized a Catholic in 
infancy and educated as one though none too 
strictly, he had, during his days at Harvard, lost his 
slight hold on the Catholic Faith, and had plunged 
into the popular modern agnosticism of philosophy and social ideal 
as deeply as his intellectual equipment allowed. The plunge was 
deep enough to estrange him from all orthodox Christianity, al- 
though it permitted him to retain a belief in Christ's teaching as 
that of a purely human moral genius and leader. 

As he sat in his study this afternoon on the day before Christ- 
mas, planning one of the ultra-modern satirical comedies with which 
he hoped to shock a hypocritical world into a realization of the 
new outlook, he was reflecting rather seriously on what his own 
new outlook had cost him, and on what value it had given for the 
price paid. The price had been large a shattering which had 
shaken Donahue to his soul's foundation. If the process had brought 
him a new outlook which he sincerely felt to be true despite its 
harshness, it had certainly not, he reflected, brought him satisfac- 
tion. Here was man, manifestly not self -created, not even con- 
sulted as to whether or no he wished to be born; not master of his 
own destiny, however much he might like to believe himself to be; 
evidently dependent upon some power beyond him which had or- 
dained his existence, had encircled it with bonds and laws, and 
mapped out his destiny. Yet this power, the most important thing 
in his consciousness, was really unknown to him. He might con- 
sider his own desires, cravings, inspirations, talents and aims as 
revelations to him of his own destiny and function as an individual 
machine for the performance of that power's will, but this, satis- 
factory or not as it might be in showing him his function in life, 
did not reveal to him what this power was in itself, nor even, fully, 
what it was in its relation to men as a whole nor to the universe 
as a whole. Try as one might to suppress the desire for such in- 
formation by assuring oneself that the revelation of one's par- 
ticular function sufficed, certain cravings persisted. Oh, that one 


might know what this power was, whether it were merely the life 
of all earthly things and the design unfolded in their evolution, or 
something infinitely more! Oh, that one might know with some- 
thing of the certainty of the Christians! But that was manifestly 
out of the question in this age. 

Yet it is strange what a sort of left-over Christian feeling 
remains with the Christian who has " outgrown " his Christianity. 
And Christmas how pathetic the effect of Christmas on such 
as Donahue ! What inexplicable feeling seems to fill even the 
" disillusioned " Christian at such a season a sort of realization 
of the loss of something which had satisfied, and which had been 
replaced by something which did not satisfy. It was Christmas 
Eve. Donahue remembered the thrill which the season had brought 
him in his younger days Catholic days even if Santa Claus 
and the spirit of giving and gifts, good cheer and good food, had 
overshadowed the Christian message. But, after all, had not Santa 
Claus and gift-giving been the whole of Christmas? Was not hu- 
manity the care of man at all times, and was it not the duty of man 
at all times to see that there were no poor, and no people without 
certain gifts they wanted? Had not the new realization of the 
purely immanent nature of this power, which some called God, and 
of men as parts of the unfolding of this power in the universe 
had not this abolished the irrational Christmas spirit? 

Donahue had read in the paper that there were to be great 
doings on Beacon Hill, in Boston town, that Christmas Eve; 
candles in the windows and carol singing on the streets, and the 
sight and sound should be worth a journey across the Charles from 
Cambridge, where he lived. W r ith all his estrangement from Chris- 
tianity, the strains of the Adeste Fideles still delighted him at 
this season. The words might be fabulous, the sentiment out- 
grown, but there was a something which made it a favorite tune 
with him, and the fact that it was a Christmas tune, instead of 
spoiling his enthusiasm rather added to it. There could be no harm 
in loving it as a survival of the childhood of the race, which, al- 
though darkened in intellect, possessed, possibly for that reason, a 
thrill lost to maturity of the race in its superior sophistication. He 
might hear the Adeste that night. Anyway he would go over to 
Beacon Hill. 

The crisp, cold cheer of the season was a delight to him. It 
was difficult to analyze how much of the romance of the season 


was due to the spirit of Christmas itself, but it was unnecessary 
to bother about that. It might be the romance of the closing of an 
old year, or of the progress of the seasons in their mysterious un- 
folding of the evolution of that power in the world and the race. 
Even the Christmas spirit might be but a childish prelude to a 
better, because more mature, holiday flavor with which the race, in 
its upward progress, would replace Christmas in the new and fitting 
religion of the future. At any rate, it was not a time of dissatis- 
faction. The thrill was there, and he felt it; a thrill as of 
" something being up," the more thrilling because mysterious. 

The thrill deepened as he walked through the crisp air and 
took the car. Christmas greens and Christmas bustle; the many 
" Merry Christmas " greetings he heard on the way ; the poetry 
of a race for one night forsaking the prosaic for the poetic, the 
dull for the gay, the frown for the smile; the sight of suspicious 
bundles and burdens in the arms of cheery looking passengers who 
on other days could hardly be conceived of as burdening themselves 
with either a bundle or a smile ; the expectant expressions on the 
faces of children, and on those of their elders as well all this 
put him in harmony with the holiday, which was contrary to rea- 
son, certainly, but not to good cheer. Might it be in accord with 
something beyond reason, after all ? 

Leaving the car with an unwonted patience and even good 
humor at jostlings and bundle impediments, Donahue found him- 
self on Beacon Hill. There were the candles in the windows, and 
right cheery they were too. Why should candles be more cheery 
than electric lights? Why should the sight of windows full of 
them cheer the heart, instead of chilling the nerves with a fear of 
conflagration, as surely it ought, to the rational mind? But it did 
cheer; it soothed all fears with the assurance that, somehow or 
other, human beings, even if mere Christians, do know a thing or 
two about taking precautions. It was certainly a fairyland view. 

But look yonder! See that statue of a woman with a Babe in 
her arms in the window of that aristocratic looking mansion. What 
can be happening? Here in Protestant, cold-blooded Beacon Hill, 
even a Catholic would hardly look for that ? Was it faith, or merely 
fairyland fancy? But why ask? Was not the whole scheme of 
illumination and carol singing a thing of Christmastide, of the 
season unmistakably dominated by that self-same Mother and Babe? 
It was Christmas, a feast long coldly and bitterly ignored, as he 
understood it, by the very Protestant moderns who had founded 


Boston. And how could it be so celebrated in the very heart of 
the aristocratic Protestant part of such a city? Catholics them- 
selves, surely the most logically interested in Christmas, never had 
paid such open public honor to the Vigil of the Feast of the 
Nativity. Was superstition coming back, and was Donahue, 
" emancipated " Catholic, modernist and rationalist, out of date 
in a world which he had felt to be his own? But perhaps it was 
only the human love of festival and display, excitement and poetry, 
which would disappear again tomorrow midnight into the sane and 
worldly commercialism of the world and his wife. The thought 
was not pleasant, and he dismissed it. He himself loved the poetry 
of the celebration, and half wished that it were true and that it 
had come to stay. 

Ambling about he found little groups of people here and there, 
and heard a soft strain of a carol sung by a few persons in a dark 
and mysterious road. But it seemed too early yet for the big 
events, at any rate on the streets. So he strolled in a leisurely 
manner across prosaic Charles Street toward the river of that name. 
He came upon a church, cheerfully lighted behind its dark stained- 
glass windows. 

Plain as it was, there was a sort of indescribable air of 
romance about this brick church, irregular in its cosy jumble of 
chapels, turret and spire. It had a sort of poetic flavor, as of the 
Middle Ages that great Time which, during his rationalistic 
dreamings, had thrown a glare of unearthly and joyous light across 
the dark path of human progress as he had studied its history. 

He found the church to be a Protestant one, and he entered. 
It mattered nothing to him now as to whether it were Catholic or 
Protestant; nay, in his present state of "advancement" he saw 
nothing wrong in entering for he resented any thought of going 
to worship there. The door led into a cosy and mysterious little 
vestibule, whose inner doorway, open, disclosed a crowded audi- 

Through this door Donahue saw in the pulpit, seemingly at the 
end of a metal screen across the chancel, a clergyman, in a snowy- 
white surplice, preaching a Christmas Eve sermon. The service 
Donahue learned later was that of " Evensong " of the " High 
Church " school of the Protestant Episcopal Church. The preacher 
was speaking at that moment about heaven. 

The preacher's talk was not remarkable for any endeavor 


after an intellectual adjustment of " modern " thought and Chris- 
tian principles which might possibly have made an impression on 
such as had been led by modern thought to doubt Christianity, 
among whom was Donahue. It was an intelligent sermon by 
an " orthodox " clergyman. With the setting in which it was de- 
livered, the impressive Gothic interior, the cheerful Christmas 
greens, it stirred Donahue to the depths, and touched some hidden 
chord in him. 

When the service was resumed, the thought came to Donahue 
that he would have hardly dreamed that any Protestant church 
would use such a seemingly " more than Catholic " sort of ritual. 
In the screened chancel were seated white-surpliced and black-cas- 
socked men and boys. The preacher, at the end of his discourse, 
had removed his stole and actually Donahue noticed how he kissed 
it before descending from the pulpit. Then the organ pealed forth 
the opening bars of " Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful." The notes sent 
a thrill through every fibre of Donahue's being. But his attention 
was suddenly drawn to a movement in the chancel. A youth 
with a long white gown over his red cassock, girdled, emerged 
from the chancel gateway in the screen, bearing a gleam- 
ing processional cross of exquisite workmanship. He was fol- 
lowed by other youths similarly garbed, and bearing lighted candles. 
Behind these came two more, swinging censers, and clad in white 
surplices over red cassocks. Following the acolytes walked a clergy- 
man wearing the most gorgeous mediaeval cope that Donahue had 
ever seen, and accompanied by two assistants. A long line of 
vested male choristers followed, broken here and there by boys 
carrying gorgeous banners. 

As the wave of sound from choir and congregation rolled 
about, Donahue, who had hardly ever sung a note in church or 
school or elsewhere, joined in the singing with a thrill which al- 
most shook his voice. And he did a strange and noteworthy 
thing. Zealous as he was for the use of the vernacular in worship 
if it must be performed he sang the Adeste with the congregation, 
but in Latin! His emphasis testified that he gloried in the Latin. 
Some impulse too strong for rejection, seemingly, made him use 
the tongue of his own Church. 

Having arrived in the chancel, the vested choir, facing the 
vested clergy before the high altar, burst into the overwhelming 
strains of Handel's " Hallelujah " chorus. The note of heavenly 
exultation and defiance of earth in this great anthem broke upon 


Donahue with an appeal which seemed to overpower reason, and 
to satisfy something as far beyond reason as music is beyond 
words. Its " King of kings and Lord of lords " throbbed and 
thrilled as a truth of eternity. 

The architecture, the preaching, the procession, the singing, 
the ritualistic flavor of the whole ceremony, had done more than 
hint to Donahue that there was something beyond rationalism de- 
manded for the satisfaction of human cravings. Catholicism, 
which he had rejected or rather neglected, had not, he thought, sup- 
plied it. Protestantism, as he knew it, with its exaltation of the 
sombre-gowned preacher and prayer leader, had failed still more 
completely. And now here were Protestants not only conscious 
of what was lacking in their belief, but actually endeavoring to 
supply it and yet not succeeding. 

As Donahue left the Church of the Advent that night he 
was, consciously or otherwise, a changed man spiritually and 
intellectually. He had been seeking something which he had 
not found, and here he had seen his need witnessed to where he 
had not dreamed of finding witnesses. It was the tangible, visible, 
audible expression of something which did not conflict with rea- 
son, but rather completed and explained it the expression of the 
relation of man as a race to God as its First Cause and Ultimate 
End. This it was which was pictured in the scene which he had 
just witnessed the natural flowering of human aspiration in sure 
touch with something beyond the human and the visible, bu 
which nevertheless is felt to be part of the picture which God 
Himself is painting. Donahue had been brought to recognize, to 
listen to that craving within his soul which cold rationalism, he had 
to admit, could never satisfy; that craving for the sure touch of 
his soul with the Reality, truer than sense, in a worship not con- 
trary, but complementary to reason, leading it and perfecting it. 
The ceremony which he had just witnessed had confirmed, from 
unexpected sources, the testimony of his conscience to this funda- 
mental need of every man. And yet while that ceremony stimulated, 
it had witnessed also to its own insufficiency. And as Donahue re- 
flected, his thoughts went back to the faith of his earlier days. 
Surely that Catholic faith must be the pure font of the wisdom 
of God when these who were Protestants, whose leaders had once 
officially rejected it, were now beginning to imitate its ritual; to 
copy that which they had so long spurned and condemned. But 
ritual, if sincere, is but the expression of a true inner life. Was 


there not, therefore, in Catholicism that which no imitation could 
secure or express ? Borrowing the coat might make the borrower's 
body beautiful, but the wearing of it would not change his soul. 

This ritual was splendid, but it was the human part of it 
that was splendid. Here was a worship which appealingly ex- 
pressed man's relation to God from the earthly side man's reach- 
ing toward God. But the full relation must necessarily be two- 
fold : that of man toward God, and of God toward man. The 
human rite furnished the human or earthly side of the liturgical 
picture. But the lack which Donahue felt in that picture was the 
lack of a sure completion of it from the supernatural side from 
eternity, from God. Man worshipped before an altar. But should 
he worship merely before an altar? If there was nothing on that 
altar which was not in any other place on earth, why worship 
in church, liturgically or corporately, at all? Why not admit that 
to man has been given no central place on earth in which to worship 
something which is there in a particular manner? Why not admit 
at once that conduct is the only real worship? But Donahue had 
found by experience that it is not; or rather that the full extent of 
conduct must be extended to deliberate and particular external 
worship if man's life and man's need is to be filled. 

The ceremony which Donahue had witnessed did express this 
craving, but it did not answer it. What was needed for its founda- 
tion and completion was the donation by God from above of a Real 
Presence which should be a centre for the needed human worship be- 
low. Man of his very nature, thought, worked and communicated 
by means of symbols. His very nature also required worship, 
symbolical and liturgical worship. To express the corporate re- 
lation of man as a whole to God, man must gather for formal 
corporate worship in a central place. But being a creature with 
body and senses, requiring objects which appeal to sense, lest he 
forget, his worship requires, in that central place, a Real Presence, 
which is a symbol of God and yet more than a symbol God really, 
sacramentally present on the altar. 

Donahue had often rehearsed the truth, which agnostics wrest 
to their own destruction, that God is hidden from men on earth 
veiled from them by the things of sense. How much clearer, 
how life-giving the real truth, that of the Real Presence of God 
veiled in the Blessed Sacrament? It was the true answer, not only 
to doubts and questionings, but to man's best aspirations. Sacra- 
mentalism was the principle of nature as well as of religion; man's 

364 GIVE US THIS DAY [Dec., 

very thought and action was sacramental. Therefore his worship 
must be sacramental. And the Real Presence in the Blessed Sacra- 
ment was the earthly expression of God's hidden relation to man, 
as man's liturgical rites before that Presence were the earthly ex- 
pression of man's relation to God. 

Unless on the Protestant altar there was this Real Presence, 
it was a mockery and a superstition to gather before that altar 
and address before it a liturgical worship which requires a com- 
plement on the altar. Ev^ry Protestant creed denies the Real 
Presence. The Catholic Church alone has had this Presence 
through all her history and Donahue had discovered the absolute 
need of it for his own soul, his own life. In discovering and 
owning to that need he had come home. He had found himself 
a Catholic once more. He had traveled from Christmas to Christ. 



GREAT Love Divine that lowly manger chose 
Who gave the weak and toil-worn life and light; 

Whose guiding star of wisdom brighter grows 

While legioned worlds have swept to deepening night, 

Light us in truth to Thine ennobling way, 

Guide us in peace by paths that Thou hast trod 

Rising and broadening through the brighter day 
To heights of freedom and to heights of God. 



life and work of Dr. John B. Murphy, who died 
in Chicago on August nth of the present year, illus- 
trated the splendid possibilities open to the intelli- 
gent American of our day. He is another striking 
example of the country boy who, coming to a great 
city, carved out for himself a career that gave him world- wide fame. 
Dr. Murphy was born on a farm near Appleton, Wisconsin, 
on December 21, 1857. He was graduated from the Appleton High 
School in 1876, and three years later from Rush Medical College 
in Chicago. He won the competition for Medical Interneship at 
Cook County Hospital, Chicago's great public hospital, and served 
there for a year and a half. He did not immediately afterwards 
take up practise for himself, but entered into a partnership with 
Dr. Edward W. Lee, which gave him an opportunity for much 
practical work under the supervision of a friendly experienced 
eye, and a definite salary that with his modest tastes and studious 
habits enabled him to save some money. 

After two years of such apprenticeship, at the age of twenty- 
five, Dr. Murphy, eager to fit himself still more thoroughly for his 
life's profession, went to Europe, where he spent the next two 
years. He studied in Vienna, Munich, Berlin and Heidelberg; he 
returned to America full of the spirit of original investigation and 
scientific research, and the pioneering tradition just then so alive in 
the German clinics. It is much easier to understand the develop- 
ment of Dr. Murphy's career if one is familiar with a book like 
Garrison's History of Medicine. Such a history tells us that the 
very year before Dr. Murphy went to Europe, a whole series of 
the most important advances in medicine had been made. Laveran 
had discovered the parasite of malarial fever, thus solving an age- 
old problem; Koch introduced the plate cultures of bacteria, thus 
giving a new impetus to modern bacteriology, and making possible 
the isolation of the bacteria of disease, and Medin discovered the 
epidemic nature of poliomyelitis that serious affection which in 
recent years has proved such a source of death and suffering to our 

366 DR. JOHN B. MURPHY [Dec., 

children, and which, so far, has baffled every effort for its prevention 
and cure. 

In the light of these supremely original developments in medi- 
cal science, it is easy to comprehend how an enterprising young 
American student would have his enthusiasm aroused for scientific 
work in the best sense of that term. If, still following Garrison, 
one reviews the list of progressive advances in surgery of those 
years, he will readily understand the incentives that lent aid to 
Dr. Murphy's successful career. In 1881, Dr. Billroth, at Vienna, 
resected the pylorus of the stomach, the gateway or passage out 
of the stomach into the intestines. This part of the gastro- 
intestinal tract is frequently the seat of cancer, which previous 
to the discovering of the great Vienna surgeon had always proved 
fatal. In the same year Czerny, at Heidelberg, simplified a whole 
series of operations for women that did as much for the cure 
of cancer of the uterus as Billroth had done for cancer of the 
stomach. During that same twelve months Hahn performed the 
operation of nephropexy, the sewing up of a loose kidney to the 
abdominal muscles in the loin so as to prevent its injury by pressure 
when misplaced, and Woelfler introduced gastro-enterostomy, the 
making of a new passage way from the stomach to the intestines, 
an operation which has since come to play an extremely important 
role in surgery. 

It is not surprising, therefore, that Dr. Murphy, after two 
years of discipleship under such men, should return home con- 
vinced that the next great phase of development in surgery would 
relate to the gastro-intestinal tract. For centuries this portion 
of human anatomy had not been an operative field for surgeons. 
It is curious to note, however, that the surgeons of some five 
centuries ago performed a large number of operations on the in- 
testines, especially when injured by wounds from the swords and 
pikes of old-time warfare. All this had been in some way for- 
gotten, and the surgeons of the world were just about to remake 
a great new chapter in the history of surgery. 

Dr. Murphy's first important article, found in the list of his 
writings compiled in a short autobiographic note in 1894, was on 
Gun Shot Wounds of the Intestines. Up to that time it had been 
generally believed that penetrating wounds of the intestine were 
necessarily fatal. If unoperated upon, perforations of the gastro- 
intestinal tract would almost inevitably be followed by leakage 
of the contents and consequent peritonitis. The one hope was that 

1916.] DR. JOHN B. MURPHY 367 

the contents might not find a way out because of emptiness of the 
stomach or the intestines, or from some fortunate circumstance 
in the mode of the perforation, and then nature would care for 
the patient by adhesions. Expectant treatment was the rule. Dr. 
Murphy, having seen the German operators daring to intervene 
in intestinal lesions, was not satisfied with the expectant treatment, 
and counseled active intervention in gun shot perforations as 
giving the best prognosis for the patient. 

Dr. Murphy's next important publication, following the same 
line, took up what has since become one of the most important 
phases of modern surgery. Its title would scarcely indicate this 
except to the medical mind, for it was on Early Operations for 
Ferity phlitis. This last term was the old name for all infections in 
the right lower quadrant of the abdomen which were considered 
as originating in connection with the c&cum or " blind gut," in 
Greek called tuphlon. Dr. Murphy's paper was written before the 
invention of the term appendicitis, though his observations were 
made on the class of cases that subsequently came to be called 
by this designation. He had recognized the gravity of such 
cases, their frequent occurrence, and advised early operation as 
the one best possible safeguard. He must be looked upon then 
as a pioneer in the recent development of our knowledge of 

Dr. Murphy realized, however, the then defective surgical tech- 
nique in intestinal operations. Surgical intervention in the intestinal 
tract requires delicate skill and ample technical resourcefulness. If it 
is necessary to remove a portion of the intestines, as for instance 
when a part has become gangrenous, or badly lacerated or torn 
across by some perforating wound or missile, the two ends of the 
intestines have to be brought together in such a way as to leave 
the lumen of the intestine quite patulous, free for the movement 
of the contents, and yet the severed ends of the intestine must be 
brought so nicely together that there shall be no leakage. If either 
of these conditions remain unfulfilled, fatal obstruction or equally 
fatal peritonitis will be the result. Between the danger of in- 
testinal obstruction from within and peritonitis from leakage with- 
out, the problem is extremely difficult, and until it had been worked 
out, it is no wonder that surgeons feared and preferred to remain 

Dr. Murphy set about improving the technique of these oper- 
ations by experiments upon animals. For several years he operated 

368 DR. JOHN B. MURPHY [Dec,, 

upon a large number of animals, noting the results, and trying 
different methods. He summed up his experiments and clinical 
observations in a paper entitled Original Experiments and Clinical 
Researches in the Surgery of the Gall Bladder, the Liver and the 
Intestinal Tract. 

In the course of these researches he invented a surgical in- 
strument or piece of mechanism which greatly facilitated the bring- 
ing together of several ends of the intestines, or, as the process is 
called technically, the making of an anastamosis between two por- 
tions of the intestinal tract. This little mechanism of different 
sizes for different purposes, but about the average size of an Eng- 
lish walnut, was, because of certain perforations in it by which it 
was fastened to the severed ends of the intestines, called a button. 
Dr. Murphy suggested a name for it, " the anastamosis button." 
It came, however, to be called by his own name, " the Murphy 
Button," and is now used throughout the world. 

One day, in 1889, this young doctor of thirty-two showed the 
button to a surgical friend, saying : " Here is the little thing that 
is going to revolutionize intestinal surgery. I have tried it on 
twenty dogs with the most absolute satisfaction." Opportunities 
soon presented themselves of trying it on human patients whose 
life was despaired of, and it proved its worth. The button does 
not remain permanently in place, but after facilitating agglutina- 
tion of the ends of the intestines passes out. 

I shall never forget the first time I saw Dr. Murphy. It was 
nearly twenty-five years ago, and as a medical student I was at- 
tending the meeting of the American Medical Association held 
that year in Philadelphia. Between sessions I was strolling through 
the commercial exhibit room. Suddenly there was a commotion. 
The hubbub of conversation ceased, while everybody listened to a 
pleasant looking, tall and rather thin man who was speaking very 
vigorously. It was Dr. Murphy. A few years before, in 1889, ne 
had invented the Murphy Button. A number of the sellers of 
surgical instruments had these buttons on sale. Dr. Murphy, 
visiting the exhibit room, had found that some of these buttons 
were imperfectly made, and that their use would be dangerous. 
He bought these unfit samples ; stepped up on a box and addressed 
the bystanders. The crowd stopped its talk and gathered to listen. 
They listened the more attentively when they discovered that Dr. 
Murphy was indignant over the improper construction of the buttons 
called by his name. The story of this scene spread through the 

1916.] DR. JOHN B. MURPHY 369 

meeting, was the topic of conversation for all the other days of the 
session, and Dr. Murphy's purpose was accomplished. 

This story is typical of his character, of his Irish impulsive- 
ness, his readiness to see his way through a difficulty, his willing- 
ness to take the chance of being misunderstood rather than permit 
patients to be submitted to further serious risks. 

After having done magnificently successful work on the in- 
testines, it might have been expected that Dr. Murphy would de- 
vote himself particularly to this field, which in the nineties of the 
last century seemed to present ample opportunities. Had his one 
idea been the making of money, he would doubtless have confined 
himself to this specialty. Large and promising as this field was, 
however, it did not satisfy his desire further to enlarge the op- 
portunities for possible successful surgical intervention within the 
abdomen. Besides the gastro-intestinal tract, then, he paid special 
attention to the biliary tract, the surgical possibilities of which in 
many pathological conditions were just beginning to be realized. 
Gall-stone surgery and surgical intervention for certain infectious 
conditions of the gall tract, as well as even malignant conditions 
when they could be known early enough, presented some of the most 
difficult problems in the whole range of surgery, but their very 
difficulty constituted a special appeal to Dr. Murphy. Some of 
his work in these lines proved as helpful to the profession as that 
which he had done in the gastro-intestinal tract. 

Dr. Murphy did not confine his investigations, however, to the 
abdominal region, but took up some other difficult problems which 
surgeons were facing now that aseptic surgery permitted them to 
intervene where before Lister's great discoveries such intervention 
would surely have been fatal. Such problems were presented, for ex- 
ample, by the surgery of veins and arteries. In these vascular tubes 
it is quite as necessary to maintain the lumen after operative proce- 
dures as it is with regard to the intestines. If they become blocked 
or narrowed to any considerable degree, clots form and become or- 
ganized, and then the circulation through these vessels is prevented. 
The question of anastamosis, that is, of bringing the several ends 
of arteries and veins together, occupied Dr. Murphy's attention. 
He succeeded in showing that some of the radical measures of 
old-time surgery which often submitted patients to considerable 
risk of gangrene, need no longer be considered necessary, and that 
it was even possible to operate upon blood vessels without neces- 
sarily bringing about a closure of them. 

VOL. civ. 24 

370 DR. JOHN B. MURPHY [Dec., 

One interesting and novel treatment originated by Dr. Murphy 
was the injection of nitrogen into the pleural sac in order to set at 
perfect rest a lung affected by tuberculosis, and thus give it an 
opportunity to heal thoroughly. Dr. Murphy had himself been 
affected by tuberculosis in his early years, and had been always 
keenly interested in its treatment. Sixteen years ago he treated pa- 
tients thus affected by the injection of nitrogen. His method at the 
time attracted widespread attention. Later it was forgotten or 
considered as one of the many failures in the treatment of the dis- 
ease. Three years ago, however, while traveling East with Dr. 
Murphy, he reviewed for me the present status of this mode of 
treatment, how it was extensively used, and how far some patients 
who could not otherwise be treated, were helped by it. 

To the end of his life Dr. Murphy sought to develop, extend 
and perfect surgical methods. Joint surgery in the days before the 
discovery and applications of sepsis and anti-sepsis had been timor- 
ous and very often unsuccessful. This dread of intervening in 
joint cases prevailed even in aseptic days. The consequence was 
that a great many patients remained permanently crippled because 
of joint anchylosis, or locking from adhesions within the joint cap- 
sule. Such cases presented an extremely difficult series of problems 
in surgical technique. Perhaps for this very reason Dr. Murphy's 
attention was especially attracted to the subject. Nearly every 
case was individual. Dr. Murphy succeeded in making a great 
many of these patients far more comfortable and active. His 
work attracted wide attention, not only in this country, but in 

While engaged in this work he realized the necessity for securing 
proper publicity for his methods, and began the publication of the 
" Murphy Clinics." The " Clinics " were taken down from dicta- 
tion and then put into shape for publication by a special assistant, 
Dr. Murphy himself carefully reviewing the proof sheets. He once 
told me that when he began the publication, his only idea was to 
satisfy the request expressed by a number of physicians who had 
been with him at various times in Chicago, and who wished to 
keep in touch with his work. It was a source of gratification to 
him then to find during its first year that the publication became 
self-supporting, and later that it was the source of quite unexpected 
revenue. The publication had a wide circulation also in England, 
Australia and in the libraries of the medical schools of Europe. 

Dr. Murphy will be remembered especially in the history of 

I9i6.] DR. JOHN B. MURPHY 371 

American surgery as a teacher at a time when surgery was making 
its greatest advances. His leadership as a teacher here in America 
came too at a time when American surgery was playing a prominent 
part in that progress. Surgery is the one department of medical 
science in which America has been distinctly a leader, an enter- 
prising pioneer, and not merely a follower of the European coun- 

Dr. Murphy's teaching was by no means confined merely to the 
undergraduates in medicine in the schools, nor even to the regular 
post-graduates who came to Chicago to the Post-Graduate Medical 
School. The profession throughout the country had come to 
recognize him as a leader and a master. His connection during 
the last five years of his life with the American College of Surgeons 
emphasized his place as a teacher, and also added prestige to that 

After his death, The Journal of the American Medical Asso- 
ciation, a representative organ, declared ; " When Dr. Murphy died 
the medical profession lost one of the ablest surgical teachers and 
a clinician of the highest rank; one who had contributed much to 
medical and surgical science ; one whose influence was world wide." 
Dr. Murphy was not only a great surgeon, but also a great teacher 
of surgery. He could grasp the details of a problem of diagnosis, 
see his way through, and then evolve the best method of treating 
the patient. Above all he could make others follow him, and give 
them the courage to go and do likewise. He had a keen power of 
observation and judgment, and knew whom to select to benefit by 
his instructions, and extend the fruits and blessings of his knowl- 

Few men have done more for charity in the best sense of the 
word than this American surgeon. He constantly operated, without 
remuneration, on the poor, and many hours of almost every day of 
his life were devoted to their service. He made it a life-long rule 
never to accept a fee from priests or religious, and it has been well 
said that " no man knows the number of bishops, priests and re- 
ligious women who were treated by him without charge. " One 
need but talk with some of these clerical patients to realize how 
whole-hearted was Dr. Murphy's charity. He made them feel that 
he was personally interested in their case, and that he spared no 
amount of time or trouble to give them the best possible service. 

No wonder, then, that honors came to Dr. Murphy from all 
quarters, educational, professional, secular and ecclesiastical. The 

372 DR. JOHN B. MURPHY [Dec., 

Pope made him a Knight of St. Gregory, and just before his death 
raised him to the position of Knight Commander with the Star. 
The University of Notre Dame conferred on him the Laetare Medal, 
and many other universities honored him with their degrees. The 
University of Illinois gave him its LL.D. in 1905, and the Uni- 
versity of Sheffield, in England, its degree of Master of Science, 
while Loyola University of Chicago conferred the degree of M.A., 
and the Catholic University gave its LL.D. in 1915. Besides he 
was made a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in England, 
a Life Member of the Societe de Chirurgie of Paris, as well as of 
the Deutsche Gesellschaft fur Chirurgie of Berlin. Since his election 
in 1898 to be the Orator in surgery of the American Medical As- 
sociation, scarcely a year had passed in which some important dis- 
tinction from a medical society did not come to him. He was 
the Honorary President of the Surgical Section of a series of In- 
ternational Medical Congresses; the guest by invitation of the 
British Medical Association, the Honorary President of the Inter- 
national Surgical Congress, and President of the American Medical 

Dr. Murphy's life and work prove false the oft-repeated state- 
ment that devotion to applied science is almost sure to disturb dog- 
matic religious convictions. Dr. Murphy's Catholic faith was firm ; 
enduring; thoroughly loyal. He, like his great predecessors, 
Pasteur, Claude Bernard, Corrigan, the great Irish physician, 
Theodore Schwann, the founder of the cell doctrine, and Johannes 
Muller, the father of modern German medicine, was a great 
scientist and a stanch Catholic. 

We have had in our own country a number of distinguished 
physicians and surgeons, who like Dr. Murphy have been faith- 
ful and even devout Catholics in the midst of busy and suc- 
cessful careers. The first important teacher of chemistry in 
American Medical Schools was Dr. William J. Macneven, who left 
Ireland after having taken part in the Revolution of '98; and since 
his time such distinguished men as Gunning Bedford, Van Buren, 
Thomas Addis Emmet, Horatio Storer and Joseph O'Dwyer have 
been noted for their distinguished abilities as well as for their 
simple Catholic faith. 



IM HOLT and his wife Polly had been married for 
over six months; everything was still very new and 
bright in the trim little cottage which had been white- 
washed in honor of their advent, and painted and pa- 
pered inside by their own hands. Not less bright, 
perhaps, because it was still new, was the mutual love of the young 
couple, and Jim's belief in the superhuman perfections of his wife. 

" There's naught our Polly can't do," he would say. " Every- 
thing as she sets her hand to turns out well. Sewin', cookin', or 
mendin' why, she tailored up yon owd westcoat o' mine same as 
if it was done in a shop. I welly believe there isn't a single thing 
in this blessed world as our Polly couldn't do." 

Polly, herself, a fine bouncing, yellow-haired, rosy-cheeked 
wench, was too good a wife to doubt Jim's judgment in this as 
in other matters, and was accustomed to accept his eulogies with 
the complacency of one who felt them to be well deserved. 

It was therefore something of a shock to her when, on one 
particular evening, Jim, who was sitting in his elbow-chair smoking 
a luxurious pipe after the labors of the day, remarked : 

" I were thinkin', Polly, about our pudden for Christmas; 
't wouldn't be a bad notion if ye was to slip across to my mother 
and ax her advice about makin' it." 

Polly set down the mutton-pie which she was in the act of 
carrying away from the table Jim liked " summat tasty " for 
his tea and turned round in astonishment not unmixed with in- 

" And what i' the world should I do that for ? Whatever put 
that in your head? " 

" The owd lady herself was sayin' some such thing," rejoined 
Jim, good-humoredly. " She's got agate o' makin' hers. Says 
she, 'It 'ud be as well if your Polly 'ud come and take a lesson; 
I'm reckoned the best hand at makin' a plum pudden in this 
parish.' ' 

"Take a lesson!" ejaculated Polly, tossing her head. "It's 
news if I have to take lessons in cookin' at this time o' day. I 


thought ye found yourself pretty well satisfied up to now, Mester 

She picked up a plate, gazed at it critically, and slapped it 
down again. 

The big, sandy-haired giant in the corner laughed with inno- 
cent appreciation of what he took to be an excellent joke. 

" Ho, ho, that's not bad not bad I will say. Aye. I find 
myself pretty well satisfied up to now, Mrs. Holt that's to say, 
Mrs. James Holt," he added more seriously. " My mother's the 
gradely Mrs. Holt." 

" Oh, ye needn't think I want to rob your mother o' any o' 
respect as is due to her," said Polly. " But I don't think I need 
come even to the gradely Mrs. Holt " this was spoken with such 
deadly sarcasm that even the good-natured, thick-headed Jim per- 
ceived the intention " for a lesson in pudden-makin'. I don't 
think yon pie was one to find fault with ; and ye seem to ha' been 
able to pick a bit o' bun-loaf," casting a withering look at the 
fragment of the dainty in question, which was all that remained 
after Jim's inroads during tea. " I didn't need to take no lessons 
from the gradely Mrs. Holt to make those." 

Jim puffed solemnly at his pipe a minute or two before he 
spoke, and then it was in a serious tone. 

" A plum pudden's different, ye know. A plum pudden's a 
wonderful ticklish thing to manage. Did ye ever chance to make 
a plum pudden, lass ? " 

" I didn't never ha' need to," rejoined the young woman with 
dignity ; " my aunt always made ours." 

" And did your aunt make a good plum pudden ? " persisted 

"Well, what do ye think?" rejoined Polly snappishly. "It 
was my aunt larned me all the cookin' I know. You've never 
found fault wi' me before. I'm sure I think it's a strange thing 
for your mother or anyone else to be tryin' to set ye agen your 
own wife." 

" Coom," said Jim alarmed. " Whoever said I was findin' 
fault wi' ye ? Naught o' the kind. I think you're the wonderf ullest 
wife a man could have I'm never done admirin' ye." 

" Well, then," said Polly, smiling in a mollified way as she 
took up the mutton-pie once more and carried it away to the 

On her return she found Jim staring ruminatively at the fire; 

1916.] POLLY'S PUDDING 375 

he looked up at her as she entered, with an ingratiating smile. 
" Talkin' o' Christmas puddens," he remarked, " folks has dif- 
ferent fancies, ye know, about Christmas puddens, aye, I've heard 
my mother say that many a time. Some puddens is just as hard 
as cannon-balls, and some is as light as feathers; some puts meat 
in them, and some doesn't; and some " he broke off, eyeing Polly 
a little anxiously " I've allus been used to the sort my mother 
makes," he resumed. " I'd like ours to be as like that sort as ye 
could get." 

" Now I'll tell ye summat," rejoined Polly firmly. " I'm not 
goin' to take no lessons from nobody. I don't want 'em and if 
I did, 'tisn't your mother I'd ax. I call it downright nasty of her 
to go makin' mischief between us this road. If I can't make a 
puclden as ye can fancy, ye can go wi'out. I'm not goin' to 
make little o' myself and turn myself into a laughin' stock for 

" Coom ! " said Jim again. 

He took out his pipe and gazed at her round-eyed; Polly 
startled him further by laying her yellow head down on the table 
and bursting into tears. 

" Why, lass, how is this? " cried he, aghast. 

" You've hurt my feelin's awful," sobbed Polly. 

Naturally there was nothing for Jim to do but to come lum- 
bering round the table and to take her in his arms, atoning for 
his misdemeanor by countless endearments and abject apologies. 

He had to pass his mother's house on the following day on his 
way to work, and regretfully described the portly form of that 
good woman on the doorstep. 

" I were lookin' out for ye," she cried, as he was striding 
past, after a nod of greeting. " Here, wait a bit what's all your 
hurry? I want to know what about pudden? I've got the stuff 
ready, but I haven't started mixin' it yet your Polly ought to 
see me doin' that. I kept it back on purpose for her." 

" Don't keep it back no longer, then," rejoined the son. " Our 
Polly's busy today; she's got a bit behind wi' the wash." 

" Eh, the bit of a wash she'll have for ye two isn't worth 
namin'," rejoined his mother. " 'Twas a different story when I 
had the ten o' ye to do for. Besides, I saw her takin' in the dry 
things off the hedge yesterday mornin' ; she must ha' got through 
wi' her ironing by now. Did ye tell her I was keepin' back the 
pudden for her? " 


" Aye, I just mentioned it," rejoined Jim, backing away from 
the gate. 

" And what did she say ? " queried his mother, descending 
from the step and walking down the flagged path. 

" Eh, well, I can't exactly call to mind what she said," re- 
turned Jim. " I mind she thought it awful good o' ye, but she 
said it 'ud fidget her to keep ye waitin', and she didn't reckon she 
could get through wi' her work for another couple o' days ' 

His voice trailed away, for Mrs. Holt was wagging her large 
head with an incredulous smile. 

"Eh, no need to tell stories about it, lad," she remarked; 
" your Polly doesn't want my teachin' that's where it is. There, 
young housekeepers is very easy offended, but I'll say no more 
about it. Eh, well, I hope she won't regret it nor ye either; Jim, 
ye always was one as thought a dale o' your Christmas pudden ! " 

Meanwhile Polly, who had indeed finished her ironing on the 
previous day, betook herself across the fields to the lonely little 
cottage where lived the aunt who had brought her up. Miss Rim- 
mer, a tall, gaunt old woman, was in the act of making bread, and, 
even while greeting her niece, continued to roll and knead the 
lump of dough. 

"This is an early visit, Polly! If ye coom a bit later I'd 
been just as well pleased. I've a little job o' sewin' for ye, 
but I can't take my hands out o' this till bread's ready." 

"When are ye goin' to start makin' plum pudden, aunt?" 
queried the younger woman, dropping into a chair. 

" Eh, there is but myself now it'll not take me long." 

" Ye'd best come and share ours," rejoined Polly, struck with 
a happy thought. " It 'ud be lonesome for ye to sit down to your 
Christmas dinner by yoursel'. I'm goin' to get agate at makin' 
our pudden today." 

" I could do," responded Miss Rimmer, pausing in her labors 
to gaze reflectively at her relative; " aye, if it wasn't very wet or 
snowin,' I'd just as soon as not step down to dinner wi' ye. 'Tis 
scarce worth cookin' anything out o' the way when one's all by 
oneself and yet a body likes to have summat a bit different for 

" I'm sure ye'd be very welcome," rejoined Polly, intent on 
her own thoughts. " I'll be steppin' down to the village to buy all 
as is wanted this afternoon, so I thought I'd just ax ye what I 
must get. There'll be suet enough on the beef, of course, but I 

1916.] POLLY'S PUDDItiG 377 

must get raisins and currants how much of each do ye think, 
Aunt Maggie ? " 

Miss Rimmer slapped the mass of dough two or three times 
on the table before replying in a meditative tone. 

" Raisins, and currants, and suet yes, ye'll want all that. 
I'm sure I can't tell ye how much ye'll have to get, though." 

" Why, aunt, didn't we always have plum pudden for Christ- 

" We had a pudden," said Miss Rimmer, giving a last vicious 
thump to the dough ; " but it wasn't a plum pudden, my dear 
not a proper plum pudden. The plum puddens is so awful in- 
digestible. To tell ye the truth, ours was mostly made of figs." 

" Figs ! " ejaculated Polly, gazing at her aunt with retrospec- 
tive indignation. " And ye makin' out it was plum pudden all 
the time year arter year ye did it! I didn't think ye'd ha' been 
that artful ! " 

" 'Twas nobbut for your good," retorted Miss Rimmer, with 
a virtuous air. " Ye wouldn't ha' growed up so healthy if I 
hadn't allus took care to give ye naught as was bad for the diges- 
tion. Figs make a very good pudden. If ye put a good few 
spices, and a bit o' ginger and a nice drop o' traycle same as in 
a real Christmas pudden, and sticks a bit o' holly on top, there 
isn't one in a hundred as 'ud know the difference." 

" Spices ginger traycle." 

Polly mentally took note of these ingredients as she rose 
to go. 

" Ah, but our Jim must have a gradely plum pudden as how 
'tis," she remarked. " He wouldn't be content else. How much 
do ye think I'll want?" 

" That depends on the size of your pudden," rejoined Aunt 
Maggie irritably. " I know naught about it, I tell ye. Better 
ax them as does. Why not ax your mother-in-law ? She's reckoned 
best hand at makin' puddens in the country." 

" I'd sooner not ax her," returned Polly loftily. " 'Twouldn't 
be much credit to me, Aunt Maggie, nor ye either, for me to ha' 
to take lessons in cookin' from her. They'll be sayin' in the 
village as Jim was better done to by his mother nor his wife. They'll 
be sayin' it's a funny thing if young Mrs. Holt didn't larn all she 
should larn from them as brought her up ! " 

Miss Rimmer paused, rubbing her nose on that portion of her 
bony arm which topped what may be called the flour-line. 

POLLY'S PVDDltiG [Dec., 

" Eh, don't be moidering me, child," cried she acidly. " Keep 
your eyes open; ye'll soon find out. Everyone i' the place is 
makin' puddens now : ye ha' but to step in wi' some excuse or 
another and look about ye and ye'll see." 

"Reet!" exclaimed Polly jubilantly; "that's a good notion! 
Thank ye, Aunt Maggie." 

On leaving the cottage she struck off by a path which led to 
a certain farm about half a mile or so away. Here lived Mrs. 
Balshaw, a great crony of Aunt Maggie's, and a notable house- 

To the young woman's joy she found her engaged in stoning 

"Why, 'tis Polly Rimmer Polly Holt, I should say," ex- 
claimed Mrs. Balshaw, as she entered. " How are ye, Polly? " 

" Very well, thank ye, Mrs. Balshaw. Ye must excuse me 
comin' so early. I've been to see my aunt up yon, and I thought 
I'd just look in to wish ye the compliments of the season." 

" Thank ye, I'm sure. Ye'll excuse me shakin' hands I'm 
all sticky wi' these raisins. Eh, dear! seems as if I should never 
get through wi' them our pudden has to be such a size, ye see." 

" Yes, indeed ; there are so many of ye to be done for here, 
what wi' your family and what wi' the men." 

" Ah," agreed Mrs. Balshaw, sighing. " I do assure ye, Polly, 
the tops o' my fingers is quite sore, " 'tisn't only the raisins to 
stone, there's the currants to pick over and they're such nasty 
little fidgety things, they fair moider a body." 

" And ye must want a lot of them," said Polly artfully. 
" Equal weights of both, I suppose? " 

" No," said Mrs. Balshaw with a knowing look. " That's not 
the way I manage, my dear. I puts most raisins in our own 
pudden the childer is awful fond o' raisins, and I fancy they're 
wholesomer nor currants; but I put more currants in the men's, 
because currants are cheap." 

" I see," rejoined Polly. " Of course, it's only a matter o' 
taste, I suppose ? Ye haven't to be thinkin' o' any particular quan- 
tities, of course? It hasn't to be all weighed and measured that 
particular ? " 

" No, I'm a pretty good hand at guessing," rejoined the 
farmer's wife; " ye'd scarce believe it, but I'm nearly always right 
to a handful." 

" I see," said Polly, giving a sigh of relief. 

I 9 i6.] POLLY'S PUDDING 379 

What an idea that was of Mrs. Holt senior's to suggest her 
taking lessons from her ! The making of a Christmas pudding was 
evidently the simplest thing in the world. As she took her way home- 
wards her mind busied itself with the problem as to whether it would 
be better to have a preponderance of raisins in Jim's pudding, or to 
be economical and give currants the preference. Fortune further 
favored her before she reached her own door, for she described 
in the neighboring garden one of the children of the family busily 
hunting about the back premises. 

" Have ye lost anythin' ? "" cried she. 

" No," rejoined the child, " but one of our hens is layin' 
astray, and we have but one egg for the plum pudden." 

"Eggs!" ejaculated Polly mentally; "that's another thing." 

She ticked off the various ingredients on her fingers when 
she found herself indoors. Two eggs were evidently necessary, 
since Jinny declared one to be insufficient. Two eggs, raisins, cur- 
rants, spice, ginger, treacle as she came back to her thumb she 
paused, frowning. 

" My word, that pudden 'ul be like to cost summat ! I'm sure 
I ought to have more currants nor raisins, then. Still, Christmas 
comes but once a year." 

Taking off her hat and coat, she went meditatively into the 
buttery. Luckily there was plenty of suet on the beef; the sugar 
jar was nearly full. There were two eggs on a little saucer on 
the corner of the shelf; nevertheless, her prospective outlay at 
the grocer's weighed on her thrifty soul. 

" It needn't be such a very big pudden," she said to herself. 

But Jim's first remark at dinner time destroyed that illu- 

" I've axed my cousin, Bill Stanley, and his wife to eat their 
Christmas dinner wi' us," he remarked. " Poor chap, he's been 
out o' work a long time, and they haven't much to make merry 
with. Bill were allus a great favorite of mine. I'd like him to see 
how happy we are, ye and me." 

" I'm sure he'll be very welcome," said Polly with a sinking 

" Afore Bill married," went on Jim, " he used allus to spend 
Christmas Day wi' us at home. . My word, how he used to enjoy 
mother's plum pudden. He hasn't forgot it yet. Says he to me 
when I axed him, 'Is your wife as good a hand at a pudden as 
your mother, Jim ?' said he. Ho ! Ho ! " 


"And what did ye say?" asked Polly, a little nervously. 

"Eh, what do ye think I said?" rejoined he, pinching her 
cheek. " Says I, 'I don't know yet, but I'll be surprised if she 
isn't. There's naught our Polly can't do,' I says." 

" I'd better have most raisins," remarked Polly, to herself. 
Aloud she remarked that she was going to the grocer's that after- 

" Are ye ? " rejoined he. " I'll tell ye what, love. I think 
as it's our first Christmas, and as Bill and his wife are comin', 
there'd be no harm in our havin' a gradely do for once. Ye might 
get a bottle o' port wine same time as you're gettin' the brandy for 
the pudden." 

" The brandy ! " exclaimed Polly, speaking aloud in her ex- 
citement. "Of course, the brandy. A plum pudden wouldn't be a 
plum pudden wi'out it was set afire. That makes seven," she re- 
flected, mechanically grasping the forefinger of her left hand. 

" Nay, that it wouldn't," agreed Jim. " Don't spare the 
brandy, lass my mother allus puts a nice drop in when she's 
mixing it. It make it wholesomer-like." 

" I'm not like to forget that," rejoined Polly tartly, though 
as a matter of fact she should have been grateful for her husband's 
timely reminder, the idea of brandy forming actually a component 
part of the dainty in question not having previously occurred to her 

At the grocer's further revelations were in store for her; she 
had to wait a moment or two while a country woman was com- 
pleting her purchases, dropping the packets one by one into a 
capacious basket. 

" That's the lot, I think," she observed at length. " Have I 
got the candied peel? My word, if ye'd let me go without the 
candied peel, my plum pudden 'ud ha' been spoilt, and what would 

" Candied peel. Why, that's eight ! " groaned Polly. 

Her thrifty soul rebelled, and for a moment she was half 
tempted to dispense with candied peel. But, then, if Jim should 
say it was inferior to his mother's pudding? That was a possi- 
bility not to be contemplated. 

" Have I got them apples? " pursued the customer afore men- 
tioned. " The eatin' apples for the childer and the cookin' ones for 
the pudden." 

"Apples too!" Polly's very soul seemed to cry out as she 

1916.] POLLY'S PUDDING 381 

breathed the words. But how many ought to be used? Here was 
a fresh question. 

" Some people think apples spoil the plum pudden," she re- 
marked aloud, smiling ingratiatingly at the woman. " I wonder 
how many it's safe to put in, now ? " 

" Nay, that's a thing as folks must judge for themselves," 
rejoined the woman, thrusting her arm through her basket. " I 
don't bother my head much about it. 'Tisn't easy to sp'ile a 
Christmas pudden as long as ye put plenty o' stuff in it, and b'ile 
it long enough/' 

"What's your rule, then, for measuring the stuff?'* asked 
Polly. " I'm but a young housekeeper, and I don't want to make 
no mistakes." 

" Why, ye can't make no mistakes," responded the other. 
" Take equal weight of everything, and b'ile it well that's the 
whole secret." 

This recipe seemed simplicity itself and Polly watched the 
various little packets being made up according to her order with 
considerable elation. In due time having freshly scrubbed her 
already immaculate table and donned a serviceable apron, she set to 
work. The eight little piles, having been duly measured and 
weighed, were mixed together, stirred and re-stirred, and set on a 
shelf to wait Jim's return. 

" He can be stirring it for luck while I'm pouring in the 
brandy," she said to herself, and rubbed her hands gleefully. 

Really, the making of a Christmas pudding was nothing to 
make a fuss about; when all was said and done, it was as easy 
as anything. After tea, therefore, the white crock containing the 
mixture was triumphantly set before Jim. 

" Eh, my word, it smells good," remarked he, grasping the 
spoon as if it were a broom-handle. " It looks wonderful rich." 

" It looks what it is, then," rejoined Polly gaily. " Eh, I 
never could tell ye half what goes in it. I were mixin' and stirrin' 
and weighin' and measurin' till I welly thought I should drop." 

Though she made light of the task herself, she was not going 
to belittle its importance in her husband's eyes. 

" Well, well," said Jim. " And fancy ye doin' it straight 
off same as that all out o' your own head, so to speak, for I 
suppose your Aunt Maggie didn't reg'lar teach you? " 

" Nay," rejoined Polly proudly. " Not reg'larly. Eh, I 
reckon I can say this is mostly out o' my head*" 


" Well, I'll tell ye what it is, lass," said Jim, setting down 
the spoon in order to thump the table. " This is a splendid pudden, 
and you're a splendid housekeeper." 

" Now, then, ha' done wi' your compliments," returned Polly. 
" Just you keep on stirrin' while I drop in brandy. See, I've got 
some in a little bottle here. They let me have half a gill I reckon 
that'll be enough to make sauce too." 

" It didn't look so very much," said Jim, squinting at the bottle 
in question. " Eh, yon mak's it smell better nor ever. Coom, I 
reckon we'd better have it all in I likes it to be tasty. We can 
get another lot for sauce." 

"It makes it a bit sticky-like, doesn't it?" said Polly sur- 
veying the lucious-looking compound doubtfully. " I hope we 
haven't put too much in." 

" Nay, nay, it'll go off in the bilin'," said Jim. " Ye can't 
have too much of a good thing." 

When Christmas Day arrived, Polly prepared for the great 
event of her first party with confidence and jubilation. Her mother- 
in-law good-naturedly shared her anticipations, and came across, 
herself, at an early hour to see if she could be of any assistance. 
Polly, full of peace and good will, thanked her warmly, but as- 
sured her that she was all right. 

" Well, my dear, if there's any thin' as ye want a body often 
finds theirselves short o' some little thing at the last minute or 
if I can mak' myself o' any use, ye need but to pop around and 
tell me," said the elder woman as she turned away. "I'm as 
anxious about your little party, Polly, as if it was my own I 
wouldn't like our Jim to be disapp'inted no more nor yourself." 

" Well, I don't think he'll be disapp'inted this time," said Polly 

At about a quarter to twelve, however, the door of the elder 
Mrs. Holt's kitchen was thrown violently open, and Polly rushed 
in, scarlet in the face and struggling with her sobs. 

" Eh, mother, mother, I don't know whatever's happened to 
our pudden, but it won't hold together no way, and I can't so 
much as offer to dish it up. It's bewitched, I think; the half of 
it seems to have soaked away through the cloth, and the rest of it's 
nobbut a sticky mess, as I could never think of settin' before Jim 
nor nobry else." 

" My dear, that's bad," cried Mrs. Holt, with such sincere 
commiseration that Polly's heart was further touched with remorse. 

I 9 i6.] POLLY'S PUDDING 383 

" Eh, if I'd only took advantage o' your offer eh, if I had 
but looked in when ye axed me ! " 

" Nay, never mind that ye thought ye knowed," rejoined 
Mrs. Holt, still with a deep note of compassion. 

" I thought I knowed, and I axed two or three folk ; there, 
it was very ill done o' me not to ax you. 'Twas all foolishness and 
jealousy. But I done everything that everybody told me. I put 
all the things in, sich a many of them currants and raisins and 
apples and ginger." 

" Ginger," interrupted Mrs. Holt. " Who told ye to put in 

" My aunt," rejoined Polly dismally. "And sugar and suet and 
candied peel and trade." 

" Goodness ! " ejaculated Mrs. Holt. " And spice and brandy," 
resumed Polly. " I reckon we put a drop too much o' that in, but 
Jim was set on it " 

She broke off mournfully, wondering if it would mitigate the 
offence in Jim's eyes if she could hold him partly accountable for 
the failure. 

" And how much flour did ye put in, my dear? " inquired her 

" Flour," echoed Polly, looking at her with startled eyes. 

"Maybe ye used bread crumb," suggested the other; "some 
folks thinks it makes a pudden lighter ; but I like flour best mysel'." 

Polly dropped into a chair and gazed helplessly into the ma- 
tron's face. 

" Mother," she exclaimed, almost voicelessly. " I didn't use 
either one or t'other." 

Mrs. Holt could not resist a chuckle. 

" Well, love, I'm not so very much surprised, then, at the 
pudden not turnin' out quite right," she remarked, trying to com- 
pose her countenance. 

" Eh, whatever must I do ? " cried Polly, bursting into fresh 
tears. " I'm disgraced ! Jim 'ull never think the same o' me again 
and ye know, mother, he's that proud o' me, and thinks there's 
naught I can't do. Eh, I don't know where I'm going to hide my 
head! His cousin's comin' and all, and Aunt Maggie she'll be 
ashamed too it's mich if Jim 'ull speak to her. Eh, I'll be the 
laughin' stock o' the place, Christmas Day and all! It'll not be 
much o' a Christmas Day either for him or me." 

Mrs. Holt, senior, good-natured as she was, was sufficiently 


human to feel a strong inclination to improve the occasion by such 
remarks as " I told you so," or " Pride must have a fall," but 
the girl's deep distress, and, moreover, her allusion to Jim, who 
was as the apple of the elder woman's eye, enabled her to con- 
quer it. 

" Coom, all's not lost," she said. " My pudden here is big 
enough for two. "We'll cut it in half; ye can pop your share 
into a bowl, and carry it off under your apron. It'll set as nice 
as anything, while you're at the beef, and ye can stick a bit of 
holly on the top and have plenty of blue fire, and nobry 'ull ever 
find out the difference. Ye can say it's your pudden if ye like, 
my dear, for I'm sure I'll gladly give it to ye." 

" Eh, mother ! " gasped Polly, and her arms flew round her 
mother-in-law's stout neck. 

"Coom, all's well as ends well," rejoined the latter, going 
rather red in the face and moist about the eyes; "we'll under- 
stand each other a bit better from this out. Eh, my dear, there's 
no need for jealousy one side or t'other. We both thinks the world 
o' Jim, and wants to make him happy. Coom, dear, dry your eyes ; 
your company 'ull be comin' over yon. Let's get pot off fire. Now, 
here's the pudden a monster, isn't it? Tis a good job the chil- 
der is all out till dinner time as it is, nobry need never know 
naught about it. Give me yon blue bowl that's it you're share 
fits in nicely. Now dip off, quick as ye can, and don't forget to 
stick a bit o' holly on the top." 

Polly with her blue bowl under her apron, sped across the 
road, popped the bowl into the top shelf of the oven, and whisked 
the saucepan containing her failure off the fire, just as the dignified 
form of Aunt Maggie appeared at the gate. " I'll not tell her 
neither," she said to herself. " I'm comin' directly, auntie," she 
called out. " I'm but runnin' to the end o' the garden to empty 
this saucepan." 

Jim's spade was sticking upright in the midden, and Polly 
breathlessly plied it until all traces of the pudding were effectually 
concealed; then, returning to the house with a detached air, she 
welcomed the incoming guests. 

" 'Pon my word ! " exclaimed Jim, jubilantly, when the last 
flickering blue flame burnt itself out on his plate and he swallowed 
the first spoonful. " This is summat like a gradely pudden. Tell 
ye what I welly believe its better nor me mother's ! " 





HE long heralded, much advertised, very rich, and 
wonderfully complex Episcopal assemblage has met, 
legislated and departed. All the daily papers gave 
the Convention much space and commented most 
favorably on its work. The presiding officer of the 
House of Bishops, the venerable Bishop Tuttle, declared in his open- 
ing address that all was to be peace and harmony, and from all 
outward appearances there were no serious disturbances. But as 
usual the convention was a boiling caldron of religious differences, 
not accidental or disciplinary, but doctrinal. The Catholic or High 
Church party striving for a nearer approach to Rome on the 
marriage question, worked hard to eliminate the foundation stone 
of the Church of England divorce. In this attempt it met with 
complete and summary defeat, as it did a few years ago in the 
open-pulpit battle. But the Protestant party offered it a few minor 
concessions. They were : a prayer for the dead, a few hymns, and 
several insignificant details of ritual. The High Church people 
wished the Commandments shortened, the Protestant ending taken 
off the Lord's Prayer, more explicit definitions in regard to the 
Sacrament of Extreme Unction, the conservation of the host; all 
of which may come later, but were stubbornly protested against 
now. Much praise was given for the vast sums of money 
raised for pensioning their disabled and retired clergy and their 
families, and for missionary work at home and abroad. This was 
surely an evidence of the claim made boastfully and publicly dur- 
ing the Convention, that the Episcopal Church in the United States 
is easily the Church of the vogue, supported by and catering to the 
exclusive rich. In spite of this, St. Louis papers gave great praise 
to the Episcopal Church for its work among the poor and the out- 
cast. It is to some extent true that the Episcopalians have not,, 
like other Protestant congregations, precipitated their flight from 
the congested districts of our large cities, nor have they gone with 
bag and baggage. Here and there they may still maintain a down- 
town church, but the congregation gathers there in automobiles 
from far-distant boulevards and exclusive residence sections. 

VOL. CIV. 25 


It may wish to claim the title of Catholic, but it is as far from 
reaching the masses of the people as any other Protestant sect. 
And yet, during this St. Louis Convention, they tried to disown 
their founder Henry VIII. They produced in the Colosseum a 
wonderfully rich and awe-inspiring pageant, going back, in delu- 
sion, two thousand years, to get away from Henry, and at the same 
time repudiating the Pope of Rome, the Successor of St. Peter. 
It is hard, indeed, for any educated, sensible person to keep track 
of the ecclesiastical gymnastics of this hybrid religious body; 
Protestant in name and origin and profession, it wishes to be 
Catholic ; anti-Roman from its inception, it purports to be a branch 
of the great Church of the Apostles; without a priesthood and a 
sacrifice, it brazenly claims sacerdotal rites and functions, and 
maintains barren altars. It has the cross and rejects the image of 
the dead Saviour that made the cross the symbol of salvation. It 
adopts prayers and hymns recognizing the Real Presence of Jesus 
Christ in the Sacrament of Holy Communion, and refuses to have 
the Sacrament conserved on its altars for the consolation of its 
communicants and the comfort of the sick and dying. 

Queen Elizabeth swept away every vestige of Catholicism when 
she tore down the historic altars of the magnificent English churches, 
and, vandal-like, obliterated the treasures of painting and sculpture, 
with which the brush and chisel of genius had made beautiful 
the Catholic cathedrals and temples of England. Why should 
not the followers of Henry VIII. in rebellion be honest with them- 
selves and with those outside their ranks? The Lutherans have 
never tried to repudiate the renegade Augustinian Monk of Wit- 
tenberg. The Calvinists have clung to John Calvin and his terrible 
doctrine of predestination; why should the Episcopalians discredit 
and disown Henry, the adulterer and wife murderer, who, in 1534, 
by act of Parliament, was declared only head of the Church and 
clergy in England? 

The successor of Henry VIII. is still, according to the law 
of England, head of the Episcopal Church, and here is the rub 
for the American branch of that denomination. That branch does 
not wish a royal head, so it proceeds to disown its erstwhile 
founder of unsavory memory. Its more Catholic element would 
call their Church the American Catholic Church, and the same 
minority party strives to rid its ecclesiastical robes of the immoral 
stench of lecherous Hal. 

At the Convention in St. Louis they endeavored to appoint a 


commission to correct the American textbooks of history, which 
assert Henry VIII. was the founder and first supreme head of 
the Protestant Episcopal Church. The Superintendent of Public 
Schools of St. Louis immediately declared that this could never be 
done; that the facts of history in regard to the institution of 
Episcopalianism had been established and would remain. Of 
course, it is evident that American Episcopalians have no head 
at all; they have cut themselves off from the Mother Church of 
England, and taken with them what they pleased, hence they are 
thoroughly Protestant, whether they like it or not. Their legisla- 
tive body the Convention, which has just ceased its delibera- 
tions is no better than any other Protestant assemblage of the 
same nature. It is heterogeneous, disunited and without authority. 
The lay-body of the Convention is extremely Protestant, and prac- 
tically nullifies every attempt of the House of Bishops to make 
sweeping reforms demanded by the High Church people. Not hav- 
ing an authoritative head, and no fixed doctrines or discipline, 
every separate bishop and minister follows out his own whims. 
So there were bishops in the Convention with peculiar episcopal 
robes and bishops without them; bishops with cap and gown and 
bishops with ultra Roman accoutrements; bishops with pectoral 
cross and staff, and bishops that would sooner wear a hangman's 
rope around their neck than ape the Apostolic Church. There were 
socialist bishops and parsons, and some who styled themselves 
priests. To add diversity, if not gayety, to the assemblage, they 
welcomed and made much over representatives of the Eastern 
Orthodox Churches. If common sense and reason are to prevail, 
there must be a radical split in the Protestant Episcopal Church 
of America, or else the imitators of Rome must continue to come 
over to the true Fold. How long will they carry on these imita- 
tions, continue the vain show, and the equally vain attempt, hoping 
to leaven the greater body of adherents who are thoroughly Prot- 
estant, and who suffer Catholic teachings and practices in the High 
Church section only to keep the recalcitrants there quiet and con- 
tented. One cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, neither 
can the sincere but deluded followers of Henry VIII. make any- 
thing out of the Protestant Episcopal Church, but what it has 
claimed to be from the beginning anti-Roman and anti-Catholic. 

IRew Boohs. 

TURES. Edited by Rev. C. Lattey, S.J., and Rev. J. Keating, 

The New Testament. Vol. I., Part II. The Gospel 'Accord- 
ing to St. Mark. By Rev. Joseph Dean, D.D. 

The Apocalypse of St. John. Vol. IV., Part III. By Rev. 
F. E. Gigot, S.T.D. New York: Longmans, Green & Co. 
50 cents each net. 

Dr. Dean, Professor of Sacred Scripture at St. Joseph's 
Diocesan College, Upholland, has followed the Greek text most 
closely in his new translation of St. Mark's Gospel. His confreres 
were not so happy in their rendering of the Epistles of St. Paul, 
although we admit that their task was a more difficult one. 

In a brief introduction the translator discusses the life of St. 
Mark, the evidence of his authorship, and the doctrinal, historical 
and literary characteristics of his Gospel. The notes on the text 
are excellent, although on a number of passages we had hoped for 
fuller treatment. In an appendix Father Lattey treats of the 
chronology and harmony of the life of Christ. 

The Apocalypse, on account of its prophetical character and 
its symbolism, is one of the most difficult books of the New Testa- 
ment to interpret. Like the prophets of the Old Law, St. John is 
concerned with the destinies of the Kingdom of God. " To his 
mind, as to theirs, there is a conflict raging between the pure 
worship of the true God on the one hand, and heathenism and its 

consequent immorality on the other On the one side stand 

God's chosen people (Apoc. v. 10) obeying His commands and 
helped by His intervention from heaven; and on the other side 
are found the nations worshipping false gods whose authority and 
power they uphold. St. John, like the prophets of old, beholds 
victories and reverses; and, like them, he traces such events to 
the will of God, Who grants the one and allows the other. The 
final issue of the conflict is never doubtful ; God and His righteous- 
ness will ultimately prevail, through the advent of One of the 
House of David, Who is both a Redeemer and Judge." 

In his introduction, Father Gigot proves by both external and 
internal evidence that St. John is the author of the Apocalypse, 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 389 

and he accepts with St. Jerome the fourteenth year of Domitian's 
reign, A. D. 95, as the date of its composition. He divides its con- 
tents in seven parts: "The Seven Letters," "The Seven Seals," 
"The Seven Trumpets," "The Seven Signs," "The Seven Vi- 
als," " The Destruction of Babylon," and " The Consummation." 
The translation is most accurate and readable, and the notes 
are the last word of critical scholarship. 


Alfred Coester, Ph.D. New York : The Macmillan Co. $2.50. 

Any book is welcome that helps to a better appreciation in this 
country of Spanish America. We need it badly. One often meets 
with the provincial attitude that is inclined to regard as our " in- 
feriors " people who happen to differ from us in civilization and in 
character. This prejudice has been particularly strong towards our 
neighbors of Central and South America, and has led to misunder- 
standings of all kinds. For the benefit of those who may not 
realize that Spanish America has a literature of its own, Alfred 
Coester has written a complete survey of the literary history of 
eight South American States, Mexico, Cuba, Porto Rico, Santo 
Domingo, and the States of Central America. 

Spanish- American literature divides itself into three periods, 
the colonial, the revolutionary and the modern. The similar con- 
ditions of life during the colonial period and the common aim of 
the countries during their revolutionary struggle against Spain gave 
a certain similarity to their literary productions. Later, when free- 
dom had been won, each country pursued its own course in literature 
as in politics; in discussing the modern period Dr. Coester de- 
votes a chapter to each nationality and sketches its political history. 

There is a very close relation between the political and social 
history of the several countries and their poems, essays, dramas and 
novels. During the colonial period the prose narratives and the 
heroic poems picture the period of discovery and conquest. Later 
when the disposition of Spain to exploit her colonies for her own 
benefit had become unbearable, there was an abundance of poetry 
and prose extolling the revolutionary heroes and the principles of 
liberty. The long struggle for political freedom waged by Cuba 
has produced what has been sometimes called a " revolutionary " 
type of literature, and de Heredia, probably the greatest poet of 
Spanish America and a native Cuban, stirred up his countrymen by 
his wonderful verse to resist oppression. 

Mexican literature presents great variety of form, and has 

390 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

shown an activity of production due to the inheritance of culture 
which stood on a high plane during the colonial period. Its liter- 
ature reflects the supremacy of the one or the other of the two 
continually clashing classes, property owners and peons. 

Spanish-American literature has no masterpieces, but it is a 
vast, interesting body of work, original in its subject matter, in 
its vivid description of natural scenery, and in the bright pic- 
tures of its characteristic socal life. 

Dr. Coester essayed an extensive task, and would have done 
better had he chosen a few of the better authors and devoted more 
space to them. As it is, the reader is apt to be bewildered by the 
endless succession of names. The work will be found a valuable 
handbook by anyone wishing an introduction to Spanish-American 
authors. Dr. Coester thinks that these writers will be likely, as in 
the past, to follow the changes in form of European literature 
while supplying the subject matter from their own environment. 
Their form of culture will be predominantly Latin in type; and 
thus they are predestined to be the standard bearers in the New 
World of the classic ideals of beauty and literary form. 

ward Chapman, Ph.D. New York : The Macmillan Co. $3.50. 
This book by Dr. Charles Chapman, Professor of History in 
the University of California, is an interesting and valuable contri- 
bution to United States history. Much of the material employed 
by the author was found by him in the Archivo General de Indias 
in Seville, Spain, and is here published for the first time. 

His object is to trace the influences that were at work prior 
to the nineteenth century, whose tendency was to preserve Alta 
(American) California for ultimate acquisition by the United 
States. The period chosen for intensive study are the years 1687- 
1783, which Dr. Chapman regards as a peculiarly significant time, 
because it was then that the Spanish settlements in California were 
made permanent by the establishment of an overland route to Cali- 
fornia from Sonora, Mexico, by which supplies could be carried to 
the colonists, and by the great Anza expedition which culminated 
in the founding of San Francisco in 1776. 

Until the eighteenth century, the Pacific Ocean had been a 
Spanish lake, traversed only by the Manila galleons that plied be- 
tween the Philippines and Mexico; but in the eighteenth century 
other European nations were attracted by the possibilities of com- 
mercial expansion in the Pacific, and began slowly to encroach on 

I9i6.] NEW BOOKS 391 

the Spanish domain. Russia was working her way from Alaska 
down the northern Pacific coast of America; in 1740 an English 
squadron broke into the Pacific Ocean and captured one of the 
galleons. Spain became highly alarmed, and felt that she must 
make a great effort to protect her holdings in California. The re- 
sult was her establishment of an overland route from Mexico, 
which lasted until 1781, when the Yuma Indians' massacre of 
Spanish colonists caused the route to be abandoned. Had it been 
permanent, California would in time have been very much more 
thickly settled by the Spaniards at the time of the coming of the 
Americans, whose task would have been made exceedingly difficult. 

The expedition of Anza resulting in the founding of San 
Francisco, was the climax of a long series of attempts at the north- 
west expansion of New Spain. The details of the great march are 
very interesting ; Anza is a hero heretofore little exploited ; he was 
a typical frontiersman, and well fitted to lead the work that re- 
sulted in Alta California being held safe for Spain. 

The history of California would have been very different had 
there been no firmly established Spanish civilization there, and 
had England or Russia been the first to found permanent settle- 
ments. These nations were rising powers at that time; they had 
the means to build up formidable colonies, and would have clung 
tenaciously to them, whereas preserved as California was for Spain, 
a weak nation, it came easily through the hands of Mexico, a still 
weaker power, into the possession of the United States. 

Because of the fact that the Spanish settlements were made 
along the coast, the vast mineral wealth which lay back in the 
mountains was untouched until the coming of the Americans. 

The Spanish diplomacy in the reign of Charles III. (1759- 
1788) is treated in one of the chapters with a discussion of its 
effect on the New World. On the whole, the book is well worth 
while to anyone who wishes to gain from the original historical 
documents a better knowledge of the Spanish traditions of Cali- 
fornia, and the steps which were responsible for the later acquisi- 
tion by the United States of her Pacific seacoast. 

DURAS. By H. A. Franck. New York: The Century Co. $2.00. 
The writer of these travelogues goes tramping through the 
above-named countries with such a prejudiced mind that his book 
is useless to the American who desires to obtain a true insight into 

392 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

the lives of our Latin neighbors. Occasionally we come across a 
good description of the beauties of Mexican mountain scenery, but 
the writer spoils nearly every chapter by his vulgarity, his news- 
paper English, and his idle repetition of unimportant happenings. 
He sees red every time he mentions a Catholic priest or a Catholic 
Church. He unfairly and impudently calls Catholicism a pseudo- 
religion, and on page after page speaks of its wily, avaricious and 
immoral priests, its fanatical and gullible people, its superstitions, 
its idolatry, its selling of confessions and Masses, and the like. We 
do not wonder that he found the well-to-do Mexicans churlish and 
impolite, for he was utterly inimical to all that they held dear. 

JULIUS LE VALLON. By Algernon Blackwood. New York: 

E. P. Button & Co. $1.50 net. 

A specific importance attaches to the publication of a new 
work by Mr. Blackwood, from the fact that his vogue is wide and 
steadily increasing, and that to a considerable number of his 
readers his writings are not fiction, but gospel; interpretations in 
story form of truths of mysticism and occultism. The hunger that 
feeds upon the material he provides is perhaps not entirely compre- 
hensible to Catholics, who have never been deprived of their birth- 
right of mysticism, but it obtains with growing intensity among 
those who, contemptuous of faith in revelation, grope for sustenance 
in the ashes of materialistic philosophy. It is, unfortunately, not 
to be doubted that to many such readers, Julius Le Vallon will ap- 
pear a message of illumination and guidance. 

The book is, in point of fact, a will-o'-the-wisp, superficial 
yet dangerous. It is the story of the reincarnation in our times 
of three " old souls," two men and a woman, who are discovered 
to each other through the mystic memory of the principal, Julius 
Le Vallon. At a period inconceivably remote, and upon another 
planet, they have been associated in an existence immeasurably 
grander than anything known upon the earth; and there, under 
the leadership of Julius, they have participated in an ambitious sin 
against the cosmic forces of Fire and Wind. Their crime has dis- 
turbed the balance, which must be restored; this they owe to the 
Universe which Mr. Blackwood always mentions with a capital. 
The expiation, however, can be made only under the conditions that 
are now reached, when their reincarnations have at last coincided, 
and they are reunited. 

The tale of their vicissitudes need not be rehearsed; the chief 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 393 

objection to the book is not the story, preposterous as this is, but 
the religious philosophy as expressed by Julius Le Vallon. " He 
was unfettered by any little dogmas of man-made creeds, but obeyed 
literally the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount, which he knew 
by heart His belief included certainly God and the gods, Na- 
ture and Christ, temples of stone and hills and woods and that 
temple of the heart which is the Universe itself. True worship, 
however, was with Nature." It is this last clause that is stressed 
throughout. The variations are many, the refrain the same: man's 
instinct is not for the unknown, but the forgotten ; for the grandeur 
that once was his and that lurks far back in the dim vistas of his 
memory. To restore his fellowship with the cosmic forces he must 
worship Nature by " feeling-with " all things and elements, since it 
is by feeling, not thinking, that truth is perceived. This, in brief, 
is the treasure of wisdom that " Julius Le Vallon " produces from 
his memory of that marvelous past. 

Mr. Blackwood's sense of the picturesque, his feeling for 
color, and his extraordinary vocabulary complement each other, 
directed by his fine literary art, in presenting this doctrine with 
endless repetition, but with great variety of form and expression. 
The effect is almost hypnotic : nevertheless, in the minds of readers 
less susceptible to the spell of language there must arise questions 
concerning the relation of these ideas to the individual mind and 
conscience, that some working hypothesis might be possible. These 
Mr. Blackood anticipates and eludes. He speaks only through John 
Mason, one of the trio, a soul less exalted than Julius, with a 
memory more fitful and sluggish. These hiatuses are, at times, 
failures of his memory; at others, they are caused by an uncon- 
querable reluctance to interrogate Julius, fearing a response too 
tremendous to be endured. In view of these evasions, as well as 
the delirious finale of the novel, it is difficult to credit the author 
with that sincerity of intention without which such a book is some- 
thing more serious than a mistake. 

This rechauffe of theosophy, occultism, pantheism and poly- 
theism has an appeal to the popular mind which cherishes the con- 
viction that it is broad to worship nature, narrow to worship the 
Creator of all things, visible and invisible, and belittling to seek the 
means of grace extended by the Church, with her humbling and 
exacting discipline. To have contributed with effectiveness to the 
causes that make for vague, fruitless emotionalism, confusion and 
ultimate failure is Mr. Blackwood's unenviable responsibility. 

394 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

THE HEART OF RACHAEL. By Kathleen Norris. Garden City, 
New York: Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.35 net 
No addition to the prestige of the author will result from this 
novel, which has the radical defect of evasiveness in handling a 
subject of vital importance. It tells the story of Rachael Brecken- 
ridge, who obtains a divorce from an indifferent and intemperate 
husband, there being no children to complicate the question. Later, 
she marries an old friend, Dr. Warren Gregory. She has lived 
happily with him for several years and is the mother of two sons, 
when his temporary infatuation for a young actress brings disaster. 
Rachael separates from him, with her children; but she refuses 
her rival's pleadings that she divorce him, for she has learned, 
she says, that " divorce is wrong." An accident to one of the chil- 
dren and the saving of his life by his father's skill and devotion 
reunite the parents, and the " happy ending " once more triumphs, 
to the destruction of all force that the book might have had. As 
none of Rachael's troubles as Gregory's wife has any relation to 
her divorce, there is no argument against this great evil, even from 
the secular point of view. The religious side is not touched on, 
though, for some unaccountable reason, Mrs. Norris has recorded 
the unregarded disapprobation of Gregory's Catholic mother. She 
also puts into Rachael's mouth words of regret and misgiving in 
regard to the suicide of her former husband, which she cannot 
wholly dissociate from her own act; yet this apparently casts no 
cloud upon the shining future indicated when the book reaches 
its end. 

From every standpoint the novel is unsatisfying. The lack of 
genuine purpose is reflected in the artificiality of the execution : in- 
terest wanes as the story progresses. The book is not negligible, 
however, for a colorless position toward a problem so menacing 
is in itself an injury. 


New York: Henry Holt & Co. $1.40 net. 

In this charming volume Grace King gives her readers a per- 
fect picture of Louisiana in the late sixties. The interest centres 
around the family of a New Orleans lawyer which has been re- 
duced to the utmost poverty by the Civil War. The book is in 
no sense a love story, but an interesting series of character sketches 
drawn to remind Northerners of the charm of the old South. In- 
cidentally the writer discusses the unsolved negro problem, and 

igi6.] NEW BOOKS 395 

pictures vividly the South's hatred of the Northern politician and 
carpet-bagger. The story might have been greatly improved had 
Miss King been fairer in her estimate of the nuns and priests who 
figure in her pages. They all seem over-anxious about money, but 
according to one of her characters that seems characteristic of the 
Church. As she puts it : " The Church is mighty polite to the men 
who have money to give, and has mighty little use for the other 
kind of men." 


Wiggin. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. $1.00 net. 

For the lover of the old-fashioned New England Christmas 
story, no more appealing tale than this latest book by Mrs. Wiggin 
could be found. The New Hampshire village with its snow-covered 
roads and straight-backed meeting-house, the minister and his wife 
and wayward son, the various members of the flock with their sym- 
pathy and narrow-mindedness, their problems and their prejudices 
are all drawn with a sure hand and a fidelity to type that makes 
the mention of the locality almost superfluous. 

The minister's wife, with a talent for painting and verse mak- 
ing, designs two Christmas cards picturing a well-known house in 
the community. These are published in large numbers, and find 
their way to two straying sheep from the village fold who hear, 
through the message in the words and the little scenes on the cards, 
the compelling voice of home. The meeting of the scrapegrace 
brother and his devoted sister, whose warm welcome seems far in 
excess of his deserts, and of the headstrong son and his old father, 
the minister, are charmingly told. 

The Christmas spirit that pervades the book is that of home 
and family ties and human sympathies, rather than of the super- 
natural, which is but lightly touched upon. There are several illus- 
trations in water-color and line which add to the attractiveness of 
the volume. 

OLD GLORY. By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. New York : 

Charles Scribner's Sons. 50 cents net. 

In these days of conflicting opinions, of holding forth on pre- 
paredness and peace-at-any-price, this little volume, bristling with 
patriotism, is very opportune. The three short stories all have to 
do with the glorification of the Stars and Stripes: first by an 
American who thinks he wants to be an Englishman and discovers 

396 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

his mistake ; then by an Italian whose devotion to his " boss " leads 
him to devotion to his adopted country, and lastly by an English- 
born American boy whose life is saved by American soldiers. 

All of the stories, and especially the first one, are full of dra- 
matic situations, and all told in the rapid, graphic style characteristic 
of their author. An excellent little gift to send to absent guardsmen 
on the Mexican border. 

New York: Longmans, Green & Co. 35 cents net. 
The spirit of the moor with its mist, its tors, its clouds, 
its sunrises, its sunsets breathes in these fifty delightful lyrics. 
With what deftness of touch does the poet sing of a " white sun- 

The sun has wed with the moor and shed 

On her brow her silver rays, 
And the tors, they swim on the hills' pale rim 
In a sea of opal haze. 

When white day dies in the placid skies 

The wind will her wings unfurl, 
And the round white moon she will glitter soon 

In a sky of mother of pearl. 

Most of the verses of this little volume are devotional, the 
chief themes being God's love for us and His mercy to repentant 


Patterson. New York : George H. Doran Co. $2.00 net. 

In March, 1915, Colonel Patterson was put in command of a 
number of Russian Jewish refugees, recruited in Egypt for service 
in the Gallipoli campaign. He gathered together five hundred 
officers and men, and thus formed the much-talked-of Zion Mule 
Corps, the first Jewish military unit since the days of Judas Mac- 
cabseus. His book describes most graphically their seven months' 
service in carrying water, food and ammunition to the trenches in 
Gallipoli. As an expert in military matters, with long years of ex- 
perience in India and South Africa, he criticizes very adversely the 
Dardanelles campaign, which he considers the greatest failure ever 
sustained by British arms. He maintains that the whole army 
should have landed at Anzac, instead of dividing its forces and at- 
tacking six practically impregnable positions in the toe of the Penin- 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 397 

sula. But as he himself remarks : " It is easy to be wise after the 

On page after page Colonel Patterson speaks of the excessive 
red tape that hindered efficiency, the stupid mismanagement in the 
transport and medical services, and the glaring instances of jobbery 
and favoritism which led to the appointment of incompetent Staff 
officers. He tells the following story to illustrate how well the 
enemy knew their incompetency : " It had been noted with some sur- 
prise that, though the Turkish sniper exacted his toll from all other 
ranks, the Staff appeared to be immune. At last the mystery was 
solved when one of these sharpshooters was captured, for on being 
asked how it was that the Staff always escaped, he replied: 'Oh, 
well, you see, I get five shillings for every private I shoot, ten 
shillings for every sergeant, a pound for every officer; but if I 

were to shoot a Staff officer I would be shot myself !' ' 


THE LEATHERWOOD GOD. By William Dean Howells. New 

York: The Century Co. $1.35 net. 

The Leatherwood God is the story of a religious imposter 
named Dylks, who appeared in a little backwoods town of Ohio 
about 1830, claiming to be God. Mr. Howells informs us that he 
heard about this remarkable personage from his own father, and 
that for many years he has had the idea of writing a novel on the 
fanatical emotionalism of those ignorant pioneer days. 

Mr. Howells describes the excesses of the old-fashioned Prot- 
estant campmeeting in most dramatic fashion, and relates the 
rise and fall of this sordid imposter in most vivid and telling 
language. We consider the theme unworthy of his pen, although 
it illustrates well the power men like Alexander Dowie, or women 
like Mrs. Baker Eddy, possessed to delude the ignorant multitudes. 

THE TUTOR'S STORY. By Charles Kingsley. New York : Dodd, 

Mead & Co. $1.35 net. 

After many decades, a posthumous novel by the late Rev. 
Charles Kingsley has just been published. His daughter, Mrs. Mary 
Harrison, who writes under the name of Lucas Mallet, found the 
uncompleted novel in a very sketchy condition among her father's 
notebooks. She has developed the characters and disentangled the 
plot; the style must also be hers, for although the scene is laid 
in the early thirties, the atmosphere is the breezy, modern one of 

398 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

The novel, a bright, interesting tale of adventure, is not re- 
markable in any way, but will afford a pleasant evening's entertain- 
ment. It deals autobiographically with the experiences of a Cam- 
bridge scholar who becomes the tutor of a young nobleman, the 
heir to a great estate and the object of many jealousies and in- 
trigues. The tutor's devotion to his headstrong, yet attractive 
pupil, involves him in a world of excitement from which at length 
he is glad to retire to lead the comfortable life of a Church of Eng- 
land clergyman. 

Even in this harmless novel Mr. Kingsley must go out of his 
way to call the Tractarian Party at Oxford in the early forties an 
"outbreak of fanaticism." 

THE WONDERFUL YEAR. By William J. Locke. New York: 

John Lane Co. $1.40 net. 

In his latest novel, Mr. Locke relates the wanderings of a 
young Englishman who had for years taught French in an obscure 
Tboarding school. He goes to Paris for a short vacation, travels 
through France on a bicycle with an unconventional young woman 
friend whom he had met in the Quartier Latin, and finally becomes 
a waiter in a little provincial inn. Eventually he becomes more 
French than the French themselves, enlists in the French army, and 
returns home wounded to marry the inn-keeper's daughter. 

All the characters of this tale fight shy of the conventions 
of polite society, and are governed solely by emotion, fancy and 
impulse. The unbelieving French Catholic is put forward as a 
type of all that is good and noble, while the only practical Catholic 
that figures in these pages is a cruel, heartless, unforgiving Pharisee. 

LOVE AND LUCY. By Maurice Hewlett. New York: Dodd, 

Mead & Co. $1.35 net. 

Love and Lucy pictures the home life of a cold, undemon- 
strative and formal English lawyer. His wife, Lucy, is an emo- 
tional creature, hungry for affection, and winning, despite her- 
self, the love of one of her husband's friends. He is a self-made 
millionaire scoundrel who determines to break up the McCartney 
home. But he merely succeeds in arousing the husband's jealousy, 
and thereby increases tenfold the love of husband and wife. 

Throughout this story sentimentalism runs riot, and the un- 
Christian doctrine of the end justifying the means seems to merit 
hearty approval. Lucy, the loyal wife, is much too kindly in her 
farewell to the blackguard Urquhart. 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 399 

THE BIRD HOUSE MAN. By Walter Prichard Eaton. Garden 
City, New York: Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.35 net. 
Alec Farnum, the hero of this delightful tale, is a kindly New 
Englander who writes about birds and makes bird houses, and in- 
cidentally is a most determined matchmaker. His one' purpose in 
life is to make other people happy. With infinite tact he wins the 
confidence of every man and woman of the little town of South- 
mead, brings about a number of happy marriages, reconciles dis- 
contented husbands and wives, and gives peace and joy to the 
hearts of disconsolate maiden ladies. We are all pleased when at 
the end he himself marries the girl of his choice. 

WORK. Reproductions of a series of drawings, etchings, 
lithographs made by him about the world, 1881-1915, with 
impressions and notes by the artist. Philadelphia : J. B. Lip- 
pincott Co. $2.00 net. 

In his preface the well-known American artist, Joseph Pennell, 
tells us that he has done his best to give Americans a graphic 
record of what the industrial world is doing, or, as he puts it, " to 
tell of the wonder of work as I see it in New York, Chicago, San 
Francisco, the coal mines of my native State, in Europe and in 

The fifty-two illustrations in this volume image forth the 
beauty that Mr. Pennell sees in the building of a New York sky- 
scraper, the ore wharves of Duluth, the flour mills of Minneapolis, 
the copper mines of Butte, the shipping of Genoa, the mills of 
Valenciennes, and the Krupp works of Essen. 

The spirit which animates Mr. Pennell may be seen from 
the following description of New York City taken from a lecture 
he delivered before the Royal Society of Arts in London. He 
writes : " New York, as the incoming foreigner and the returning 
American see it or might see it, rises a vision, a mirage of the 
lower bay, the color by day more shimmering than Venice, by 
night more magical than London. In the morning the mountains 
of buildings hide themselves, to reveal themselves in the rosy steam 
clouds that chase one another across their flank ; when evening fades 
they are mighty cliffs glimmering with glistening lights in the magic 
and mystery of the night. As the steamer moves up the bay on 
the left the Great Goddess greets you, a composition in color and 

400 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

form, with the city beyond, finer than any in any world that ever 
existed, finer than Claude ever imagined, or Turner ever dreamed." 

SOCIETY AND PRISONS. By Thomas Mott Osborne. New 

Haven: Yale University Press. $1.35 net. 

Mr. Osborne delivered the lectures of the present volume on 
Society and Prisons, or Some Suggestions for a New Penology , 
at Yale a year ago under the terms of the William Earl Dodge lec- 
tureship. No one can deny that the lecturer held his hearers from 
the beginning to the end of these entertaining talks. He has much 
to tell us about the injustice of the police, the trickery of District 
Attorneys, the defects of the courts, the cruelty of our prisons, 
which, as he says, " often deprive a convict of his working capacity, 
his sanity and his faith in God." 

He describes his own experiences as a voluntary convict in 
the roughest gang of Auburn Prison, and pictures in glowing terms 
the success of the Mutual Welfare League which he established 
at Auburn. He denounces strongly the evils of the old system 
on the following counts : it insisted too much on long hours of 
confinement in small unhealthy cells; it fostered unnatural vice; 
its labor system was ill-organized and inefficient ; it enforced silence 
to an excess ; it allowed no break in the terrible monotony of cell- 
block, buckets, meals, and work ; it fostered constant espionage and 
created a number of despicable " stool-pigeons; " it resulted in bru- 
tality on the part of the guards and despair on the part of the 

Mr. Osborne failed because in his revolt against the real evils 
of our prison system, he went to the other extreme of treating the 
criminals with too much kindness. He is wrong in holding that 
" the only purpose of the prison that will stand the test of intelli- 
gent examination and analysis is that of reformation." Criminals 
must be deterred from further wrongdoing, and they must be 
punished adequately for their defiance of the law. 

THE SUNDAY MISSAL. Compiled by Rev. F. X. Lasance. New 
York : Benziger Brothers. 75 cents to $4.50. 
We recommend the Sunday Missal as a good prayer-book 
for the laity. Although the print is excessively small, it is 
well arranged, and contains not only the Masses for Sundays 
and holidays, but most of the prayers found in the ordinary prayer- 

1916.] NEW BOOKS 401 

Societas Goerresiana. Tomus Secundus. Diariorum Pars 
Secunda. St. Louis: B. Herder. $21.00 net. 

(The Council of Trent: A New Collection of Its Diaries, 
Acts, Epistles and Treatises. Edited by the Goerres Society. 
Volume II. (St. Louis: B. Herder. $2.00 net.) 
The Goerres Society, which purposes to publish all the original 
documents relating to the Council of Trent, well deserves the com- 
mendation of Popes Leo XIII. and Pius X. for its indefatigable 
industry and its careful scholarship. Its scholars have been for 
many years visiting the private and public libraries of Europe in 
order to edit and compare every manuscript that will help the his- 
torian to form a perfect estimate of the Council of Trent. Their 
work, when completed in the thirteen promised quartos of some 
thousand pages each, will correct for all time the unreliable History 
of the Council of Trent by the apostate Servite, Era Paola Sarpi, 
and the partial polemical treatise published to refute it by the Jesuit 
Cardinal, Sforza Pallavicino. 

The present volume is the result of six years' incessant labor. 
The ten documents here printed have been carefully edited from 
manuscripts to be found in the libraries of Paris, Nantes, Rheims, 
Verdun, Saint-Mihiel, Naples, Milan, Rome, Salamanca, Trent, 
Munich, Stuttgart, Wirzburg and Vienna. They comprise the 
fifth, sixth and seventh diaries of Angelo Massarelli, Secretary of 
the Council; the Epilogus of the Acts of the Sacred and (Ecu- 
menical Synod of Trent, by Laurent de la Pree, Canon of Tournay ; 
The Commentaries of the Council of Trent, by Cardinal Girolamo 
Seripando ; The Diaries of Luigi Firmano, a paper master of cere- 
monies at the Council; The Election of Pius IV., by the Augus- 
tinian, Onofrio Panvinio; the account of the death of Paul IV. and 
the conclave and election of Pius IV., by Antonio Guido of Mantua 
(Medole?) ; The History of the Council of Trent, by Pedro Gon- 
zalez de Mendoza, Bishop of Salamanca, and the diary of Nicole 
Psaume, Bishop of Verdun. 

Massarelli's fifth diary (November 6,1549-February 8, 1550) 
treats in detail of the conclave which elected Julius III. It opens 
with a brief account of the last illness, death and burial of Paul 
III. (Alessandro Farnese) and a brief estimate of his character. 
The conclave lasted eighty-two days, and resulted in the election of 
Cardinal de Monte on the sixty-first ballot. 
VOL. civ. 26 

402 NEW BOOKS [Dec., 

The sixth diary (February 9, 15 50- September 8, 1551), treats 
of the first year and a half of the pontificate of Julius III. The 
eleventh and twelfth sessions of the Council held on May ist and 
September ist were unimportant. 

The seventh diary (February 12, 1555-November 30, 1561) 
is chiefly valuable for its contemporary portraits of Marcellus II., 
Paul IV. and Pius IV., and its record of the chief happenings of 
their pontificates. 

Laurent de la Pree, Canon of Tournay, gives a brief 
account in thirty pages of the first eight sessions of the Council. 
His diary is valuable from the fact that it is the only source we 
possess written from the imperial standpoint. He does not touch 
the questions discussed by the theologians or canonists, but writes 
of the supposed motives that governed the bishops in their debates, 
and the politics that guided the different