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THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.

VOL. XXVI.
OBER, 1877, TO MARCH, 1878.

NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY

COMPANY,

9 Barclay Street.
1878.

Copyrighted by
I. T. HECKER,

1878.

THE NATION PRESS, 27 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

A Final Philosophy, 610

A Glance at the Indian Question, . . . 195

A Great Bishop, 6*5

A Legend of Dieppe, 264

A Ramble after the Waits, .... 485

A Silent Courtship, 39

A Sweet Revenge, 179, 384

Among the Translators, .... 309, 732
Africa, Religion on the East Coast of, . . 411

Catholic Circles for Working-men in France, . 529

Charles Lever at Home, ..... 203

Christianity as an Historical Religion, . 434, 653

Church of England, Confession in the, . . 590

Compostella, St. James of, .... 163

Confession in the Church of England. . . 590

Criminals and their Treatment, ... 56

Marguerite, ....... 73

Marquette, Father James, Death of, and Dis-

covery of his Remains, .... 267

Michael the Sombre, .... 1599, 791

Mickey Casey's Christmas Dinner-Party, . 512

Mont St. Michel, The Last Pilgrimage to, . 128

Mormonism, The Two Prophets of, . . 227

Mystery of the Old Organ ..... 356

Descent of Man, The,
Dieppe, A Legend of,
Dr. Draper and Evolution.

496
264
774

Evolution, Dr. Draper and, ....

Fortifications of Rome, Civiltk Cattolica on

the,

Free Religionists, The,

French Home Life,

Froude on the " Revival of Romanism,"
Froude on the Decline of Protestantism,

German Element in the United States, .

Hedge-Poets, The Irish,

Holy Cave of Manresa, The

How Steenwykerwold was Saved, .

Indian Policy, our New, and Religious Liber-
ty

Indian Question, A Glance at the, .
Industrial Crisis, Character of the Present,

Ireland in 1878,

Irish Hedge-Poets, The

Isles of L<5rins, The,

Italy, The Outlook in

403
'45
759

372

406
821

Organ, The Mystery of the Old,
Our New Indian Policy and Religious Li-
berty, .......

Papal Elections, 537l

Philosophy, A Final,

Pilgrimage, The Last, to Mont St. Michel, .

Pius the Ninth.

Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philoso-
phy,

Preachers on the Rampage, ....

Protestantism, Froude on the Decline of,

Protestant Episcopal Convention and Con-
gress,

Religion in Jamaica,

Religion on the East Coast of Africa,

Roc Amadour,

Romanism, Froude on the Revival of,
Rome, The Civilta. Cattolica. on the Fortifi-
cations of, ......

Science, The God of " Advanced," .
Scholastic Philosophy, Recent Polemics and

356

811
610
128

846

337
700
470

395

411

Irenics in,

St. Hedwige I0g

547 St. James of Compostella, .... 163

The Character of the Present Industrial

90 Crisis, i22

195 The God of " Advanced " Science, . . . 251

122 The Home-Rule Candidate, . . . 669 742

721 The Late Dr. T. W. Marshall, ... 806

406 The Little Chapel at Monamullin, . . 213, 322

685 The Old Stone Jug, 638

i The Two Prophets of Mormonism, . . . 227

Jamaica, Religion in 69 United States, The German Element in the, . 372

Lerins, The Isles of,
Lever at Home,

Man, The Descent of,
Manresa, The Holy Cave of, .

685
203

.496

Waits, A Ramble after the 485

Wolf-Tower, The, 440

Working-men in France, Catholic Circles

for, S29

821 Year of Our Lord 1877, The,

560

POETRY.

A Child-Beggar, 683 Order

After Castel-Fidardo,
A Little Sermon,
A Mountain Friend,
At the Church Door,

Between the Years,

789
713

382

Outside St. Peter's 756

Smoke-Bound, 161

Sonnet,

Blessed Virgin, The, 731 The Bells,

Brother and Sister,
Ceadmon the Cow-Herd,

4°5

6sa The Hiver's Voice, 535

" There was no Room for Them in the Inn," 668
577 To the Wood-Thrush, 250

Faber, To F. W 305 Tola Pulchra 355

In Retreat,

699 Witch-Hazel, To the, 447

Contents.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

A Life of Pius IX. down to the Episcopal •

Jubilee 135

Almanac, Catholic Family, .... 572
Almanac and Treasury of Facts for the year .

1878 .860

Ancient History, 432

Annals of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, . 144
Antar and Zara, 431

Bible of Humanity, The, .... 143
Bibliotheca Symbolica Ecclesiae Universalis, . 284
Blanche Carey,

Catacombs, A Visit to the Roman, .
Catechism of Christian Doctrine, .
Catholic Parents' Friend, The,
Charles Sprague, Poetical and Prose Writ-
ings of, 143

Christianity, The Beginnings of, . . . 425

140
859
144

Marie Lataste, The Life of, .... 134
Mary, The Knowledge of, . . . .715

Materialism, 859

McGee's Illustrated Weekly, .... 143

Mirror of True Womanhood, .... 719

Miscellanies, ....... 281

Missa de Beata Maria, 139

Modern Philosophy, ..... 428

Mongrelism, . . . . . . .142

Monotheism, ....... 571

Morning Offices of Palm Sunday, Holy Thurs-
day, and Good Friday, .... 858

Nicholas Minturn, ...... 575

Records of a Quiet Life,
Recueil de Lectures.

De Deo Creante,

426

Eternal Years, The, 575

Evidences of Religion, 572

137
139

God the Teacher of Mankind, .
Grammar-School Speller and Definer, The,

Human Eye, Is the, Changing its form under

the Influences of Modern Education ? . 860

Iza, 575

Jack, 143

Knowledge of Mary, 715

Letters of Rev. James Maher, D.D.,
Life of Marie Lataste,
Life of Pope Pius IX., A Popular, .
Lotos-Flowers,

135

573

Repertorium Oratoris Sacri, . .

Roman Catacombs, A Visit to the, .

Sadlier's Elementary History of the U. S., ,
School Hygiene, Report upon, . . .

Shakspere's Home,

Specialists and Specialties in Medicine, . .
Standard Arithmetic. No. I., .

Standard Arithmetic. No. II i

Sunday-School Teacher's Manual,
Suppression of the Society of Jesus in the
Portuguese Dominions, History of the,
Surly Tim,

The Beginnings of Christianity,

The Kail of Rora

The Life of Pope Pius IX., '.

Vesper Hymn-Book, The New,
What Catholics Do Not Believe, .

859
288
574
859

432
136
719
142
287
288
575

429
574

425
J35
573
719

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVI., No. 151.— OCTOBER, 1877.

THE OUTLOOK IN ITALY.

I. — WHAT IS THE MEANING OF RE-
CENT EVENTS IN ITALY ?

THE revolutionary movement in
Italy headed by Victor Emanuel
has, step by step, trampled under
foot every principle of religion,
morality, and justice that stood be-
tween it and its goal. No pretext
of the welfare of a people, even
when based on truth, can ever
make perfidy and treachery lawful,
or furnish a covering of texture
thick enough to hide from intelli-
gent and upright minds so long
and black a list of misdeeds as the
Piedmontese subjugation of South-
ern Italy contains. " All iniquity
of nations is execrable." What is
more, the catalogue of the crimes
of this revolution is by no means
filled, and, what is worse, the fu-
ture forebodes others which, in their
enormity, will cast those of its be-
ginning into the shade. That the
natural desire for unity among the
Italian people might have been
realized by proper and just means,
had the religious, intelligent, and

influential classes exerted them-
selves as they were in duty bound
to do, there is little room for rea-
sonable doubt. For it would be an
unpleasant thing to admit that civ-
ilized society, after the action of
nineteen centuries of Christianity,
could find no way to satisfy a legiti-
mate aspiration, except by a pro-
cess involving the violation and
subversion of those principles of
justice, right, and religion for the
maintenance and security of which
human society is organized and
established. It is indeed strange
to see the Latin races, which
accepted so thoroughly and for so
long a period the true Christian
faith, now everywhere subject to
violent and revolutionary changes
in their political condition. How
is this to be reconciled with the
fact that Christianity, in response
to the primitive instincts of human
nature, and in consonance with the
laws which govern the whole uni-
verse, aims at, and actually brings
about when followed, the greatest
happiness of man upon earth while

The Outlook in Italy.

securing his perfect bliss hereafter?
For so runs the promise of the
divine Founder of Christianity : " A
hundred-fold more in this life, and
in the world to come life everlast-
ing."

What has beguiled so large a
number of the people of Italy, once
so profoundly Catholic, that now
they should take up the false prin-
ciples of revolution, should accept
a pseudo-science, and unite with
secret atheistical societies ? How
has it come to pass that a people
•vvho poured out their blood as free-
ly as water in testimony and de-
fence of the Catholic religion, whose
(history has given innumerable ex-
amples of the highest form of Chris-
tian heroism in ages past, now fol-
lows willingly, or at least submits
•tamely, to the dictation of leaders
who are animated with hatred to
the Catholic Church, and are bent
-on the extermination of the Chris-
tian faith, and with it of all reli-
.gion?

Only those who can read in the
seeds of time can tell whether
such signs as these are to be inter-
preted as signifying the beginning
of the apostasy of the Latin races
from Christianity and the disinte-
gration and ruin of Latin nations,
or whether these events are to be
looked upon as evidence of a latent
capacity and a youthful but ill-re-
gulated strength pointing out a tran-
sition to a new and better order of
• things in the future.

Judging from the antecedents of
.the men placed in political power
by recent elections in Italy, and
their destructive course of legisla-
tion, the former supposition, con-
fining our thoughts to the imme-
diate present, appears to be the
.more likely. It is not, therefore, a
matter of surprise that Catholics of
•an active faith and a deep sense of

personal responsibility feel uneasy
at seeing things go from bad to
worse in nations which they have
been accustomed to look upon as
pre-eminently Catholic. Nor is it
in human nature for men of ener-
getic wills and sincere feelings of
patriotism to content themselves
when they see the demagogues of
liberty and the conspirators of
atheistical secret societies coming
to the front and aiming at the de-
struction of all that makes a coun-
try dear to honest men. Nowhere
does the Catholic Church teach
that the love of one's country is an-
tagonistic to the love of God; nor
does the light of her faith allure to
an ignoble repose, or her spirit ren-
der her members slaves or cow-
ards.

Serious-minded men, before' going
into action, are wont to examine
anew their first principles, in order
to find out whether these be well
grounded, clearly defined, and firm,
and also whether there may not be
some flaw in the deductions which
they have been accustomed to draw
from them. An examination of this
kind is a healthy and invigorating
exercise, and not to be feared when
one has in his favor truth and
honesty.

II. — THE UNITY OF ITALY.

The idea of unity responds to
one of the noblest aspirations of
the soul, and wherever it exists
free from all compulsion it gives
birth to just hopes of true great-
ness. Would that the cry for unity
were heard from the hearts of the
inhabitants of the whole earth, and
that the inward struggle which reigns
in men's bosoms, and the outward
discord which prevails between
man and man, between nations and
nations, and between races and
races, had for ever passed away !

The Outlook in Italy.

" When will the hundred summers die,

And thought and time be born again,
And newer knowledge, drawing nigh.
Bring truth that sways the hearts of men ?"

Unity is the essence of the God-
head and the animating principle
of God's church; and wherever her
spirit penetrates, there the natural
desire for unity implanted in the
human heart is intensified and uni-
versalized, and man seeks to give
to it an adequate embodiment in
every sphere of his activity. It was
this natural instinct for unity guid-
ed by the genius of Catholicity that
formed the scattered tribes of Eu-
rope of former days into nations,
uniting them in a grand universal
republic which was properly called
Christendom. Who knows but, as
there reigned, by the action of an
overruling Providence, a political
unity in the ancient world which
paved the way for the introduction
of Christianity, that so there may
be in preparation a more perfect
political unity of peoples and na-
tions in the modern world to open
the way for the universal triumph
of Christianity ?

But there is a wide difference
between recognizing that political
unity is favorable to the strengtli
and greatness of nations and the
spread and victory of Christianity,
and the acceptance of the errors of
a class of its promoters, the ap-
proval of their injustice, or a com-
promise with their crimes.

" When devils will their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows."

The actual question, therefore,
is not concerning the union of the
Italian people in one nation, or
whether their present unity will be
lasting, or revoked, or by internal
weakness be dissolved, or shaped
in some way for the better. But
the actual and pressing question is,
How can Italy be withdrawn from

the designing men who have man-
aged to get control over her poli-
tical government under the cloak
of Italian unity, and who are plain-
ly leadingher on towards a precipice
like that of the French Revolution
of 1789, to be followed by another
of even more atrocious notoriety —
that of 1871 ? He must be blind to
the sure but stealthy march of
events who does not see that, un-
der the control of the present party
at the head of the legislative power,
Italy is rapidly approaching such a
catastrophe. A few thousand fren-
zied men held and tyrannized over
France in 1789; a greater number
in Italy — which, like all Europe, is
worm-eaten by secret societies — are
only waiting for the spark to pro-
duce a more destructive explosion,
when the character of their leaders
and the more inflammable materials
they have to work upon are con-
sidered.

There is running through all
things, both good and evil, an un-
conquerable law of logic. What is
liberalism on Sunday becomes li-
cense on Monday, revolutionism on
Tuesday, internationalism on Wed-
nesday, socialism on Thursday, com-
munism on Friday, and anarchy on
Saturday. He who only sees the
battered stones made by the cannon
fired against its walls when the
Piedmontese soldiers entered into
Rome by Porta Pia, sees naught.
There are more notable signs than
these to read for him who knows
how to decipher them. In the in-
vasion and seizure of the temporal
principality of the head of Christ's
church, which had stood for cen-
turies as the keystone of the Chris-
tian commonwealth, the indepen-
dence of nations was overthrown,
international law trampled under
foot, and the sacred rights of reli-
gion sacrilegiously violated. It was

The Outlook in Italy.

then — let those who have ears to
hear listen — that rights consecrated
through long ages, and recognized
by 200,000,000 of Catholics to-day,
were broken in upon by the Pied-
montese army ; and yet men are
found to wonder that the violation
of these rights by the Italian
revolutionary party should fire
with indignation the souls of the
faithful in all lands. But revolu-
tion will take its course; and so
sure as the Piedmontese entered
by Porta Pia into Rome and took
possession, and held it until the
present hour, so sure is it that the
conspirators of the secret interna-
tional societies will in turn get pos-
session of Rome and do their fell
work in the Eternal City. " They
that sow wind, shall reap the whirl-
wind."

\Vho foresaw, or anticipated, or
even dreamed of the atrocities of
the Commune in Paris of 1871 ?
What happened at Paris in the
reign of the Commune will pale in
wickedness before the reign of the
internationalists in Rome. *As Pa-
ris represents the theatre of world-
liness, so Rome is the visible sanc-
tuary of religion. Corruptio optimi
pcssima.

Is there a man so simple or so
ignorant of the temper and designs
of the conspirators against civilized
society in Europe, as well as in our
own free country, who fancies that
these desperate men will shrink from
shaping their acts in accordance
with their ulterior aims ?

No one who witnessed the re-
ception of Garibaldi in Rome in
the winter of 1875 can doubt as to
who holds the place of leader
among the most numerous class of
the population of Italy. The views
of this man and the party to
which he belongs are no secret.
" The fall of the Commune," he

wrote in June, 1873, " 1S a misfor-
tune for the whole universe and a
defeat for ever to be regretted. . . .
I belong to the internationals, and
I declare that if I should see arise
a society of demons having for its
object to combat sovereigns and
priests, I would enroll myself in
their ranks." It is only the well-
officered, strictly-disciplined, and
large army of Victor Emanuel that
hinders Garibaldi from hoisting the
red flag of the Commune in Rome
and declaring an agrarian republic
in Italy. But how long will the
Italian army, with the present radi-
cals at the head of affairs, remain
intact and free from demoraliza-
tion ?

" The heights infected, vales below
Will soon with plague be rife."

The army is drawn from a pop-
ulation which the internationalists
have penetrated and inoculated
with their errors and designs, and
their emissaries have been discover-
ed tampering and fraternizing with
the troops.

Who can tell how near is the
hour when St. Peter's will be offi-
cially declared the pantheon of red-
republican Italy, and the statue of
Garibaldi will be placed on the high
altar where now stands the image
of the Crucified God-Man ? This
will not be the end but the prelude
to the final act of the present im-
pending tragedy, when the black
flag will be unfurled and the pala-
ces of Rome, with St. Peter's and
the Vatican, and all their records
of the past and centuries of heaped-
up treasures of art, will be reduced
by petroleum and dynamite to a
shapeless heap of ruins. To those
who can tell a hawk from a hand-
saw this is the hidden animus and
the logical sequence of the entrance
of the Piedmontese army into Rome.

TJie Outlook in Italy.

This is the real reading of the hand-
writing on the walls of Porta Pia :

" Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips."

But is there not a sufficient num-
ber of conservatives in the present
national party of Italy to stop the
men now at the head of affairs be-
fore they reach their ultimate de-
signs? Perhaps so; it would be
pleasant to believe this. But the
present aspect of affairs gives but
little hope of this being true. These
conservatives, who did not, or could
not, or would not stop the spolia-
tion of the property of the church
and the trampling upon her sacred
rights ; these conservatives, who did
not take measures to hinder the
Italian radicals from possessing
themselves of the legislative power
of the present government and
pursuing their criminal course —
these are not the men to build one's
hopes upon in stemming the tide
that is now sweeping Italy to her
destruction. The dictates of com-
mon sense teach us to look to some
other quarter for hopes of success.

III. — THE MISSION OF THE LATIN
RACE.

How much of the present condi-
tion of the Latin peoples, politically,
commercially, or socially consider-
ed, can be satisfactorily explained
or accounted for on the score of
climate, or on that of their charac-
teristics as a race, or of the stage
of their historical development, or
of the change made in the chan-
nels of commerce in consequence
of new discoveries, it is not our
purpose to stop here to examine or
attempt to estimate and decide.
One declaration we have no hesita-
tion in making at the outset, and

that is : If the Latin nations are
not in all respects at the present
moment equal to others, it is due
to one or more of the above-enu-
merated causes, and not owing, as
some partisans and infidels would
have the world believe, to the
doctrines of their religious faith.

The Catholic Church affirms the
natural order, upholds the value of
human reason, and asserts the nat-
ural rights of man. Her doctrines
teach that reason is at the basis of
revelation, that human nature is
the groundwork of divine grace,
and that the aim of Christianity is
not the repression or obliteration
of the capacities and instincts of
man, but their elevation, expansion,
and deification.

The Catholic Church not only
affirms the natural order, but affirms
the natural order as divine. For
she has ever held the Creator of the
universe, of man, and the Author
of revelation as one, and therefore
welcomed cheerfully whatever was
found to be true, good, and beauti-
ful among all the different races,
peoples, nations, and tribes of man-
kind. It is for this reason that she
has merited from those who only
see antagonism between God and
man, between nature and grace, be-
tween revelation and science — who
believe that " the heathen were
devil-begotten and God-forsaken,"
and " this world a howling wilder-
ness " — the charge of being supersti-
tious, idolatrous, and pagan.

The special mission of the people
of Israel by no manner of means
sets aside the idea of the directing
care of divine Providence and the
mission of other branches of the
family of mankind. The heathens,
so-called, were under, and are still
under, the divine dispensation giv-
en to the patriarch Noe ; and so that
they live up to the light thus re-

The Outlook in Italy.

ceived, they are, if in good faith, in
the way of salvation. The written
law given by divine inspiration to
Moses was the same as the un writ-
ten law given to Noe and the
patriarchs, and the patriarchal dis-
pensation was the same as was re-
ceived from God by Adam. There
is no one rational being ever born
of the human race who is not in
some sort in the covenanted graces
of God. It is the glory of the Ca-
tholic Church that she exists from
the beginning, and embraces in her
fold all the members of the human
race; and of her alone it can be
said with truth that she is Ca-
tholic— that is, universal both in
time and space : replevit orbem ter-
rarum.

Affirming the natural order and
upholding it as divine, the Catho-
lic Church did not hesitate to recog-
nize the Roman Empire and the
established governments of the
world under paganism, and to in-
culcate the duty, " Render unto Cae-
sar the things that are Caesar's."
Hence she willingly accepted al-
liance with the Roman state when
Constantine became a Christian,
and approved, but with important
ameliorations, the Roman code of
laws ; and of every form of govern-
ment, whether monarchic or demo-
cratic, established among the Gen-
tile nations of the past or by non-
Christian peoples of the present,
she acknowledges and maintains
the divine right.

The great theologians of the
church, after having eliminated the
errors and supplied the deficien-
cies of the philosophy of Plato and
Aristotle, accepted and employed
their systems, and the labors of
these " immortal heathens " have
contributed no little to the glory of
Christianity. It is to the labor
of Christian monks that the world

is indebted for what it possesses of
the writings of the genius of the
" heathen " poets, moralists, and
other authors. It was the church's
custom to purify the heathen tem-
ples by her blessing, and transform
their noble buildings, without alter-
ing their structure, into Christian
temples. It was in the bosom of
the Catholic populations of Italy
that the revival of classical litera-
ture and art took its rise in modern
Europe. Notwithstanding the ex-
travagance of some of its votaries,
which called forth the righteous
indignation and condemnation of
Savonarola, its refining influence,
combined with the wealth 'due to
industry and commerce, elevated
the Italian cities to a height of
civilization that has not been sur-
passed, if equalled, by the foremost
nations of our day. When the
ships of Spain covered every sea
with commerce, and its activity
broke through the confines of the
known world and discovered, by the
guiding genius of Columbus, a new
continent ; when it was said of
Spain that the sun never set upon
its realms ; when Spain was most
productive of great warriors, great
statesmen, great artists, and great
saints, it was then, and precisely
because of it, that Spain was most
profoundly and devoutly Catholic.

All the joys that spring from the
highest intellectual and artistic
culture, the happiness derived from
man's domestic and social affec-
tions, the gratification of the senses
in the contemplation of the beauty
of all creation, and the pleasure
drawn from the fruits of industry
and commerce — all these, when
pure, are not only consistent with,
but form a part of, the life and wor-
ship of the Catholic faith. The
very last accusation for an intelli-
gent man to make against the Ca-

The Outlook in Italy.

tholic Church is that she teaches a
"non-human " religion.

No political government, at least
in modern times, has ventured to
rely so far upon the natural ability
of man to govern himself as that of
the republic of the United States.
It may be said that the government
of this republic is founded upon
man's natural capacity to govern
himself as a primary truth or max-
im. It assumes the dignity of hu-
man nature, presupposes the value
of man's reason, and affirms his
natural and inalienable rights.

These were declarations of no
new truths, for they spring from
right reason and the primitive in-
stincts of human nature, and be-
long, therefore, to that natural order
which had ever been asserted and
defended by the great theologians
and general councils of the Catho-
lic Church. These truths underlie
every form of political government
founded in Catholic ages, corre-
spond to the instincts of the people,
and were only opposed by despots,
Protestant theologians, and the er-
roneous doctrines concerning the
natural order brought into vogue
by the so-called Reformation.

Our American institutions, in the
first place, we owe to God, who
made us what we are, and in the
next place to the Catholic Church,
which maintained the natural order,
man's ability in that order, and his
free will. Under God the founders
of our institutions owed nothing to
Englishmen or Dutchmen as Pro-
testants, but owed all to the self-
evident truths of reason, to man's
native instincts of liberty, to the
noble traditions of the human race
upheld by God's church and
strengthened by the conviction of
these truths ; their heroic bravery
and their stout arms did the rest.

This is why Catholics from the

beginning took an integral part in
the foundation and permanent suc-
cess of our republic. Among the
most distinguished names attached
to the document which first declar-
ed our national independence and
affirmed the principles which un-
derlie our institutions will be found
one of the most intelligent, con-
sistent, and fervent members of the
Catholic Church. The priest who
was first elevated to the episcopate
of the Catholic hierarchy in the
United States took an active part
in its early struggles, and was the
intimate friend of Benjamin Frank-
lin and an associate of his on a
mission to engage the Canadians
to join in our efforts for independ-
ence.

The patriotism of Catholics will
not suffer in comparison with their
fellow-countrymen, as is witnessed
by the public address of General
Washington at Philadelphia imme-
diately after the close of the war
with England. And when they
now come to our shores from other
countries, it matters not what may
have been the form of their native
governments, they are at once at
home and breathe freely the air of
liberty.

Sincere Catholics are among our
foremost patriotic citizens, and,
whatever may befall our country,
they will not be found among those
who would divide her into factions,
or who would contract her liberties,
or seek to change the popular in-
stitutions inherited from our heroic
forefathers. Catholic Americans
have so learned their religion as to
find in it a faithful ally and a firm
support of both political and civil
liberty.

Nowhere, on the other hand, does
the Catholic Church reckon among
her members more faithful, more
fervent, and more devoted children

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than in the citizens of our republic.
Everywhere the Catholic Church
appears at the present moment
under a cloud ; there is only one
spot in her horizon where there
breaks through a bright ray of hope
of a better future, and that is in
the direction of our free and youth-
ful country. What better test and
proof of the Catholic Church's
sanction of the entire natural order
can be asked than her unexampled
prosperity in the American repub-
lic of the United States ?

If the Latin peoples are back-
ward in things relating to their po-
litical or material or social pros-
perity, or in any other respect, in
the natural order, this is not to be
laid to the charge of the Catholic
faith. If the races are not wanting
to her, the church will never be
wanting to the races.

The force which is at work in
the actual turmoil in Italy we are
firmly convinced will renew the
Catholic faith, and open up to its
people — let us hope without their
passing through a catastrophe fear-
ed by many, and not without
grounds — anew and better future.

IV. THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

They are blind to the lesson
which every page of the history of
the Catholic Church teaches who
indulge in the fancy that the Christ
laden and guided bark of Peter will
not ride safely through the present
world-wide, threatening storm. As
the fierce beating of the storm
against the majestic oak fixes its
roots more firmly in the soil and
strengthens and expands its limbs,
so by the attacks of calumny the
militant church of Christ is made
better known, by persecution she
is strengthened, and the attempts
at her overthrow prepare the way

for new and more glorious tri-
umphs.

The pages of history point out in
other centuries dangers to the exis-
tence of the church equal to those
of the present crisis, through which
she passed with safety and renewed
strength. A master-pen in word-
painting has given a picture of one
of those critical periods, all the
more striking as the events which
it portrays are within the memory
of men still living, and also because
the writer is famed for anything
rather than Catholic leanings. " It
is not strange," he says, " that in
the year 1799 even sagacious ob-
servers should have thought that
at length the hour of the Church of
Rome was come, an infidel power
ascendant, the pope dying in cap-
tivity, the most illustrious prelates
of France living in a foreign coun-
try on Protestant alms, the noblest
edifices which the munificence of
former ages have consecrated to
the worship of God turned into
temples of victory, or into banquet-
ing houses for political societies,
or into theophilanthropic chapels.
Such signs might well be supposed
to indicate the approaching end of
that long domination. But the end
was not yet. Again doomed to
death, the milk-white hind was still
fated not to die. Even before the
funeral rites had been performed
over the ashes of Pius VI. a great
reaction had commenced, which,
after the lapse of more than forty-
years, appears to be still in pro-
gress. Anarchy had had its day.
A new order of things rose out of
the confusion, new dynasties, new
laws, new titles, and amidst them
emerged the ancient religion. The
Arabs have a fable that the Great
Pyramid was built by antediluvian
kings, and alone, of all the works
of men, bore the weight of the

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Flood. Such as this was the fate of
the Papacy : it had been buried
under the great inundation, but its
deep foundations had remained un-
shaken ; and when the waters had
abated it appeared alone amid the
ruins of a world which had passed
away. The republic of Holland
was gone, the empire of Germany,
and the great Council of Venice,
and the old Helvetian League, and
the house of Bourbon, and the par-
liaments and aristocracy of France.
Europe was full of young creations
— a French Empire, a kingdom of
Italy, a Confederation of the Rhine.
Nor had the late events affected
only territorial limits and political
institutions. The distribution of
property, the composition and spi-
rit of society, had, through great
part of Catholic Europe, undergone
a complete change. But the un-
changeable church was still there."*

Three centuries of protests
against the idea of the church and
of her divine authority have serv-
ed to bring the question of the ne-
cessity of the church and the claims
of her authority squarely before the
minds of all men who think on re-
ligious subjects. So general was
the belief in them before the rise
of Protestantism that theological
works, even the Sum of St. Tho-
mas, did not contain what is now
never omitted by theological wri-
ters: the " Tractatus de Ecclesia."
The violent protests of heresy, join-
ed with the persecutions of the
despotic power of the state, have
ended in showing more clearly the
divine institution of the church,
and proving more conclusively her
divine authority.

" In poison there is physic."

The idea of the church is a di-
vine conception, and the existence

* Macaulay.

of the church is a divine creation.
The church as a divine idea lies
hid in God, and was an essential
part of his preconceived plan in
the creation of the universe. Hence
the error of those who consider the
church as the creation of " an as-
sembly of individual Christian be-
'lievers"; or as the product of the
state, as in Prussia, Russia, Eng-
land, and other countries; or as
the effort of a race, as Dean Mil-
man maintains in his History of La-
tin Christianity; or as "the con-
scious organization of the moral
and intellectual forces and resources
of humanity for a higher life than
that which the state requires."
Hence also the failure of all
church-builders and inventors of
new religions from the earliest ages
down to the Luthers, Calvins, Hen-
ry VIIIs., Wesleys, Charles Foxes,
Mother Ann Lees, Joe Smiths, Dol-
lingers,'and Loysons, et hoc genus
omne. Poor weak-minded men !
had they the slightest idea of what
the church of God is, or had they
not become blind to it, they would
sooner pretend to create a new uni-
verse than invent a "new religion or
start a new church. The human is
impotent to create the divine.

Christ alone could replace the
Jewish Church by his own, and
that because he was God. And
this substitution was accomplish-
ed, not by the way of a revolution-
ary protest, but in the fulfilment
of the types and figures of the Jew-
ish Church and the realization of
its divine prophecies and promises.
The ideal church and the histori-
cal church which have existed upon
earth from Adam until Noe, and
from Noe until Moses, and from
Moses until Christ, and from Christ
until now, which is the actual Ca-
tholic Church, are divine in their
idea, are divine in their institution,

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are divine in their action, and their
continuity is one and unbroken.
The church can suffer no breaks
without annihilation.

God created man in his own im-
age and likeness, and supplied from
the instant of his creation all the
means required for man to become
one with himself. This was the end
for which God called man into ex-
istence. This commerce and union
between God and man, with the
means needed to elevate man to
this intercourse and to perpetuate
and perfect these relations in an
organic form, constitutes the church
of God.

The great and unspeakable love
of God for man led God, in the
fulness of time, to become man, in
order to make the elevation of man
to union with himself easier and
more perfect. To this end the
God-Man, while upon earth, de-
clared to his apostle Peter: " I will
build my church, and the gates of
hell shall not prevail against it."

This places beyond all doubt or
dispute the fact that Christ built a
church, and therefore its institu-
tion was divine. Moreover, it is
clear by these words, not that his
church should be free from the at-
tacks of every species of error and
wickedness which lead to hell —
they rather imply the contrary — but
that these attacks should never
prevail against her, corrupt, over-
come, or destroy her.

He added : " Lo ! I am with you
always, even to the consummation
of the world!" This promise con-
nects Christ's presence with his
church inseparably and perpetual-
ly. Hence once the church, always
the church. The whole world may
go to wreck and ruin sooner than
Christ will desert his church.
" Heaven and earth shall pass, but
my words shall not pass." Let,

then, attacks come from any quar-
ter, let revolutions shake the foun-
dations of the world and conspira-
tors overthrow human society, let
anarchy reign and her foes fancy her
destruction — the Catholic Church
will stand with perfect faith upon
this divine Magna Charta of her
Founder as upon an adamantine
rock.

Before Christ's ascension he ap-
pointed the rulers in his church ;
he gave " some apostles, and some
prophets, and other some evange-
lists, and other some pastors and
doctors, for the perfecting of the
saints, for the ministry, for the edi-
fying the body of Christ." He
commanded them to tarry in Jeru-
salem until they should receive the
Holy Ghost. When the days of
Pentecost were accomplished, the
Holy Ghost descended upon them
visibly, " and they were all filled
with the Holy Ghost." That was
the moment when the divine insti-
tution of the church was complet-
ed, and then began her divine ac-
tion upon men and society that
never was to cease while the world
lasts. The past dispensations of
God were all fulfilled in Christ, and
his church, which was to embrace
all mankind in her fold and guide
humanity to its divine destination,
was divinely established.

It is quite natural that those
races which, by God's providence,
have been intimately connected
with the church from her cradle
should be inclined to think that the
church is confined to their keeping
and is inseparable from their exis-
tence. Christianity and the church
are undoubtedly affected in their
development by the peculiarities
of the races through which they
are transmitted, and it i<j natural
that they should accentuate those
truths and bring to the front those

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features of organization which com-
mend themselves most to the genius,
instincts, and wants of certain races.
This is only stating a general law
held as a maxim among philoso-
phers : Whatever is received, is re-
ceived according to the form of the
recipient. Thus, the contact of the
church with the intellectual gifts
of the Greeks was the providential
occasion of the explicit develop-
ment and dogmatic definition of the
sublimest mysteries of the Chris-
tian revelation. And through her
connection with the Latins, whose
genius runs in the direction of or-
ganization and law, the church per-
fected her hierarchy and brought
forth those regulations necessary to
her existence and well-being known
under the name of " Canon Law."

The objective point of Christian-
ity, the church of Christ, is to em-
brace in her fold all mankind ; but
she is, in her origin, essence, and
institution, independent of any hu-
man being, or race of men, or state,
or nation.

The Italians, the Spaniards, the
French, or any other nation or na-
tions, may renounce the faith and
abandon the church, as England
and several nations did in the re-
ligious revolution of the sixteenth
century, yet the church exists and
is none the less really and essen-
tially Catholic. The church has
existed in all her divinity without
including any one nationality or
race, and, if it please God, can do
so again. The sun would give
forth its light the same though
there were no objects within the
reach of its rays, as when they are
reflected from nature and display
all their hidden beauty ; so the
divinity of the Catholic Church
would exist in all its reality and
power the same though there were
no Christians to manifest it by

their saintly lives, as at some future
day when, after the victory over her
enemies, she will unite in one the
whole human race, and all her hid-
den glory will be displayed.

This law also holds good and is
applicable to her visible head, the
supreme pastor of the faithful. The
pope, as pope, was no less the father
of the faithful and exercised his
jurisdiction when driven into the
Catacombs, or violently taken by a
despot and imprisoned at Fontaine-
bleau, or, as at present, forced by
the action of a desperate faction
of Italians into retirement in the
Vatican, than when his independ-
ence and authority were recognized
and sustained by the armies of the
Emperor Constantine or defended
by the sword of Charlemagne, the
crowned emperor of Christendom.

"The pope," to adopt the words
of Pius IX., " will always be the
pope, no matter where he may be,
in his state as he was, to-day in the
Vatican, perhaps one day in prison."

The perpetuity of the Catholic
Church is placed above and beyond
all dangers from any human or sa-
tanic conspiracies or attacks in that
Divinity which is inherently incor-
porated with her existence, and in
that invincible strength of convic-
tion which this divine Presence im-
parts to the souls of all her faithful
children. It is this indwelling di-
vine Presence of the Holy Spirit
from the day of Pentecost which
teaches and governs in her hier-
archy, is communicated sacramen-
tally to her members, and animates
and pervades, in so far as not re-
stricted by human defects, the whole
church. Hawthorne caught a
glimpse of this divine internal prin-
ciple of life of the Catholic Church
and embodied it in the folio wing pas-
sage : " If there were," he says, " but
angels to work the Catholic Church

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instead of the very different class '
of engineers who now manage its
cranks and safety-valves, the sys-
tem would soon vindicate the dig-
nity and holiness of its origin."1
This statement put in plain Eng-
lish would run thus: The Catholic
Church is the church of God actu-
alized upon earth so far as this is
possible, human nature being what
it is. The indwelling divine Pre-
sence is the key to the Catholic po-
sition, and they who cannot per-
ceive and appreciate this, whatever
may be their grasp of intellect or
the extent of their knowledge, will
find themselves baffled in attempt-
ing to explain her existence and
history ; their solution, whatever that
may be, will tax the faculty of cre-
dulity of intelligent men beyond
endurance; and at the end of all
their efforts for her overthrow
these words from her Founder will
always stare them in the face : " Non
prsevalebunt " — "the gates of hell
shall not prevail against her." If this
language be not understood, per-
haps it may be in its poetical trans-
lation :

" The milk-white hind was fated not to die."

The radical party now in power
in Italy may succeed in ruining
their glorious country, but they
may rest assured that this does not
include, as her foes foolishly and
stupidly imagine in every turn of
her eventful history, the. ruin of the
Catholic Church. " What God has
made will never be overturned by
the hand of man."

V. — THE SYLLABUS.

One of the principal offices of
the Catholic Cliurch is to witness,
guard, and interpret the revealed
truths, written and unwritten, which

* Marble Faun^ vol. ji. p. 129, Tauch. Ed.

was imposed upon her by Christ'
when he said: "Go and teacli all
nations whatsoever I have com-
manded you." This duty she has
fulfilled from age to age, in spite of
every hindrance and in face of all
dangers, with uncompromising firm-
ness and unswerving fidelity, prin-
cipally by the action of her chief
bishop, whom Christ charged to
" feed his sheep and lambs " and
"to confirm his brethren." This
Supreme Pastor, in watching over
the sheep of Christ's flock, has
never failed to feed them with the
truths of Christ, and, lest they
should be led astray, he has point-
ed out and condemned the errors
against these truths one by one as
they arose.

Whatever some critics may have
to say as to the form in which the
Syllabus has been cast, or as to the
technical language employed in its
composition, this document never-
theless is all that it purports to be,
— an authoritative and explicit con-
demnation of the most dangerous
and subversive errors of our epoch.

" That last,

Blown from our Zion of the Seven Hills,
Was no uncertain blast !"

Were the Syllabus the product of
the private cogitations of an Ital-
ian citizen named John Mary Mas-
tai Ferretti, promulgated and im-
posed upon the unwilling conscien-
ces of Catholics by his personal
authority, Catholics would .indeed
have reason to resist and complain.
But the violent opposition, the hos-
tility and hatred, that the Syllabus
has excited among so many non-
Catholics and leading minds is a
cause of no little surprise.

" What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her ?"

Suppose things were as they
dream them to be, the attitude of

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that venerable Pontiff in the Vati-
can, powerless to do physical harm
to any one, even if he would, stand-
ing up in the sole strength of his
convictions, and, in spite of the
clamors of fanatics, the rage of
conspirators, and the threats of
the prime ministers of powerful
empires, proclaiming to them and
the world that what they hold to be
truth is a lie, what they maintain
to be right is wrong, and what they
desire as good is evil — this pre-
sents the most august and sublime
figure the nineteenth century has
witnessed. O noble old man ! well
dost thou merit to be placed among
the great men of the holy church,
and as chief pastor to be ranked on
the pages of her history in the list
of her heroic and saintly pontiffs,
with her Leos and Gregories.

But read the Syllabus — and few
of its opponents have done this ;
take the trouble to understand
rightly what you have read — and
fewer still have taken this pains—
and if you have not lost sight of
the prime truths of reason, and
have any faith left in the revealed
truths of Christianity, you must at
least assent to its principal deci-
sions and approve of its censures.
For its condemnations are chiefly
aimed against pantheism, atheism,
materialism, internationalism, com-
munism— these and similar errors
subversive of man's dignity, socie-
ty, civilization, Christianity, and all
religion. What boots it that these
distinctive errors are cloaked with
the high-sounding and popular
catch-words, " intellectual culture,"
" liberty of thought," " modern
civilization," etc., etc.? They are
none the less • errors, and all the
more dangerous on account of their
attractive disguise.

The opposition of those who are
not internationalists and atheists

to the condemnation and censures
contained in the Syllabus, can be
explained, putting it in the mildest
form, on the ground of their lack of
the sense of the divine authority of
the church and its office, and the
misapprehension or misinterpreta-
tion in great part of its language.
For at bottom the Syllabus is
nothing else than the Christian
thesis of the nineteenth century, as
against its antithesis set up by
modern sophists and conspirators,
who openly put forth their pro-
gramme as in religion atheism, in
morals free-love, in philosophy
materialism, in the state absolute
democracy, in society common
property.

This, then, is the significance
and the cause of the rage which it
has called forth : the Supreme Pas-
tor of Christ's flock, with his vigi-
lant eye, has detected the plots of
those who would overthrow the
family, society, and all religion, and,
conscious of the high obligations of
his charge, would not in silence take
his repose, but dared, in protection
of his fold, to cry aloud and use
his teeth upon these human wolves,
and thus warn the faithful and the
whole world of their impending
danger. This is the secret of the
outcry against the Syllabus and
Pius IX. Herein is the Quare fre-
muerunt gentes. But does not the
Syllabus declare that there can be
no reconciliation between the Ca-
tholic Church and modern civiliza-
tion ? O blind and slow of heart !
do you not know that modern
civilization is the outcome of the
Catholic Church ? What was the
answer of Christ to Satan when he
offered to him " all the kingdoms
of the world and the glory of
them "? " Begone, Satan !" Which
means, What you offer is al-
ready mine, and not yours to

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give; away, hypocrite and deceiv-
er ! So to-day, when the declared
enemies of Christian civilization
come in disguise to the Catholic
Church and insist upon her recon-
ciliation with modern civilization,
she replies with Christ : Begone,
Satan ; modern civilization is the
product of the Catholic Church,
and not yours, and not under your
protection or jurisdiction; away,
hypocrites and conspirators !

Reconciliation with what these
conspirators call " modern civiliza-
tion " ? Do men who have their wits
about them know what this means ?
This means the overthrow of the
great institutions of society, which
have cost nineteen centuries of toil
and struggle of the noblest men
and women of the race. And for
what ? Only for the tyranny of a
commune of declared atheists, the
emancipation of the flesh, and the
reign of Antichrist. Thank God !
there is one man who cannot be
bought by bribes, or won by flat-
tery, or made to stoop by fear ; who
dares meet face to face the foes of
Christ and the enemies of mankind,
open his mouth and lift up his
voice, and, in answer to these hy-
pocritical invitations, speak out in
tones that ring in the ears of the
whole world and can never be for-
gotten : " Non possumus."

The question is not whether the
church will be reconciled with mo-
dern civilization. The real ques-
tion is whether modern society will
follow the principles of eternal jus-
tice and right, and reject these false
teachers; whether it will legislate
in accordance with the rules of
right reason and the divine truths
of Christianity, and turn its back
upon revolution, anarchy, and athe-
ism ; whether it will act in har-
mony with God's church in up-
holding modern civilization and in

spreading God's kingdom upon
earth, or return to paganism, bar-
barism, and savagery. The ques-
tion, the real question which in the
course of human events has become
at the present moment among the
Latin race a national question, and
particularly so in Italy, is this :
" Christ or Barabbas ?" " Now, Ba-
rabbas was a robber."

It is because the Syllabus has
placed this alternative in so clear
and unmistakable a light that Sa-
tan has stirred up so spiteful and
so wide-spread an opposition to it
among his followers and those
they can influence. Here is where
the shoe pinches.

VI. THE VATICAN COUNCIL.

It is folly to attempt to interpret
any society without having first
discovered its animating principle
and fairly studied the nature and
bearings of its organization. How
great, then, is the folly of those who
seem not to have even a suspicion
that the greatest and grandest and'
the most lasting of all societies and
organizations that the world has
ever known — the Catholic Church —
can be fathomed by a hasty glance !
Yet there are men well known, and
reckoned worthy of repute, who
bestow more time and pay closer
attention to gain knowledge of the
structure and habits of the meanest
bug than they deem requisite be-
fore sitting in judgment on the
church of the living God. There
is in our day a great variety of
demagogues, and their number is
very great, but a truly scientific
man is a rara avis.

There are also men standing high
in the public estimation, and some
of them deservedly so in other re-
spects, who imagine that the decree
of the Vatican Council defining the
prerogatives of the successor of St.

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Peter has seriously altered the
constitution of the Catholic Church,
when it lias done nothing more or
less than make the common law of
the church, whose binding force
from universal usage and universal
reception was admitted, a statute
law.

Starting off from this serious mis-
take as their premise, they wax
warm and become furious against
the Vatican Council and its de-
cree concerning the Roman Pontiff.
And the new-born pity with which
they are seized for benighted Ca-
tholics, would be worthy of all
admiration, were there not good
grounds to question their common
sense or suspect their sincerity.
They talk about " a pontifical Cae-
sar imposed upon the Catholic
Church," " priestly domination car-
ried to its highest point of develop-
ment," "the personal infallibility
of the pope," " the Roman Church
transformed into.an enlarged house
of the Jesuit Order," " the incom-
patibility of the Catholic Church,
with its new constitution, with the
state," etc., etc. Then follows a
jeremiad over " the mental de-
pendency of Catholics," and so
forth. All this and much more
has, according to their opinion,
been accomplished by a single
decree of the Vatican Council.
Apparently this class of men look
upon the Catholic Church as a
mere piece of mechanism, abandon-
ed to the control and direction of a
set of priests swayed by personal
ambition and selfishness, and whose
sole aim is to exercise an absolute
tyranny over the consciences of
their fellow-Christians; or as an
institution still more absurd and
vile, for heresy and infidelity have
in some instances succeeded in so
blinding men's minds that they do
not allow the good the church does

as hers, and, stimulated by malice,
heap upon her every conceivable
vice and evil. Christ had to de-
fend himself against the Jews, who
accused him of being possessed by
a devil ; and is it a wonder that his
church should have to defend her-
self against the charge of misbe-
lievers and unbelievers as being the
synagogue of Satan ? The servant
is not greater than his master.

Even Goethe, in spite of his anti-
Christian, or rather his "anti-Protes-
tant, instincts, would have saved
these men from their fanatical
blindness and their gross errors by
imparting to their minds, if they
were willing to receive it, a true in-
sight into the real character of the
Catholic Church. " Look," he says,
after premising that " poems are like
stained glasses — "

41 Look into the church from the market square ;
Nothing but gloom and darkness there !
Shrewd Sir Philistine sees things so :
Well may he narrow and captious grow

Who all his life on the outside passes.

" But come, now, and inside we'll go !
Now round the holy chapel gaze ;
'Tis all one many-colored blaze ;
Story and emblem, a pictured maze,
Flash by you : — 'tis a noble show.
Here, feel as sons of God baptized,
With hearts exalted and surprised !" *

The " Philistines " we are speak-
ing of infuse into the Catholic
Church their own forensic spirit,
and fancy that she is only a system
of severe commandments, arbitra-
ry laws, and outward ceremonies
enforced by an external and abso-
lute authority which, like the old
law, places all her children in a
state of complete bondage. They
are blind to the fact that the Cath-
olic Church confines her precepts,
such is her respect for man's liber-
ty, chiefly to the things necessary
to salvation, leaving all the rest to
be complied with by each individ-

* John Dwight's translation.

The Outlook in Italy.

ual Christian as moved by the in-
stinct of divine grace.*

The aim of the Catholic Church
is not, as they foolishly fancy, to
drill her children into a servile
army of praetorian guards, but to
raise up freemen in Christ, souls
actuated by the Holy Spirit — to
create saints.

They are also ignorant of the
nature and place, of the authority
of the church, as they are of her
spirit.

It is the birthright of every mem-
ber of the Catholic Church freely
to follow the promptings of the
Holy Spirit, and the office and aim
of the authority of the church is to
secure, defend, and protect this
Christ-given freedom.

To make more clear this relation
of the divine external authority of
the church with the divine internal
guidance of the Holy Spirit in the
soul, a few words of explanation
will suffice.

It is the privilege of every soul
born to Christ in his holy church
in the waters of regeneration, to re-
ceive thereby the indwelling pre-
sence of the Holy Spirit. 'It is the
. bounden duty of every Christian
soul to follow with fidelity the
promptings of the Holy Spirit. In
order that the soul may follow faith-
fully the indwelling Holy Spirit, it
must be secured against all mis-
takes and delusions and protected
against all attacks from error.
Every child of the church has
therefore a claim in justice upon
the authority of the church for
this security and protection. But
it would be absurd and an intoler-
able indignity for the soul to obey
an authority that might lead it
;i stray iu n matter concerning its
divine life and future destiny; for

* See Sum of St. Thomas, i. 2, cviii.

in the future world no chance or
liberty is left for a return to correct
the mistakes into which the soul
may have fallen. Therefore the
claim is founded in right reason
and justice that the supreme teach-
ing and governing authority of the
church should be divine — that is,
unerring. And it is the intrusion
of human authority in the shape
of private judgment, or that of the
state, as supreme, in regard to the
truths of divine revelation, that is
the radical motive of the resistance
to Protestantism as Christianity on
the part of Catholics.

Now, when the soul sees that
the authority which governs is ani-
mated by the same divine Spirit,
with whose promptings it is its in-
most desire to comply, and appre-
ciates that the aim of the commands
of authority is to keep it from
straying from the guidance of the
indwelling divine Spirit, then obe-
dience to authority becomes easy
and light, and the fulfilment of its
commands the source of increased
joy and greater liberty, not an irk-
some task or a crushing burden.
This spiritual insight springing
from the light of faith is the secret
source of Catholic life, the inward
principle which prompts the obedi-
ence of Catholics to the divine au-
thority of the holy church, and from
which is born the consciousness of
the soul's filiation with God, whence
flow that perfect love and liberty
which always accompany this di-
vine Sonship.

The aim of the authority of the
church and its exercise is the same
as that of all other authority — sec-
ondary. The church herself, in this
sense, is not an end, but a means to an
end. The aim of the authority of the
church is the promotion and the
safeguard of the divine action of
the indwelling Holy Spirit in the

The Outlook in Italy.

soul, and not a substitution of itself
for this.

Just as the object of the authori-
ty of the state is to promote the
common good and to protect the
rights of its citizens, so the autho-
rity of the church has for its aim
the common good of its members
and the protection of their rights.
And is not the patriotic spirit that
moves the legislator to make the
]a\v for the common good and pro-
tection of his fellow-countrymen
identically the same spirit which
plants in their bosoms the sense of
submission to the law? Conse-
quently, to fix more firmly and to
define more accurately the divine
authority of the church in its pa-
pal exercise, seen from the inside,
is to increase individual action, to
open the door to a larger sphere
of liberty, and to raise man up to
his true manhood in God.

It does, indeed, make all the
difference in the world, as the poet
Goethe has so well said, to " look at
the church" with "Sir Philistine"
in a " narrow and captious" spirit
from " the market-square" stand-
point, or to gaze on the church
from the inside, where all her divine
beauty is displayed and, in a free
and lofty spirit, fully enjoyed.

VII. THE VATICAN COUNCIL (fOlltitl-

UC(f) .

To define the prerogatives of the
papal authority, and its place and
sphere of action in the divine au-
tonomy of the church, was to pre-
pare the way for the faithful to fol-
low with greater safety and free-
dom the inspirations of the Holy
Spirit, and thus open the door wi-
der for a fresh influx of divine life
and a more vigorous activity.
Thanks for those great advantages
to the persistent attacks of the foes
of the church ; for had they let her
VOL. xxvi. — 2

authority alone, this decree of the
Vatican Council would not have
been called for, and the preroga-
tives of the papal functions might
have been exercised with sufficient
force as the unwritten and common
law, and never have passed into a
dogmatic decree and become the
statute law.

The work of the Vatican Coun-
cil is not, however, finished. Other
and important tasks are before it,
to accomplish which it will be soon-
er or later reassembled. Divine
Providence appears to be shap-
ing events in many ways since the
adjournment of the council, so as,
to render its future labors compara-
tively easy. There were special
causes which made it reasona-
ble that the occupant of St. Peter's-
chair at Rome should in modern,
times be an Italian. Owing to the
radical changes which have taken,
place in Europe, these causes no
longer have the force they once
had. The church is a universal,
not a national society. The boun-
daries of nations have, to a great
extent, been obliterated by the
marvellous inventions of the age.
The tendency of mankind is, even
in spite of itself, to become more
and more one family, and of na-
tions to become parts of one great
whole rather than separate entities.
And even if the wheel of change
should, as we devoutly hope, re-
store to the Pope the patrimony of
the church, the claims of any dis-
tinct nationality to the Chair of
Peter will scarcely hold as they
once held. The supreme Pastor of
the whole flock of Christ, as befits
the Catholic and cosmopolitan spirit
of the church, may now, as in form-
er days, be chosen solely in view of
his capacity, fitness, and personal
merits, without any regard to his na-
tionality or race.

The Outlook in Italy.

It must be added to the other
great acts of the reigning Pontiff—
whom may God preserve ! — that he
has given to the cardinal senate of
the church a more representative
character by choosing for its mem-
bers a larger number of distinguish-
ed men from the different nations
of which the family of the church
is composed. This, it is to be
hoped, is only a promise of the no
distant day when the august senate
of the universal church shall not
only be open to men of merit
of every Catholic nation of the
earth, but also its members be
chosen in proportion to the impor-
tance of each community, according
to the express desire of the holy
oecumenical Council of Trent.
Such a representative body, com-
posed of the Mite of the entire hu-
man race, presided over by the
common father of all the faithful,
would realize as nearly as possible
that ideal tribunal which enlight-
ened statesmen are now looking
for, whose office it would be to act
as the arbitrator between nation
and nation, and between rulers and
people.

. Since the close of the first ses-
sion of the Vatican Council nearly
all the different nations of Europe
liave, of their own accord, broken
the concordats made with the
church and virtually proclaimed a
divorce between the state and the
church. This conduct leaves the
church entirely free in the choice
of her bishops ; which will tend to
bring out more clearly the spiritual
and popular side of the church ; to
set at naught the charge made
against her prelates as meddling in
purely secular affairs ; and to wipe
out the stigma of their being in-
volved in the political intrigues of
courts.

Modern inventions and improve-

ments, such as telegraphs, railroads,
steamships, cheap postage, the press,
have added time, increased efficien-
cy, and lent an expansive power of
action to men which poets, in their
boldest flights of fancy, did not
reach. These things have changed
the face of the material world and
the ways of men in conducting their
secular business.

Pope Sixtus V. readjusted and
improved in his day the outward
administration of the church — a
reform that was greatly needed —
and placed it by his practical ge-
nius, both for method and efficien-
cy, far in advance of his times.
This same work might, in- some re-
spects, be done again and with in-
finite advantage to the interests
and prosperity of the whole church
of God.

One of the most, if not the most,
important of the congregations of the
church is that De Propaganda Fide.
It is the centre of missionary en-
terprises throughout the whole ex-
tent of the world. No other ob-
ject can be of greater interest to
every Catholic heart, no branch of
the church's work calls for greater
practical wisdom, more burning
zeal, and more energetic efficiency.

There is, perhaps, no position in
the church, after that of the papal
chair, so great in importance, so vast
in its influence, so wide in its action,
as the one occupied by the cardi-
nal prefect of the Propaganda.
Could it be placed on a footing so as
to profit by all the agencies of our
day, it would be better prepared to
enter upon the new openings now of-
fered to the missionary zeal of the
church in different parts of the
world, and become, what it really
aims to be, the right arm of the
church in the propagation of the
faith.

Who can tell but that one of the

The Outlook in Italy.

results of the present crisis in Iialy
will lead by an overruling Provi-
dence to an entire renewal of the
church, not only in Italy, but
throughout the whole world? Such
a hope has been frequently ex-
pressed by Pius IX., and to pre-
pare the way for it was one of the
main purposes of assembling the
Vatican Council.

VIII. — IMPENDING DANGER.

Scarcely any event is more de-
plorable to the sincere Christian
and true patriot than when there
arises a discord, whether real or
apparent, between the religious con-
victions and the political aspira-
tions of a people. Such a discord
divides them into separate and hos-
tile camps, and it is not in the na-
ture of things that in such a condi-
tion both religion and the state
should not incur great danger.
Every sacrifice except that of prin-
ciple should be made, every ma-
terial interest that does not involve
independence and existence should
be yielded up without reluctance
or delay, in order to put an end to
these conflicts, unless one would
risk on one hand apostasy and on
the other anarchy.

The discord which has been sown
between the state and the church
by the revolutionary movement in
Italy has not only excited a violent
struggle in the bosom of every Ita-
lian, but has created dissension be-
tween husband and wife, parents
and children, brother and brother,
friend and friend, neighbor and
neighbor, and placed different class-
es of society in opposition to each
other. The actual struggle going
on in Italy is working every mo-
ment untold mischief among the
Italian people. Already symptoms
of apostasy and signs of anarchy
are manifest. Every day these dan-

gers are becoming more menacing.
A way out of this dead-lock must
be speedily found.

The church has plainly shown
in ages past that she can live and
gain the empire over souls, even
against the accumulated power of a
hostile and persecuting state. She
has shown in modern times, both
in the United States and in Eng-
land and Ireland, that independent
of the state, and of all other sup-
port than the voluntary offerings of
her children, and with stinted free-
dom, she can maintain her inde-
pendence, grow strong and pros-
perous. The church, relying solely
upon God, conquered pagan Rome
in all its pride of strength, and, if
needs be, she can enter again into
the arena, and, stripped of all tem-
poral support, face her adversaries
and reconquer apostate Rome.

But who can contemplate with-
out great pain a nation, and that
nation the Italian, passing through
apostasy and anarchy, even though
this be necessary, in the opinion of
some, as a punishment and purifi-
cation ? Can those who believe so
drastic a potion is needed to cure
a nation give the assurance that it
will not leave it in a feeble and
chronic state, rendering a revival
a work of centuries, and perhaps
impossible? Every noble impulse
of religion and humanity should
combine to avert so dire a cala-
mity, and with united voice cry out
with the prophet : " Is there no balm
in Gilead ? Is there no physician
there ? Why, then, is not the wound
of the daughter of my people
healed ?"

The balm that will cure the pre-
sent wound in Italy is not likely to
be found in a closer alliance of the
church with the actual state. For
the state throughout Europe, with
scarcely an exception, has placed

The Outlook in Italy.

itself in hostility to the church,
and to expect help from this quar-
ter would indeed be to hope in
vain, and to rivet more closely
the shackles which bind the
free action of her members. Is it
not the apparent complicity of the
church with some of the govern-
ments of Europe, since they have
thrown off the salutary restraints
of her authority, that has been one
of the principal causes of the loss
to a fearful degree of her influence
with the more numerous class of
society, giving a pretext to the
tirades of the socialists, commun-
ists, and internationals against her?
The church has been unjustly iden-
tified, in the minds of many, with
thrones and dynasties whose acts
and policy have been as inimical
to her interests as to those of the
people.

In the present campaign it would
be far from wise to rely for aid
on states, as states now are —
whether they be monarchies, or
aristocracies, or republics, or de-
mocracies— or upon contending dy-
nasties ; the help needed in the ac-
tual crisis can come only from the
.Most High. "Society," as Pius
IX. has observed, " has been en^
closed in a labyrinth, out of which
it will never issue save by the hand
of God."

The prime postulate of a sound
Catholic is this: The church is di-
vine, moved by the instinct of the
Holy Spirit in all her supreme and
vital acts. The Catholic who does
not hold this as a firm and immov-
able basis has lost, or never had,
the true conception of the church,
and is in immediate danger of be-
coming a rebel and a heretic, if he
be not one already. Whoso fails
to recognize this permanent divine
action in the church, the light of
the Holy Spirit has departed from

his soul, and he becomes thereby
external to the church. Of this
truth De Lamennais, Dollinger,
Loyson, are modern and sad ex-
amples. Instead of seeking a
deeper insight into the nature of
the church, and drawing from
thence the light and the strength
to labor for the renewal of Chris-
tianity and the unity of Christen-
dom, they have become blinded by
passion and deluded by personal
conceits, and have fallen into here-
sy and sectarianism. For the di-
vine Spirit embodied in the church
and the divine Spirit indwelling
in every Christian soul are one and
the same divine Spirit, and they
bear testimony to each other, and
work together for the same end.

The errors which menaced the
truths of divine revelation and the
peace of society are known and
condemned by the supreme autho-
rity of the church. The same voice
of the Chief Pastor called a general
council to remove all evils from
the church, "that our august reli-
gion and its salutary doctrine
might receive fresh life over all the
earth."

Again and again he has exhort-
ed the faithful to uphold and en-
courage the Catholic press in de-
fence of religion as one of their im-
portant duties, and followed up his
advice by his own personal exam-
ple.

Everywhere he has approved of
the formation of societies for the
advancement of science, art, and
education ; for the protection and
amelioration of the working-classes ;
and the meeting of Catholic lay-
men for the discussion and promo-
tion of the interests of the church
and society.

" Prayer, Speech, and the Press " —
these are the watch-words of Pius
IX. These words, which have the

A Mountain Friend.

impress of the seal of divine grace
upon them, have awakened the uni-
versal consciousness of the church.
The church gained her first victo-
ries by prayer, by speech, and by
writing, and these peaceful weapons
are not antiquated, and, if earnestly
employed, are in our day more
than a match for needle-guns,
Krupp cannon, or the strongest
iron-clads. Above all, when han-
dled by Catholics they have the
power of Almighty God to back
them, and that strength of convic-
tion in Catholic souls which knows
no conquerors.

If there be one thing more than
any other that strikes dismay in

the camp of the foes of *he church,
it is the un ited action of Catholics in
defence of their faith. Let Italian
Catholics act unitedly and, wher-
ever and whenever they can, act
politically, saving their faith and
their obedience ; uphold generously
'the Catholic press ; let them speak
out manfully and fearlessly their
convictions with all the force of
their souls ; and for the rest, look
up to God, and the enemies of
God and of his church and of
their country will disappear " like
the dust which the wind driveth
from the face of the earth."

" It is time, my brethren, to act
with courage." *

A MOUNTAIN FRIEND.

I. — OUR BOND.

I KNOW not why with yon far, sombre height
I hold so subtle friendship, why my heart
Keeps it in one dear corner set apart ;
No rarer glory clothes it day and night
Than find I otherwhere, yet, whensoe'er
Amid all wanderings wide by road or crest
Mine eyes upon those simple outlines rest,
My heart cries out as unto true friend near.
Nor holds that half-forbidding strength of form
Memories more dear than give so deep a grace
To other heights, yet e'er on yon dark face,
Sun-lighted be it, or half-veiled in storm,
I longing gaze with thoughts no words define,
And feel the dumb rock-heart low-answering mine.

H. — NOON.

I climb the rugged slopes that sweep with strength
And lines, scarce broken, from the desert wide,
Beneath whose shadow frailest flowers abide

And sweetest waters trip their murmuring length ;

* Words of Pius IX.

22 A Mountain Friend.

I stand upon the crown — the autumn air

Blows shivering out of scarcely cloud-flecked skies,
While warm the sunshine on the gray moss lies
And lights the crimson fires low leaves spread there.
Beyond, hills mightier far are lifted, stern

With ancient forest where wild crags break through,
And, nobler still, far laid against the blue,
Peaks, white with early snow, for heaven yearn —
Whose azure depths the quiet shadows wear —
Crowning my mountain with their distance fair.

• ' III. — NIGHT.

The strong uplifter of the wilderness,
.Holder of mighty silence voiceful made,
With bird-song drifting from the spruces' shade,
By quivering winds that murmur in distress,
Proud stands my mountain, clothed with loneliness
That awesome grows when darkness veileth all
And south wind shroudeth with a misty pall
Of hurrying clouds that ever onward press,
As something seeking that doth e'er elude,
Flying like thing pursued that dare not rest,
By some wild, haunting thought of fear possessed —
Not drearness all, the cloud-swept solitude : —
Through changing rifts the starlit blue gives sign
Of mountain nearness unto things divine.

iv. — DAWN.

Slow breaks the daily mystery of dawn —

In far-off skies gleams faint the unfolding light,
Anear the patient hills wait with the night

Whose shadow clings, nor hasteth to be gone.

A passionate silence filleth all the earth —

No wind-swept pine to solemn anthem stirred,
No distant chirp from matin-keeping bird,

Nor any pattering sound of leafy mirth.

And seems that waiting silence to enfold
All mystery of life, all doubt and fear,
All patient trusting through the darkness here,

All perfect promise that the heavens hold.

Lo ! seems my mountain a high-altar stair

Whereon I rest, in thought half-dream, half-prayer.

V. ON FIRE.

Scarce dead the echo of our evening song

That o'er the camp-fire's whirling blaze up-soared
With wealth of hidden human sweetness stored —

Life-thoughts that thronged the spoken words along;

Roc Amadour.

Scarce lost our lingering footsteps on the moss,
When the slow embers, that we fancied slept,
With purpose sure and step unfaltering crept

The sheltering mountain's unsmirched brow across.

Alas ! for straining eyes that through long days

Of strong-breathed west wind saw the pale smoke-drift
Its threat'ning pennons in the distance lift,

So setting discord in sweet notes of praise.

Yet hath the wounded mountain in each thought

Won dearer love for wrong, unwilling, wrought.

ROC AMADOUR.

La douce Mere du Creatour,

A 1'eglise, i Rochemadour,

Fait tants miracles, tants hauls fails,

C'uns moultes biax livres en est fails.

— Gauthier de Coinsy, of the thirteenth century.

THERE is not a place of pilgrim-
age in France without some special
natural attraction, from Mont St.
Michel on the stormy northern
coast to Notre Dame de la Garde
overlooking the blue Mediterranean
Sea; from Notre Dame de Buglose
on a broad moor of the Landes to
Notre Dame de la Salette among
the wild Alps of Dauphine"; but
not one of these has the peculiar
charm of Notre Dame de Roc Ama-
dour in Quercy, which stands on
an almost inaccessible cliff over-
hanging a frightful ravine once
known as the Vallte Ttntbreuse.
And not only nature, but history,
poetry, and the supernatural, all
combine to render this one of the
most extraordinary of the many
holy sanctuaries of France. For
this is the place where, as hoary
legends tell, the Zaccheus of the
Scriptures ended his days in a
cave ; where the peerless Roland
hung up his redoubtable sword be-
fore the altar of the Virgin ; where
Henry II. of England, Louis IX.
of France, and so many princes
and knights of the middle ages

came to pay their vows ; where
Fenelon, the celebrated Archbishop
of Cambrai, was consecrated to the
Virgin in his infancy, and where lie
came in later life to pray at his
mother's tomb ; and which has
been sung by mediaeval poets and
rendered for ever glorious by count-
less miracles of divine grace.

On a pleasant spring morning we
left Albi to visit the ancient pro-
vince of Quercy. From the fertile
valley of the Tarn, overlooked by
the fine church of Notre Dame de
la Dreche — the tutelar Madonna of
the Albigeois — we entered a dreary,
stony region beyond Cahuzac, then
came into a charming country with
wooded hills crowned with old
towers and villages, as at Najac,
where the railway passes through a
tunnel directly beneath the ancient
castle in the centre of the town,
and crosses the Nexos on the other
side of the hill, which we found
merry with peasant women washing
their linen in the clear stream and
hanging it on the rocks to bleach
in the hot sun. The whole region
is full of wild ravines kept fresh by

Roc Amadour.

capricious streams and the shadows
of the numerous hills. The way-
side grows bright with scarlet pop-
pies, the cherry-trees are snowy
with blossoms, the low quince
hedges are aflush with their rosy
blooms, and the pretty gardens at
the stations are full of flowers and
shrubbery. We pass Capdenac, sup-
posed by M. de Champollion to be
the ancient Uxellodunum whose
siege is related by Caesar in his
Commentaries, also on a high hill
around which the river Lot turns
abruptly and goes winding on
through a delicious valley, the
water as red as the soil, perhaps
owing to the recent rains. Soon
after . the country becomes rocky
and desolate again, with stone walls
instead of flowering hedges, and
flocks of sheep here and there nib-
bling the scant herbage among the
rocks, looking very much inclined,
as well they may, to give up trying
to get a living. The whole region
is flat, the earth is ghastly with the
pale stones, everything is subdued
in tone, the horizon is bounded by
low, dim hills, the sky becomes
sombre and lowering. But there is
something about all this desolation
and silence and monotony that ex-
cites the imagination. Even our
epicurean friends felt the strange
charm, for this is the region where
truffles abound, scented out by the
delicate organ of the animal sacred
to St. Anthony the Great !

We were now in Quercy, which
•comprises such a variety of soil
and temperature. In one part
everything is verdant and flowery,
the hills wreathed with vines and
the trees covered with fruit-blos-
soms, and over all a radiant sun ;
perhaps a little beyond is a stunted
vegetation, the trees of a northern
clime, and a country as rough and
bleak as Scotland, with long, deso-

late moors, arid and melancholy in
the extreme.

Some way this side of Roc Ama-
dou r we came upon the singular
gap of Padirac, where St. Martin is
said to have had a race with the
devil. They were both mounted
on mules, St. Martin's a little the
worse for wear, and, starting across
the country, they flew over walls
and precipices and steep cliffs, with-
out anything being able to arrest
their course. Satan at length turn-
ed to the saint and laid a wager he
could open a gap in the earth no
unaided mortal could pass. St.
Martin laughed him to scorn. The
angel of darkness then sjtretched
forth his hand, and, laying on the
ground his forefinger, which sud-
denly shot out to an enormous
length, the earth instantaneously
opened beneath it to the depth of a
hundred an.d fifty feet. " Is that
all ?" cried the undaunted saint, as
he spurred his beast. The mule
sprang across the yawning gulf, one
hundred feet broad, leaving the im-
press of his hoofs in the solid rock,
as is to be clearly seen at this day.
One of these foot-prints turns out,
because, we are told, St. Martin's
mule was lame. This, of course,
made his victory the more wonder-
ful. After this feat the saint, in
his turn, challenged the demon, and,
resuming their race, St. Martin
hastily thrust a cross of reeds into
the fissure of a rock they came to,
whereupon Satan's mule reared and
plunged and overthrew its rider, to
the everlasting glory of St. Martin
and the triumph of the cross. A
more durable cross of stone now
marks the spot where this great vic-
tory was won over the foul fiend.

Roc Amadour is in the diocese
of Cahors, which is a picturesque
old town built on and around a
cliff in a bend of the river Lot. It

Roc Amadour.

is quite worthy of a passing glance
and has its historic memories. In
ancient times it bore so imposing
an appearance that one of its his-
torians pretends Caesar, when he
came in sight of it, could not help
exclaiming in his astonishment :
" Behold a second Rome !" In the
middle ages, if we are to believe
Dante, it was notorious as a city of
usurers. He ranks it with Sodom ;
but perhaps this was owing to his
strong Italian prejudices against
the French popes, for at Cahors was
born John XXII., whom he severe-
ly consigns to ignominy. We are
shown the castle where this pope
passed his childhood, at one edge
of the town. Passing by the uni-
versity, we are reminded by a sta-
tue of Fe"nelon, in the centre of a
square called by his name, that he
was once a student here. There is
likewise a street named after Cle-
ment Marot, whose version of the
Psalms became so popular among
the Huguenots. He was born at
Cahors, and is now regarded as one
of its chief celebrities, though not
tolerated in the place in the latter
part of his life from a suspicion of
heresy, then almost synonymous
with treason, which caused him to
be imprisoned in the Chatelet. He
thus protested against the accusa-
tion :

" Point ne suis Lutheriste,
Ne Zuinglien, et moins Anabaptiste,
Bref, celui suis qui croit, honors et prise
La saincte, vraye, et Catholique Eglise." *

Though released, he was obliged
to take refuge in Geneva on ac-
count of the use of his paraphrase
of the Psalms in the conventicles,
but there he was convicted of mis-
demeanors, and, by Calvin's orders,
ridden on an ass and sent out of

* Lutheran I am not ; nor Zwinglian ; still less
Anabaptist. In short. I am one who believes in,
honors, and respects the holy, true, and Catholic
Church.

the city. Neither fish nor flesh, he
now sought an asylum in Italy —
" the inn of every grief," as Dante
calls it — and died at Turin in 1546.

In passing through Quercy we
are struck by the constant succes-
sion of old castles bearing some his-
toric name like that of Turenne.
Among others is Castelnau de Bre-
tenoux, associated with Henry II.
of England, on a lofty eminence on
the left shore of the Dordogne,
overlooking one of the most beau-
tiful valleys of France, which is said
to have inspired Fenelon with his
description of the island of Calyp-
so. A few years since this vast
chateau was one of the finest spe-
cimens of feudal architecture in
France. Its embattled walls and
massive towers ; the long gallery,
with its carvings and gildings, where
the fair ladies of the time of Louis
Treize used to promenade in their
satins and rich Mechlin laces, ad-
miring themselves in the rare Ve-
netian mirrors ; the spacious cellars
with their arches ; the vaulted sta-
bles, and the vast courts with their
immense wells, have been greatly
injured by fire and now wear an
aspect of desolation melancholy to
behold. Galid de Genouilhac, a
lord of this house, who was grand
e"cuyer in the time of Francis I.,
and would have saved his royal
master the defeat of Pavia had his
advice been listened to, was dis-
graced for presuming to admire the
queen, and, retiring to this castle,
he built a church, on which he
graved the words still to be seen :
J-'aime fort une.

"Roc Amadour!" cried the
guard, as he opened the door of
our compartment, disturbing our
historic recollections. We looked
out. There was nothing to corre-
spond with so poetical a name. No
village; no church. Nothing but a

Roc Amadonr.

forlorn station-house on a desolate
plain. Behind it we found an om-
nibus waiting to catch up any stray
pilgrim, and we availed ourselves
of so opportune a vehicle, rude as
it was. We could not have asked
for anything more penitential, so
there was no occasion for scruples.
It leisurely took us a few miles to
the west, and finally dropped us
mercifully in the middle of the
road before a rough wayside inn
that had a huge leafy bough sus-
pended over the door to proclaim
that poor wine only needed the
larger bush. We were not tempt-
ed to enter. The driver pointed
out the way, and left us to our
instinct and the pilgrim's staff.
There was nothing to be seen but
the same dreary expanse. But we
soon came to a chapel in the centre
of a graveyard, where once stood a
hospice with kind inmates to wash
the bleeding feet of the pilgrim.
Then we began to descend diagon-
ally along the side of a tremendous
chasm that suddenly opened before
us, passing by a straggling line of
poor rock-built huts, till we came
to the archway of an old gate, once
fortified, that stands at the entrance
of a village. This was Roc Ama-
dour.

Imagine a mountain suddenly
cleft asunder, disclosing a frightful
abyss several hundred feet in depth,
lined with gray rocks that rise
almost perpendicularly to the very
clouds, and, far down at the bot-
tom, a narrow stream winding sul-
lenly along, looking like one of the
fabled rivers of the abisso doloroso
of the great Florentine. Half way up
one side of this Vallce Tdnttreuse,
as it was once called, hangs the vil-
lage of Roc Amadour like a clus-
ter of birds' nests along the edge of
a precipice, over which are sus-
pended several churches, one

above the other, that seem hewn
out of the very cliff. These are
the famous sanctuaries of Roc Ama-
dour that have been frequented
from time immemorial.

Several hundred feet above these
churches, on the very summit of
the mount, is the old castle of La
Charette, with its ramparts over-
looking the whole country. This
served in the frequent wars of the
middle ages not only for the de-
fence of the sanctuary below, but ot
the town of Roc Amadour, which
was then a post of strategic im-
portance, and has its page in his-
tory, as every reader of Sir John
Froissart knows.

The sight of this mountain, that
looks as if rent asunder by some
awful convulsion of nature, with
the castle on its summit ; its rocky
sides once peopled with hermits,
and still alive with the voice of
prayer ; the churches that swell
out of the cliff like the bastions of
a fortress ; the village on the ledge
below ; and the dizzy ravine in the
depths, is truly astonishing.

The town looks as if the breath
of modern progress had never
reached it. It is the only place in
all Europe where we did not meet
an Englishman or an American.
One would think the bivalve in
which it is lodged just opened after
being closed hundreds of years.
There is the Rue de la Couronnerie,
where Henry Court-Mantel was
crowned King of Aquitaine. There
are the remains of the house occu-
pied by his father, Henry II. of
England, with the huge well he
caused to be dug, from which the
inhabitants still draw water. And
there are the remains of the four
fortified gates ruined in the wars of
the sixteenth century.

We stopped at the Grand Soleil
— a hostel of the ancient time, with

Roc Amadour.

an immense kitchen that would
have delighted Jan Steen, with
beams black with the smoke of a
thousand fires, hung with smoked
hams, and gourds, and strings of
onions, and bright copper kettles —
the very place for roistering villa-
gers such as he loved to paint. It
looked ancient enough to have
been frequented by King Henry's
soldiers. It had a very cavern for
a fireplace, with seats at the yawn-
ing sides beneath the crook, with
which M. Michelet says the sanctity
of the fireside was identified in the
middle ages far more than with
the hearth, and curious old andi-
rons, such as are to be seen at Paris
in the Hotel de Cluny, with a suc-
cession of hooks for the spits to
rest on, and circular tops for bra-
ziers and chafing-dishes. Stairs
led from the kitchen to the story
above, well enough to mount, but
perilous in descent, owing to their
steepness. Everything is rather in
the perpendicular style at Roc Ama-
dour. An invocation to Marie con-
fue sans pfahe was pasted on the
door of our chamber, and a statu-
ette of the Blessed Virgin stood on
the mantel. The windows looked
out on a little terrace dignified
with the name of Square, where
children were playing around the
great stone cross. At table we
found the sacrifice of Abraham and
other sacred subjects depicted on
our plates, and a cross on the salt-
cellar. Roast kid and goat's milk
were set before us with various ad-
juncts, after which patriarchal fare
we issued forth to visit the cele-
brated chapel of Our Lady of Roc
Amadour. We found we had done
well in fortifying the outer man for
such an ascent, particularly as the
day was far advanced, and the morn-
ing supplies at Albi had been of the
most unsubstantial nature. We

passed several houses with old
archways of the thirteenth century,
but the most imposing house in the
place is a seigneurial mansion of
the sixteenth century, now occu-
pied by the Brothers of the Chris-
tian Doctrine. We soon came to
the foot of the staircase leading up
the side of the cliff to the sanctua-
ries. It consists of about two hun-
dred and forty steps, partly hewn
out of the rock, and is generally
ascended by the devout pilgrim on
his knees and with prayer — an en-
terprise of no trifling nature, as we
are prepared to vouch. On great
festivals this sacred ladder is crowd-
ed with people ascending and de-
scending. Their murmured prayer
is a gradual Psalm indeed. The
first flight of one hundred and forty
steps leads to a platform around
which stood formerly the dwellings
of the fourteen canons consecrated
to the service of Mary. A Gothic
portal, with a stout oaken door cov-
ered with fine old scroll-work of
iron, leads by another flight of sev-
enty-six steps to the collegiate
church of Saint-Sauveur, one of the
six remaining sanctuaries. For-
merly there were twelve chapels
built among the rocks in honor of
the twelve apostles, but these all
disappeared in the time of the un-
sparing Huguenots. Twenty-five
steps more, at the left, bring you to
a terrace with the miraculous cha-
pel of Our Lady on one side and
that of St. Michael on the other.
Between them, directly before you,
is the cave-like recess in which
Zaccheus is said to have ended his
days, and where he still lies in effi-
gy on his stone coffin. Rupis ama-
tor he was called — the lover of the
rock — whence St. Amateur, and St.
Amadour, the name given him by
the people. Amadour quasi ama~
tor solitudiiris, say the old chroni-

Roc Amadour.

cles. His body remained here from
the time of his death, in the year of
our Lord 70 (we adhere to the de-
lightful old legend), till 1166, when,
according to Robert de Monte,
who wrote in 1180, his tomb was
opened at the request of a neigh-
boring lord who was extremely ill
and felt an inward assurance he
should be healed by the sacred
relics. His faith was rewarded.
The body was found entire, and, on
being exposed to public veneration,
so numerous and extraordinary
were the miracles wrought that
Henry II. of England, who was at
Castelnau de Bretenoux, came here
to pay his devotions. It was now
enshrined in the subterranean
church of St. Amadour, where it
remained several ages so incorrupt
as to give rise to a common pro-
verb among the people : // est en
chair et 0s, comme St. Amadour.
But when the country was overrun
by the Huguenots, his chdsse was
stripped of its silver mountings,
his body broken to pieces with a
hammer and cast into the fire.
Only a small part of these venera-
ble remains were snatched from the
flames.

The terrace between the chapel
of Our Lady and that of St. Mi-
chael is called in ancient docu-
ments the Platea S. Michaelis.
Here all official acts relating to the
abbey were formerly drawn up.
The overhanging cliff, that rises
above it to the height of two hun-
dred and twenty feet, gives it the
appearance of a cavern. Built into
it, on the left, is the chapel of St.
Michael, on the outer wall of which,
suspended by an iron chain, is a
long, rusty weapon popularly known
as the sword of Roland. Not that
it is the very blade with which the
Pyrenees were once cleft asunder
and so many kingdoms won. That

shone as the sun in its golden hilt,
the day the mighty Paladin came,
on his way to Spain, to consecrate
it to the Virgin of Roc Amadour
and then redeem it with its weight
in silver ; whereas this is as dim
and uncouth as the veriest spit that
ever issued from a country forge.
The wondrous Durandel, to be sure,
was brought back after Roland's
death and hung up before the altar
of Notre Dame de Roc Amadour,
to whom it had been vowed, where
it remained till carried off by Hen-
ry Court-Mantel, who, adding sa-
crilege to hypocrisy, came here in
1183 on the pretext of a pilgrimage,
and, in order to pay the, soldiers
who served him in his rebellion
against his father, pillaged the holy
chapel so revered by King Henry.
But his crime did not remain un-
punished. He was soon after seiz-
ed with a fatal illness, and died,
but not unabsolved, in the arms of
Gerard III., Bishop of Cahors.

Over Roland's sword hang the
fetters of several Christians deliv-
ered from a terrible slavery on the
coast of Barbary by Our Lady's
might. Among these was Guil-
laume Fulcheri of Montpellier,
whose mother came to Roc Ama-
dour on the eve of the Assumption
to offer a cake of wax to burn be-
fore the image of Mary for the re-
demption of her son. That same
night, while she was keeping vigil
with prayers and tears before the
altar of the Virgin, his fetters were
loosened in a mysterious manner,
and he made his escape. One of
his first acts on his arrival in France
was to come to Roc Amadour with
an offering of gratitude.

So, too, Guillaume Remond of
Albi, being unjustly confined in
prison, with no other hope of liber-
ty but his trust in the power of the
glorious Virgin of Roc Amadour,

Roc Amadour.

while he was persevering in-prayer
during the night-watches his chains
suddenly fell off about the ninth
hour, to the utter amazement of
the jailer, who became too power-
less to hinder his escape. He took
his fetters with him to hang up be-
fore the altar of his potent protec-
tress.

On the pavement beneath these
and other trophies of divine grace
is an old chest with iron bands,
fastened with a double lock of sin-
gular mechanism, in which pilgrims
centuries ago deposited their offer-
ings. Just beyond is a doorway
over which is painted St. Michael
holding the balance of justice in
which we must all be weighed.
This door leads by a winding stone
staircase up to St. Michael's cha-
pel, the oldest of the existing edi-
fices of Roc Amadour. This sin-
gular chapel is built against the
rough cliff which constitutes one
side of it, as well as the vault. It
is chilly, and cave-like, and drip-
ping with moisture. A niche at
one end, like an arcosolium in the
catacombs, is lined with faded old
frescos of Christ and the evan-
gelists. The windows are low and
narrow, like the fissures of a cave,
being barely wide enough for an
angel in each — Michael with his
avenging sword, Gabriel and his
Ave, and Raphael looking protect-
ingly down on Tobias with his fish.
On one side is a spiral ascent to a
balcony over the Platea S. Mi-
chaelis, from which the abbot of
Roc Amadour used to bestow his
solemn benediction on the crowd
on the great days of pardon.

Descending to the Platea, we
stop before the entrance to Our
Lady's chapel to examine the half-
effaced mural paintings of the great
mysteries of her life around the
door. Near these can be traced

the outlines of a knight pursued by
several spectres, popularly believed
to be the ex-voto of a man who
sought to be delivered from the
ghosts of those whose graves he had
profaned. But the learned say this
fresco refers to the famous old Lai
des trois Morts et des trois Vifs of the
thirteenth century, in which three
young knights, gaily riding to the
chase, with no thought but of love
and pleasure, meet three phantoms,
who solemnly address them on the
vanity of all earthly joys. This
painting was a perpetual sermon to
the pilgrims, enforced, moreover,
by the numerous tombs that sur-
rounded the sanctuaries of Roc
Amadour. For many noble fami-
lies of the province, as well as pil-
grims from afar, wished to be buried
near the altar where their souls had
gotten grace. So great was the
number buried here in the middle
ages that the monks became alarm-
ed, and refused to allow any more
to be brought from a distance. But
Pope Alexander III. issued a bull
declaring this place of burial free
to all except those under the ban
of the church.

It is, then, with these thoughts of
death and the great mysteries of
religion we enter the miraculous
chapel around which we have so
long lingered with awe. The sea-
son of pilgrimages has not yet fairly
opened, and we find it quiet and
unoccupied except by a stray pea-
sant or two, and a few Sisters of
Calvary with sweet, gentle faces.
We hasten to drop our feeble round
of prayer into the deep well fed by
the devotion of centuries. Over
the altar is the famous statue of
Our Lady of Roc Amadour in a
golden niche — black as ebony, per-
haps from the smoke ot the candles
and the incense of centuries, and
dressed in a white muslin robe

Roc Amadonr.

spangled with gold. It is by no
means a work of high art. Perhaps
it is as ancient as this place of pil-
grimage. Tradition says it was ex-
ecuted by the pious hands of St.
Amadonr himself, who was doubtless
incapable of expressing the devout
sentiments that animated him. It
is carved out of a single piece of
wood, and is now greatly decayed.
The Virgin is stiff in attitude. Her
hair floats on her shoulders. Her
hands rest on the arms of the chair
in which she is sitting, leaving the
divine Child, enthroned on her knee,
with no support but that of his in-
herent nature. A silver lamp, shap-
ed like a fortress, with towers for
the lights, hangs before her, and
beneath is a blazing stand of can-
dles. The profusion of lights in
the chapels of popular devotion
throughout France is truly remark-
able. It was the same in the mid-
dle ages. The old chronicles tell
us how the mother who sought the
cure of a beloved child sometimes
sent his weight in wax to be burned
before the powerful Virgin of Roc
Amadour. Others brought candles
of the size of the limb they wished
to be healed. And those who had
already obtained some supernatural
favor generally sent a candle once
a year in token of gratitude. So
numerous were the lights formerly
given to this chapel that there was
scarcely room for them. Poets
even celebrated this profusion.
Gauthier de Coinsy, one of the most
celebrated cantadours of the thir-
teenth century, among other poems
has left one entitled Du eierge que
Notre Dame de Roc Amadour envoya
sur la viele du me'nestrel qui vielait et
cJiantait devant sy image, relating how
our benign Lady accorded one of
these votive candles to a pious min-
strel as he was singing her praises :
Pierre de Sygeland was in the habit

of entering every church he passed
to offer a prayer and sing a song of
praise to the sound of his viol.
One day, as he was prolonging his
pious exercises before the altar of
Notre Dame de Roc Amadour,
drawing every one in the church
around him, both " clerc et lai," by
the melody of his voice, he raised
his eyes to the sacred image of
Mary and thus sang: "O sovereign
Lady, Dame de toute courtoisie, if my
hymn and the sound of my viol be
acceptable to thee, be not offended
at the guerdon I venture to implore :
bestow on me, O peerless Lady !
one of the many tapers that burn
at thy sacred feet."

His prayer is heard. The candle
descends in the presence of five
hundred persons and rests upon
his viol. Friar Gerard, the sacris-
tan, accuses him of using incanta-
tions, and, seizing the candle ireful-
ly, restores it to its place, taking
good care to fasten it firmly down.
Pierre continues to play. The
candle descends anew. The good
brother, suspecting him of magic,
is more vexed than before and re-
places the candle. The enraptured
minstrel —

"En vielant soupire et pleure,
La bonche chante et li cuers pleure "

— sighing and weeping, singing with
his lips and weeping in heart — con-
tinues sweetly to praise the Mother
of God. The candle descends the
third time.

" Rafaict le eierge le tiers taut.""

The crowd, in its transport, cries :
" Ring, ring the bells,

Plus biax miracle if avint jamais

— greater miracle was never seen."
The minstrel, with streaming eyes,
returns the candle to her who has
so miraculously rewarded his devo-

Roc Amadour.

tion, and continues during the re-
mainder of his life not only to sing
the praises of Our Lady of Roc
Amadour, but to offer her every
year a candle still larger than the
one she so graciously bestowed on
him.

The moral of this old poem
dwells on the obligation of honor-
ing God, not merely with the lips,
but with a sincere heart :

" Assez braient, et assez orient,
Et leurs gorges assez estendent,
Mais les cordes pas bien ne tendent.

La bouche a Dieu ment et discorde
S'a li li cuers ne se Concorde "

— that is, many bray, and scream,
and distend their throats, but their
heart-strings are not rightly attun-
ed. . . . The mouth lies to God,
and makes a discord, if the heart be
not in harmony therewith.

Of the many miraculous chapels
of the Virgin, consecrated by the
devotion of centuries, that of Roc
Amadour is certainly one of the
oldest and most celebrated. Pope
Pius II., in a bull of 1463, unhesi-
tatingly declares " it dates from the
earliest ages of our holy mother
the church." And Cardinal Baro-
nius speaks of it as one of the old-
est in France. The original chapel,
however, built by St. Amadour
himself in honor of his beloved
Lady and Mistress, is no longer
standing. That was destroyed
several centuries ago by a portion
of the impending cliff that had
given way, but another was erected
on the same spot in 1479 by Denys
de Bar, bishop and lord of Tulle,
whose arms are still to be seen over
the door. This chapel was devas-
tated in 1562 by the Huguenots,
who swept over the country, destroy-
ing all that was most sacred in the
eyes of Catholics. They gave not
only a fatal blow to the prosperity
of the town of Roc Amadour, but

pillaged all the sanctuaries, carry-
ing off the valuable reliquaries, the
tapestry, the sacred vessels and
vestments, the fourteen silver lamps
that burned before the Virgin, the
necklaces and earrings, and the
pearls and diamonds, given by
kings, princes, and people of all
ranks in token of some grace re-
ceived. Their booty amounted in
value to fifteen thousand livres — an
enormous sum at that period. They
only left behind an old monstrance,
a few battered reliquaries, and a
processional cross of the twelfth
century, carved out of wood and
ornamented with silver, still to be
seen. They mutilated the statues,
burned the wood-carvings, and of
course destroyed the bells, which
was one of their favorite amuse-
ments. The roofless walls were
left standing, however, and the
venerated statue of Our Lady was
saved, as well as the sacrificial
stone consecrated by St. Martial,
and the miraculous bell that rang
without human hands whenever
some far-off mariner, in peril on the
high seas, was succored by Notre
Dame de Roc Amadour.

The chapel has never fully re-
covered from this devastation. It
was repaired by the canons, but
their diminished means did not al-
low them to restore it to its former
splendor. Not that it was ever of
vast extent. On the contrary, it is
small, and the sanctuary occupies
full one-half of it. It is now severe
in aspect. The wall at one end, as
well as part of the arch, is nothing
but the unhewn cliff. The mould-
ings of the doorways, some of the
capitals, and the tracery of the low,
flamboyant windows are of good
workmanship, but more or less de-
faced by the fanatics of the six-
teenth century and the revolution-
ists of the eighteenth, who could

Roc Amadour.

meet on the common ground of
hatred of the church.

Suspended beneath the lantern
that rises in the middle of the
chapel is the celebrated miraculous
bell, said to be the very one used
by St. Amadour to call the neigh-
boring people to prayer. It is un-
doubtedly of great antiquity. It is
of wrought iron, rudely shaped into
the form of a dish about three feet
deep and a foot in diameter.

The Pere Odo de Gissey, of the
Society of Jesus, in his history of
Roc Amadour published in 1631,
devotes several chapters to this
merveilleuse cloche, in which he tes-
tifies that " though it has no bell-
rope, it sometimes rings without
being touched or jarred, as fre-
quently happens when people on
the ocean, in danger from a tem-
pest, invoke the assistance of Our
Lady of Roc Amadour, the star of
the sea. Some persons," he goes
on to say, " may find it difficult to
believe this ; but if they could see
and read what I have the six or
seven times my devotion has led
me to Roc Amadour, they would
change their opinion and admire
the power manifested by the Mo-
'ther of God." The first miracle he
relates is of the fourteenth century,
but when he came to Roc Amadour
the archives had been destroyed
by the Calvinists, and he could only
glean a few facts here and there
from papers they had overlooked.
Most of the cases he relates had
been attested before a magistrate
with solemn oath. We will briefly
relate a few of them.

On the loth of February, 1385,
about ten o'clock in the evening,
the miraculous bell was heard by a
great number of persons, who testi-
fied that it rang without the slight-
est assistance. Three days after
it rang again while the chaplain was

celebrating Mass at Our Lady's al-
tar, as was solemnly sworn to by
several priests and laymen before
an apostolic notary. One instance
the pere found written on the
margin of an old missal, to the ef-
fect that March 5, 1454, the bell
rang in an astonishing manner to
announce the rescue of some one
who had invoked Mary on the
stormy sea. Not long after those
who had been thus saved from im-
minent danger came here from a
Spanish port to attest their miracu-
lous deliverance.

In 1551 the bell was heard ring-
ing, but the positive cause long re-
mained uncertain. It was not till
a year after a person came from
Nantes to fulfil the vow of a friend
rescued from danger by Our Lady
of Roc Amadour at the very time
the bell rang.

The sailors of Bayonne and Brit-
tany, especially, had great confi-
dence in the protection of Notre
Dame de Roc Amadour, and many
instances are recorded of their
coming with their votive offerings,
sometimes of salt fish, after escap-
ing from the perilous waves. The
sailors of Brittany erected a chapel
on their coast, to which they gave
her name. It is of the same style
as that of Quercy, and the Madon-
na an exact copy of St. Mary of Roc
Amadour.

In those days, when the miracu-
lous bell was heard the inhabitants
of the town used to come in pro-
cession to the chapel, and a solemn
Mass of thanksgiving was sung by
the canons amid the joyful ringing
of the bells.

" The tuneful bells kept ever ringing
While they within were sweetly singing
Of Her whose garments drop alway
Myrrh, aloes, and sweet cassia."

St. Amadour's bell has not ceased
to proclaim the power of Christ's

Roc Amadour.

holy Mother. It is still heard now
and then softly announcing the ben-
efit of having recourse to her effica-
cious protection.

To many this may sound weird-
like, and recall

" The wondrous Michael Scott,
A wizard of such dreaded fame
That when, in Salamanca's cave.
Him listed his magic wand to wave,
The bells would ring in Notre Dame."

We leave such to fathom the mys-
tery. Our part is only that of
the historian. Blessed is he who
finds therein something more than
sounding brass or tinkling cymbal !

The holy chapel is no longer
adorned with the rich offerings of
other times, but there are still many
objects that attest the piety of the
people and the clemency of Mary.
On the rough cliff that forms one
end hang a great number of
crutches and canes, and models of
limbs, in token of miraculous cures.
A glass case suspended on the side
wall contains watches, rings, brace-
lets, gold chains, lockets, etc., the
memorials of grateful piety. At
the side of the altar stand immense
Limoges vases, an offering from
that city. And around the chapel
are hung several votive paintings, of
no value as works of art, but full of
touching beauty to the eye of faith.

The most interesting of these is
one offered by M. and Mme. de Sa-
lignac de Lamothe Fenelon in grati-
tude for the restoration of their child
to health. The little Fenelon lies
with a head of preternatural size in
a long box-like cradle with no rock-
ers. Beside him kneel his father
and mother, the former with a long
< urled wig, a flowing scarlet robe,
nvcr which is turned a Shaksperian
collar, lace at the wrists, his hands
crossed on his breast, and his face
bent as if in awe before the Virgin.
Mme. Fenelon wears an amber-col-
VOL. xxvi. — 3

ored tunic over a scarlet petticoat,
with deep lace around the low-neck-
ed waist. Her hands are prayer-
fully folded and her face raised to
the Virgin, who appears in the
clouds holding in her arms the in-
fant Jesus, who bends forward with
one hand extended in blessing over
the cradle — almost ready to escape
from his Mother's arms.

Madame Fenelon always mani-
fested a particular devotion to No-
tre Dame de Roc Amadour, and by
her will of July 4, 1691, ordered
her body to be buried in the holy
chapel, to which she bequeathed
the sum of three thousand livres,
the rent of which continued to be
paid till the Revolution. She is
buried near the door that leads to
the church of Saint-Sauveur.

The Chateau de Salignac, where
Fenelon was born, and which had
been in his family from time im-
memorial, is not far from Roc Ama-
dour. Old documents go so far a*
to assert that St. Martial, when he
came to Aquitaine to preach the
Gospel in the first century, was hos-
pitably received at this castle, and
that St. Amadour, hearing of his ar-
rival, went there to see him.

Beyond the miraculous chapel of
Our Lady is the church of Saint-
Sauveur, built in the eleventh cen-
tury for the use of the canons. It is
a large edifice of a certain grandeur
and severity of style in harmony
with the cliff which forms one end.
Two immense pillars stand in the
middle of the nave, each surround-
ed by six columns, and between
them is a large antique crucifix
quite worn by the kisses of the
faithful who come here to end their
pilgrimage at the feet of Christ
Crucified.

This church presents a striking
aspect on great solemnities, with its
crowded confessionals, the Holy

Roc Amadour.

Sacrifice constantly going on at the
• different altars amid solemn chants
or touching hymns, and the long
lines of communicants moving de-
voutly to and from the table of the
Lord. Over all is the divine Form
of Christ depicted on the arches in
the various mysteries of his earthly
life, filling the church, as it were,
with his Presence. On the walls
are the majestic figures of some of
the greatest pilgrims of the ages of
Jaith. To mention a few of them :
St. Louis, King of France, came here
in 1245 in fulfilment of a vow, after
recovering from a severe illness,
.accompanied by Queen Blanche,
his three brothers, and Alphonse,

• Count of Boulogne-sur-Mer, after-
wards King of Portugal. In 1324

. came Charles-le-Bel and his queen,

with King John of Bohemia. In

. September, 1344, came John, Duke

• of Normandy, eldest son of Philippe

• de Valois. In 1463 Louis XL, on
his return from Beam, paid his de-

• votions to Notre Dame de Roc
Amadour on the 2ist of July. St.

.Englebert, Archbishop of Cologne,
. of illustrious birth, had such a ten-

• der love for the Blessed Virgin that
for many years he fasted every Wed-
nesday in her honor, and twice dur-
ing his episcopate he visited her

• chapel at Roc Amadour. Simon,
» Count de Montfort, came here in

121 1 with his German troops, who
wished to pay their homage to the
Mother of God before returning to
their own country.

To come down to recent times :
. It was at the feet of the Virgin of
Roc Amadour that M. Borie made
his final choice of a missionary life
that won for him the glorious crown
of martyrdom in Farther India at
the age of thirty.

The mill where M. Borie was
born stands solitary on the border

• of .a stream, surrounded by chest-

nut-trees, in a deep, narrow, gloomy
valley of La Correze, near Ro<
Amadour — a humble abode, but
the sanctuary of peace, industry,
and piety. When the news of his
martyrdom came to this sequester-
ed spot, his heroic mother was fill-
ed with joy, in spite of her anguish,
and his youngest brother cried :
" I am going ! God calls me to
the land where my brother died.
Mother, give me your blessing. I
am going to open heaven to my
brother's murderers!" He went;
and we remember hearing a holy
Jesuit Father relate how, like the
knights of the olden time, he made
his vigil before the altar of Our
Lady of Roc Amadour the night
before he joined the sacred militia
of the great Loyola.

Beneath the church of Saint-
Sauveur is the subterranean church
of St. Amadour, with low, ponderous
arches and massive columns to sus-
tain the large edifice above. You
go down into it as into a cellar.
At each side as you enter are ela-
borate carvings in the wood, one
representing Zaccheus in the syca-
more-tree, eager to behold our
Saviour as he passed ; the other
shows him standing in the door of
his house to welcome the divine
Guest. On the arches is painted
the whole legend of St. Amadour.
Then there is Roland before the
altar of the Virgin redeeming his
sword with its weight in silver, and
beyond is a band of knights bring-
ing it back from the fatal battle-
field. In another place you see St.
Martial of Limoges and St. Satur-
nin of Toulouse, coming together
to visit J5t. Amadour in his cave.
And yonder is St. Dominic, who,
with Bertrand de Garrigue, one
of his earliest disciples, passed the
night in prayer before the altar of
Our Lady in the year 1219.

Roc Amadonr.

All that remains of the body of
St. Amadonr is enshrined in this
church behind the high altar.

A service for the dead was going
on when we entered this crypt,
with only the priest and the beadle
to sing it. Black candlesticks
stood on the altar, and yellow wax-
lights around the bier. The church
was full of peasants with grave, de-
vout faces and lighted candles in
their hands. The funeral chant,
the black pall, the motionless
peasants with their lights, and this
chill, tomb-like church of the
eleventh century, all seemed in
harmony.

The pilgrim, of course, visits the
chapel of St. Ann overhanging the
town, and that of St. Blaise, with its
Roman arches of the thirteenth
century, built to receive the relics,
brought by the Crusaders from the
East, of a holy solitary who lived
many years in a cave of the wilder-
ness, the wild beasts around as sub-
missive to him as to Adam in Para-
dise.

The chapel of St. John the Bap-
tist was founded in 1516 by a pow-
erful lord named Jean de Valon,
who became a Knight of St. John
of Jerusalem. Out of piety towards
Our Lady of Roc Amadour, he
built this chapel, authorized by the
pope, as the burial-place of himself
and his family, and bequeathed the
sum of five hundred livres to the
prebends, as the foundation for a
Mass of requiem every Monday,
and the Mass of Our Lady every
Saturday, for the remission of his
sins and those of his friends and
benefactors.

The family of Valon, which still
exists, has always shown a remark-
able devotion to Notre Dame de
Roc Amadour. We read of a
Dame de Valon whose pilgrimage
to this chapel in the twelfth century-

was marked by a miracle. This
family owned considerable proper-
ty in the neighborhood, and had a
right to part of the revenues from
the sale of the sportulas, or sporlcl-
/as, which were medals of lead bear-
ing the image of Our Lady on
one side and of St. Amadour on the
other. Sir Walter Scott, in his
Qite ntin Ditnvard, deridingly depicts
Louis XI. with a number of leaden
medals of like character in his hat.
The pilgrim who wore one needed
no other safe-conduct in ancient
times. His person was so sacred
he could even pass in safety through
the enemy's camp. In 1399, during
the war between the French and
English, the sanctuary of Roc Ama-
dour was frequented by both parties,
and both camps regarded the pil-
grim hither with so much respect
that if taken prisoner he was set
free as soon as his quality was dis-
covered. Three of these old al-
mond-shaped sportellas are still to
be seen in the Hotel de Cluny at
Paris.

The ancient standard of Our
Lady of Roc Amadour was held in
great veneration. It was not only
carried in religious processions, but
sometimes to the field of battle.
Alberic, a monk of Trois Fonts, re-
lates that the Virgin appeared three
Saturdays in succession to the sac-
ristan of Roc Amadour, and order-
ed her standard to be carried to
Spain, then engaged in a critical
contest with the Moors. The prior,
in consequence, set forth with the
sacred banner and arrived at the
plain of Las Navas on the i6th
of July, 12 1 2. The Christians had
refused to give battle the day pre-
vious, because it was the Lord's
day, but the fight began early Mon-
day morning. The Templars and
Knights of Calatrava had been put
to flight and the army partly rout-

Roc Amadonr.

ed. At the last moment, when all
hope seemed lost, the prior of Roc
Amadour unfurled the banner of
the Virgin. At the sight of the
holy image of Mary with the divine
Babe every knee bent in reverence,
fresh courage was infused into eve-
ry breast, the army rallied, and the
fight was renewed to such purpose
that they smote the infidel hip and
thigh. Sixty thousand of the ene-
my were slain and a greater num-
ber taken captive. The archbish-
ops of Toledo and Narbonne, the
bishop of Valencia, with many other
prelates and a great number of
priests, sang the Te Dcum on the
field of battle. The King of Cas-
tile, Alfonso IX., had always shown a
special devotion towards Our T,ady
of Roc Amadour. In 1181 he con-
secrated to her service the lands of
Fornellos and Orbanella, in order,
as he says in the charter, to solace
the souls of his parents and secure
Ins own salvation. And, by way
of intimidating the lawless free-
booter of those rough times, he se-
verely adds : " And should any one
trespass in the least on this gift or
violate my intentions, let him incur
the full wrath of God, and, like the
traitor Judas, be delivered over to
the torments of hell as the slave of
the devil. Meanwhile, let him pay
into the royal treasury the sum of
one thousand livres of pure gold,
and restore twofold to the abbot
of Roc Amadour."

This gift was afterwards confirm-
ed by Ferdinand III., Ferdinand
IV., and Alfonso XI.

King Alfonso was not the only
royal benefactor of the miraculous
Hiapel. Sancho VII., King of Na-
varre, for the weal of his soul and
the souls of his parents, gave in
1202 certain rents amounting to
toi ty-eight pieces of gold, to be em-
ployed in illuminating the church

of St. Mary of Roc Amadour. A
candle was to burn night and day
before the blessed image on Christ
mas, Epiphany, Candlemas, Whit-
sunday, Trinity Sunday, the As-
sumption, and AH Saints' day.
And twenty-four candles, each
weighing half a pound, were to be
placed on the altar on those days.
The remainder of the money was-
to be used for the incense.

Sancia, wife of Gaston V. of
Beam, and daughter of the King
of Navarre, sent the chapel of Roc
Amadour a rich piece of tapestry
wrought by her own royal hands.

Count Odo de la Marcbe in 1 1 19,.
during the reign of Lours-le-Grosr
offered the forest of Mount Salvy
to God, the Blessed Mary of Roc
Amadour, and St. Martin of Tulle,,
free from all tax or impost, adding ;
" And should any one presume to
alienate this gift, let him incur the
anger of God and the saints, and
remain for ever accursed with Da-
than and Abiram."

In 1217 Erard de Brienne, lord
of Rameru, allied by blood to the
royal families of Europe, and Phi-
lippine, his wife, daughter of Hen-
ry, Count of Troves and King of
Jerusalem, made an offering of two
candles to burn night and day be-
fore the image of Notre Dame de
Roc Amadour for the redemption
of their souls and the souls of their
parents.

Alfonso, Count of Toulouse, bro-
ther of St. Louis, presented a silver
lamp to burn before the statue of
Our Lady, and another was given
by the Countess de Montpensier, a
French princess.

Letters are still extant by which
Philip III., King of France, in
1276, ratified the foundation of his
uncle Alfonso, Count of Toulouse,
amounting to twenty livres of Ton-
mine money, to be paid, one-half

Roc Amadour.

at the Ascension and the other at
All Saints, to keep a candle con-
stantly burning before the Virgin
of Roc Amadour.

Pope Clement V. bequeathed a
legacy to this church in 1314 that
a wax candle might burn contin-
ually in Our Lady's chapel, in her
honor and to obtain the redemp-
tion of his soul. It was to be
honorably placed in a silver basin
or sconce.

Savaric, Prince de Mauleon and
lord of Tulle, celebrated for his
familiarity with military science
and the elegance of his poesy,
among other gifts in 1218 gave
the lands of Lisleau, exempt from
all tax, to the church of St. Mary
of Roc Amadour.

Louis of Anjou, afterwards King
of Sicily, in 1365 ordered twenty
livres to be given annually to this
church from his domain of Rou-
ergue, out of the love he bore the
holy Virgin.

The Viconite de Turenne, in
1396, assigned a silver mark an-
nually from one of his seigneuries
as a contribution to the support of
the miraculous chapel.

On the 22d of June, 1444, the
noble and puissant lord, Pierre,
Count of Beaufort, moved by his
devotion towards Jesus Christ, the
Redeemer of the world, and to
Mary, his glorious Mother, and de-
sirous of procuring his own salva-
tion and the solace of the suffering
souls in purgatory, assigned to the
monastery of Roc Amadour the
sum of ten Hvres annually from the
ferry over the Dordogne at Mount
Valent, that a solemn Mass might
be sung every Thursday, at least in
plain chant, with three collects, one
in honor of the Holy Ghost, an-
other of the Blessed Virgin, and
the third for the repose of the
faithful departed. After Mass the

priest, laying aside his chasuble,
was to go daily, with all the clergy
of the chapel, to sing before the
statue of Our Lady either the Salrc
Regina or the Rcgina Cce/i, accord-
ing to the season, with the Libera
or the De Profundis, for the repose
of his and his wife's souls and the
souls of his parents.

We could multiply these beauti-
ful examples of devotion to the
Blessed Virgin, but forbear, though
it is not useless to recount the
deeds of our forefathers in the
faith. They have their lesson for
those who know how to read aright.

Among the glorious prerogatives
with which the chapel of Notre
Dame de Roc Amadour is favored
is the Grand Pardon, accorded by
several popes of the middle ages,
on the feast of Corpus Christi when-
ever it coincides with the nativity
of St. John the Baptist. This fre-
quently happened before the cor-
rection of the Calendar by Gregory
XIII., but it now only occurs when
Easter falls on St. Mark's day — that
is, the 25th of April. The Grand
Pardon comprises all the privileges
of a solemn jubilee, and is gained
by all who visit the miraculous cha-
pel on the appointed day, receive
the sacraments with the proper dis-
positions, pray for concord among
Christian princes, the extirpation
of heresy, and the exaltation of our
holy mother the church. So great
was formerly the affluence of the
pilgrims on such occasions, as in
the jubilee of 1546, the town could
not contain them, and tents were
set up in the country round. Pil-
grimages to this ancient chapel are
still common.

A remnant of the old palace of
the abbot of Roc Amadour is still
standing, but is used for the sale of
objects of devotion. Here Ai-
naud Amalric, the papal legate,

Roc Amadour.

spent the whole winter of 1211,
and many other eminent prelates
received hospitality, as the holy
martyr St. Englebert, Archbishop
of Cologne. Behind this building
a narrow, dangerous path leads
along the side of the cliff to an an-
cient hermitage that now bears the
title of Maison a Jlfarie, where peo-
ple desirous of spending a few
days in retreat can find an asylum.
It hangs like a bird's nest on the
edge of a fearful precipice, and
must be a trying residence to peo-
ple of weak nerves. The Sisters of
Calvary, who have charge of it,
look like doves in the clefts of the
rocks. Still further along the cliff
is their convent.

A winding stair of two hundred
and thirty-six steps, hewn out of
the live rock, and lighted only by
the fissures, leads from the sacristy
of the church up to the ancient
castle, and a scarcely less remark-
able ascent has been constructed
zigzag over the cliff. This castle,
half ruined, was bought by the
Pere Caillau about forty years ago,
and repaired as a residence for the
clergy who served the sanctuaries of
Roc Amadour under his direction.
The old ramparts remain, affording
a fine view of the whole country
around. Bending over them, you
look straight down on the group of
churches below, and the village
still further down, while in the
very depths of the horrid abyss is a
faint line marking the course of the

Alzow along the bottom of the Val-
//<? Ttnebrcuse.

A few years ago the ruined cas-
tle and crumbling churches below
looked as if they belonged to the
time of King Dagobert, but they
have lost in a measure their air of
charming antiquity in the necessa-
ry restorations, by no means com-
plete. Nothing, however, can de-
stroy the singular grandeur and
wild beauty of the site, or the thou-
sand delightful associations — his-
toric, religious, poetic, and legend-
ary— connected with the place.

We close this imperfect sketch
by echoing the sentiments that ani-
mated the saintly Pere Caillau
when he entered upon his duties as
superior of Roc Amadour : " With
what joy I ascended the mysterious
stairs that lead, O Mary, to thy au-
gust sanctuary! With what fervor
I celebrated the holy mysteries at
thy altar! With what love and re-
spect I kissed the sacred feet of
thy statue T With what impatience
I awaited the hour for returning \
Happy the moments passed at thy
feet ! The world seemed as no-
thing in my eyes. What devotion-,
what profound silence there was in
my soul ! What sweet transports
of joy ! My heart seemed consum-
ed by a sacred fire. Why, why
were such moments, so short ?
May their remembrance, at least,
abide for ever ! And may I never
cease to chant thy praise and exalt
thy wondrous mercy L"

A Silent Courtship.

A SILENT COURTSHIP.

ITALIAN hotels of the old kind
are a very pleasant remembrance
to travellers from the north ; they
have the romance and the forlorn
beauty which one expects to see,
and few of the obtrusively modern
arrangements called comforts. The
new hotels that have arisen since
the age of progress are very different,
and not nearly so pleasant, even
to the traveller with the most mod-
erate expectations of the pictur-
esque. The less-frequented towns
inland have kept the old style of
hostelry, as travel does not increase
enough in their neighborhood to
warrant the building of new-fash-
ioned hotels ; and though the palace
floors and walls may be cold and
look cheerless on a damp winter
day, there are a hundred chances
to one that no foreigner will be
there to note down such an expe-
rience.

But Macchio, in the Umbrian
Marches, once had a hotel more sin-
gular than almost any other. It
had no name, such as even the
most unmistakable palazzo gene-
rally puts on to show its present des-
tination; it was called after the
name of the old family whose
stronghold it had once been ; and
as of this stronghold only one part
was whole, the hotel was called
" Torre Carpeggio." It consisted,
indeed, of a tower — that is, only the
lower was whole, furnished, and
usable ; among some ruins of the
rest of the building were a rude
kitchen and stables, patched up
with modern masonry not half so
solid as the original, and some ser-
vants slept in the lofts above these
apologies for " offices," but the re-

markable tower only was in good
repair. The owner, a native of the
place, and whose family had been
for generations in the service of the
Carpeggios, was an unsophisticated
countryman of the old school, not
at all like the exasperating land-
lord of city hotels, who has just
begun to wake up to the dignity of
his position and to experiment in
his behavior towards his foreign
guests. He was the real owner,
having paid good money down for
the castle ; but he still called the
last Carpeggio his young master,
and loved him like his own son.
This youth, like some of his re-
moter forefathers, was fond of
learning, and, seeing no other means
of securing an education and a
start in life that should make some-
thing better out of him than a starve-
ling noble of the Marches, had sold
his inheritance to his old retain-
er, keeping back only one-third of
the vintage produce as a small year-
ly income to fall back upon, and
had gone to a German university,
where even the most exacting of
the professors considered him a
modern Pico della Mirandola. The
selling of his old ruined castle had
brought down upon him the anger
and contempt of neighbors of his
own class, but he was indifferent to
local opinion and despised the dis-
guised meanness of too many of
his neighbors. He had in reality-
passed through a severe struggle
with his own prejudices before
yielding to his better sense and
parting with the shadow to pursue
the substance.

If learning should ever bring
him money, he meant to reclaim.

A Silent Courtship.

the old place, which in the mean-
while could not be in safer hands ;
but on this he did not reckon, and
while he looked down on the sordid
poverty that only prompted his
neighbors to sell butter and milk,
and take toll from visitors coming
to see the faded frescos or old ar-
mor in their ruinous dwellings, he
saw with very different eyes the
probable future of another kind of
poverty before him : the pittance
and privations of a student's lot,
the obscure life of a professor or
the uncertain one of a discoverer ;
but withal the glorious counter-
weight of intellectual life, the wealth
of vigor and progress, and stimu-
lated, restless thought, doubling
and trebling his interests, and mak-
ing akin to himself all the mental
processes or achievements all over
the world, which would come of a
few years' study and the sacrifice
of his home. Far more patriotic
and far more proud was this youth
who sold his inheritance than the
indignant vegetators around him,
who all felt the honor of their order
insulted by his unheard-of deed,
and their country deprived of an-
jother son unworthy of her because
he could see in Germany something
more than a barbarous, hereditary
tyrant and enemy !

So it came about that the good
Salviani kept a hotel in Carpeggio
•tower, the walls of which had al-
ways been kept in good repair, and
which was easily furnished, at no
great expense, from the contents of
various lumber-rooms and a little
.intelligent help from the local car-
penter, who, like most Italians, had
an intuitive understanding of the
artistic. Tourists who had stopped
here for a night or two ; artists who
had established their sketching
headquarters here ; Italians of some
fortune who passed here on their

way to their inland
anglers and peddlers, friars, and
even commercial travellers of vari-
ous nations who had begun to ex-
periment on the rural population
hereabouts; pilgrims to the two
neighboring shrines hardly known
beyond twenty miles around, and
yet the boast of the neighborhood
for nearly four hundred years ; wine
merchants from the next cities —
these and many more could witness
to the satisfactory way in which
Salviani kept the only hotel in Mac-
chio. And of course his prices were
moderate — indeed, to a foreigner
they seemed absolutely ridiculous ;
and he always made it a- point to
give an Englishman or an American
plenty of water, having found that
by experience a salve to the fault-
finding spirit, and his young master
having also accustomed his old at-
tendant to it by requiring it him-
self ever since his boyhood. For-
eigners with a " turn " for antique
furniture spent more time roaming
the old chambers than they did
eating at the landlord's excellent, if
strictly national, table (for Salvi-
ani, knowing that he was ignorant
of foreign dishes, never attempted
to drive away his guests by bad
imitations). The tower was very
high and uncommonly large in pro-
portion; in fact, it reminded you
rather of two Cecilia Metella tombs
raised one above the other than of
an ordinary tower; and it was odd-
ly distributed within. A staircase
wound in the centre of the building,
communicating with the rooms on
each tier by a circular corridor on
which the doors opened ; but from
the third floor this staircase ceased,
and from that to the fourth there
was no access except from a wind-
ing stair within the thickness of the
outer wall. The great stairs were
of stone and uncarpeted, and in

A Silent Courtship.

the corridor on which the doors of
the rooms opened were placed at
intervals pieces of furniture, such
as chairs, tables, stands, bronzes,
vases, marble cornices, things pic-
turesque, but not always available
for use, and many sadly injured and
mutilated, yet forming such a col-
lection as sent a thrill of envy to
the heart of a few stray connois-
seurs who had come across it and
never been able to bring away even
a specimen. Old Salviani had his
superstitions, but, unlike his coun-
trymen in general, he felt that these
forbade him to sell anything be-
longing to the old family seat, es-
pecially to a foreigner.

One day two travellers stopped
at the hotel, a mother and daugh-
ter— " English, of course," said the
landlord with a smile, as he saw
their costume and independent air.
The daughter was, equally of course,
in evident and irrepressible rap-
tures about everything she saw in
the place, frojn the ruinous out-
houses to the museum-like interior.
Their own rooms on the first floor,
large, marble-paved, and scantily
but artistically furnished with the
best preserved of the antique things,
satisfied them only for a short time ;
they wanted to be shown over the
whole house. The bed-rooms were
not quite in such good taste, they
thought; and indeed, as Salviani
was not perfect, here the " cloven
foot " did appear, for a peddler had
once beguiled him into buying
some Nottingham lace curtains
with which he disfigured one of the
third-story rooms, and some cheap
chintzes which he had made into
curtains for some of the patched-up
bedsteads. But as the two stran-
gers went up through each corridor,
looking down at the tier below and
at the various beautiful things be-
side them, they forgot these blem-

ishes in their delight at a sight so
unusual as this large, inhabited,
well-preserved tower. They had
seen nothing like it and could
never have imagined it. It had an
air of dignity, of grandeur, of re-
pose, and yet of connection with
the present to which one is more
accustomed in old English country-
houses than in Italian palaces.

One of the rooms on the fourth
tier was almost unfurnished, having
only two dilapidated bedsteads,
one very large and promiscuously
heaped with bed-quilts of equal
dilapidation, while the other, in
the form of a cot, or child's bed,
was also much larger than such
beds are made now. On this was
thrown an old-fashioned but al-
most new black mantle trimmed
with silk ribbon. This was the
room afflicted with the Nottingham
lace curtains, which were cleaner
than seemed natural in such a
room. The view hence was beau-
tiful, and the young Englishwoman
was moved to suggest that they
should change their plans a little
and stay here a few weeks, when she
would endeavor to learn the lan-
guage and would make a study of
this tower-nest with the fine view.
It would be so out of the way, and
a few antique chairs and a table
would be enough furniture to re-
place the beds, which could be put
into the next room. The mother
smiled ; she was used to these sud-
den schemes growing up full-fledg-
ed out of any pleasant and sug-
gestive-looking circumstances, but
the landlord, seriously entering in-
to the proposal, said he feared
the other room was too small to
hold the beds — certainly the big
one, which could not be got through
the door, and, in fact, did not take
to pieces. This set the young girl
to examining the bed, and sudden-

A Silent Courtship.

ly she called her companions to no-
tice a panel in the tall head-board,
which reached nearly to the ceil-
ing. It seemed movable, she said,
and might she not try to find the
spring? Did the signer know any-
thing about it? Salviani turned
lather pale and hastily crossed
himself, muttering something in
Italian; then, in bad French, at-
tempted to explain to his guest
that there was a story of a former
Carpeggio who was said to have
lived alone on this top story and
to have been a wizard, but how
long ago he could not tell, nor if
the bed had been there then. The
young girl insisted on getting to the
bottom of the secret of the panel,
which at last yielded, and revealed a
space between itself and another
room of which only a corner was
visible, and a very small grated win-
dow high up in the wall. She scram-
bled through the panel opening,
out into a lot of rubbish which fill-
ed the intervening space and cov-
ered the sloping floor several inch-
es deep. The door into the other
room was gone, or else there had
never been one, and there were
.large hooks on either side of the
gap, as if curtains might once have
hung there. The floor was sunk
much lower than this level —
quite three feet — giving one the im-
pression of a shallow well, so that
there must have once been some
movable way of descent. An old
press or chest, with two drawers
at the bottom, filled one corner,
and on it was a faded piece of
green silk, looking unmistakably
part of a woman's dress, and a
beautiful, delicate ivory desk lying
open, with many thin plates folding
together like the leaves of a port-
folio. The curious girl handled it
with a sort of dread, yet eagerly
and closely inspected it, leaving it

afterwards in just the position in
which she had found it. As she
turned from it she gave a cry of
surprise; a chair stood in the cor-
ner, half hidden by the press, and
across the back of it hung a long
lock of hair, brown and silky, now
fluttering in the unaccustomed
draught from the open panel. Sud-
denly the intruder was aware that
the walls were covered with books
but th«y were hidden behind aclose,
thin green wire netting, which had
at first looked like the pattern of
the wall. She eagerly called for a
chair to stand on to examine them ;
the landlord handed her one
through the door, and theji for the
first time, fascinated yet afraid, gaz-
ed into the room. Many were the
voluble and simple exclamations
he uttered; but he was evidently
more concerned as to the risk of
touching such uncanny things than
pleased at the discovery of the en-
ergetic stranger. Meanwhile, she
looked at the books, which filled up
two sides of the room from floor to
ceiling — they were a treasure, as
she knew : old Italian and Ger-
man books on theological and
philosophical subjects ; transla-
tions into Italian of some Eliza-
bethan authors — these, perhaps,
unique of their kind, and rarer
than originals in either English or
Italian ; Italian translations of
more modern English books ; poet-
ry, science, illuminated manuscripts,
first editions of sixteenth-century
printed books — the Italian ones,
everMhose in black-letter, perfectly
clear and legible to a tyro, while
a few English books of a century
later were not half so decipherable ;
a good many Greek and Latin
books, but not so many as of the
Italian and German ; and a few Ori-
ental manuscripts, chiefly Hebrew,
Arabic, and Syriac. In two places

A Silent Courtsliip.

on the wall, which showed traces
of a rough kind of painting as a
background, were hung unframed
Chinese landscapes on wood, and
in other parts of the room old en-
gravings, some plainly framed, some
not, but pasted on to boards, and
one or two unfinished etchings.
The most interesting purported to
be a head of St. Peter — not a con-
ventional one, but a copy from
some old painting, itself copied
from a Byzantine fresco, and claim-
ing to be — so said the quotation at
the foot of the etching — a portrait
of the apostle as he really was.
The pedigree of the portrait, how-
ever, was the really interesting
point, and this was minutely trac-
ed in the foot-note, added by one
signing himself Andrea C., to the
unfinished etching of the artist, who,
it seems, had died while engaged
on this work.

And here ends the part the
strangers took in the affair ; for they
continued their journey to Anco-
na, and often in after-years-, in their
quiet English home between lake and
rocky fell, wondered what became
of the books of Torre Carpeggio.
Uut the faithful Salviani had written
to his young master at once, and
( 'arpeggio returned a joyous answer,
full of excitement and curiosity, pro-
mising a visit as soon as his means
and his studies combined would al-
low of it. It was a year before he was
able to come — a year during which
he had changed and ripened, but
which had left the old tower, and, in-
deed, the sleepy, beautiful old city, as
unchanged as anything can be where
human beings are being born, mar-
ried, and buried in due season.
Kven this inevitable change, how-
ever, was neutralized by the firmly-
grooved life which, as each genera-
tion grew up, it placidly inherited
from the last and religiously carried

out, undreaming of any other pos-
sibilities and ignorant even of its
own dormant energies. This was.
before the commotions of the last
twenty years, and there , was not
even a political ferment, much less
an intellectual one, to disturb the
even flow of things. One or two
of the cathedral clergy had the re-
putation of being great scholars,
and, indeed, had the right to be so
looked upon, if by scholarship we
understand the kind of knowledge
which made the men of the Medici
days fully the equals of the Oxford
dons of only one generation ago ;
but that sort of scholarship harmo-
nized well with the air of serene
drowsiness that covered the pictur-
esque and half-deserted old city.
The old canons kept much to them-
selves, and studied in a dainty, desul-
tory, solitary way, not extending the
daintiness to dress or furniture, but
keeping up an unconscious kind of
picturesqueness which they chiefly
owed to such details as velvet skull-
caps and bits of stray carving, or
an old and precious ivory crucifix
or Cellini relic-case — things prized
by them for their meaning rather
than for their art-value.

To this quaint, quiet city Emilio
Carpeggio came back, after a t\vo
years' absence, a youth still — for he
was only twenty — but a phenome-
non, if any one had known what
was passing in his brain. He found
the state of things more deplorable
than ever, now that he had had ex-
perience of a different lot ; he had
thought it hopeless enough before.
Practical and farseeing, he did not
find a panacea in reckless political
disturbances, and in impossible
strivings to make citizens and states-
men out of his easy-going neigh-
bors, so he was saved the loss of
time that clogged the efforts of so
many well-meaning men of his ac-

A Silent Courtship.

quaintrmce abroad ; individual men-
tal activity was what he looked
forward to as the thin edge of the
wedge that should break up this
spell of »vhat he could not help
looking upon as lamentable stagna-
tion, however beautiful the disguise
it wore.

His three months' holiday came
to an end, and he disappeared
again, carrying off his treasures
with him to Germany, where they
became the wonder and envy of
the professors. But such luck, af-
ter all, was only due, said the kind-
ly old men, to one who had done
so much to win knowledge.

There was one of these men, not
nearly so old as the rest, the spe-
cial teacher to whom Carpeggio
had attached himself, who was the
young man's best friend. To him
only the dreams and hopes and re-
solves of this concentrated young
mind were made freely known ; for,
though young as regards most of
the professors, Schlichter was like
a father to the Italian student. He
was only forty-two, and already
had a European reputation in his
own line — mining engineering. A
year after Carpeggio came back
from his visit to Italy his master
received an invitation from a sci-
entific society in England to give
a course of lectures in London dur-
ing the summer. He proposed to
the young man to accompany him,
telling him that there was no know-
ing what practical advantages might
result from his visit to a country
where you needed only energy to
grasp success.

"But you forget the Mammon-
worship of the English," said Emi-
lio, "of which you yourself have
so scornfully told me, and that ob-
scure young foreigners without in-
terest are not likely to have a
chance of showing off their energy.

I think I had better stay and study
here another year or two, instead
of deliberately exposing myself to
the vertigo of London."

"Nonsense!" said Schlichter im-
patiently. " Society is not likely to
dazzle us, or, indeed, take much no-
tice of us ; they know how to keep
the streams separate, even if the
fine ladies do play at a little pretty
enthusiasm for science now and
then. A lecture nowadays is only
another excuse for a pretty toilette,
a change from the breakfast and
morning concert or the afternoon
kettle-drum; but that does not im-
ply a real, personal notice of the
lecturer, or, indeed, of -any other
working-bee. But, seriously, I know
some men in London who might
help you, if they had a mind to do
it. You know how many surveys
and plans there are — always some
new expedition to far-away places —
and young men of brains are al-
ways useful, especially single men,
who can leave home without re-
gret or difficulty. You speak Eng-
lish and other useful modern lan-
guages, and you have every chance,
I tell you, if you will only keep
your eyes open. As for study, a
man need never say he can find no
time for it, however busy he is.
If my evil genius had made me a
merchant, I should have found time
for study, and so will you, just as
well as if you stayed at home. It
is settled, is it not?"

So they went, and the lectures
were given, and the little world of
learned men which is the leaven of
England met the two strangers
heartily ; but, as Schlichter had fore-
told, nothing very remarkable or
very dazzling occurred to them,
though, to be sure, the elder man
kept a jealous eye on his young
friend, as if he had fears or expec-
tations of something happening.

A Silent Courtship.

But Emilio calmly came and went,
studied and sa\v sights, went to
quiet family gatherings or to large
parties which the uninitiated could
not have distinguished from those
of the charmed uppermost circle,
and yet no one of the many girls
he saw seemed to dwell in his
thoughts more than courtesy re-
quired while he was in their pre-
sence. One day Schlichter told
him that a friend of his had recom-
mended him to a mine-owner as
general overseer and agent of his
underground property, and that lie
probably would have nothing to do
but to step into the place. " You
would rather have been tacked on
at the tail of some South American
expedition or Central African sur-
vey, I dare say," he said ; " but you
had better take this and be thank-
ful, Carpeggio. The country is wild
and picturesque, I believe — Mon-
mouthshire, just on the Welsh bor-
der— and you will be pretty much
your own master. It only depends
on you to go up higher; but still I
would not have you forget the prac-
tical altogether. One must live,
even if one does not run after
money for its own sake, which you,
at all events, are not likely to do."
So Emilio was left alone in Eng-
land, in a responsible if not very
brilliant position, and faithfully did
his work so as to gain his employ-
er's whole confidence and respect.
The local society decidedly flatter-
ed the grave young overseer, whose
title had over women the vague
charm it always awakens in ro-
mantic or speculating Englishwo-
men, and was even not obnoxious
to the men, whose practical minds
forgave the " foreign bosh " for the
sake of the man's good English and
modest, hard-working life. He was
popular among the miners, and al-
together, in his little sphere, su-

preme. But parties and picnics
sadly wearied him, and he feared
he was growing misanthropic (so
he wrote to Schlichter), when his
employer took a new turn and be-
gan to court the notice of guests
for one of his newest mines, of
which he made a pet and a show.
Whenever he had people to see
him he arranged a party for going
to see the mine and its new im-
provements ; it was to be a model,
the machinery was carefully chosen
on improved principles — in fact, the
place became a local show. Stran-
gers came, and the country people
began to take pride in it, so that
Carpeggio often had to escort fat
dowagers, experienced flirts, fast
young men, and statesmen on a
short holiday, down the mine. The
contrast between this and his old
home among the vineyards of Um-
bria often made itself felt with
strange vividness as he sat by these
people in the large cage or basket,
swinging up or down between the
dark, damp, unfragrant walls of the
shaft, he shouting one steady word
to the men who held the ropes, and
then quieting the half-sham tremors
of a young lady, or smiling at the
equally assumed carelessness of an-
other whose part in the play was
the reverse of the old-fashioned
ingenue*

It was the contrast between his
old life in Germany, so true and
still, and this English one, so full
of froth and shifting scenes, that
kept him from feeling the fasci-
nation of his new surroundings.
Graver and graver he grew, as the
wonder in his mind grew also, con-
cerning the effect that all this
whirl of unreality must have, in its
different degrees, upon its victims.
Were they all willing or passive

* Childlike simplicity.

A Silent Courtship.

ones ? Did no one ever rebel against
the mould ? Did no woman's heart
and woman's hopes strive against
those worldly calculations which
seemed to hedge in every family,
from that of the half-starving village
solicitor, and even that of the hard-
working vicar, to that of his em-
ployer, and no doubt also of the
squires and the marquis, whose two
daughters had just been presented
at court? Report said that one
of these was very beautiful ; it also
added, wilful. But that probably
meant only a spoilt child, not a
woman with an individuality of her
own.

One day Emilio was in the mine,
making a sketch by the light of a
lantern for an improvement that
had just occurred to him, when he
heard a noise not far off, and knew
it to be the basket coming down
the shaft. He was putting his
papers together to go and see who
had come, when he was met by one
of the men smiling covertly, who
told him that two young ladies had
insisted on coming down with him
as he returned from an ascent with
a load of ore. They were alone,
he said, and wore gray waterproof
cloaks and rubber boots, which they
said they had put on on purpose,
meaning to go down the mine. He
had begged them to wait till he
brought the overseer to do them
the honors. " As pretty as pic-
tures," said the man as Carpeggio
moved off, " but evidently strangers
to the place." A solution at once
darted to the young man's mind,
but he said nothing, and, when he
got to the opening, he saw before
him the great, dirty basket, and
two laughing, fresh faces still in-
side, as the girls clung with un-
gloved hands to the ropes and
peered out into the darkness be-
yond them.

" Allow me," he said, as he of-
fered one of them his hand. " I am
afraid you will be disappointed in
the very little there is to see, but 1
shall be happy to show you over
the place." The two girls seemed
suddenly confused and answered
only by letting him help them
down. He led them on, and here
and there explained something
which was Greek to them. Pre-
sently one whispered to the other :
" Why, Kate ! he is a gentleman."
" Hush," said the other in sudden
alarm: "he will hear you." And
she immediately asked a question
of their guide. When she found
out that there was a lower level
than the one they were on, she
asked to go down at once, but
Carpeggio gravely declined, on the
plea of their being alone and his
not wishing to take the responsi-
bility if they should get wet through.

" No one need know," said one
of them. " We ran away on pur-
pose, and there is just time to g:>
down and get home for tea. Lun-
cheon does not matter."

" Forgive me, madam," said the
young man with a smile, " but 1
would rather not, and you can
easily come again, with any one
authorized to let you have your
own way. I cannot in conscience
allow it while you are alone."

" It is no fun coming with a lot of
old fogies, and in a carriage, and
one's best behavior, and so on," said
the spokeswoman; "is it, Kate?"
The other blushed and hesitated,
and at last said she thought it was
best to give up the lower level and
go home ; yet she seemed just as full
of life and fun as her companion,
and had evidently enjoyed the es-
capade just as much. Carpeggio
looked at her for a moment and led
the way towards the basket. He
went up with them and courteously

A Silent Courtship.

bade them good-by at the mouth
of the shaft. The younger one
held out her hand and said: " You
will tell us whom we have to thank,
I hope ?"

" Oh !" he said confusedly, glanc-
ing at the other and only seeing the
outstretched hand just in time not
to seem rude, " I am only the over-
seer."

The other girl suddenly looked
up and held out her hand to him,
saying : " Thank you ; I am sure
you were right about going further
down. And now we must say good-
by."

Carpeggio went down again to
his interrupted drawing, but the
face and name of " Kate " came
between him and his work. He
saw neither of the girls again for
weeks, and carefully forbore to
make any inquiries ; the gossip of
the men did not reach the society
which might have twitted him with
the visit of those unexpected ex-
plorers, and he kept his surmises
to himself.

Yet the door had been opened,
and he was no longer the same,
though to outsiders no change was
visible. Two months later there
was a public ball in the county
town — an occasion on which many
persons meet officially on terms
that are hardly kept up all the
year round, but which yet offer op-
portunities of social glorification
"warranted to keep" till the same
time next year. This ball was to
be followed the next night by an-
other, given by the regiment ; and
though this was "by invitation," it
was practically nearly as public as
the other. These gayeties greatly
excited the small world of the
mining district, and for the first
time became of interest to Emilio,
though he was angry and ashamed
to acknowledge it to himself. His

work was the only thing that did
not suffer ; as to his studies, they
were interrupted, and even his
calm gravity became absent-mind-
edness. He was one of the earli-
est guests present at the county
ball, and watched the door eagerly
for an hour at least before he was
rewarded. Then came a large-
party, to whom the appointed ushers
paid unusual attention, though the
head of it seemed but a kindly
middle-aged man, remarkable only
for his geniality. Every one, how-
ever, knew the marquis by sight;
Carpeggio, who did not, felt it was
he before even the deference paid
to him told him so. By his side
were the two girls he had first seen
in the mine-basket, now dressed in
white ball-dresses, airy and com-
monplace, just the same society
uniform as the three co-heiresses,
the daughters of his own employer,
but to him how different, ho\v
tender, how sacred ! That is to
say, Lady Katharine's; for her
pretty sister seemed an ordinary
woman beside her.

And now began all the sweet,
old-fashioned, foolish tumult of
which bards and romancers weave
their webs; the trembling and fear
and joy and jealousy which Car-
peggio had read of, but thought
impossible in this century of sham
excitements and masqueraded lives.
He thought that she looked much
more beautiful in her gray cloak
and drooping black hat; but still
" Kate " in any dress was a vision
of heaven rather than a common
mortal. As she came into the
room, she looked anxiously around
and saw him at once. She had ex-
pected to meet him here, then —
both were conscious of it in that
one look, and it seemed as if this
blissful understanding between
them were enough. The youth

A Silent Courtship.

turned to do his duty by his em-
ployer's three daughters and all the
rest of his acquaintances, to whom,
in the character of a " dancing
man " as well as a good match, lie
was interesting; he spun off little
courteous speeches, not untrue but
commonplace, until he felt that he
had satisfied natural expectations,
and then he allowed himself a re-
spite and gazed at the marquis'
youngest daughter. Towards sup-
per time Carpeggio's employer,
proud of the great man's courteous
notice of him, suddenly bethought
himself that an " Italian nobleman "
in his wake might make the mar-
quis respect his all-powerful purse
the more, so he introduced his
young overseer to the marquis
with a flourish very unpleasant to
the former and rather amusing to
the latter. Emilio was struck with
dumbness or confusion ; his new ac-
quaintance took compassion on him
and led him up to his daughters,
whose eyes had been for some time
fixed upon him with breathless in-
terest. As he shook hands with
them the second time he was in an
awkward bewilderment whether or
no to allude to their former meet-
ing ; in fact, his usual indifference
was wholly upset. Lady Katha-
rine was equally silent; whether she
shared his embarrassment he could
not tell ; but the other, Lady Anne,
skilfully and with a latent, suppress-
ed gleam of mischief in her eye,
talked so as to cover his confusion
and clear away the thorns that
seemed to grow up between him and
her sister. At last he had the
courage to ask each of the girls for
a dance, and this, together with a
word in the cloak-room as he es-
corted them to their carriage, and
the certainty of meeting them
.•igain at the military ball next
night, was all that happened to

feed the flame of a feeling he knew
to be already beyond the bounds
of reason.

Yet he did nothing to check this
feeling ; are not all lovers fatalists
for the time being ? Of course it
was hopeless, insane, impossible —
he could see it with the eyes of the
world ; but he -also knew that it was
true love, the ideal and pure love
of Arcadia, the one thing which,
whether realized or not, lifts men
above conventional life and turns
gold to^ dross. He also fancied
that this love might be returned,
and did not care to inquire further
just now, when to be blind to de-
tails was to be happy.. Besides,
these were the first girls he had
seen that had not lost their natu-
ralness, and he wanted to watch
and see if they could keep it in the
atmosphere in which they lived.
This was not quite an excuse ; for
the young cynic had really got to
be a sharp observer of human na-
ture, and had, like most such ob-
servers when young, hastily con-
cocted one or two theories which
he was now becoming anxious to
test.

Nothing happened at the mili-
tary ball more than the most unin-
terested spectator might see at any
ball; and yet much happened, for
Carpeggio met Kate and danced
with her, and both, as if by mu-
tual understanding, were very si-
lent. Her sister, however, made
up for this by chattering in the
most meaningly meaningless way,
and delighting the lovers by her
tacit abetment of anything they
might choose to think, say, or do.
After these balls there was for a
long time no more opportunity
for meetings, and Emilio chafed
against his fate, using the leisure
time he had before spent in study
for long walks to the marquis'

A Silent Courtship.

49'

house — that is, as near as he dared
go without danger of trespassing.
Once or twice he was lucky enough
to meet the girls on the highroad
outside the park, and this he enjoy-
ed indeed ; the progress was quick-
er, though as silent as in the ball-
room. Then once he met them
out driving with their father, and
on another occasion came upon
them at a neighboring squire's,
where they were on a state visit.
But all this made little outward
difference, though he felt as if he
no longer needed anything but a
solemn pledge to change the inner
certainty into an acknowledged
fact. Lady Anne was evidently a
thorough partisan, and her sister's
silence and looks told him all he
wanted, to know; yet he refrained
from saying the word, and knew
that she understood why he did so.
The fact was, he trusted to Provi-
dence and his own power of shap-
ing any opportunity sent him.
The whole thing seemed to him
wonderful and mysterious ; and as
it had begun, so doubtless would it
be guided to a happy end.

One day his employer told him
with much importance that he was
going to bring a " very distinguish-
ed" party to see the mine, and af-
terwards to go through the works
and see the melted ore pouring out
from the furnaces, " as that always
amused young people so." The
marquis was coming with his
daughters and his only son from
Eton, and a young friend, a cousin
of his, Lord Ashley; then he would
have one or two of the " best peo-
ple" from the immediate neighbor-
hood, and his own daughters, be-
sides the son of a friend out in
Australia, a Mr. Lawrence, whom
Carpeggio had heard rumor speak
of as a not unwelcome son-in-law
in the eyes of the rich mine-owner.
VOL. xxvi. — 4

He wondered whether Lord Ashley
might be destined by her father as
a suitor for Kate ; but the elder
daughter would be more likely to
be thought of first, besides being •
the prettier.

The day came, and with it the
party, who arrived in the after-
noon, picnicked in the adjoining
woods, and then sauntered over to
the shaft, where Emilio met them.
Kate wore the same gray water
proof, and, as he took her hand to
help her into the basket, he gave it
the slightest pressure, with a look
that spoke volumes. She was al-
most as grave as himself. I can-
not describe all that went on dur- -.
ing the inspection, which to all, save
Mr. Lawrence and the marquis, was ,
a pleasure party in disguise; for the
former knew something of the sub-
ject from Australian experiences,
and the latter was considering the ,
question of renting, or himself work-
ing, a mine lately found on his own
property. Technical questions, ex-
planations, and discussions, between .
these two visitors and the owner
and overseer took up the time, •
while the youngladies, Lord Ashley,
and the jolly Eton boy, who was a ,
counterpart of his livelier sister, ,
laughed and joked like a mixed ;
school in play-time. Carpeggio,
however, kept his eye on Kate the
whole time, and was comforted ; for
there was no fear of that nature be- .
ing spoiled, though he thought with
sorrow that it might be bruised and
crushed. Suddenly, in the midst
of a discussion, his ear caught an
unaccustomed sound, and he turn-
ed pale for a moment, then bent :
forward composedly and whispered
in his employer's ear. The latter, ,
after an almost imperceptible start,
said briskly to his guests : " As
it is near the hour for the fur- ;
naces to show off at their best, I •,

A Silent COM t ship.

think we had better be moving,"
and led the way rather quickly to
the shaft. Carpeggio contrived to
get near Kate, whose silence show-
ed how glad she was of the com-
panionship, but he was preoccupied
and anxious and spoke a few words
absently. A loud noise was heard,
seemingly not far away, and the
visitors asked, "What is that ?"
while the master hurriedly said,
" Oh ! it is only a blast, but we must
not be late for the furnaces ; come,"
and tried to marshal his guests
closely together. Instinctively they
obeyed and hurried forward ; the
marquis looked round for his
children. Anne and the boy were
near him, but Kate not to be seen.
There was a corner to be turned,
and she was just behind it, when
another noise overhead was heard
and Carpeggio rushed like the wind
from behind the angle, carrying the
girl in his arms. It was the work
of a second ; for as he set her on
her feet by her father's side, and al-
most against the basket, down came
a huge fragment and all but block-
ed up the gallery behind them, fall-
ing on the spot where she might
-have been had she lingered another
moment. Whether or not she had
heard his passionate whisper, " My
own," as he gathered her suddenly
in his arms and took that breath-
less rush, he could hardly tell, for
she was dazed and half-unconscious
when he set her down again. Her
father thanked him by an emphatic
shake of the hand and a look he
treasured up in his soul ; but there
was no time for more, as the bas-
ket was hastily loaded with the
girls and drawn up. As the signal
came down that they were safe, the
owner's tongue was loosed, and he
explained rapidly that something
had happened on the second level
(they were on the third) and shaken

the rock below ; he trusted noth-
ing more would happen, but he
must beg his guests to visit the
works alone, as he must stop to see
to the damage.

" No," said the overseer, " think
of your daughters' anxiety, my dear
sir ; there is probably nothing very
serious, and it is nearly time for
the men to come up. I shall do
very well alone."

The marquis looked at him ad-
miringly ; he could not advise him
to leave without doing his duty, yet
he felt suddenly loath to have any-
thing happen to the preserver of
his daughter. After a short alter-
cation the master consented to go
up, provided Carpeggio would send
for him, if necessary ; and the basket
came down again. As they reach-
ed the next level, where the overseer
got out, they heard uncomfortable
rumblings at intervals; and when
they got out at the mouth of the
shaft, where they met a good many
of the men who had come up by
another opening, they were very un-
like a gala party. Kate was still
there ; they had wanted her, said
the girls, to go in and rest in a cot-
tage near by, but she insisted on
waiting ; and when she saw all but
Carpeggio she only turned away in
a hopeless, silent way that concern-
ed her sister, who alone knew the
cause. Anne immediately put
questions that brought out the
facts of the case ; and as their host
tried hard to put the party at their
ease again by hastening to the fur-
naces under the sheds, she whisper-
ed : " Kate, do keep up, or there
will be such a fuss."

" Never fear," said the girl ; " and
try and make them stay till we hear
what has happened, Anne ; I do
not want to go home without know-
ing."

It was nervous work for the mas-

A Silent Courtship.

ter and the men who were tending
the molten ore to conceal their anx-
iety. The beautiful white iron,
flowing like etherealized lava,
rushing out from the dark, oven-
like furnaces and spreading into
the little canals made ready for it,
gave one a better idea of pure light
than anything could do. The heat
was intense, and the men opened
the doors with immense long poles
tipped with iron ; the gradual dark-
ening of the evening threw shadows
about the place, and the streams of
living light, that looked as the at-
mosphere of God's throne might
look, settled into their moulds, hard-
ening and darkening into long,
heavy, unlovely bars. A suppress-
ed excitement was at work ; groups
of men came up every minute with
contradictory reports as to the ac-
cident ; women and children met
them with wild questions or equally
wild recognition ; and the master
repeatedly sent messages to the
mouth of the- shaft. At last, throw-
ing by all pretence, he begged his
guests to wait for news, and with
Lawrence went back to the mine.
More men were coming up — the last
but five, he was told — and Mr. Car-
peggio had said he thought he and
his four mates could do all that
was needed and come up before
any mischief happened to them.
The soil was loosening under the
action of water, and to save the
ore accumulated below, and which
-eould not be hauled up in time,
they had built a sort of wall
across the gallery as well as
the circumstances and the time
would allow; Mr. Carpeggio had
sent the men away as fast as he
could spare them, and kept only
four with him to finish, which was
the most dangerous part of the
business, as the water threatened
them more and more.

" He sent all the married men up
first, and asked the rest to volun-
teer as to who among them should
stay, as he only wanted four," said
one of the men ; " and I thought
they would all have insisted upon
staying, but he grew angry and said
there was no time ; so they agreed
to draw lots."

Another quarter of an hour's sus-
pense, and then a low, muttering
sound that spread horror among
the whispering multitude gathered
at the mouth of the shaft. Some
men went down to the first level,
and soon came up with blank
faces an.d whispered to the master :
no sound but that of water was to-
be heard below, and fears for the
safety of the workers were too con-
fidently expressed. Nothing re-
mained but to give orders for af-
fording relief; the only comfort was-
that there had been no sign of the
air becoming vitiated. Here the
master's experience was at fault,,
and he had to rely on that of some
of the older men. " If Carpeggio had
been here, he would have got the
men out in two hours," he asserted
confidently; " but he must go and
get himself mewed up there, and
leave me no one to direct things —
though I believe he can get him-
self out as quick as any of us can
dig him out," he said, with a half-
laugh ; and one of the men whisper-
ed to his neighbor :

" I do not wonder he sets suclv
store by him ; I had rather be down>
there myself than have him killed.'"

At last it became certain, by
signs which this faithful chronicler
is not competent to explain techni-
cally, that the five men had been
cut off behind a mass of rock and
ore, and that it would take two-
days or more to get them out.
Work was vigorously begun at once ;
relays of men went down to search,

A Silent Courtship.

by making calls and rapping on the
echoing walls, in which direction
lay the least impenetrable of the
obstacles between them and the
sufferers ; the pumps were set go-
ing and every one worked with a
will. The news was receive^ by
the party at the works in a silence
that marked their interest well, and
the young men eagerly asked their
host if they could be made of any
service personally, while the mar-
quis offered to send down some of
his men to help, if more were want-
ed, and promised to send all he and
his daughters could think of as
useful to the imprisoned men when
they should be brought out of their
dangerous predicament. But as
this accident refers only, so far as
our tale is concerned, to the links
between Emilio and Kate, we must
pass over the hourly exciting work,
the reports, the surmises, the visits
and inspections of newspaper men
and others, the1 telegrams and sym-
pathy of people in high places, the
details which accompany all such
accidents, and which it takes a skill-
ed hand to describe in words that
would only make the expert laugh
at the ambitious story-teller. Space
also, and mercy on the feelings of
practised novel-readers, make us
hesitate to do more than hint at the
•state of mind of the girl whose
•dream of love and happiness hung
in the balance for nearly five days.
Only her sister guessed the whole,
.and skilfully managed to shield
!her from inconvenient notice and
inquiry; and, indeed, the excitement
of the time helped her in her work.
The fifth day, towards evening, a
messenger on horseback brought
word of the safety of the men — all
but one, who had died of exhaustion
and hunger. Carpeggio and the
rest had narrowly escaped drown-
ing as well as starvation, but had

nevertheless managed to help on
his deliverers by working on his
o\vn side of the bed of earth and
clearing away no small part (con-
sidering his disadvantages) of the
embankment. The men had de-
clared that but for him and his
indomitable spirit, their suspense,
and even their danger, would have
increased tenfold; and, besides, he
had contrived, by his efforts previ-
ous to the final falling in of earth and
rushing in of water, to save a large
portion of valuable ore which must
otherwise have been either lost or
much spoilt. He had been taken
to his employer's house, where the
greatest care was bestowed on him,
and the other men to their respec-
tive homes. The marquis resolved
to go over the next day and inquire
after him, and showed the greatest
interest and anxiety about him ; but
Lady Anne shook her head as she
said to her sister :

" He will do anything, Kate, for
Mr. Carpeggio " (the young man
had tacitly dropped his proper ti-
tle for the time being), " except the
one thing you want ; and you know
that, with me, the wish is far from
being father to the thought in this
matter."

There was nothing to do but to
wait, and then came the overseer's
recovery and first visit to the house
of his love as a cherished guest,
his silent look of longing* and un-
certainty, the gradual and still si-
lent knitting together of a new and
happier understanding than before,
and finally the offer of the father to
make him manager and part owner
of the new mine on his own estate.
The ownership he at once refused ;
but, as he could well manage the
overseeing of the marquis' colliery
without prejudice to his first em-
ployer's interests, he joyfully accept-
ed the first partj]of the proposal.

A Silent CourtsJiif.

Then a cottage was pressed upon
him, and this also he accepted, pro-
vided it was understood to form
part of his salary. The old man
was both pleased and nettled at
his stiff independence ; but when
Anne reminded him that the circum-
stances of the case made this the
only proper course, he forgot his
vexation and heartily praised the
manliness of his new employ^.

Carpeggio was often at the house,
and in fact grew to be as familiar
a presence there as that of the in-
mates themselves, and still the si-
lent bond went on, seemingly no
nearer an outward solution, though
the marquis' favor visibly increas-
ed. The colliery prospered and
brought in money, and the over-
seer carefully put by his salary and
studied hard at night, till his name
got to be first known, then respect-
ed, in the scientific world ; and one
day an official intimation was made
to him that the third place on a
mining survey expedition to South
America was at his disposal. He
had written to Schlichter constant-
ly, and at last had made a clean
breast of what he called his un-
spoken but not the less sealed en-
gagement. The two girls had gone
through two London seasons; Lord
Ashley and Mr. Lawrence had be-
come brothers-in-law by each mar-
rying one of the trio who had so
long expected to make a conquest
of the overseer himself; and Car-
peggio had enough to buy a large
share in the concern of either of his
two employers. Such was the state
of affairs when the proposal of an
American trip was made to him ;
if the survey was satisfactory, and
a company formed in consequence,
he would be out at least three
years, with the chance of a perma-
nent settlement as director of the
works and sharer in the company.

Both pecuniarily and scientifically
a career was open to him, while at
home there was success in all but
love — nearly'as certain. Schlichter
strongly advised him to go; the
marquis himself saw the thing as a
thorough Englishman, and was will-
ing to lose his right-hand man, as
he called him, for the sake of this
opening; Carpeggio saw the allur-
ing chance of travel, adventure, the
prestige of his possible return in a
different character, the enlarged
field which he could not help look-
ing on as more tempting than suc-
cess— equally solid, perhaps, but
more humdrum — at his very elbow,
and the glorious southern climate,
like to, and yet more radiant than, the
old home one to which he had been
used as a boy among the vineyards
of Umbria. He knew that Kate
would follow him there gladly, as
she would had he gone to the
North Pole; but there was ///£ in-
tangible yet terribly real barrier.
In everything but the weighty af-
fair of mating he was held as
Kate's equal, and the equal of all
whom he met at the marquis' house ;
even in London, where he had
once stayed with them a week, and
gone into that society which was
" their world," he had been receiv-
ed in a way unexceptionally satis-
factory ; he was put on more than
an equal footing with young Eng-
lishmen of good standing, but he
knew that he shared with them
the cruel, tacit exclusion from com-
petition for first-class prizes. He
was good enough to dance with,
ride with, flirt with, and escort to
her carriage the daughter of a
duke; so were the many young
fellows who made the bulk of the
young society of the day ; but
there were preserves within pre-
serves. The second sons, the
young lawyers, the men in " march-

A Silent Courtship.

ing" regiments, the naval cadets, the
government clerks, and even the sons
of admirals, clergymen, and men who
had made their mark in the literary
and scientific as well as the. social
world — all these were tacitly, courte-
ously, but inexorably tabooed as re-
gards marriage with their partners,
friends, and entertainers. In fact,
society had bound these youths over
to " keep the peace,"while it encour-
aged every intimacy that was likely
to lead to a breach of it. Carpeg-
gio had lived long enough in Eng-
land to be quite aware of this and
to " know his own place " in the
world ; but he trusted to time and
Kate's faithfulness. He at last
made up his mind to go to South
America, and that without saying
anything that would weigh Kate
down with the knowledge of a se-
cret to be withheld from her fa-
ther ; but he had likewise made up
his mind to speak to the marquis on
his return. He would be true to
his employer, but could not afford
to be false to himself; his own
rights as a man were as present to
his mind as the position and preju-
dices which he appreciated and tol-
erated in the person of a man so
"thoroughly gentlemanlike as his pa-
tron; and this compromise of a
three years' absence and silence
seemed to him to honorably fulfil
all the expectations that could be
formed of him. He said good-by
to the girls together in their fa-
ther's library, and the old man
blessed him and bade him God-
speed in the heartiest fashion, al-
most with tears in his eyes ; but of
more tender and definite speech
there was none. Who is there,
however, but knows the delicate,
intangible farewell, the firm pro-
mise conveyed by a pressure of the
hand, and one long, frank, brave
look, and all that true love knows

how to say without breaking any
other allegiance and without in-
curring the blame of secrecy?

So Emilio Carpeggio went and
prospered, while Kate remained a
beauty and a moderate heiress (she
had half of her mother's small for-
tune), courted and loved, and go-
ing through the weary old treadmill
of London seasons and country
" parties." People wondered why
she did not marry. Her sister did,
and made a love-match, though there
was no violent obstacle in the way,
and the lover was perfectly accept-
able as to station and fortune.
She was lucky, also, in loving a
man who had some brains to boast
of. This unknown brother-in-law in
after-times became a powerful lever
in favor of Carpeggio's suit; but
longbefore the young engineer came
back the kind, tender-hearted old
marquis had found out his daughter's
secret, and after some time overcame
his natural prejudices, and as gener-
ously agreed to Kate'shopes ashehad
before vigorously opposed them.
And yet all this was done while hard-
ly a word was spoken : for if any
courtship was emphatically a silent
one, it was this. Everything came
to be tacitly understood, and a fevr
hand-pressures, a kiss, a smile, or a
long look expressed the changes and
chances of this simple love-story.
At the end of three years the
young man came home on a holi-
day, which he meant to employ in
determining his fate. He had pro-
mised the new company to go back
permanently and take charge of
their interests as a resident, and
many of the native members had
shown themselves willing and ea-
ger to make him a countryman and
a son-in-law. He went home, and
saw the marquis the first evening
of his stay, two hours after he got
off the train. To his surprise, he

A Silent Courtship.

5.5

found his request granted before
lie made it and his road made
plain before him. The old man
did not even ask him not to return
to America. It is of little use to
descant on his meeting with Kate
and on his (literally) first spoken
words of love. They told each
other the truth — that is, that the
moment they met in the mine, five
years before, wa$ the beginning of
their love. They were married
with all the pretty pastoral-feudal
accessories of a country wedding in
England, and spent their honey-
moon in the old tower of Carpeg-
gio, where the bride explored the
library-room with great curiosity,
and was charmed with the old-fash-
ioned figures of the principal peo-
ple of the town, whom she enter-
tained in what was now again her
husband's own house.

Signer Salviani had built a pret-
ty, villa-like hotel half a mile fur-
ther, and was as proud on the day
when his young master again took
possession of the old tower as the
bridegroom himself. From there
Carpeggio went to his German
friends, presented the famous
Schlichter to his wife, and got his
rough and fatherly congratulations
on his choice, his perseverance, and
his success. In three months the
young couple set sail for their new
home, where Carpeggio had sent
the last orders needed to set up
quickly the nest he had half-pre-
pare"d already in anticipation of his
visit to England. When they arriv-
ed, Kate found a lovely, fragile-
looking, cool house, half-southern,
half-northern, covered with vines
which the natives still looked upon

with distrust, but beautiful and lux-
uriant beyond measure (this was
the oldest part of the house, the
original lodge which the overseer
had lived in when he first came),
some rooms with white tile floors,
and some partially covered with
fancy mats of grass, while one or
two rejoiced in small Turkey rugs,
suggestive of home, yet not oppres-
sively hot to look at. All his
wife's tastes had been remembered
and gratified, and Carpeggio was
rewarded by her telling him that if
she had built and furnished the
house herself, she could not have
satisfied her own liking so thor-
oughly as he had done. One room
was fitted up as their den (or, as the
world called it, the library), and
was as much as possible the exact
counterpart of the room in Torre
Carpeggio where the books and cu-
riosities had been found. Of course
the collection had been carefully
transferred here. Years afterwards
this place was the rallying-point of
English and American society ;
travellers came to see it and its
owners ; its hospitality was the
most perfect, generous, and deli-
cate for a hundred miles around ;
no jealousies arose between its
household and those of the natives ;
the mining company prospered,
Carpeggio grew to be an authority
even in German scientific circles,
and a sort of paradise was once
more realized. True, this kind of
thing only happens once or twice
in a century; but then it really
does, so it is pardonable for a sto-
ry-teller to choose the thousand-
and-first couple for the hero and
heroine of his tale.

Criminals and tJicir Treatment.

CRIMINALS AND THEIR TREATMENT.*

THE judicious management of
the criminal classes is a question
which has long occupied the seri-
ous consideration of legislators and
social reformers throughout the civ-
ilized world ; and though much of
what has been said and written on
the matter is visionary and based
on imperfect data, the agitation of
the question cannot but be produc-
tive of advantageous results. In
pagan times penal laws were enact-
ed chiefly with a view to the pun-
ishment of crime, and but little ac-
count was taken of the criminal.
The Julian law and the Justinian
Code and Pandects inherited this
cruel and unchristian character,
which attached itself to them for
centuries even after the birth of
our Saviour. The influence of
Christianity was long powerless to
mitigate the horrors of barbarous
legislation. In vain did the bish-
ops of the church protest against
the atrocities which were every-
where practised on prisoners. So
far from listening to these humane
appeals, hard-hearted rulers ex-
hausted their ingenuity in devising
new modes of penal torture, while
for the wretched culprit not a piti-
ful word went forth from royal or
baronial legislative halls. Among
the Romans treason was punished
by crucifixion, the most cruel of
deaths. The parricide was cast
into the sea enclosed in a sack,
with a cock, a viper, a dog, and a
monkey as companions. The in-
cendiary, by a sort of poetic retri-

* The Juket : A Study In Crime, Pauper-
ism, Disease, and Heredity, etc. By R. L. Dug-
dale. With an Introduction by Elisha Harris
M.D. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons.

bution, was cast into the flames,
while the perjurer was flung from
the heights of Tarpeia's rock. But
the treatment of prisoners for debt
was still more barbarous and quite
out of proportion to the magnitude
of the offence. The unfortunate
being who could not meet the de-
mands of his creditors was compel-
led to languish in a filthy dungeon
for sixty days, during which time
he was fed upon twelve ounces of
rice daily and had to drag a fifteen-
pound chain at every step. If, at
the expiration of that time, the
claim against him was still unsatis-
fied, he was delivered over to his ob-
stinate and unrelenting creditors to
be torn limb from limb as a symbol
of the partition of his goods.

The severity of these provisions
was somewhat softened in later
times, but throughout the middle
ages, and, indeed, down to the latter
half of the eighteenth century, the
same fierce and Draconian spirit
pervaded all laws having reference
to the punishment of crime. Vast
numbers of prisoners, without dis-
tinction of age, sex, rank, or charac-
ter of crime, used to be huddled to-
gether in wretched pens, where they
rotted to death amid blasphemous
and despairing shrieks. Spiritual
comfort and advice were withheld
from them ; for it was a feature of
these miserable laws to pursue their
victims beyond the grave by a
clause which stipulated that they
should die " without benefit of
clergy."

Individual efforts here and there
were not wanting to alleviate the
sufferings of prisoners, and many a

Criminals and their Treatment.

bright page of the martyrology
grows brighter still with a recital
of the noble sacrifices made by the
saints of the church to ameliorate
the condition of captives. St. Vin-
cent de Paul, a voluntary inmate of
the bagncs of Paris, teaching and
encouraging his fello\v-prisoners,
was the prototype of Goldsmith's
kind-hearted Dr. Primrose, with the
exception that the saint outdid in
reality what the poet's fancy merely
pictured. Other saints, when pre-
vented from offering relief at home,
sold themselves into foreign servi-
tude; and we read of their noble
efforts to render at least endurable
the acute sufferings of captives in
Barbary, Tripoli, and Tunis.

But these spasmodic and unsys-
tematic endeavors to better the
condition of criminals were attend-
ed with no lasting good, and not
till the serious labors of the noble
Howard invited attention to the
importance of the matter was pub-
lic attention fully awakened. His
visits to the prisons of the Conti-
nent of Europe, and his frequent
appeals to the governments to in-
troduce much-needed reforms and
to redress palpable wrongs, enlisted
the active sympathies of the wise
and good. Then for the first time
the doctrine which Montesquieu
and Beccaria had so often admira-
bly set forth in their writings was
adopted in practice, and legislators
and governments assumed as the
basis of prison reform the principle
that all punishment out of propor-
tion to the crime is a wrong inflicted
on the criminal. Advances at first
were exceedingly slow, but the true
impetus to prison reform was given
and a new and higher 'social lode
was struck.

While John Howard was yet en-
gaged in the effort to solve the
problem he had set before him-

self, a new science was springing
into existence which was to lend to
his labors the full promise of suc-
cess. The value of statistics was
but little understood and appre-
ciated till the latter portion of the
last century, and so imperfect in
this respect had been the records
of town, provincial, and national
communities that history has keen-
ly felt the loss of this important ad-
junct to her labors, and has been
compelled to grope in darkness
because the light of statistical in-
formation c.ould not be had. Since
this century set in, however, statis-
tics have risen to the dignity of a
science, and the truly valuable in-
formation they afford, the floods of
light they have shed on all social
matters, the service they have lent
to medical science, to hygiene, to
sanitary reforms, and above all to
the prevalence of crime with its
grades and surroundings, fully at-
test the sufficiency of its title.

Through statistics, then, we are
placed in possession of the facts re-
lating to crime and criminals, and
facts alone can give the color of
reason and good sense to all mea-
sures of reform, to all projects
looking to the suppression of crime
and the elevation of the criminal
classes. Statisticians, therefore,
whatever may be their theories,
whatever their pet views about
crime and criminals, deserve well
of the community ; for without
their close and painstaking work
the most ingenious theorist and the
best-inclined philanthropist would
be utterly at sea ; for as Phidias
could not have chiselled his unri-
valled Zeus without the marble, nei-
ther can the most zealous reformer
advance a foot without clear and
well-tabulated statistics.

For this reason we bid especial
welcome to the interesting mono-

Criminals and their Treatment.

gram of Mr. Dugdale, which is a
monument of patient and laborious
exploration in a field of limited ex-
tent. It is evident that he did not
set about his work in a dilettante
spirit, but spared no effort and
avoided no inconvenience — and
his inconveniences must have been
many — to ascertain the utmost mi-
nutiae bearing on his topic. He
has not contented himself with ad-
hering to the methods of inquiry
usually in vogue, but has added to
the law of averages, which ordinary
statistics supply, individual envi-
ronments and histories which may
be considered causative of general
results, and as such are the key to
common statistics.

" Statistics," he says, "cumulate facts
which have some prominent feature in
common into categories that only dis-
play their static conditions or their rela-
tive proportions to other facts. Its rea-
soning on these is largely inferential.
To be made complete it must be com-
plemented by a parallel study of indi-
vidual careers, tracing, link by link, the
essential and the accidental elements of
social movement which result in the se-
quence of social phenomena, the distri-
bution of social growth and decay, and
the tendency and direction of social dif-
ferentiation. To socio-statics must be al-
lied socio-dynamics. Among the notable
objections to pure statistics in the pre-
sent connection is the danger of mistak-
ing coincidences for correlations and the
grouping of causes which are not distri-
butive."

Thus, Mr. Dugdale recognizes as
underlying the testimony of mere
figures a variety of factors essen-
tially modifying the inferences
which the former, exclusively view-
ed, would justify us in drawing,
and endeavors to catch the ever-
shifting influences of individual
temperament, age, and environ-
ment. Heredity and sex, being fix-
ed, are covered by the ordinary
methods of statistical compilation.

But as environment is the most po-
tent of the varying factors which de-
termine a career of honesty or crime,
so heredity may be regarded among
the fixed causes as the most con-
tributive of effect in the same di-
rection. " Heredity and environ-
ment, then, are the parallels be-
tween which the whole question of
crime and its treatment stretches,
and the objective point is to de-
termine how much of crime results
from heredity, how much from
environment." It is to the solu-
tion of this rather complicated
problem that Mr. Dugdale address-
es himself; and when we say it is
complicated we do not .exaggerate,
so that we may be pardoned if, at
times, in the course of the sinuous
meanderings the question must
necessarily take, we find ourselves
at variance with some of his con-
clusions. Heredity is of two sorts :
i, that which results from cognate
traits transmitted by both parents;
and, 2, that which exhibits the
modification dependent on the in-
fusion of strange blood. This dis-
tinction is important as bearing on
the question of heredity in its ten-
dency to perpetuate propensities.
If consanguineous unions intensify
and transmit types of character
with any degree of constancy and
uniformity, we are justified in con-
ceding that heredity is a criminal
factor quite independent of envi-
ronments, and that its relation to
the solution of the problem why
crime is so prevalent cannot be ig-
nored. Now, the test furnished by
the infusion of strange blood will
enable us to judge whether con-
stancy and uniformity of types are
confined to consanguineous unions
or not ; for if, the environments re-
maining the same, a change of
type is induced by non-consangui-
nity, then to the admixture of fresh

Criminals and their Treatment.

blood alone can we attribute change
of type, and so we must again ad-
mit the importance of heredity in
the study of the case, but only to
the extent and within the limits
we shall hereafter point out. Mr.
Dugdale is of opinion that both
heredity and environment play a
very important part in the career
of the criminal, and it is with the
design of sustaining his opinion
that he has given us the history of
die " Jukes." Before we deal fur-
ther with his conclusions we will
here present a brief summary of
the facts as related by him.

The term " Jukes " is a sort of
pseudonym very considerately in-
tended to cloak the identity of
members of the family who may
now be engaged in honest pursuits.
The family had its origin in the
northern part of the State of New
York, and has rendered the place
notorious by the unbroken chain
of crime which, link after link,
binds the jail-bird of to-day with
the jolly and easy-living " Max " of
a century ago, who drank well,
hunted well, and ended his days in
the quiet enjoyment of animal
peace. He certainly was more in-
tent on hospitable cares and the
gratification of his passing desires
than on the welfare of his progeny ;
for no man ever left behind him a
more serried array of criminal de-
scendants whose name has become
the synonym of every iniquity the
tongue can utter or the mind con-
ceive. This man had two sons,
married to two out of six sisters
whose reputation before marriage
was bad. The eldest of the sisters
is called "Ada Juke" for conve-
nience' sake, though in the county
where the family lived her memory
is unpleasantly embalmed as "Mar-
garet, the mother of criminals." Ada
had given birth before her mar-

riage to a male child, who was the
father, grandfather, and great-grand-
father of the distinctively criminal
line of descendants. She afterwards
married, and thus commingled in
her person two generations exhib-
iting characteristics essentially pe-
culiar to each, though they often
bear leading features of resem-
blance. The sisters " Delia " and
" Effie " married the two sons of
Max, and in this way, though some-
what obscurely, Mr. Dugdale con-
nects Max with the most criminal
branch of the Jukes. We say
somewhat obscurely; for the reader
is first inclined to believe that Ada
was married to one of Max's sons,
till on chart No. iv., page 49, he
quite casually lights on the remark

" Effie Juke married X , brother

to the man who married Delia Juke,
and son of Max." While acknow-
ledging the inherent difficulty of a
lucid arrangement of facts so com-
plicated and bearing such manifold
relations, we believe that a little
more fulness of statement would
lead to at least an easier under-
standing of Mr. Dugdale's work.
" Effie " became, through her mar-
riage with the second son of Max,
the ancestress of one of the dis-
tinctively pauperized branches of
the family. The progeny of Delia
inclined more to crime, and" Ada
thus became the parent stem whence
both the criminal and pauperized
army of the "Jukes " mainly sprang;
for it is a circumstance deserving
notice that, whereas the offspring
of " Ada " before marriage founded
the criminal line of the family, her
offspring after marriage inclined
rather to pauperism than to crime.
So likewise in the case of " Effie,"
whose known offspring was the re-
sult of marriage ; we find few crimi-
nals, but nearly all paupers, among
her descendants.

Criminals and their Treatment.

In the first chart Mr. Dugdale ex-
hibits a detailed history of the illegi-
timate posterity of "Ada " through-
out seven generations. The first
legitimate consanguineous union in
the family took place between the
illegitimate son of "Ada" and a
daughter of " Bell," from which six
children resulted. The branch is
considered illegitimate, as far as
" Ada " is concerned, so that Mr.
Dugdale sets down each collateral
branch as either legitimate or ille-
gitimate, according to the legitima-
cy or illegitimacy of that child of
the five sisters which stands at the
head of the list. Now, glancing
along the column of the third gen-
eration, or that exhibiting the six
legitimate children of the illegiti-
mate son of "Ada" and a legiti-
mate daughter of " Bell," we find
their history to be as follows : The
first, a male, lived to the age of seven-
ty-five; was a man of bad character,
though inclined at times to be in-
dustrious, and depended on out-
door relief for the last twenty
years of his life. The sisters and
brothers of this man strongly re-
sembled him in character, being all
noted for their longevity, their pro-
pensity to steal, and their habitual li-
centiousness. They were, moreover,
exceedingly indolent, with one ex-
ception, and were a constant burden
on the township. It is unnecessary
to trace out the history of these or of
their descendants, except to present
a few typical cases which will ena-
ble us to understand the conclusion
arrived at by Mr. Dugdale.

The first son of " Ada," just men-
tioned, married a non-relative of
bad repute, by whom he had nine
children. This woman died of sy-
philis ; and it is well to note at what
an early period this poisonous strain
showed itself in this the illegitimate
branch of "Ada's" descendants.

These nine children surpassed their
father, their uncles, and their aunts
in criminal propensity. They were
especially more violent, were fre-
quently imprisoned for assault and
battery, and, though no more licen-
tious than their father, were espe-
cially addicted to licentiousness in
its grosser forms. They inher-
ited the constitutional disease of
which their mother died, and with
it the penalty of an early death, the
oldest having died at the age of

O O

fifty-one and the youngest at twen-
ty-four. It will be observed that
they were not so constantly de-
pendent on out-door relief as the
generation immediately- preceding
them ; this fact being attributable
to the greater violence of their tem-
per, which induced them to acquire
by robbery and theft the means of
livelihood, while the others pre-
ferred to beg. One aunt of these
nine — viz., the second sister of their
father and fourth from him in birth
— never married, but had four chil-
dren by a non-relative ; and, for a
purpose soon to be understood, we
will compare their career with that
of their nine cousins, who, it must
be remembered, were born in wed-
lock. These four were illegitimate
all the way back to their grand-
mother, "Ada"; and if there be
any force in the statement that
prolonged illegitimacy has an in-
fluence in the formation of char-
acter, we here have a« opportunity
of verifying it. The first of these,
a male, was arrested at the age of
ten ; was arraigned for burglary soon
after, but acquitted ; was indict-
ed for murder in 1870, and, though
believed to be guilty, was again ac-
quitted; was in the county jail in
1870, and in 1874 was depending
upon out-door relief. The second,
a female, began to lead a loose life
at an early age, which rapidly de-

Criminals and their Treatment.

veloped into a criminal one. The
third, a male, was guilty of nearly
every known crime, and at last ac-
counts was undergoing a term of
twenty years' imprisonment in Sing
Sing for burglary in the first degree.
The fourth, also a male, died at the
age of nineteen, after having spent
three and a half years in Albany
penitentiary. Thus, though the re-
cord of the nine cousins is not very
flattering, the vicious proclivities of
these four illegitimates are mani-
festly more marked and decided.

If we now turn to the chart ex-
hibiting the posterity of the legiti-
mate children of Ada Juke, we will
find an order of things entirely dif-
ferent. The husband of " Ada "
was lazy, while her paramour, on
the contrary, was always industrious.
Syphilis likewise showed itself at a
still earlier period than in the il-
legitimate branch ; for whereas this
disease first appeared in the gen-
eration of the illegitimate line,
Ada's first child by marriage be-
came a victim to it at an early age,
and her two legitimate daughters
are set down as harlots at an
equally early age. Ada's first
child, a son, married after the poi-
soned taint had got into his blood,
and transmitted the loathsome heri-
tage to his eight children. The
immediate descendants of these
eight were for the most part blind,
idiotic, and impotent, and those
who were not so became the pro-
genitors of a line of syphilitics
down to the sixth generation.
Moreover, the intermarriages be-
tween cousins were much more fre-
quent along this line than in the
illegitimate branch. It is a note-
worthy fact that in this chart one
of the " Juke " blood is, for the first
and only time, set down as being
a Catholic — the only time, indeed,
that reference is made to the ques-

tion of religion. Mr. Dugdale allows
us to infer from this exceptional
allusion that he found but one Ca-
tholic in this edifying family. We
would recommend this fact to the
consideration of our rural friends
who think that chiefly in the me-
tropolis abound the criminals, quo-
rum pars maxima they believe to be
Catholics. The first time these
unco-pious people had the fierce
light that beats upon a town turn-
ed upon themselves, the spectacle
thus revealed is not over-pleasant.
This en passant. Were we to ex-
amine the other statistical exhibits
of Mr. Dugdale, we would find
pretty nearly the same result made
clear. Without, therefore, entering
into details that are painful in char-
acter and difficult to keep constant-
ly in view, we will give a summary
of the conclusions which the.de-
tailment of facts seems to justify :

1. The lines of intermarriage of
the Juke blood show a minimum of
crime.

2. In the main, crime begins in
the progeny where the Juke blood

has married into X (non-Juke

blood).

3. The illegitimate branches have
chiefly married into X .

4. The illegitimate branches pro-
duced a preponderance of crime.

5. The intermarried branches
show a preponderance of pauper-
ism.

6. The intermarried branches
show a preponderance of females.

7. The illegitimate branches pro-
duced a preponderance of males.

8. The apparent anomaly presents
itself that the illegitimate criminal
branches show collateral branches
which are honest and industrious.

We here find a most curious and
interesting history and an epitome
of conclusions which challenges
serious consideration. That the

Criminals and their Treatment.

family of the " Jukes " was more
vicious than their neighbors whose
surroundings were similar cannot
be disputed, and the question
arises, What was there peculiar and
exceptional in their case that
made the fact to be such ? The
habits of life of the immediate
descendants of Max were bad in
the extreme, but partly forced up-
on them by environments. These
people dwelt in mud-built cabins,
with but one apartment, which serv-
ed all the purpose of a tenement.
Here they slept and ate, and of
course privacy was rendered entire-
ly impossible. Decency and mo-
desty were out of the question, and
the anomaly of whole families utterly
bereft of all regard for domestic
morals began to exhibit itself. We
will now lay down a fundamen-
tal principle, by the light of which
we hope to be able to solve the <
knotty question of this intense
perversity of a series of blood-re-
lated generations, and Mr. Dugdale
himself will furnish the proofs.

Early impurity beyond all other
causes warps the moral sense,
blunts the delicacy of womanly
modesty, dims the perception of
the difference between right and
wrong — in a word, is quickest to
sear the conscience. Crimes of vio-
lence, crimes of any sort, which are
not traceable to this origin are out-
bursts of momentary distemper; but
impurity of the sort mentioned lays
the foundation of an habitual apti-
tude to commit the worst crimes,
as though the tendency to do so
were inborn and natural. Let us
examine the facts as exhibited in
the history of the Jukes family.
Throughout the six generations
studied by Mr. Dugdale he found
162 marriageable women, including,
as facts required him to do, some
of very tender years. Of these 84

had lapsed from virtue at some
time or other. This is an enor-
mous percentage compared with the
police returns of our most crowd-
ed seaboard cities. Among the
Jukes women 52.40 per cent, were
fallen women. In New York, Lon-
don, Paris, and Liverpool the high-
est calculation does not exceed 1.80.
If such was the moral status of the
female portion of the family, it is
not difficult to conceive what a low
ebb morals among the males must
have reached. The more closely
we look into the facts recorded by
Mr. Dugdale, the more irresistible
becomes the conclusion that these
moral pariahs yielded themselves
up without restraint to every ex-
cess from the moment sexual life
dawned upon them, and blushed
not to commit crimes which do
not bear mention. In the record of
their lives we meet at every line
expressions which brand these peo-
ple as the modern representatives
of the wicked ones who 3,700 years
ago shrivelled in the fire of God's
anger on the plains of the Dead
Sea. Indeed, the fact that the in-
famous practices which made the
"Jukes" family notorious are the
beginning of an utter loss of con-
science has been long recognized
by Catholic theologians, who, while
admitting that loss of faith is a
more serious loss than that of puri-
ty, contend that the latter is more
degrading, more profoundly dis-
turbs the moral nature of man, and
speedily blinds him to the percep-
tion of every virtue. Many more
facts might be adduced in support
of this proposition, both from the
pages of Mr. Dugdale and the va-
rious reports of our reformatory
and punitive institutions, but what
has been said will no doubt be
deemed sufficient.

If, then, it be admitted that a cor-

Criminals and tJieir Treatment.

rupt life begun in early youth and
continued for a long time is the
broadest highroad to crime, it is
interesting to enquire how far so-
called criminal heredity is influ-
enced by the transmission of im-
pure propensities. It has become
the fashion of late days to allow to
hereditary influence a vast import-
ance in the discussion and manage-
ment of crime, so that there is dan-
ger even that the criminal will be
led to look upon himself as natural-
ly, and consequently unavoidably,
vicious, and that society ought not
to visit upon him the penalty of
his misdeeds any more than it
should punish the freaks of a mad-
man. Dr. Henry Maudsley, in his
recent work entitled Responsibility
in Mental Disease, holds language
startling enough to make every in-
mate of Sing Sing to-day regard
himself as one against whom the
grossest injustice had been done.
He says :

" It is certain, however, that lunatics
and criminals are as much manufactured
articles as are steam-engines and calico-
printing machines, only the processes of
the organic manufactory are so complete
that we are not able to follow them.
They are neither accidents nor anoma-
lies in the world, in the universe, but
come by law and testify to causalitv ; and
it is the business of science to find out
what the causes are and by what laws they
work. There is nothing accidental, noth-
ing supernatural, in the impulse to do
right or in the impulse to do wrong —
both come by inheritance or by educa-
tion ; and science can no more rest
content with the explanation which at-
tributes one to the grace of heaven and
the other to the malice of the devil than
it could rest content with the explanation
of insanity as a possession by the devil.
The few and imperfect investigations of
the personal and family histories of
criminals which have yet been made are
sufficient to excite some serious reflec-
tions. One fact which is brought strong-
ly out by these inquiries is that crime is
often hereditary ; that just as a man may

inherit the stamp of the bodily features
and characters of his parents, so he may
also inherit the impress of their evil pas-
sions and propensities ; of the true thief,
as of the true poet, it may indeed be said
that he is born, not made. That is what
observation of the phenomena of hered-
itary [jzV] would lead us to expect ; and
although certain theologians, who are
prone to square the order <;f nature to
their notions of what it should be, may
repel such doctrine as the heritage of an
immoral in place of a moral sense, they
will in the end find it impossible in this
matter, as they have done in other mat-
ters, to contend against facts."

We have quoted the words of
Dr. Maudsley at some length, in
order to show to what unjustifiable
lengths the recent advocates of he-
redity are inclined to go.

The argument employed by Dr.
Maudsley is very weak — happily so,
indeed; for were his conclusions
correct man's misdeeds would be
neither punishable nor corrigible,
any more than the blast of the tem-
pest which strews the shore with
wrecks and desolation. They
would be the necessary outcome of
his constitution. The trouble is
that Dr. Maudsley pushes to excess
a doctrine which has in it much
that is true. We do not deny the
doctrine of hereditary impulses;
we know that some are more prone
to evil than others, that the moral
lineaments are often transmitted
from parent to child to no less an
extent than physical traits and re-
semblances ; but we know that free
will remains throughout, and that,
no matter how strong the impulse
to do a certain act may be, the
power to resist is unquestionable.
Habit and association may render
the will practically powerless, but,
unless a man has lost the attributes
of his race, he never becomes abso-
lutely irreclaimable. The allusion
to grace and diabolical temptation
is, to say the least, stupid. Dr.

Criminals and their Treatment.

Maudsley knows as much about the
matter, to all appearances, as the
inhabitants of Patagonia. No theo-
logian deserving the name ever as-
serted that man is swayed to good
by grace alone, or equally moved
to evil by the spirit of darkness,
without any will-activity. The
doctrine would be just as subver-
sive of free-will and moral order as
Dr. Maudsley's, and consequently
as absurd. The truth is that man's
will has been weakened by his fall
( labefactata ac debilitata), is weaker
in some than in others, but never
becomes extinct, unless where the
abnormal condition of insanity oc-
curs. We regret that Mr. Dugdale
accepts Dr. Maudsley as an au-
thority and quotes approvingly the
following words:

"Instead of mind being a wondrous
entity, the independent source of power
and self sufficient cause of causes, an
honest observation proves incontestably
that it is the most dependent of all natu-
ral forces. It is the highest development
of force, and to its existence all the low-
er natural forces are indispensably pre-
requisite."

This is simply scientific jargon.
It conveys no meaning, and in
reality substitutes new and more
obscure terms for old and well-un-
derstood ones. We are told to re-
ject the " wondrous entity " mind,
and to consider instead all so-call-
ed mental operations as the out-
come of force. In a previous arti-
cle* we pointed out the great di-
versity of meanings annexed to the
word force, and proved that none
of those who so glibly use it have
a clear conception of what it signi-
fies. Mr. Dugdale further accepts
the recent materialistic doctrine of
Hammond, Vogel, and the so-called
modern school of physiologists, who

* THE CATHOLIC WORLD, June, 1876, " Ham-
mond on the Nervous System."

make will a mere matter of cere-
bral activity and cell-development.

His system of psychology is ex-
ceedingly brief and meaningless,
and invites the social reformer to
deal with the criminal as the watch-
maker would deal with a chrono-
meter out of repair, or as a ship-
calker would attend to a vessel that
had felt and suffered from the hard
buffets of the ocean. Now, while
we utterly repudiate the doctrine
which views the criminal as a mere
machine, we do not wish to reject
any doctrine or theory which facts
sustain, and we accept the doctrine
of heredity in the sense we shall
shortly mention, and contend that
the facts justify its acceptance to
no further extent.

In the first place, most people of
good sense will admit that environ-
ment is a far more potent criminal
factor than heredity, and that the
constant similarity of environments
where heredity exists disqualifies
the observer for ascertaining the
exact extent to which the latter
operates. The children of the vi-
cious for the most part grow up
amid the surroundings which made
their parents bad, and no child
born of the most depraved mother
will fail to respond to healthful in-
fluences early brought into play,
unless an obviously abnormal con-
dition exists. The advocates of
heredity in the ordinary sense point
to the vast army of criminals pro-
pagated from one stock, and claim
this to be an incontestable proof of
their doctrine. But right in the
way of this argument is the fact
that it ignores similarity of environ-
ment, and that it overlooks the di-
versity of crimes. If the law of
heredity were strictly as stated by
many writers, then the burglar
would beget children with burgla-
rious instincts, the pickpocket dit-

Criminals and their Treatment.

to, and so throughout the whole
range of crime. But nothing of
this sort is the case. The vicious
descendant of a sneak-thief is as
likely to be a highwayman or a
housebreaker as to follow the safer
paternal pursuits. No special pro-
pensities to commit crime are trans-
mitted, but appetites are transmit-
ted, and appetites beget tendencies
and habits. Now, the t\vo appe-
tites which prove to be of most fre-
quent transmission are the erotic
and the alcoholic. The erotic pre-
cedes the alcoholic, and, indeed, ex-
cites it to action. Mr. Dugdale
says (p. 37) : " The law shadowed
forth by this scanty evidence is
that licentiousness has preceded
the use of ardent spirits, and caus-
ed a physical exhaustion that made
stimulants grateful. In other words,
that intemperance itself is only a
secondary cause." And again: "If
this view should prove correct, one
of the great points in the training
of pauper and criminal children
will be to pay special attention to
sexual training."

It would appear, then, from this
that heredity chiefly affects the
erotic appetite, and through it the
entire character. The impure be-
get the impure, subject to improve-
ment through grace and will-power,
and, despite of changed environ-
ments, the diseased appetite of the
progenitor is apt to assert itself in
the descendant, though it is not, of
course, so apparent in the matter of
the erotic passion as in the alco-
holic. These are the facts so far
as they justify the view of crime as
ft neurosis. This conclusion, while
harmonizing with the data of ob-
servation, renders the solution of
the question, What shall we do
with criminals? comparatively easy,
and points to the best mode of
treatment. Until society holds that
VOL. xxvi. — 5

the virtue of purity is at the bot-
tom of public morality, and that
the custom to look indulgently on
the wicked courses of young men
is essentially pernicious, we cannot
hope to begin the work of reform
on a sound basis. Corrumpere et
corrumpi s&dum vocatur is as true
to-day as eighteen hundred years
ago, only now we call it " sowing
wild oats." And how is this change
to be wrought ? By education ?
Yes, by education, which develops
man's moral character — by that edu-
cation which gives to the commu-
nity a Christian scholar, and not
a mere intellectual machine. Mr.
Richard Vaux, ex-mayor of Phila-
delphia, who is a believer in Mauds-
ley, and consequently an unsus-
pected authority, speaks in these
significant terms:

" Without attempting to discuss the
value of popular instruction for the
youth, or to criticise any system of public
or private education, we venture to as-
sert that there are crimes which arise di-
rectly out of these influences, and which
require knowledge so obtained to per-
petrate. If the former suggestion be
true, that the compression of the social
forces induces to crime, then those offen-
ces which come from education are only
the more easilyforced into society by the
possessed ability to commit such crimes.
If facts -warrant this suggestion, then edu-
cation— meaning that instruction imparted
by school-training — is an agent in developing
crime-cause. ... It is worthy of notice
that afar larger number of offenders are
recorded as having attended ' public
schools' than those who ' never went to-
school. ' " *

This is a startling exhibit/upheld,
it seems, by undeniable figures. Is
it possible that the state is engaged
in "developing crime-cause," and
that it is for this purpose oppressive
school-taxes are imposed ? Alas ! it
is too true. The majority of those

* Some Remarks on Crime-Cause.
Vaux.

Richard

Criminals and their Treatment.

who get a knowledge of the three
" Rs" in our public schools come
forth with no other knowledge.
God is to them a distant echo,
morality a sham, and they finish
their education by gloating over
the blood-curdling adventures of
pirates and cracksmen in the pages
of our weekly papers. Mr. Dug-
dale proposes some excellent means
for the reclamation and reforma-
tion of the criminal, but they come
tainted, and consequently much im-
paired, by his peculiar psychical the-
ories. On page 48 he says :

" Now, this line of facts points to two
main lessons : the value of labor as an
element of reform, especially when we
consider that the majority of the individ-
uals of the Juke blood, when they work
at all, are given to intermittent indus-
tries. The element of continuity is lack-
ing in their character ; enforced labor, in
some cases, seems to have the effect of
supplying this deficiency. But the fact,
which is quite as important but less obvi-
ous, is that crime and honest)- run in the
lines of greatest vitality, and that the
qualities which make contrivers of crime
are substantially the same as will make
men successful in honest pursuits."

These remarks are full of signifi-
cance and point unmistakably to
•the necessity of supplying work to
the vicious. Hard work is the
panacea for crime where healthful
moral restraints are absent. The
laborer expends will-force and
muscular force on his work, and
has no inclination for deeds of
violence or criminal cunning. But
how absurd it is to suppose that, as
an educational process, its whole
effect consists in the changed de-
velopment of cerebral cells, and
not, as is obviously true, in the
fatigue which it engenders! Mr.
Dugdale thus sets forth the philoso-
phy of his educational scheme for the
reformation of the criminal (p. 49):

" It must be clearly understood, and
practically accepted, thai the whole ques-

tion of crime, vice, and pauperism rests
strictly and fundamentally upon a phy-
siological basis, and not upon a sentimen-
tal or a metaphysical one. These phe-
nomena take place, not because there is
any aberration in the laws of nature,
but in consequence of the operation of
these laws ; because disease, because
unsanitary conditions, because educa-
tional neglects, produce arrest of cerebral
development at some point, so that the
individual fails to meet the exigencies of
civilization in which he finds himself
placed, and that the rurefor unbalanced
lives is a training which will affect the
cerebral tissue, producing a correspond-
ing change of career."

This is downright materialism,
and is the result of Mr. Dugdale's
hasty acceptance of certain views
put forward by a school of physi-
ologists who imagine that their
science is the measure of man in
his totality. We admit that crime
is closely connected with cerebral
conditions, that the brain is the
organ of manifestation which the
mind employs, and that those mani-
festations are modified to a consid-
erable extent by the condition of
the organ. But this does not in-
terfere with the character of the
mind viewed as a distinct entity ;
indeed, it rather harmonizes with
the facts as admitted by the uni-
versal sentiment of mankind. Mr.
Dugdale makes a fatal mistake
when he supposes that a changed
cerebral state may be accompanied
by a change in the moral character ;
for it is possible that a chemist may
one day discover some substance
or combination of substances which
might supply the missing cells or
stimulate the arrested growth. Man
is not a machine; neither is he a
mere physiological being. He is a
rational animal, consisting of a soul
and a body, two distinct substan-
ces hypostatically united; and until
this truth is recognized no reform
can be wrought in the ranks of the

Criminals and their Treatment.

criminal classes by even greater men
than Mr. Dugdale. If the "whole
process of education is the build-
ing up of cerebral cells," admoni-
tions, instructions, and example are
thrown away on the vicious. There
is naught to do but to "build up
cells " and stimulate "arrested ce-
rebral development." How false
is this daily experience proves; for
we know that a salutary change
of prison discipline often converts
brutal and hardened criminals into
comparatively good men. Take as
an instance what occurred in the
Mai son de Correction de Nimes in
1839. This prison was in charge
of certain political favorites who
were fitter to be inmates than offi-
cials. Mismanagement reigned su-
preme, and the excesses committed
by the prisoners can scarcely be
believed. The most revolting
crimes were done in broad day-
light, not only with the connivance
but at the instigation of the keepers.
At last things had come to such
a pass that the government was
compelled to interfere, and, having
expelled the unworthy men in
charge, substituted for them a
small band of Christian Brothers
under the control of the late vener-
able Brother Facile, when an amaz-
ing change soon ensued. There
was no question with the brothers of
studying the increase of cerebral
cells or stimulating arrested devel-
opment. They changed the dietary
fur the better; they separated the
most depraved from those younger
in crime ; they punished with dis-
crimination ; they >encouraged good
conduct by rewards; they set be-
fore the convict the example of self-
sacrificing, laborious, and mortified
lives ; and in three weeks they con-
verted this pandemonium into the
model prison of France.

Can these facts be made to ac-

cord with the statement that the
whole process of education is
"building up of cerebral cells"?
If Mr. Dugdale would substitute
the term " moral faculties " for " ce-
rebral cells," he would theorize
much more correctly and to better
practical effect. Speaking of sub-
jecting the growing criminal to a
system of instruction resembling
the Kindergarten, he says :

" The advantage of the Kindergarten
rests in this : that it coherently trains the
sense and awakens the spirit of accoun-
tability, building up cerebral tissue. It
thus organizes new channels of activity
through which vitality may spread itself
for the advantage of the individual and
the benefit of society, and concurrently
endows each individual with a govern-
ing will."

We agree with Mr. Dugdale that
such a system of training is well
calculated to bring about these re-
sults, but certainly not in the man-
ner he indicates. Let us translate
his language into that which cor-
rectly describes the process of im-
provement in the criminal, and we
find it to be as follows :

Let the subject on whom we are
to try the system of training in
question be a boy of fourteen res-
cued from the purlieus of a large
city. His education must be very
elementary indeed. His intellec-
tual faculties are to be treated ac-
cording to their natural vigor or
feebleness, but his moral faculties
are especially to be moulded with
care and watchfulness. He has
been accustomed to gratify his evil
passions and to yield to every pro-
pensity. The will, therefore, is the
weakest of his faculties, and con-
stant efforts must be made lo
strengthen it. With this view he
should be frequently required to
do things that are distasteful to

Criminals and their Treatment.

him, beginning, of course, with what
is easy and what might entail no
discomfort on the ordinary boy.
The will is thus gradually strength-
ened, both by this direct exercise
and by the reaction upon it of the
intellect, which is undergoing a con-
current training.

This is all that Mr. Dugdale
means to convey when his words
are translated into ordinary lan-
guage. When lie dismounts from
his scientific hobby, however, he
imparts counsel for the treatment
of criminals which we heartily en-
dorse. Thus, in speaking of in-
dustrial training, he says (p. 54) :
" The direct effect, therefore, of in-
dustrial training is to curb licen-
tiousness, the secondary effect to
decrease the craving for alcoholic
stimulants and reduce the number
of illegitimate children who will
grov/ up uncared for." He tells us
that with the disappearance of log-
huts and hovels — and, we might add,
the reeking tenements of our cities —
lubricity will also disappear. This
is true to a great extent, but surely
it is not all that is required. We
might cultivate the aesthetic tastes
to the utmost, we might have a
population dwelling in palaces and
lounging in luxurious booths, and
be no better morally than those
who, while enjoying those privi-
leges, tolerated the mysteries of the
llona Dca and assisted at the abomi-
nations which have made the city
of Paphos the synonym of every
iniquity. All attempts at the re-
formation of our criminal classes

without the instrumentality of re-
ligion will prove unavailing. You
may " make clean the outside of
the cup and of the dish, but within
you are full of rapine and unclean-'
liness." These words will for ever
hold true of those who inculcate
and pretend to practise morality
without religion. The attempt has
often been made, and has as often
signally failed, so that we regard
the presentation of proof here su-
perfluous. The student of the his-
tory of social philosophy is well
aware of the truth of this principle,
and none but the purblind or the
unwilling fail to perceive it. Reli-
gion is the basis of morality, and
morality the pivot of reform. Let
the friends of the criminals recog-
nize these fundamental truths, and
they may then hope to make some
progress in their work. Then it
will be time to defend and demon-
strate the merits of the congregate
system of imprisonment; then we
might with profit insist upon the
proper classification of prisoners,
the necessity of proportioning pe-
nalty to offence, and not blasting
the lives of mere boys by sending
them for twenty years to Sing Sing
for a first offence, thus compelling
them to consort with ruffians of
the most hardened description dur-
ing the period which should be the
brightest of their lives. Then all
those reforms which philanthropists
are ever planning might be wisely
introduced, but not till then can
we hope for the millennium of true
reform to dawn upon us.

Religion in Jamaica.

RELIGION IN JAMAICA.

THE population of Jamaica num-
bers about half a million, of whom
nearly four-fifths are blacks, one
hundred thousand colored people,
and only thirteen thousand Euro-
peans. In addition to these there
are several thousand Cubans and
Haytians, who have been driven
from their homes by political trou-
bles, some thousands of Indian
coolies, and a few Chinese and Ma-
deira Portuguese.

Of this motley population only a
few thousand are Catholics. The
greater part of the English belong
to the Church of England, which,
however, has been disestablished in
Jamaica for some years. These
enjoy the full benefit of the usual
High Church and Low Church party
warfare. One of the leading clergy
of this denomination has started a
monthly paper in Jamaica, called
the Trtoth- Seeker. It is to be hoped
that he may be successful in his
search. The last number which the
writer saw contained arguments in
favor of spiritualism, homoeopathy,
and Extreme Unction. The editor
is a vegetarian and) teetotaler, and
is said to have employed in the
communion service, as a substitute
for wine, the juice of a few grapes
squeezed into a tumbler of water.
When the bishop was asked about
it he made a wry face and express-
ed a hope that he might never re-
ceive the communion in his teeto-
tal friend's church again. This re-
minds us of an incident related by
a Church of England parson. He
arrived at Kingston by the mail
steamer from England on a Sun-
day morning, and duly betook him-
self to a church. It happened to

be communion Sunday, and he
" stayed." He noticed that most
of the white people went up to re-
ceive first, and that the few who
neglected to do so, and who com-
municated with the negroes, came
back to their seats screwing up very
wry faces. Our friend solved the
mystery when, going up nearly
last, he found that his black friends'
lips had imparted such a flavor to
the cup that he did not lose the
taste of it for hours !

But the most popular sect amongst
the blacks is the Baptist. The
Baptist ministers are credited with
having been the cause of the insur-
rection a dozen years ago, which
was attended with so much blood-
shed. Their great recommendation
to the people appears to consist in
their teaching virtually that the
country belongs to the black man,
and that the whites endeavor to
defraud them of their rights by
giving them insufficient wages and
by other means. The consequence
is that the negroes frequently de-
fraud their employers by theft,
shirking work, injuring their pro-
perty, and so forth.

The Wesleyans and Presbyterians
have large followings. There are
also some Moravian stations. After
a certain term of years the Mora-
vian missionary is judged worthy to
be rewarded with connubial bliss,
and a spouse is selected by the au-
thorities in Europe and sent out to
him. The Jews are numerous and
opulent, a great part of the commerce
of the country being in their hands.
But they are said to be very indif-
ferent as to their religion, Jewish
ladies often marrying people of

Religion in Jamaica.

other religions and ending by pro-
fessing none at all.

It is pleasant to turn from these
conflicting sects to consider the
Catholic Church. Kingston, the
capital of Jamaica, contains forty
thousand people, and of these seven
thousand are Catholics. The Ja-
maica mission is in the hands of
the Jesuits. They do not num-
ber more than half a score, and
are consequently hardly worked.
They have a convenient house,
popularly called the " French Col-
lege," though there is only one
French priest there. Attached to
it is a small college for the educa-
tion of Catholic youths, but several
Protestants are permitted to bene-
fit by the instruction there given.
In the little chapel at the back of
the house the Blessed Sacrament is
reserved. Among the priests is a
venerable man whose tall, ascetic
figure commands universal respect.
He was formerly a Protestant cler-
gyman, a fellow of his college at
Oxford, and one of that remarkable
band of men who founded the Ox-
ford or Tractarian party. His quiet,
instructive sermons are of a very
high order, simple, admirably ex-
pressed, and pregnant with matter.
Equally beloved is a white-headed
French priest who has labored in
Kingston for thirty years, and who
endeared himself to all by his inde-
fatigable devotion to the sick and
dying during a terrible epidemic of
yellow fever which raged there some
years ago. He is well acquainted
with, and sympathizes in, the joys
and sorrows of all the congrega-
tion, and, in spite of a strong French
accent which renders his conver-
sation nearly unintelligible to a
stranger, all seem to understand
him perfectly. There are several
younger priests who conduct the
college, and one devotes his ener-

gies especially to work amongst the
Cubans. There is also an excellent
lay brother, a convert from Protes-
tantism, who presides over a school
for the children of poor Catholics.
The church, dedicated to the Holy
Trinity, is a plain brick structure,
like all the churches and chapels in
Kingston, but it is distinguished
from the others by crosses on the
gable ends. There are two side
altars in addition to the high al-
tar. The latter is handsomely
adorned, and above it is a rose-
window of stained glass. There
is a good attendance at the daily
Masses, which are said from five to
half-past six, the congregation con-
sisting mainly of black or colored
people.

Besides the large church there is
a smaller one dedicated to St. Mar-
tin, and commonly called the " Cu-
ban Chapel," because it is employ-
ed especially for their use. Span-
ish sermons are preached there
at the eight o'clock Mass on Sun-
days. At the commencement of
the month of May a handso/ne new
altar was built and High Mass cele-
brated, the church being crowded
with devout worshippers.

Near the large church is a con-
vent with a private chapel, the nuns
devoting themselves to the educa-
tion of a number of young ladies,
mostly Haytians, who reside with
them.

A mile from the town is the
camp of the First West India Regi-
ment, a corps of Black Zouaves.
Some of them being Catholics,
Mass is said there on Sundays by
a priest from Kingston. Another
goes on alternate Sundays to Port
Royal, a few miles from Kingston,
where the guard-ship, the Abou-
kir, is stationed, and says Mass for
the Catholic seamen.

The whole of the remainder of the

Religion in Jamaica.

island is served by three priests, who
lead a most arduous life, constantly
riding or driving from one station
to another. Newcastle, a beautiful
place in the Port Royal mountains
nearly four thousand feet above
the sea, is the station of the Thirty-
(Ktli Regiment of the Line, and
Mass is said here on alternate Sun-
days by a young priest who has
just arrived from England, and re-
placed a stalwart father who was
formerly senior captain in his regi-
ment. Another extensive district
is served by a worthy Belgian fa-
ther with venerable beard and sim-
ple manners. This apostolic man
rides long distances, often having
to ford dangerously swollen tor-
rents, and frequently having no
lodging but the sacristy of a rural
chapel, and no food but a little
yam and salt fish.

But the most experienced mis-
sionary in the island is the superior
of the Jesuits, who is vicar-apos-
tolic. He has travelled about Ja-
maica on missionary journeys for
sixteen years, and boasts that he
knows every road and track in the
country. He is generally beloved
by Catholic, Protestant, and Jew
alike, his genial manners and cheer-
ful conversation making him a wel-
come guest everywhere, and his
medical skill (for he was a physician
before he joined the Society of Je-
sus) having enabled him to confer
material benefits on many suffering
persons. He has always led an active
life, and is especially fond of relating
his reminiscences of the siege of
Sebastopol, where he was senior Ca-
tholic chaplain to the British for-
ces. He drives about in a buggy,
with spare horses following under
the charge of his servant, or " boy,"
who rides on horseback. The Ja-
maica horses are small, poor-look-
ing animals, costing little, and very

hardy and inexpensive, but they
are capable of a great deal of try-
ing work.

To reach Kingston for the con-
firmation on Pentecost Sunday, the
good father had to drive for some
miles over a road on which the wa-
ter had risen from a neighboring
river to such an extent that it was
as high as the axles, and sometimes
even came into the buggy. Ford-
ing swollen streams on horseback
in the rainy season is often very
dangerous work. This father hav-
ing one day with difficulty crossed
such a stream, a negro, who had
been watching him all the time,
told him that he was the first per-
son who had succeeded in cross-
ing there for some days, three men
who had attempted it having been
drowned.

"Why didn't you tell me, then?"
asked the priest.

"My sweet minister, me want to
see what you do."

Not that the man bore him any
malice, but these people seem to be
totally reckless of human life.

If he can be said to have any
home, the vicar-apostolic lives in
a pretty little house on the north-
west coast. It is about a mile
from the sea, but some hundreds
of feet above it, and commands a
magnificent view of the well-wood-
ed hills, the sea, and the numerous
small islands covered with man-
groves. Near the house is a small
oratory, built as a coach-house. It
is very plain, and yet unpaved, the
congregation kneeling on small
pieces of board placed on the
earth. Attached to the house is a
pen, or grazing farm, of about
seven hundred acres. It is for the
most part overgrown with bush,
the property having been much
neglected ; but strenuous efforts
are being made to set it in good

Religion in Jamaica.

order, and not without success. It
is hoped that it will eventually real-
ize sufficient to support four or
five missionary priests, which will
be a great advantage to the church
in Jamaica, as the mission there is
very poor. The property was left
to the church by a Catholic gentle-
man who resided on it and died
some few years ago. It now sup-
ports about one hundred head of
cattle, besides which it is planted
with a number of pimento, lime, and
cocoanut trees, the fruits of which
are of value.

A private chapel, which stands in
the grounds of a gentleman who re-
sides on one of the most beautiful
pens in the island, is well worthy of
mention. This gentleman is a con-
vert and has done much for the
church. His chapel is the most
charming little rustic oratory im-
aginable, the chancel screen and
other woodwork being made of
rough twisted branches of trees,
and the staircase to the gallery
consisting of the trunk of a pine
tree with steps cut in it. On the
Sundays when Mass is said here
the Catholics from eight or ten
miles round drive or ride in, and
the chapel is sometimes nearly fill-
ed. After Mass they take their
dinner, which they have brought
with them, and walk about and
admire the beautiful garden, the
hospitable proprietor and the ladies
of the family saying kind words of

welcome to their humbler friends.
An hour after Mass there is rosary
and benediction, after which the
people return to their distant
homes.

But not always can a church be
had for Mass. In some places a
room in a private house is all that
can be obtained, and the Catholics
of the neighborhood, having been
warned by letter of the intended
service, assemble at the appointed
hour. The priest will sit in one
room to hear confessions, whilst
the people wait in an adjacent one,
where a sideboard or table is pre-
pared as an altar. After Mass will
often follow baptisms, ma-Triages, or
confirmations. But the great work
before the church in Jamaica no\v
is to form stations with churches
where Mass may be celebrated at
stated times. Several such are al-
ready established, and things are
better than formerly, when the Holy
Sacrifice had often to be offered up
in the houses of Protestants. But
much has yet to be done, and there
is good reason to hope that the
time will come when the small Ja-
maica church will develop into a
flourishing diocese. In spite of
the prevalent indifference as to re-
ligion, some of the Protestants are
beginning to see that truth is not
to be obtained in their conflict-
ing sects, and they are turning
their eyes Romeward in search of
peace.

Marguerite.

MARGUERITE.

" FROGS, fresli frogs ! Buy a few
frogs!" cried a sweet girl's voice,
which blended strangely with the
other sounds and voices round
about the little booth near Fulton
Market. " Frogs, fresh frogs !"
"Ride up, gentlemen, ride up !"
" Move on quick, move on !"
" Look out, mister, or I'll run
over you !"

And on the 'buses and drays and
express-wagons rumbled and rolled,
and the policeman screamed him-
self hoarse trying to keep the great
thoroughfare clear ; the mud, which
was knee-deep, flew in all directions,
the jaded horses floundered and
fell in the grimy slough, and 'twas
Pandemonium indeed jnst here
where pretty Marguerite's frog-
stand stood. But the girl, who was
used to the bustle and din, went on
quietly knitting a stocking and call-
ing out, " Frogs, fresh frogs ! Buy a
few frogs !" while her words, like a
strain of sweet music, floated away
upon the muggy April air, heavy
wtth oaths and villanous cries.

We have called our heroine pret-
ty; yet this was not strictly true.
Many a young woman passed
through the market with more
beautiful features than she had.
Her nose was of no particular
shape — we might term it a neutral
nose — and her mouth was decided-
ly broad; while the tall, white cap
she wore gave her a quaint, out-
landish appearance that made not
a few people stare and smile. But
Marguerite's eyes redeemed, ay,
more than redeemed, whatever was
faulty in the rest of her counte-
nance. Oh ! what eyes she had —
so large and black and lustrous.

T,ike two precious stones they seem-
ed ; and when she turned them wist-
fully upon you, you were fascinat-
ed and rooted to the spot, and if
the girl ever sold any frogs it was
thanks to those wonderful eyes.

Poor thing ! at the age of seven-
teen to be left an orphan, alone and
friendless in the big city of New
York. Poor thing! From the Bat-
tery up to Murray Hill, and across
from river to river, not a solitary
being knew or cared about her ;
and had she died — died even a vio-
lent, sensational death — the coro-
ner's inquest would have taken up
scarce three lines in the daily
papers, after which, like a drop of
water falling into the ocean, she
would have passed out of sight and
mind for ever.

But no, we are wrong; there was
one who did care for Marguerite —
one who had known her parents
when they first came over from
France, and had done everything
she could to help them. But, alas !
down in the whirlpool of poverty
husband and wife had disappear-
ed and died, and many a pang
shot across Mother Catherine's
breast as she thought of the child
left now to shift for herself like so
many other waifs.

The girl's home was in a tene-
ment-house, and the room where
she slept was shared by three other
.women, who would have made it a
filthy, disorderly place indeed ex-
cept for Marguerite. Every morn-
ing she swept the floor, opened the
window to let in fresh air, and
imparted a cosey look to what would
otherwise have been the most
squalid chamber in the building.

Marguerite.

By her mattress hung a crucifix, a
gift from Mother Catherine, and
near the crucifix was a piece of old
looking-glass which Marguerite had
found in a dust-barrel. Before this
she would daily spend a quarter of
an hour making her toilet. Her
dark hair was neatly gathered up
beneath her Norman cap — only one
little tress peeping out ; across her
bosom was pinned a clean white
kerchief; the mud-spots were care-
fully brushed off her tattered gown ;
then, after lingering a moment to
admire herself, she would sally
forth, the envy of all the slatterns
in the neighborhood, and the boys
would wink to one another and
say : " What a nice-looking gal !"

Marguerite often wished that
she had a better class of admirers
than these. " But, alas !" she
would sigh, " I am poor. Poverty
like a mountain presses me down.
If I could sell more frogs and get
a new dress, then real gentlemen
might notice me. But, alas ! I must
be thankful I have this old calico
thing to cover me. But even this
is falling in rags, and I may soon
be without shoes to my feet."

One day, while she was thus in-
wardly bemoaning her hard lot and
crying out : " Frogs, fresh frogs !
Buy a few frogs !" without having
anybody come to buy even a
dime's worth, her attention was
drawn to a middle-aged man, dress-
ed in a faded suit of black, who
had paused on his way up the
street, and seemed to be listening
with wonder to her cry.

He was not at all handsome, yet
there was something very striking
about him, and you would have
marked him out in a crowd as one
who did not follow in the beaten
ways of other men.

When lie first halted, his thin,
wan face had assumed an air of

surprise ; but presently, advancing
nearer to the booth, this changed
to an expression of melancholy
which caused the girl to feel pity
for him.

"Are you selling frogs, miss —
frogs ?" he said, fixing his deep,
sunken eyes upon her.

" Yes, sir. Would you like a
few ?" replied Marguerite, her heart
fluttering with hope.

"Well, now, I thought I had
eaten almost everything that is
eatable; but upon my word this
does go a little beyond my experi-
ence," said Abel Day, as he bent
down to examine the delicate
white frogs' legs, which. were rang-
ed in rows, tastefully fringed with a
border of parsley leaves. " But are
you sure they are what you say
they are ? No toads among them ?"

" We don't eat toads in France,
sir," returned Marguerite, the blood
mounting to her cheeks.

" In France ! Why, are you from
France?"

" I am. O la belle France !
And father and mother used to
keep a frog-stand in Rouen ; and
they had a fine mushroom garden
there, too. But folks here don't
know what is good to eat. Oh ! I
wish my paients had never come to
America ; and so did they wish it
before they died."

" Well, what sort of a place is
France ?" inquired the other, who
began to feel interested in the girl.

" I was very young, sir, when I
left it ; therefore I cannot describe
it to you. But I know France is a
beautiful country. It must be beau-
tiful ; no country in all the world
can compare with it. Father and
mother used to drink wine in
France."

" Well, people here drink wine,
too, sometimes."

" Do they ? All those I know

Marguerite.

drink nasty water or else horrid
whiskey," said Marguerite, making
a wry mouth.

"Humph! you are the first I
ever met who didn't like America,"
pursued Abel Day. " However,
I'll not let this set me against you ;
so what is the price of your
frogs ?"

" How many do you wish ?" in-
quired Marguerite, who hardly ex-
pected him to take over a quarter
of a dollar's worth at most.

u Let me have the whole lot."

" Well, will four dollars be too
much ?" she said hesitatingly.

" Here is your money," answered
Abel, drawing forth the sum. " And
now, while you are wrapping up
these funny-looking creatures — veri-
ly, I might take 'em for little pigmies
just ready for a swim — please tell
me how business is."

" Bad, sir. It always is with
me; and I sometimes think of giv-
ing it up."

" And trying something else ?
Well, now, take my advice — don't.
This business can be made to pay
as well as any other. All that's
wanted is to know how to go about
it."

" Oh ! I'd be only too thankful if
vou'd tell me what to do," exclaim-
ed Marguerite. "Too thankful;
for I'm almost in despair."

"Well, then, open your ears, and
I'll give you a ' wrinkle ' that'll set
you on the highroad to prosper-
ity." Here Abel lifted his forefin-
ger ; then, after clearing his throat,
"My young friend," he went on,
" you must know that the world is
largely composed of fools. Of
course it wouldn't do to tell 'em
so; nevertheless, it's the truth,
though they are not to be blamed
for it — not a bit. We are born
what we are; we don't make our-
selves. A pumpkin can be nothing

but a pumpkin ; a genius is a ge-
nius. And this makes the world all
the more interesting, at least tome.
Why, what a dull place 'twould be
if we were all alike ! Oh ! I do
love to look down upon the broad
pumpkin-field of humanity, and feel
how far, far above it some few men
are elevated — some very few."

" Like yourself," interposed Mar-
guerite, with an air of seriousness,
only belied by a laughing gleam in
her eyes.

" Please let that pass ; no digres-
sions," said Abel, waving his hand.
" But come back now to where we
started from — namely, how to make
the frog business pay." Here he
gave another cough. " In the first
place, my young friend, this booth
is altogether too small. It not only
doesn't allow your frogs half a
chance to be seen, but you yourself
are almost hidden inside of it. And,
speaking of yourself, do not be of-
fended if I observe that you have
wonderfully attractive eyes, and a
charming voice, and spirits which
keep bright and cheerful no matter
how cloudy the sky is. Yes, this
much I know, though I never met
you before. Well, now, here is the
advice I give : Hire a small store
close by ; then have an immense
sign-board hung over the entrance,
with Frog Emporium painted on it
in twelve-inch letters, and let every
letter be of a different color, so that
people will be attracted by it when
they are a good block off. Then
beneath the words Frog Emporium,
and on the left-hand side, you must
paint a fat, contented old mother
frog, squatting, at the edge of a
pond, watching a lot of merry tad-
poles swimming about. This will
represent maternal felicity. At the
other end of the sign you may
paint a hungry-looking man with
mouth wide open, and Mr. Bullfrog

Marguerite.

taking a header down his throat,
and screeching out as he goes
down, ' This fellow knows what's
good!' You should likewise get a
cooking-stove, so as to have a dain-
ty dish of frogs all prepared for
anybody who may come in and
wish to taste them. There, now, is
my plan ; I submit it to your con-
sideration. Carry it out, and you'll
soon find it difficult to supply all
your customers."

"Well, indeed, sir," answered
Marguerite, " I thank you from the
bottom of my heart for the interest
you take in me. But, alas ! I am
too poor to pay the rent of ever so
small a store ; why, I couldn't even
pay for such a sign-board as you
describe. In fact, if you knew how
very narrow my means are, you
would wonder that I can manage
to keep alive."

" Is that so ?" said Abel, in a
tone of compassion. "Well, then,
leave the sign to me; I will order
it this very day, and the moment it
is ready it shall be brought to you.
I'll also go security for your rent."

At these words Marguerite's eyes
filled with tears, glad tears, and,
clasping one of his hands, she press-
ed it warmly ; while Abel thought
to himself, " How full of sentiment
she is ! Poor creature!"

" Oh ! what a blessed thing it is
to be rich," exclaimed the girl
presently. " But all rich people,
sir, are not like you — no, indeed."

"Never mind my wealth," said
Abel; " we'll talk about that some
other time. Go ahead, now, and
carry out my notion ; put implicit
trust in me. Everything will come
out right in the end."

Again Marguerite pressed his
hand — her heart was too full for
words — after which Abel Day went
away, promising to return before
the week was ended to see how she

was getting on. The girl followed
him with her eyes until he was lost
to view, wondering who he could
be. " Well, whoever he is," she
thought to herself, "he is a real
gentleman. True, his clothes are
rather worn ; but we cannot judge
a man by his clothes. Yes, he is a
real gentleman, and different from
any other that I have ever seen.
He didn't beat me down in my
price; no, he bought all my frogs
and paid me what I asked. Any-
body else would have forced me to
take three dollars and a half or
three dollars. I might even have
let them go for two and a half. But
no, he isn't like other rich persons.
And, oh! may God bless him and
make him happy; for I am sure
from his looks there is something
weighing on his heart."

During the next few days Mar-
guerite's thoughts constantly turned
upon her strange friend, who had
evidently been in downright ear-
nest and kept his word; for the
sign-board was promptly sent to
her, and she could not contain her
delight when she saw it hanging
above the doorway of the little
store which she hired.

True to his promise, Abel Day
came soon again to visit Margue-
rite, bringing money wherewith to
pay her month's rent in advance.
It seemed to do him good to talk
to her, and his face brightened
when she told him how many peo-
ple had already entered the Frog
Emporium. " And every one, sir,
who eats a plate of my frogs de-
clares they are better than an oys-
ter-stew. And they say, too, that
the sign-board makes them roar
with laughter and entices them in
whether they will or no. O sir !
how can I thank you enough for
what you have done for me ?"

" Don't speak any thanks," re-

Marguerite.

plied Abel. " No, don't speak any ;
but show your thanks by being
good and virtuous. 'Tis getting
down in the world leads so many
to the bad. Ay, misery is the de-
vil's best friend. Therefore, my
dear girl, improve your condition
as fast as you can. Put money in
the savings-bank ; then when you
meet any poor wretch hard up, and
you have the means to help him,
do it."

"Oh! indeed I will," said Mar-
guerite. " But now please, kind
sir, let me know the name of my
benefactor. I wish to know it, that
I may tell it to the only other
friend I have on earth — Mother
Catherine. She'll be sure to ask
me who you are."

" My name is Abel Day," he re-
plied.

" And you live — ? Well, perhaps
I shouldn't ask that, sir. Though
if I did know your address, I'd slip
into your kitchen some morning
bright and early, and cook you a
nice mess of frogs for breakfast."
Then, arching her pretty eyebrows :
'' You live in Fifth Avenue — beau-
tiful Fifth Avenue ?"

" I do, and yet I don't," answered
Abel. " I often see myself there,
dwelling in a marble mansion ; 'tis
sure to happen — so sure that I may
consider myself already in Fifth
Avenue." Here, observing a puz-
xled look upon Marguerite's face,
" Ah !" he added, " you do not un-
derstand me. Well, nobody else
does, either. But never mind. The
world will wake up some fine morn-
ing and find the name of Abel Day
on every lip. And 'tis all coming
out of here — here." At these
words he tapped his forehead.
"My fortune will not be built on
other men's misfortunes; 'twill not
come through gambling in stocks,
through swindling, through false-

hood, through dishonor. But out
of my brain the great tiling is
slowly but surely taking shape and
form which ere long will astound
the world."

"Well, truly, sir, I believe you.
Oh ! I do," exclaimed Marguerite,
who felt herself carried away by
his own enthusiasm. " I knew from
the first moment I laid eyes on you
that you were an extraordinary
man."

4 'Tis often thus," pursued Abel
musingly. " Genius is not seldom
recognized by the humble ones of
earth, when those who dwell in
high places, with ears and eyes
stuffed and blinded by prosperity,
have only fleers and gibes to give."

"And would it be showing too
much curiosity," inquired Margue-
rite, " if I were to ask what is this
wonderful thing which I doubt not
will bring you in riches and re-
nown ? And certainly no one de-
serves these more than yourself;
for but for you, oh ! I shudder to
think what might have become of
me. My future was dark — dark —
dark."

"And I have brightened it a lit-
tle. Yet what is what I have done
compared with what remains to be
done!" said Abel, speaking like one
who thinks aloud. " O mystery
of life ! Why is there so much
misery around me?" Then, ad-
dressing Marguerite : " Well, if you
like, I will be here at four o'clock
this afternoon, when I shall make
clear to you what now you do not
comprehend. But, remember, it
must be a profound secret ; no
other human being except yourself
must know what I am inventing —
no other human being."

" You will find, sir, that I can
keep a secret," said Marguerite.
" So please come at the hour you
mention."

Marguerite.

Punctual to the minute Abel Day
was at the Frog Emporium, which
was so thronged with customers
that he had to wait half an hour
for the girl. But at length, the last
frog being sold, off they went to-
gether ; and as they took their way
along the streets Marguerite won-
dered whither he would lead her.
Would it be to some fashionable
quarter of the city — to some place
where quiet, well-mannered people
dwelt? And as her companion did
not open his lips, she was left to her
own hopes and conjectures, and
kept wondering and wondering, un-
til by and by she found herself,
with a slight pang of disappoint-
ment, in Tompkins Square. A few
minutes later the girl was following
Abel Day into a third-class board-
ing-house, and, observing several
scrawny females making big eyes
at her as she mounted up to his
room, which was on the top story,
he whispered : " They are jealous
of you, my dear; but pay no atten-
tion to them, and above all do not
reveal to any of these Paul Prys
what I am going to show you."

Presently they reached the door
of his chamber, which he hastily
unlocked, saying to Marguerite:
" Pass in quick — pass in quick "; for
Abel fancied he heard footsteps and
voices close behind him.

Marguerite obeyed and made
haste into the room ; then, while
Abel was stuffing paper into the
keyhole, she threw her eyes about
her in utter astonishment.

The apartment was barely half
the size of her own at the tenement
building ; nor could it compare
with it for order and neatness. In-
deed, 'twas in the greatest disorder.
Numberless slips of paper were
strewn over the floor, with queer
pencil-marks upon them, and the
wall was covered by the same odd

drawings, especially near the bed,
as though Abel did most of his
brain-work after he retired for the
night and before he arose in the
morning. On a shelf by the win-
dow lay a dust-covered manuscript,
and beside it a cigar-box half full
of buttons, dimly visible through a
spider's web.

But where was the wonderful
machine he had told her about ?

" Here it is," spoke Abel in a
semi-whisper and drawing some-
thing out from under the bed.

"Really! Oh! do let me see,"
cried Marguerite, flying towards
him.

" It is almost finished," added
Abel. " But pray lower your voice,
for there are listeners outside — vile
eavesdroppers."

He now went on to explain what
this curious object was, which look-
ed like nothing so much as a big
toy ; for all the girl could perceive
was a stuffed chicken sitting in a
box, gaudily painted red, white,
and blue.

" You must know," said Abel,
" that every time a hen lays an egg
the very first thing she does is to
turn and look at it, as if to make
sure it is really laid. Well, now,
this machine which you behold is
the Magic Hen's Nest. There is
a spring bottom to it, so that the
instant the egg is dropped it will
disappear. Then, when the fowl
turns to see if it is there — lo ! she'll
find it isn't there. Whereupon,
concluding she must have made
a mistake, like a good creature
she'll sit down again, and presently
out'll come egg number two, which
will likewise vanish through the
trap. And so on and on and on,
until — well, really, I can't tell what
may happen in the end, for of
course there is a limit to all good
things : the hen may lose her wits.

Marguerite.

But if she doesn't — if she keeps her
senses, and if I can force her to
continue laying and laying — why,
my fortune is made sure, and I'd
not change places with old Howe
and his sewing-machine — no, indeed
I wouldn't."

"Well, I declare!" ejaculated
Marguerite when Abel was through
with the explanation. "This is
certainly a grand idea. Why, one
hen will do the work of a score
of hens."

"Of five hundred," said Abel
solemnly. " And I wrote some
time ago to a couple of my ac-
quaintances on Long Island, advis-
ing them to sell off every hen on
their farm except one. But they
are not willing to follow my advice ;
and, what's more, they both came
here last week when I was out,
and asked all kinds of questions
about my health. The fools ! But
never mind ; it's all the worse for
them, for just as soon as I get out
my patent down will go the price
of hens to zero."

" Well, upon my word, this is
wonderful, wonderful!" said Mar-
guerite, kneeling and stroking the
back of the stuffed chicken.

" Ay, and I am filled with won-
der at myself for having invent-
ed such a thing," continued Abel.
" But it only shows what the brain
of man can do. And yet what man
is able to accomplish now is nothing
compared with what he will accom-
plish in the ages to come."

"Well, what is needed, sir, to
make this Magic Nest perfect? It
seems to me to be in good working
order."

" Nothing remains to be done
but to get a live hen and put it to
the proof; though I have no more
doubt of its success than I have
of my own existence.''

" Well, do let me be present

when you make the trial. Will
you ?"

" Yes, you may come, for you do
not laugh and jeer at me like the
rest of the world ; and, moreover,
there is something soothing in your
presence. Oh ! I believe if I had
had you always by my side this
Magic Nest would have been ready
long ago."

"And when I come again," said
Marguerite a little timidly, " I'll
put the room in order — may I?"

Here Abel's brow lowered; but
quickly the dark look passed away,
for she was gazing so sweetly at
him, and he said : " You perceive,
then, that it is not in order? Well,
you are right. I live all by myself
and have no time to sweep and
dust — no time."

"All by yourself!" repeated
Marguerite compassionately.

"Yes; and when evening comes
round I light my candle a"nd play
at solitaire, and listen to the cats
caterwauling on the roof."

" How lonely !" exclaimed the
girl.

" Perhaps it may be. Yet in sol-
itude one hears and sees strange
things. I love solitude."

" Really ?"

"I do; nevertheless, I own
'twould be better in some respects
not to dwell so much by myself.
Therefore I give you leave to come
here whenever you please ; yes,
come and sweep and rummage and
turn things topsy-turvy, if you like."

At this Marguerite burst into a
laugh.

"Ha! probably you think my
apartment is already topsy-turvy?
Well, it only seems so to you ; to
my eye there is perfect order in all
this chaos."

" And the buttons, sir, in yonder
cigar-box — "

Marguerite did not end the

Marguerite.

phrase ; she hoped he would under-
stand her, and Abel did.

" Humph ! you have discovered
those buttons, eh? Well, they came
off my clothes. And here let me ob-
serve, my young friend, the next im-
portant thing to invent is a suit of
clothes without any buttons."

"Well, until you invent one,
please allow me to sew those but-
tons on again. Will you ?"

"Alas!" replied Abel, "the
shirts and coats and trousers to
which they once belonged are long
since worn out ; and now I have no
clothes left but the clothes I have
on."

" Tins was a very fine suit once,"
said Marguerite. " The cloth is ex-
cellent."

" Yes, I had it made by a fash-
ionable tailor; for I intended to
wear it when I went to visit influ-
ential people, and try and interest
them in my — in my — "

Here Abel heaved a sigh, while
a look of deeper gloom shadowed
his face than the girl had yet ob-
served upon it.

" Pray tell me what troubles you,"
said Marguerite. " Do tell me.
Perhaps I may be able to comfort
you." Then, as he made no re-
sponse, she'went on : " Have those
of whom you sought aid turned a
cold shoulder upon you ? Have
they refused to help you with this
Magic Hen's Nest ? Why, I
thought, sir, 'twas a profound se-
cret ; that you had told nobody
about it."

" No, no; I don't allude to this,
but to something else — to something
which I cannot think of without an
agony of mind I hope God may spare
you from ever suffering. 1 had for-
gotten all about it ; I had not thought
of it for ever so long, till our conversa-
tion brought it back to me. Oh! do
let me forget it — forget it for ever."

"I guessed when I first saw you,
poor dear man, that there was a
heavy burden on your heart," spoke
Marguerite inwardly. " Now your
own lips have confessed it to me.
Oh! if I only knew you better, I
might be able to console you."

She refrained, however, from ask-
ing again what his cross was ; but
little doubting that 'twas connected
in some way with another inven-
tion, she determined on a future
occasion to ask him to tell her the
history of his life. " And who
knows but I may find the means of
bringing back the smiles to his
mournful visage. If I do, 'twill be
a slight return for all the kindness
he has shown me."

Here Marguerite cast another
glance about the forlorn-looking
chamber, and wondered how he had
been able to pay the first quarter's
rent of her store. " He must have
pinched himself to do it," she
thought to herself. "Oh! what
other man in New York with only
one suit of clothes would have been
so generous ?"

And now, ere she withdrew, her
feelings got the better of her judg-
ment, and she burst into a fervent
expression of thanks for his great
benevolence and sympathy, and
hoped that for her sake he had not
deprived himself of money which
he really needed. But Abel sharp-
ly interrupted her.

" Do not talk thus," he said, " if
you have true faith in my Magic
Nest. Poor I may seem, but I
consider myself rich— ever so rich ;
a mountain of gold is within my
reach. You ought to be convinced
of it, yet still you doubt."

" Oh ! no, no ; I don't doubt it for
one moment," answered Margue-
rite, very much confused. " Pray,
sir, be not offended at my words —
I forgot " ; then, looking up in his

Marguerite.

face, " But I cannot help speaking
what is in my heart. O sir ! you
are the dearest person to me in all
the wide world."

" Well, come here some evening
and play at solitaire with me," said
Abel in a milder tone. " But no, it
won't be solitaire with you — it will
be two-handed euchre."

" Oh ! I'll come most willingly.
True, I know nothing about cards,
but you can teach me."

The girl now bade him adieu,
and his parting words to her were:

" I will inform you when I am
ready to experiment with the live
hen. But, remember, breathe not
a syllable of it to any human be-
ing."

During the week which followed
this visit to Abel Day's den — as
the other boarders called his room —
Marguerite did not see her bene-
factor. But daily she looked for
him, and he was seldom absent
from her thoughts. He was so
vastly unlike other people — the
selfish, deceitful herd around her ;
loving solitude, yet evidently glad
to have her with him ; poor, yet
calling himself rich ; full of bright
hopes, yet a prey to melancholy.
His very singularities possessed a
charm for the girl and made her
long for his coming.

" He brings me into quite anoth-
er world," she said ; and while
she was selling frogs (business at
the Frog Emporium was increas-
ing rapidly) Marguerite would in-
dulge in pleasing reveries about
good Abel Day. She almost hoped
that his fortune might not come
too soon.

" Yes, I should like him to stay
awhile longer in his humble home,
so that I might have a chance to
make it snug and cosey for him.
We might pass happy days there
together — happy days."

VOL. XXVI. — 6

And every morning and evening
she knelt before her crucifix and
prayed for Abel.

But if Marguerite often thought
of Abel Day, he did not think of
her ; no, not once during these sev-
en days. Her presence had indeed
flashed a ray of light into the dark-
ness of his soul ; but it was like the
coming and going of a meteor, and
the instant she left him he relapsed
into his sombre mood. The paper
remained stuffed in the keyhole ;
ever and anon he would utter a
word to himself, but 'twas in a
whisper; and thus from morning
till night, solitary and silent, he
passed the time, seated on a bench
with his hollow eyes fixed upon the
Magic Nest — inventing, inventing,
inventing; for, although Abel had
not told Marguerite, there was still
one little thing wanting to make
the invention absolutely perfect.

Then, when dusk approached and
the first cat began to caterwaul, he
would get into bed, and there rack
his brain for hours longer and un-
till the candle went out. People
wondered how he managed to live
without eating ; but a few crusts of
bread sufficed to keep Abel alive,
and 'twas one of his odd fancies
that we might in time bring our-
selves to live without nourishment.
"Oh! he is thinner than ever,
poor dear man," exclaimed Mar-
guerite, when she saw Abel enter-
ing her store the next Monday
afternoon ; and he was carrying a
hen under his arm. Then, after
the first warm greeting was over,
she made haste to prepare a nice
dish of frogs, which she invited him
to partake of. But Abel shook his
head, and it was not until she had
almost gone on her knees that he
finally placed the hen in her safe-
keeping and sat down to the savory
repast.

Marguerite.

" Oh ! I'm so glad you relish my
frogs ; everybody declares I cook so
well," said the girl, as she stood
watching him.

" The world thinks far too much
about eating," returned Abel. " It
is the grossest act humanity can
perform; and I believe if we tried
we might exist without food."

" Well, I hope that day is far off,"
said Marguerite; "for when it ar-
rives I'll have to close my busi-
ness."

/'Ah! true, I didn't think of
that," said Abel, rising up from the
table. " But now are you ready to
accompany me and witness the
triumph of my Magic Nest?"

" Yes, indeed I am ; I wouldn't
miss it for anything," answered
Marguerite ; and so, telling a cus-
tomer, who appeared just at this
moment, that the last Emporium
frog was sold, not a single one left,
she closed the store and they de-
parted.

"You are happy to-day," observ-
ed the girl when they had gone
half-way to Tompkins Square, and
hearing Abel give a laugh. " Oh !
I'm so glad. Let us always try to
be happy." But even as she spoke
his countenance settled once more
into the old look, and, bending down
(for Abel was rather tall), " Learn
this truth, my young friend," he
said : " Nothing lies like a laugh."

" Oh ! no, no," exclaimed Mar-
guerite, making bold to disagree
with him ; " people only laugh when
they feel happy. Laughter always
tells the truth. And since I have
known you, sir, I laugh ever so
much ; for I have now a good thick
pair of shoes, and the water cannot
soak in and wet my feet. And
don't you see, too, I have a new
dress ? And I am already laying
by money in the savings-bank; and
it all comes from your brilliant idea

of setting up a Frog Emporium.
Oh ! yes, yes, I laugh a great deal
now — a very great deal."

Then, as he made no response,
she went on: "You are a genius,
sir, a genius !"

" Ah ! you recognize in me the
divine spark ?" murmured Abel,
his visage faintly brightening.
" Well, you are the first who has
done so — the very first — and you
shall share in my triumph ; ay, half
the gold-mine shall be yours."
Then, after a pause, " Do you
know," he added, "you may ere
long be dwelling in Fifth Avenue
and wearing diamonds and silks;
though, if you follow my advice,
you will always dress plainly and
never change your pretty French
cap for a fashionable hat full of
feathers and ribbons."

"Really!" cried Marguerite,
whose faith in Abel Day was un-
bounded. " Living in Fifth Avenue,
beautiful Fifth Avenue!" And she
clapped her hands and skipped
merrily along in front of him.

But presently from Abel's lips
burst another laugh, and. this time
there was something strange and
wild about it which caused Mar-
guerite to pause and look around ;
then, taking his hand, they walked
on side by side in silence, and oh !
how much she wished that he might
not appear so unhappy.

At length they reached Abel's
home; and if Abel's fellow-board-
ers had stared with astonishment
the first time they saw him mount-
ing to his room accompanied by a
strange young woman, they made
bigger eyes now as he ascended
the stairway with a hen under his
arm ; nor was it easy for Margue-
rite to keep a grave countenance
when presently the chicken began
to cackle ; and the cackling of the
chicken and the giggling of the in-

Marswente.

quisitive females, who were follow-
ing at a proper distance, made a
very queer chorus.

" Let 'em laugh," growled Abel
after he had entered his chamber
and fastened the door — "let 'em
laugh; my day of triumph is nigh,
and then they'll be the veriest syco-
phants at my feet. But I'll spurn
them all ; let 'em laugh."

And now began the trial of the
Magic Nest; Abel first cautioning
Marguerite to speak in an under-
tone, if she had anything to say.
Gently, as tenderly as a mother
might handle her baby, the fowl
was placed in the box ; and forth-
with she ceased to cackle, while
the others ceased even to whisper.
Then, motioning the girl to sit
down on the bench, Abel stood be-
side her, awaiting with intense ex-
citement the laying of the first egg.
In a couple of minutes his brow
was wet with perspiration, then his
whole face became moistened ; and
when, by and by, after what seem-
ed an age — 'twas only a quarter of
an hour — the hen did lay an egg,
then rose up to look at it, Abel
trembled so violently that Margue-
rite inquired if he were ill. But
without heeding her question he
went on trembling and saying,
"The egg has vanished, vanished!
and she can't believe her eyes — she
can't believe her eyes !" And now
for about a minute and a half it did
really seem as if the hen, concluding
she had made a mistake, was going to
proceed and lay another egg, when,
lo ! she coolly stepped out of the
box, and, after shaking her feathers,
( ommenced pecking the bits of pa-
per scattered over the floor.

When Abel Day perceived this
liis head swam a moment; then
clenching his fists, and his caver-
nous eyes flashing fire, he sprang
towards the chicken, and, forgetting

all about eavesdroppers, he scream-
ed loud enough to be heard from
cellar to garret : " I'll force you to
do your duty ! I will, I will !"

But, as ill-luck would have it, the
window was open, and out of it
flew the hen, so hotly pursued by
Abel that he came within an ace
of passing through it too ; which
had he done, his neck would cer-
tainly have been broken, for Abel
had no wings.

Then, as if to make sport of him,
the perverse creature perched her-
self on a neighboring chimney,
where she set up a loud cackling.

" Hark, they are mocking me
again! Hear them, hear them!"
groaned Abel Day, clapping his •
hands to his head. " And the hor-
ror, too, is coming over rne again :
it always comes with those jeering
voices."

" I hear nobody. Oh ! I beg you*
to be calm," said Marguerite, now
thoroughly alarmed on Abel's ac-
count. Then, leading him to the
bench, " What agitates you sor
dear friend ? Oh ! do, do calm your-
self and tell me what you fear."

Abel sank down on the bench,,
and, after groaning once morer
" Hark ! hark ! They are mocking
me," did not utter another word,
hard though she urged him to
speak; but, with eyes glued to the
Magic Nest, he remained dumb and
motionless.

Then by and by evening came,,
and the twilight deepened.^ into
night, yet still Abel moved not, nor
opened his lips, unless occasionally
to heave a sigh. Then the moon
rose, and as its pale rays streamed
into the room and fell upon the suf-
ferer's face, it assumed an expres-
sion so unearthly that Marguerite
was filled with awe.

And now a dreadful, startling
thought occurred to her: her dear

Marguerite.

friend might be mad ! What a
pang this gave her tender heart !
What bright, new-born hopes be-
came suddenly blasted. How many
fair castles in the air crumbled
away into ghostly ruins at the
thought that Abel Day was mad !

" Is it possible," she asked her-
self, " that this good man— he who
has been so kind to me, whom I
looked up to as one far, far above
the cold, heartless world — is it pos-
sible that he is bereft of reason ?"
And even as Marguerite breathed
these words she for the first time
grew conscious of something glow-
ing in her bosom more ardent than
friendship for Abel Day.

" I love him," she murmured — " I
love him. And no matter what
people may think of me, I'll stay
by him and nurse him ; I'll be his
servant and truest friend as long as
he lives."

Trying indeed was this night for
Marguerite — oh ! very, very. It
seemed as if it never would end.
Nor did day bring any relief to her
anxiety. The blessed, life-giving
sunshine shimmered in ; the chim-
ney-swallows twittered by the win-
dow ; a stray bee, blown away by
the morning breeze from his far-off
hive, flew in and buzzed about the
chamber; still Abel remained like
one turned into stone, except for
the deep-drawn sighs which ever
and anon escaped his lips.

And so this day passed, and so
day followed day, without bringing
any change in his mysterious con-
dition.

Of course Marguerite was not
with him the whole time. But she
took care whenever she quitted the
room to lock the door ; then she
would hasten with winged feet to
the Frog Emporium, where she
would spend four or five hours ;
then back Marguerite hurried, hop-

ing and praying that no ill had be-
fallen Abel during her absence. But
while she was with the poor man
she did more than simply watch
him. The ugly pencil-marks were
rubbed off the wall ; the floor was
thoroughly swept ; the cobwebs
were brushed out of the corners ;
and many another thing which only
woman's hand can do Marguerite
did. On a little table, too (the
only piece of furniture besides the
bench and bed), was spread a good,
substantial meal for Abel to eat the
moment he felt hungry; and it
amazed her to see him fasting so
long.

We need not say that everybody
in the house had his curiosity now
raised to the highest pitch ; and the
gossiping, prying females shook
their virtuous heads and muttered
no complimentary things of Abel's
faithful nurse.

" Well, they may say of me what-
ever they like," said the brave girl.
" My conscience doesn't reproach
me; it tells me I am doing right.
When I was down Abel Day helped
me, and now, when he is down, I'll
help him."

At length, one afternoon, weary
of the long, unbroken silence of
the chamber, Marguerite began to
sing. The song was one she had
learnt from her mother, and was
called " Normandie, chere Nor-
mandie." She had a rich contralto
voice, and the effect which the me-
lody wrought upon Abel was some-
thing perfectly marvellous ; and as
her face happened to be turned to-
wards his, she noticed the change
at once, and her eyes filled with
glad tears.

"Glory! glory! I am escaping
from the infernal regions ; the dark-
ness and the voices are leaving me.
Thank God! thank God!" he cried.
And Marguerite, only too happy to

Marguerite.

rouse him out of his lethargy, con-
tinued singing for well-nigh half an
hour. Then, placing herself beside
him on the bench, she gave way to
her joy in laughter and merry talk,
while Abel's countenance wore an
expression almost radiant, and, rest-
ing one of his hands on her head
as a father might have done, " All
is blue sky at last," he said. " I
feel as I have not felt in many a
day. Oh ! had I had you always
with me, the demons would never
have shrieked in my ears ; your an-
gelic songs would have driven them
away."

" Well, you can't imagine," re-
turned Marguerite, " how happy it
makes me to make you happy."
Then, after a pause : " But now,
dear friend, I have a favor to
ask : I wish you to tell me the his-
tory of your life; for there is a mys-
tery in it — I am sure there is. Do
tell it to me. Not that I am cu-
rious, but I firmly believe 'twill do
you good to let me carry a part of
the burden which has almost crush-
ed you down."

" Fool, fool that I was to live all
by myself so many years!" spoke
Abel in a musing tone, and paying
no heed to her request. " The
mocking voices cannot abide cheer-
ful company ; it frightens them
off." Then, turning to Marguerite :
" You'll not let them come back,
will you ?"

" You are dreaming," answered
the girl, patting his hand. " Why,
this room was still as the tomb
until I began to sing."

" No, no, it wasn't ; I heard them
all the while."

" Well, don't fear them any more.
I'll stay with you; I'll be your ca-
nary, your nightingale, your musi-
cal box," she said with a merry
laugh. " So pray begin and give
me a little of your past history ; for

the sooner you begin the sooner
you'll end, and then I'll sing an-
other song."

" Well, well, to please you I'll do
anything. Therefore learn that I
was born in Massachusetts. But
of my early years I need say very
little. My father died when I was
a child ; at the age of fourteen I
had to shift for myself, and from
that time on it was a hard struggle
against poverty. Somehow I didn't
succeed in anything I put my hand
to. I tried this thing and that ; I
tried everything almost, but was al-
ways unfortunate. And, do you
know, I believe in luck. Oh ! I do.
Some are born with it, others are
not ; and these last will turn out
failures, be they ever so honest and
hard-working. Well, undoubtedly
I belong to the unlucky ones; and,
what's more, I verily believe there
is such a thing as having too much
brains. Why, many a pumpkin-
headed fellow I used to know is
to-day a millionaire — can't explain
it, but there's the fact ; while I
am — well, you see what I am, and
I have reached middle life ; and
my miserable home" — here he
threw a glance around the room ;
then, clasping his hands : " But
dear me, what has happened ? Is
this my den ? Why, how changed
it looks !"

" I have been turning things top-
sy-turvy," answered Marguerite,
with a twinkle in her eye. " But
pray don't stop to admire the
change. Please go on ; I am so in-
terested."

"Well, finally, after trying every-
thing," continued Abel, "and, as I
have observed, failing in everything
I tried, I one day bethought my-
self of turning inventor. And the
more I thought about it the more
confident I felt that I should suc-
ceed ; indeed, I passed a whole

Marguerite.

week in a delightful reverie, where-
in I saw myself wealthy and famous,
and all from one single invention.
Then, when this dreamy, happy
week was gone by, I set about in-
venting a Patent Log — a thing very
much needed by mariners ; for the
present method of determining the
speed of a vessel is both clumsy
and unreliable. 'Twas here in this
chamber, on this bench, I began
my brain labor, and for a while I
made excellent progress. But after
a couple of months I got tired of
sitting up and took to my bed,
where I used to lie inventing — in-
venting all day long, and even all
night too. I seemed to be able to
do without sleep ; until one even-
ing— oh ! I'll never forget it" —
here he paused and shuddered —
"one evening the room became
suddenly full of voices. From un-
der the bed, through the keyhole
and window, down the chimney, on
every side of me these horrible
voices were yelling and screeching,
'He'll never succeed — never
succeed'; ' Born to ill-luck'; 'All
time wasted'; 'He'll go to the
dogs and hang himself!' What hap-
pened after this terrible moment I
can't say; I must have gone off in-
to a fever. I remember nothing.
All I know is that one day — but
how long afterwards I cannot tell
— I became, 45 it were, alive again,
and found myself inventing quite
a different thing — namely, the Magic
Nest, which, as you know, has once
more proved that I am born to fail
in whatever I undertake. And
now, alas ! I don't see how I'll be
able to earn a living; to confess the
truth, I have not one dollar left in
the world."

" Bah ! Don't be down-hearted
on that account," said Marguerite.
" My Frog Emporium is a little
gold-mine, and you shall need for

nothing. Why, as I have already
remarked more than once, I'd have
been ere now in a wretched plight
but for you. You stretched out a
helping hand ; and whatever the
world may think of you, and what-
ever you think of yourself — I — I
call you a genius."

When Marguerite had delivered
this speech, so full of balm to
poor heart-broken Abel, she rose
from the bench and flew to the old,
neglected manuscript. A bright
idea had flashed upon her — 'twas
an inspiration. She had already
turned over its pages and found
them covered with drawings as un-
intelligible to her as Egyptian hie-
roglyphics ; but she remembered
that in one place, written in pencil,
were the words, " This is Abel Day's
Patent Log."

In a moment she was back at
Abel's side, and, holding up the
manuscript before him, " I do be-
lieve," she said, " had I been with
you when you were laboring on this
invention, that you would not have
fallen ill, for I should not have let
you overtask your brain ; and by
this time 'twould have been quite
finished, and you'd have been in the
eyes of the whole world what I
know you to be — a great, great,
great man."

But Abel, instead of replying, put
his hands to his ears and shivered
as if he were stricken with cold.

" O dear friend ! what is the
matter now ?" exclaimed Margue-
rite.

" The very sight of that manu-
script makes me dread the voices —
the horrid voices. Hark ! one is
beginning to yell again. It says I
must hang myself in the end.
Hark ! Don't you hear it ?"

" Listen to me, and not to the
voice," said Marguerite, still hold-
ing before his eyes the page where-

Marguerite.

on was written, " This is Abel Day's
Patent Log." "Take courage and
look bolder at this manuscript,
while I sing for you."

It was a cheery, jovial song she
sang. She threw her whole soul
into it, and it wrought upon Abel
the happy effect she hoped it would.
When the song was ended, he bow-
ed his head and murmured : " O my
blessing ! my good angel ! How
much sunshine you bring to me !
Already the voice is gone. You
have indeed power to drive the fiend
away."

" Well, now, Abel," answered
Marguerite, "you whom — whom I
— I — " Here her tongue faltered.

But as mother earth cannot re-
strain the crystal waters murmur-
ing within her bosom, so it was im-
possible for the girl to hold back
the words which were bubbling up
from the pure fountain of her heart ;
and presently, with a blushing rose
on each cheek, she spoke out and
said : " You whom I love, let me
ask you to kneel with me and offer
thanks to Almighty God that I am
able to drive away your melancholy.
Yes, let us say a prayer of thanks-
giving."

Abel did as she wished, and they
knelt and prayed together.

Then, when they had risen from
their knees, " And now," added
Marguerite, " I hope you will set
courageously to work at this Pa-
tent Log, and while you are thus
engaged I'll play the nightingale
and sing my very best ; will you ?"

Abel's eyes were swimming with
tears, and, taking her hand in his,
" You love me ?" he said in tremu-
lous accents. "Oh! how kind, how
good it is in you to love me. I
have been alone since my boyhood
— all alone. Nobody since the far-
off day when I parted from my mo-
ther ever spoke to me as you do.

The world appeared like a desert
to me. I cared very little for life.
All was a barren waste on every
side of me until this hour. But
now I would not die for anything.
I wish to live because you live ; and,
O Marguerite ! my heart would stop
beating if you were to leave me."

" But I never will leave you."

" No, don't. Let us live together^
Marguerite, always together ; be my
wife."

" Well, now," answered Margue-
rite, her heart overflowing, yet at
the same time speaking with firm-
ness and decision, " you must set
immediately to work ; a quarter of
an hour will tye enough for to-day.
To-morrow you may labor half an
hour, and perhaps next day an
hour, until this invention is com-
pleted ; and, remember, all the while
you are inventing I'll play the
lark, the canary, or whatever you
choose to call me."

Abel listened to her words, and,
albeit weak and hardly in a state
to use his brain, he actually made a
little progress with his invention
during the brief space she allowed
him to work. What unspeakable
joy it gave Marguerite to think
that she might be able to restore
him to full mental health ! " And
when he does become entirely him-
self— oh ! then — then — " Here her
song waxed louder and more melo-
dious ; for her heart was thrilling
with a rapture which only the voice
of music can express.

Yes, Marguerite, 'twas verily an
inspiration that caused you to di-
rect Abel's mind anew to the Pat-
ent Log; for this is a sane and
wholesome object whereupon to
exert his faculties, and not a mad-
man's dream like the Magic Hen's
Nest.

Day by day Abel gained in
health ; his appetite and sleep re-

The Bells.

turned ; he laughed as merrily as
Marguerite ; and people could
scarcely believe he was the same
man. But the girl never relaxed
her vigilance. So passed away the
spring and summer ; and when au-
tumn came round not the fairest
castle in the air which Marguerite
had built for herself did surpass
the bright reality which opened be-
fore her vision. For, lo ! the Pat-
ent Log was patented, and its suc-
cess went beyond Abel's most ex-
travagant hopes. A mass-meeting
of ship-owners and merchants was
held at the Cooper Institute to do
him honor ; the press lauded him
to the skies ; the tongue of Fame
was chiming his name far and wide.
But, better than all, a cataract of
gold was rolling into his pocket.

Of course before long our friend
changed his quarters ; and, in his
new and elegant home, right above
the bed Marguerite hung the cru-
cifix which Mother Catherine had
given her; then she and her be-
trothed went to the Convent of
Mercy to visit the good nun, who

wept glad tears when she heard
their story.

" Well, I lean upon her as much
as she leans upon me ; we love and
help each other in all things,"
spoke Abel.

"And ahvays, always will," con-
tinued Marguerite.

" God bless you, my children !"
said Mother Catherine.

A fortnight later the happy cou-
ple were married; after which
they sailed on their wedding tour
across the sea to Normandy. And
one day, as they were leaving the
beautiful church of Saint-Ouen,
whither they had gone to give
thanks to God for their 'great hap-
piness, Marguerite spoke and said :
" I once thought there was no
country in all the world like
France ; but now, my dear husband,
I love America more."

"And I," returned Abel, "love
France as much as I do America ;
for, although I believe good wives
may be found everywhere, it was
this sunny land which gave me my
pretty Marguerite."

THE BELLS.

I STAND by Giotto's gleaming tower,

In gloom of the cathedral's wing,
And hear, in the soft sunset hour,

The bells to benediction ring.
That Duomo boasts : " Stone upon stone,

Eternally I rise and rise ;
So, pace by pace, zone over zone,

I am uprounded to the skies."
But simpler effort, as direct

As that of palm or pine, impels
This wonder of the architect

To strike heaven's blue with clash of bells.

The Bells. 89

Etrurian Athens! long ago

Thy sister of the Violet Crown,
In colonnades like carven snow —

All crumbled now, and bare, and brown
With ashes of dead sunshine — sate

Among her gods, and had no voice
Potential as their high estate

To summon to the sacrifice.
Worth even the Phidian Jove sublime,

Chryselephantine, and all else
Of the lost forms of olden time,

Fair Florence ! are thy living bells.

O bells ! O bells ! when angels sang,

Surely — though no Evangelist
Has told — a silvery peal first rang,

And Christian chimes came in with Christ.
For bells ! O bells ! not brazen horn,

Nor sistrum, sackbut, cymbals, gong,
Harsh dissonance of creeds forlorn,

But your sweet tongues to Him belong.
Crowning with music as ye swing

This lily in stone, this lamp of grace,
Wherever Christ the Lord is King,

Ye have commission and a place.

This tower stands square to winds that smite,

Nor fears the thunders to impale.
Prince of the Powers of Air! by rite

Of baptism shall the bells prevail.
Shine, Stella Maris ! and O song

Of Ave Mary, and Vesper bells,
Be drowned not in the city's throng!

For — sad and sweet as Dante tells —
Comes, strangely here, the sense to me

Of parting for some unknown clime,
A sense of silence and the sea,

Charmed by the tryst of star and chime.

O bells ! O bells ! the worlds are buoyed,

Like beacon-bells, on waves profound,
In all no silence as no void —

The very flowers are cups of sound.
We dream — and dreaming we rejoice —

That we, when great Death draws us nigh,
Hearing, may understand the Voice

Which rocks a bluebell or the sky ;
And, with new senses finely strung

In grander Eden's blossoming,
May see a golden planet swung,

Yet hear the silver lilies ring !

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

OUR NEW INDIAN POLICY AND RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.

" WHILE it cannot be denied that the
government of the United States, in the
general terms and temper of its legisla-
tion, has evinced a desire to deal gene-
rously with the Indians, it must be ad-
mitted that the actual treatment they
have received has been unjust and ini-
quitous beyond the power of words to express.
Taught by the government that they had
rights entitled to respect, when these
rights have been assailed by the rapacity
of the white man the arm which should
have been raised to protect them has
been ever ready to sustain the aggressor.
The history of the government connec-
tions with the Indians is a shameful re-
cord of broken treaties and unfulfilled pro-

We take the above sentences
from the first report of the Board of
Indian Commissioners appointed by
President Grant under the act of
Congress of April 10, 1869. The
commissioners, nine in number,
were gentlemen selected for their
presumed piety, philanthropy, and
practical business qualities. None
of them was a Catholic ; in taking
their testimony not only with re-
spect to the general treatment of
the Indians, but in regard to the
religious interests of some of the
tribes, we shall not be suspected of
summoning witnesses who are pre-
judiced in favor of the Catholic
Church. One of the commission-
ers, indeed, Mr. Felix R. Brunot,
of Pittsburgh, the chairman of the
board, appears to have been inspired
at times with a lively fear and ha-
tred of the church ; his colleagues
— Messrs. Robert Campbell, of St.
Louis ; Nathan Bishop, of New
York ; William E. Dodge, of New
York; John V. Farwell, of Chica-
go; George H. Stuart, of Phila-
delphia; Edward S. Tobey, of Bos-

ton ; John D. Lang, of Maine ; and
Vincent Colyer, of New York — are
gentlemen quite free from any pre-
dilection in favor of Catholicity.
The passage we have taken from
their first report relates only to the
worldly affairs of the Indians. But
a perusal of the various annual re-
ports of this board, of the Commis-
sioners of Indian Affairs, and of the
Indian agents, from 1869 until
1876, has convinced us that the in-
juries inflicted upon the Indians
have been by no means confined to
those caused by the avarice and ra-
pacity of the whites. Sectarian fa-
naticism, Protestant bigotry, and
anti-Christian hatred have been call-
ed in to play, and the arm of the gov-
ernment has been made the instru-
ment for the restriction, and even
the abolition, of religious freedom
among many of the Indian tribes.

We are confident that such treat-
ment is not in consonance with the
wishes of the American people.
Have we not been taught, from our
youth up, that the two chief glories
of our country were the equality of
all its citizens before the law and
their absolute freedom in all reli-
gious matters ? True, the Indians
are not citizens, but we have un-
dertaken the task of acting as their
guardians, with the hope of ulti-
mately fitting them, or as many of
them as may be tough enough to
endure the process, for the duties
of citizenship. To begin this task
by teaching our pupils that religion
is not a matter of conscience — that
the government has a right to force
upon a people a form of Christian-
ity against which their consciences
revolt — and to punish them for at-

Our New Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

tempting to adhere to the church
whose priests first taught them to
know and to fear God, is not mere-
ly a moral wrong; it is a crime.

The whole number of Indians in
the United States and Territories,
according to the very careful and
systematic census contained in the
report of the Commissioner of In-
dian Affairs for 1875, was 279,333,
exclusive of those in Alaska. It is
not a very large number ; the pop-
ulation of the city of New York
exceeds it nearly fourfold. The
Indian Bureau classifies these peo-
ple under four heads :

I. 98,108 Indians who " are wild
and scarcely tractable to any ex-
tent beyond that of coming near
enough to the government agent to
receive rations and blankets."

II. 52,113 Indians "who are
thoroughly convinced of the neces-
sity of labor, and are actually un-
dertaking it, and with more or less
readiness accept the direction and
assistance of government agents to
this end."

III. 115,385 Indians " who have
come into possession of allotted
lands and other property in stock
and implements belonging to a
landed estate."

IV. 13,727 Indians who are de-
scribed as " roamers and vagrants,"
and of whom the commissioner, the
Hon. Edward P. Smith, speaks in
the following Christian and states-
man-like language :

" They are generally as harmless as
vagrants and vagabonds can be in a civ-
ilized country. They are found in all
stages of degradation produced by licen-
tiousness, intemperance, idleness, and
poverty. Without land, unwilling to
leave their haunts for a homestead upon
a reservation, and scarcely in any way
related to, or recognized by, the govern-
ment, they drag out a miserable life.
Themselves corrupted and the source of
corruption, they seem to serve by their

continued existence but a single useful
purpose — that of affording a living illus-
tration of the tendency and effect of bar-
barism allowed to expand itself uncur-
ed,"

— or, perhaps, of "affording a liv-
ing illustration " of the wisdom and
mercy of a policy which, neglect-
ing these poor wretches "without
land," comes down upon other
tribes, living peaceably and thriv-
ingly upon reservations " solemnly
secured to them for ever," takes
from them their homes and farms,
and drives them forth to a new and
desolate land; or, if they resist, ex-
asperates them into a war that ends
by adding them to the number of
" roamers and vagabonds." The
sanguinary conflict which, as we
write, is still being waged between
a portion of the Nez-Perces In-
dians and the troops under com-
mand of that eminent " Christian
soldier," General Howard, is a
flagrant instance of the manner in
which Indians of the first and se-
cond classes enumerated by the
commissioner are driven into the
category of "roamers and vaga-
bonds." We cannot pause to trace
the history of this our last and
most needless Indian war ; we pass
it by with the remark that cine of
the indirect causes of it, according
to the report of the Commissioner
of Indian Affairs for 1874, appears
to have been the action of the
" American Board of Commission-
ers for Foreign Missions," a Presby-
terian organization, in selling to a
speculator certain lands within the
reservation which did not belong
to the board, but to the Indians
themselves.

The Deport of the commissioner
for 1876— the Hon. J. Q. Smith-
contains a number of statistical
tables, an analysis of which will
aid us in forming a correct concep-

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

tion of the present condition of the
Indians embraced in the commis-
sioner's third class, as well as a por-
tion of those in his second class.
According to these tables — which
contain the latest official returns
from all the agencies — the whole
number of Indians, exclusive of
those in Alaska, and of the " roam-
ers and vagrants," is put down at
266,151, of whom 40,639 are of
mixed blood. The latter are for
the most part the children of In-
dian mothers and of French, Span-
ish, and American fathers. No less
than 153,000 of the whole number
" come directly under the civiliz-
ing influences of the government
agencies," and of these 104,818
" wear citizen's dress." The aban-
donment of the picturesque blanket
for the civilizing coat, the embroid-
ered buckskin leggings for the plain
pantaloons, and the gay plume of
gorgeous feathers for the hideous
hat, is certainly a mark of progress.
But when the wigwam is torn down,
and the log, frame, or stone house
is erected in its stead, a still more
decided step towards civilization
has been taken ; and it may be
with surprise that some of our rea-
ders will learn that our " savages "
have built for themselves, or have
had built for them, 55,717 houses,
of which 1,702 were erected during
last year.

The progress of education is a
still further test of the condition of
these people. There are 367 school-
buildings upon the reservations ;
and in these are conducted 63
boarding-schools and 281 day-
schools, 23 of the school-buildings,
apparently, being unoccupied. The
number of teachers is 437, and of
pupils 11,328, of which number
6,028 are males. The amount of
money expended for education dur-
ing the year was $362,496, an aver-

age of $32 per pupil. The number
of Indians who can read is 25,622,
of whom 980 acquired that useful
accomplishment during the year.
The number of births (exclusive of
those in the five civilized tribes in
the Indian Territory) was 2,401,
and of deaths 2,215. Tne religious
statistics in this table are evidently
incorrect in at least one particular.
The number of church buildings on
the Indian reservations is 177; the
number of missionaries " not includ-
ed under teachers" is 122; and
" the amount contributed by reli-
gious societies during the year for
education and other purposes " was
$62,076.

These figures we do not call in
question, but the " number of In-
dians who are church members " is
put down at only 27,215. It is to
be desired that the compiler of the
statistics had furnished us with a
definition of what he understands
by the words "church members."
He sets down for the Pueblo agen-
cy, in New Mexico, for example :
" Number of Indians, 8,400 ; num-
ber of church buildings, 19 ; number
of church members, none /" The
truth is that all, or nearly all, of
these Pueblo Indians are Roman
Catholics, as their fathers were be-
fore them for more than three cen-
turies ; and that the 19 " church
buildings " on their reservation are
Catholic churches, in which the In-
dians are baptized, shriven, mar-
ried, and receive the Holy Com-
munion ; but in the opinion of the
honorable commissioner none of
the Pueblos are " church members."
So with the Papago Indians in Ari-
zona, who are 5,900 in number, who
have a Catholic school, four Ca-
tholic teachers, and a Catholic
church, but none of whom, in the
eyes of the commissioner, are
"church members." In the seven

Our New Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

reservations of which the religious
control has been assigned to the
Catholic Church there is a popula-
tion of 24,094 souls and 32 church-
es, but the commissioner's tables ad-
mit only 7,010 " church members "
among this population. The truth
is, as we shall show, the number of
Catholic Indians alone is more than
thrice as large as the whole number
of "church members" accounted
for by the commissioner's tables.
When a human being has received
the Catholic rite of baptism he be-
comes a member of the Catholic
Church ; and from that moment it
is the duty and the privilege of the
church to watch over and protect
the soul thus regenerated. It is be-
cause the church has wished to dis-
charge this duty to her Indian chil-
dren that certain of the sects have
cried out against her, and even the
commissioner (Hon. E. P. Smith),
in his report for 1875, has not been
ashamed to reproach her.

"At the seven agencies assigned to
the care of the Catholics," he remarks,
" no restriction has been placed upon
their system and methods of education,
and no other religious body, so far as I
am aware, has in any way attempted to
interfere. I regret to say that this is not
true, so far as the Catholics are concern-
ed, of some of the agencies assigned to
other religious bodies, and in some in-
stances the interference has been a ma-
terial hindrance to the efforts of this
office to bring Indians under control and
to enforce rules looking toward civiliza-
tion."

We regret to say that while, on
the one hand, the Catholic Church
lias sought only to continue her
ministrations to those of her chil-
dren who were dwelling upon re-
servations " assigned to other reli-
gious bodies " — a duty which she
could not neglect nor permit to
remain unfulfilled — on the other
hand, the most cruel, persistent, and

petty persecution has been waged
against Catholic Indians under the
charge of Protestant agents, for the
reason that they were Catholics,
and the most unwarrantable inter-
ference, opposition, and maltreat-
ment have been in many instances
manifested in cases where Catholic
priests were merely exercising the
rights they possessed as American
citizens, and discharging the du-
ties imposed on them as Christian
teachers.

But before we enter upon the
proof of these unpleasant facts let
us return to the statistics of the
commissioner's report, for the pur-
pose of completing our review of
the condition of the semi-civilized
and civilized tribes. The whole
number of acres of land comprised
in the Indian reservations as they
now exist is 159,287,778, of which,
however, only a very small portion
(9,107,244 acres, or 14,230 square
miles) is " tillable " — that is, land
fitted for agricultural pursuits, and
on which crops can be raised.
Now, from these figures, which are
official, a very important truth may
be deduced. The policy of the
government, as explained by the
commissioners in successive reports,
is to gather all the Indians upon
these reservations (or upon a few
of them), to wean them from their
life of hunting and fishing, and to
teach them to support themselves
and their families by purely agri-
cultural pursuits. The idea may
perhaps be a good one ; but care
should have been taken to provide
ample means for its execution.
There are, as we have seen, 266,151
Indians, exclusive of those in Alas-
ka and of the " roamers and va-
grants." All these, if the present
policy of the government be suc-
cessful, will be finally planted upon
this region of 14,230 square miles

Our Neiv Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

of tillable land, and bidden to live
there, they and their children, for
ever, earning their bread by the
sweat of their brow in cultivating
the soil. Now, 14,230 square miles
of land is equal only to 28,460
farms of 320 acres each, or to 56,-
920 farms of 160 acres each. The
tradition established by the govern-
ment, by its original surveys of the
public lands, by its Homestead Law,
and by its Land Bounty Acts, is
that 1 60 acres of land is the nor-
mal quantity for an ordinary farm ;
general experience has shown that
this is none too much. But if the
attempt were made to arrange the
266,151 Indians into families of 4
persons each, and to allot to each
family a farm of 160 acres, there
would not be tillable land enough
" to go round" ; 9,617 families would
be left out of the distribution. We
do not mean to say that a farm of
something less than 160 acres may
not be found sufficient for the
maintenance of a family of four
persons ; but we do wish to call
attention to the fact that the Indian
reservations have been now reduced
so far that only 56,920 farms, of
1 60 acres each, of "tillable land"
remain in them. There is the more
necessity for accentuating this fact
since even in the last report of the
commissioner is repeated the sug-
gestion that the reservations are
still too large, and that a few more
treaties might be broken and a few
more sanguinary wars provoked
witli advantage, in order to reduce
further the area set apart for In-
dian occupation. This suggestion
is made plausible by the device of
calling attention to the whole area
of the reservations — 159,287,778
acres, or 248,886 square miles —
while hiding away in very small
type, and at the end of an intricate
table of figures, the fact that 150,-

180,534 acres, or 234,656 square
miles, of these lands are wholly un-
fitted for tillage, and can never be
made available for agricultural pur-
poses.

The number of acres of land cul-
tivated by the Indians during the
year covered by the last report of
the commissioner was 318,194, and
28,253 other acres were broken by
them during the year. No less
than 26,873 full-blood male Indians
were laboring in civilized pursuits,
exclusive of those belonging to the
five civilized tribes in the Indian
Territory. These people are not
savages ; they worship God — many
of them enjoying the light of Catho-
lic truth ; they educate themselves
and their children ; they live in
houses and wear decent clothes ;
they toil and are producers of val-
uable articles. Let us see, now,
what is said about these and the
other Indians less advanced in civ-
ilization, by their rulers, the suc-
cessive Commissioners of Indian
Affairs and their subordinates, the
agents. When we remark that we
select our quotations from nine
volumes of official reports, the rea-
der will understand that we la}'
before him only a very few out of
the numberless proofs of two
facts :

1. That the commissioners, while
repeatedly confessing that the In-
dians have been most cruelly and
unwisely wronged in the past, are
of the opinion that it would be a
kind and wise thing to wrong them
a little more in the future.

2. That the Indians are perfect-
ly \vell aware of their wrongs ; are
quite able to formulate them ; are
often hopeless, from long and pain-
ful experience, of any effectual re-
dress for them ; and very frequent-
ly display a remarkable degree of
Christian forbearance and forgive-

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

ness in resisting the wanton pro-
vocations to revolt offered to them.

" The traditionary belief which large-
ly prevails," writes the Hon. J. Q. Smith,
in his report for 1876, " that the Indian
service throughout its whole history has
been tainted with fraud, arises not only
from the fact that frauds have been com-
mitted, but also because, from the nature
of the service itself, peculiar opportuni-
ties for fraud may be found."

After an exposition of the duties
of an Indian agent he thus pro-
ceeds :

" The great want of the Indian service
has always been thoroughly competent
agents. The President has sought to
secure proper persons for these impor-
tant offices by inviting the several reli-
gious organizations, through their con-
stituted authorities, to nominate to him
men for whose ability, character, and
conduct they are willing to vouch. I
believe the churches have endeavored to
perform this duty faithfully, and to a fair
degree have succeeded ; but they expe-
rience great difficulty in inducing per-
sons possessed of the requisite qualifi-
cations to accept these positions. When
it is considered that these men must take
their families far into the wilderness,
cut themselves off from civilization with
its comforts and attractions, deprive
their children of the advantages of edu-
cation, live lives of anxiety and toil, give
bonds for great sums of money, be held
responsible in some instances for the
expenditure of hundreds of thousands of
dollars a year, and subject themselves to
ever-ready suspicion, detraction, and ca-
lumny, for a compensation less than
that paid to a third-class clerk in Wash-
ington or to a village postmaster, it is
not strange that able, upright, thorough-
ly competent men hesitate, and decline
to accept the position of an Indian agent,
or, if they accept, resign the position
after a short trial. In my judgment the
welfare of the public service imperative-
ly requires that the compensation offered
an Indian agent should be somewhat in
proportion to the capacity required in
the office, and to the responsibility and
labor of the duties to be performed."

It is impossible to avoid making
the remark, in this place, that there

is a class of men who have no
" families ''; who are ever ready to
renounce the "comforts and attrac-
tions of civilization "; who are ac-
customed to " live lives of anxiety
and toil "; and who are impervious
to " suspicion, detraction, and cal-
umny," while at the same time they
are ''able, upright, and thoroughly
competent." If the government,
when it inaugurated its plan of fill-
ing the Indian agencies with men
nominated by " the churches," had
allowed our bishops to nominate
agents in proportion to the number
of Catholic Indians, the chances
are that the right men would have
been forthcoming, and the commis-
sioner would not now be complain-
ing that, in order to keep an Indian
agent from stealing, he must be
paid $3,000 a year.

" Relief had been so long delayed,"
says the same officer in the same report,
" that supplies failed to reach the agen-
cies until the Indians were in almost a
starving condition, and until the appar-
ent intention of the government to aban-
don them to starvation had induced
large numbers to join the hostile bands
under Sitting Bull."

Two other instances of the same
kind are mentioned ; and a third is
recorded, in which, owing to the
failure of Congress to provide mo-
ney promised by a treaty, '* hun-
dreds of Pawnees had been com-
pelled to abandon their agency, to
live by begging and stealing in south-
ern Kansas." " In numerous other
instances," adds the commissioner
pathetically, " the funds at the dis-
posal of this office have been so
limited as to make it a matter of the
utmost difficulty to keep the Indi-
ans from starving" — and this, too,
when the same Indians had large
sums of money standing to their
credit held " in trust " for them in
the treasury of the United States.

Our New Indian Policy and Religioits Liberty.

A long discussion advocating the
removal of all the Indians to a few
reservations — although this could
not be done without violations of
the most solemn treaties — is clinch-
ed with the cynical remark that
" there is a very general and grow-
ing opinion that observance of the
strict letter of treaties with In-
dians is in many cases at va-
riance both with their own best
interests and with sound public
policy."

And these words are from the
official report of the chief of a great
bureau in the most important de-
partment of our government ! Did
we know what we were about when
we made these treaties ? If " no,"
we were fools ; if " yes," then we
are knaves now to violate them
without the consent of the other,
the helpless party. " The Indians
claim," says the commissioner,
"that they hold their lands by
sanctions so solemn that it would
be a gross breach of faith on the
part of the government to take
away any portion of it without their
consent, and that consent they pro-
pose to withhold." Still, let us do
it, cries the commissioner ; " public
necessity must ultimately become
supreme law." " Public necessity "
— which in this case means private
rapacity — " public necessity," and
not truth, good faith, and justice,
must rule. Many tribes are living
peaceably and doing well, on lands
solemnly promised to them for ever,
in various parts of the West; the
civilized and semi-civilized tribes in
the Indian Territory are living
peaceably and doing well on lands
solemnly promised to them for
their own exclusive use forever, and
in some cases bought with their
own money. But it would be
more convenient for us to have
them all together; so let us tear up

the treaties, and drive all the Indi-
ans into the one territory.

From the same report we take
this paragraph, which is only one
of very many like it :

"The Alsea agency, in Oregon, has
been abolished, but inadequate appro-
priations have worked hardship and in-
justice to the Indians. They are requir-
ed to leave their homes and cultivated
fields" (for no other reason than that
white men covet them) "and remove
to Siletz, but no means are furnished to
defray expense of such removal or to as-
sist in their establishment in their new
home."

The Board of Indian Commis-
sioners, in their third annual re-
port (1871), in view of* the contin-
ued violation of treaties by the go-
vernment in compelling tribes to
remove from the reservations assign-
ed to them, found themselves con-
strained to say :

" The removal of partially civilized
tribes already making fair progress and
attached to their homes on existing
reservations is earnestly deprecated.
Where such reservations are thought to
be unreasonably large, their owners will
themselves see the propriety of selling
off the surplus for educational purposes.
The government meanwhile owes them
the protection of their rights to which
it is solemnly pledged by treaty, and
which it cannot fail to give without dis-
honor."

But it has failed to give this pro-
tection in numberless instances,
and it seems to rest very easily un-
der the stigma of dishonor thus in-
curred— as, for instance, in the
case of the Osages, of whom their
agent, in a report dated Oct. i,
1870, thus speaks :

"This tribe of Indians are richly en-
dowed by nature, physically and morally.
A finer-looking body of men, with more
grace and dignity, or better intellectual
development, could hardly be found on
this globe. They were once the most
numerous and warlike nation on this
continent, with a domain extending

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty,

from the Gulf to the Missouri River and
from the Mississippi to the Rocky Moun-
tains ; but they have been shorn of their
territory piece by piece, until at last
they have not a settled and undisputed
claim to a single foot of earth. It is
strictly true that one great cause of their
decline has been fidelity to their pledges.
More than sixty years ago they pledged
themselves by treaty to perpetuate peace
with the white man. That promise has
been nobly kept — kept in spite of great
and continual provocation. White men
have committed upon them almost every
form of outrage and wrong, unchecked
by the government and unpunished.
Every aggressive movement of the whites
tending to the absorption of their territo-
ry has ultimately been legalized."

These Osages are nearly all Cath-
olics, and the agent who thus writes
of them is Mr. Isaac T. Gibson, a
Quaker, or an "Orthodox Friend."
Would it be believed that three
years afterwards the kind and sym-
pathizing Friend Gibson was busily
engaged in inflicting upon the peo-
ple for whose wrongs he was so in-
dignant an injury greater than any
they had yet suffered ? " Enter-
prising scoundrels" of whom he
wrote in his report had robbed the
Osages of everything save their
faith ; and good Friend Gibson
tried to rob them of that. How he
set about the task, and how he fared
in it, will be told later.

If this be not enough, look at the
picture of a model Indian reserva-
tion drawn by a lawyer of Califor-
nia, and addressed to J. V. Far-
well, one of the members of the
Board of Indian Commissioners.
He is describing the Hoopa Valley
reservation :

" I found the Indians thoughtful, do-
cile, and apparently eager to enter into
any project for their good, if they could
only believe it would be carried out in
good faith, but utterly wanting in confi-
dence in the agent, the government, or
the white man. Lethargy, starvation,
and disease were leading them to the
VOL. XXVI.— 7

grave. I found, in fact, that the reserva-
tion was a rehash of a negro plantation ;
the agent an absolute dictator, restrain-
ed by no law and no compact known to
the Indians. During my stay the super-
intendent visited the valley. He stayed
but a few days. We had drinking and
feasting during this time, but no grave
attention to Indian affairs ; no extended
investigation of what had been done or
should be done. The status quo was ac-
cepted as the ne plus ultra of Indian po-
licy. He, too, appears to think that an-
nihilation is the consummation of Indian
management. If the reservation was a
plantation, the Indians were the most
degraded of slaves. I found them poor,
miserable, vicious, degraded, dirty, na-
ked, diseased, and ill-fed. They had no
motive to action. Man, woman, and
child, without reference to age, sex, or
condition, received the same five pounds
of flour per week, and almost nothing
more. They attended every Monday to
get this, making a day's work of it for
most of them. The oldest men, or stout,
middle-aged fathers of families, were
spoken to just as children or slaves.
They know no law but the will of the
agent ; no effort has been made to teach
them any, and, where it does not con-
flict with this dictation, they follow the
old forms of life — polygamy, buying and
selling of women, and compounding
crime with money ad libitum. The tribal
system, with all its absurd domination
and duty, is still retained. The Indian
woman has no charge of her own person
or virtue, but her father, brother, chief,
or nearest male relative may sell her for
a moment or for life. I was impressed
that really nothing had been done by
any agent, or even attempted, to wean
these people from savage life to civiliza-
tion, but only to subject them to planta-
tion slavery."

The official volumes from which
we are taking our information con-
tain the successive annual reports
of the various Indian agents and
superintendents, who are 88 in
number, and the reports of many
councils held between the Indians
and the Board of Indian Commis-
sioners, agents, army officers, and
special commissioners. The Hon.
Felix R. Brunot, chairman of the

Our New Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

Board of Indian Commissioners, is
the Mercurius in many of these
councils. He does nearly all the
talking on the side of the govern-
ment, and before he talks he al-
ways prays. Thus : " Gen. Smith
announced that Mr. Brunot would
speak to the Great Spirit before
the council began. Mr. Brunot
offered a prayer." In the interests
of religion it is to be regretted that
councils thus begun sometimes ap-
peared to have been designed for
the purpose of inflicting new wrongs
upon the Indians. But we mention
the councils here only for the pur-
pose of taking from the reports of
their proceedings, as well as from
the annual reports of the agents, a
very few of the remarks made by
the Indian chiefs concerning them-
selves, the government, the agents,
and the whites generally. The li-
mits of our space compel us to
string these together without fur-
ther introduction :

RED CLOUD : God raised us Indians.
I am trying to live peaceably. All I ask
for is my land — the little spot I have
left. My people have done nothing
wrong. I have consulted the Great
Spirit, and he told me to keep my little
spot of land. My friends, have pity on
me, if you would have me livelong. My
people have been cheated so often they
will not believe.

BUFFALO GOOD. If you are going to
do anything for us, do it quick. I saw
the Commissioner of Indian Affairs at
Washington, and he told me he was go-
ing to fix it up, but I have heard that so
often I am afraid it is not true. I have
been disappointed, and I think Washing-
ton is not so much of a chief after all.
Because we do not fight, he takes away
our lands and gives them to the tribes
who are fighting the whites all the time.

HOWLISH-WAMPO (" the Cayuse chief,
a Catholic Indian, in dress, personal ap-
pearance, and bearing superior to the
average American farmer ") : When you
told me you believed in God, I thought
that was good. But you came to ask us
for our land. We will not let you have

it. This reservation is marked out for
us. We see it with our eyes and our
hearts ; we all hold it with our bodies
and our souls. Here are my father and
mother, and brothers and sisters and
children, all buried ; I am guarding
their graves. This small piece of land
we all look upon as our mother, as if
she were raising us. On the out-
side of the reservation I see your houses ;
they have windows, they are good. Why
do you wish my land ? My friend, you
must not talk too strong about getting
my land ; I will not let it go.

HOMLI (chief of the Walla- Wallas) :
My cattle and stock are running on this
reservation, and they need it all. It is
not the white man who has helped me :
I have made all the improvements on
my own land myself.

WENAP-SNOOT (chief of the Umatillas):
When my father and motner died, they
gave me rules and gave me their land to
live on. They left me to take care of
them after they were buried. I was to
watch over their graves. I will not part
from them. I cultivate my land and I
love it.

PIERRE (a young chief) : I do not wish
money for my land ; I am here, and
I will stay here. I will not part with
lands, and if you come again I will say
the same thing.

WAL-CHE-TE-MA-NE (another Catholic
chief, as, indeed, were the three h.s:
named) : You white chiefs listen to me :
you, Father Vermeerch, are the one who
rules my heart. I am old now, and I
want to die where my father and mother
and children have died. I see the church
there ; I am glad to see it ; I will stay be-
side it and die by the teachings of the
father. I love my church, my mills,
my farm, the graves of my parents and
children. I do not wish to leave them.
(Happily, the firmness of these Catholic
Indians, the Umatilla, Cayuse, and Wal-
la-Walla tribes, carried the day, and they
were permitted to remain on their little
reservation).

TENALE TEMANE (another Catholic
Indian) : We cannot cheat our own
bodies and our own souls. If we de-
ceive ourselves we shall be miserable ;
only from the truth can we giv™ ourselves,
and make our children grow. Of all that
was promised to me by Gov. Stevens I
have seen nothing ; it must have been
lost.

THE YOUNG CHIEF : What you prom-

Our Neic Indian Policy znd Religious Liberty.

ised was not done ; it was as if you had
taken the treaty as soon as it was made,
and torn it up. The treaties made with
the Indians OH all the reservations have
never been kept ; they have all been bro-
ken. I do not want to teach you any-
thing about God ; you are wise and
know all about him. ^The irony of this
is exquisite.)

TASENICK (a Wascoe chief) : The peo-
ple who are put over me teach me
worse tuings than I knew before. You
can see what we were promised by the
treaty : we have never got anything ; all
we have we bought with our own money.
Our Great Father may have sent the
things promised, but they never got
here.

CHINOOK : When we made the treaty
they premised us schoolmasters and a
great many other things, but they forget
them. We never had any of them. They
told us we were to have $8,000 a year ;
we never saw a cent of it.

MACK (a Deschutes chief) : It is not
right to starve us ; it is better to kill us.

JANCUST : I cannot look you in the
face ; I am ashamed : white men have
carried away our women. What do you
think? White men do these things and
say it is right.

NAPOLEON (a Catholic chief of the Tu-
Jalip reservation, who " came forward
with much dignity and laid before Mr.
Brunot a bunch of split sticks") : These
represent the number of my people killed
by the whites during the year, and yet
nothing has been done to punish them.
The whites now scare all the Indians,
and we look now wondering when all
the Indians will be tilled.

JOHNNY ENGLISH : We like Father
Chirouse very well, because he tries to
do what is right ; when he begins to
work he does one thing at a time.

HENRY (a Catholic on the Lumni re-
servation) : I have been a Christian for
many years. We have some children at
school with Father Chirouse ; we want
our lands for them to live on when we
are dead.

DAVID CROCKETT (a Catholic chief):
I ought to have a better house in which
to receive my friends. But we want most
an altar built in our church and a belfry
on it ; this work we cannot do ourselves.

SPAR (a young chief) : All the agents
think of is to steal ; that is all every
agent has done. When they get the
money, where does it go to? When I

ask about it they say they will punish
me. I thought the President did not
send them for that.

PETER CONNOYER (of the Grande
Rondes): About religion — I am a Ca-
tholic ; so are all of my family. All the
children are Catholics. We want the
sisters to come and teach the girls. The
priest lives here ; he does not get any
pay. He teaches us to pray night and
morning. We must teach the little girls.
I am getting old. I may go to a race
and bet a little, but I don't want my
children to learn it ; it is bad.

TOM CURL : We want to get good
blankets, not paper blankets. I don't
know what our boots are made of; if we
hit anything they break in pieces.

When, in 1870, President Grant
announced the inauguration of his
new Indian policy, the sects saw in
it an opportunity of carrying on
their propaganda among the In-
dians with little or no cost to them-
selves, and of interfering with, and
probably compelling the total ces-
sation of, the work of the Catholic
Church among many of the tribes.
To begin with, here were 72 places
in which they could install the same
number of their ministers, or lay-
men devoted to their interests, with
salaries paid by the general govern-
ment. Once installed as Indian
agents, these men would have au-
tocratic power over the affairs of
the tribes entrusted to them ; and
they could make life so uncomforta-
ble for the Catholic missionaries
already at work there that they
would probably retire. If they
disregarded petty persecutions, the
agent could compel them to depart,
since it is held by the Indian Bu-
reau that an agent has power to ex-
clude from a reservation any white
man whose presence he chooses to
consider as inconvenient, as well as
to prevent the Indians from leaving
the reservation for any purpose
whatever. There were, it was
known, many Indian agencies at

100

Our Neii' Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

which the Catholic Church had had
missions for many years, and where
all, or nearly all, the Indians were
Catholics. If these agencies could
be assigned to the care of the sects,
how easily could the work of con-
verting the Indian Catholics into
Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians,
Quakers, or Unitarians be accom-
plished ! The priests could be
driven away and forbidden to re-
turn ; the sectarian preachers would
have full play ; and the Indian ap-
petite for Protestant truth could be
sharpened by judicious bribery and
intimidation. On the borders of
the reservation there might be — as
there are — Catholic churches and
Catholic priests ; but the Catholic
Indians on the reservation might be
— as they have been — forbidden to
cross the line in order to visit their
priests and to receive the sacra-
ments.

The new Indian policy which
furnished this opportunity was pro-
bably not original with President
Grant, and we are not disposed to
call in question the purity and
kindness of his motives in adopting
it. At the time of its inauguration,
however, he was surrounded by in-
fluences decidedly hostile to the
Catholic Church ; and it is proba-
ble that from the beginning the
men "behind the throne" had a
clear conception of the manner in
which the new policy could be
worked for the benefit of the sects.
It was based upon an idea plausi-
ble to non-Catholics, but which no
Catholic can ever accept — the idea
that one religion is as good as an-
other, and that, for example, it
does not make much difference
whether a man believes that Jesus
Christ is God, or that he was sim-
ply a tolerably good but rather
weak and vain man. This idea
has been carried out in practice —

for even to the " Unitarians " have
been given t\vo Indian agencies :
those of the Los Pinos and White
River in Colorado, whose entire re-
ligious education for 1876, as re-
ported by the agents, consisted in
" a sort of Shaker service of sing-
ing and dancing held for two or
three days." The chairman of the
Board of Indian Commissioners,
Mr. Brunot, appears to have been
anxious to spread abroad the doc-
trine of indifferentism among the
Catholic Indians. Whenever, in
his numerous " councils," he found
himself in company with such In-
dians, he undertook to enlighten
them after this fashion*

" A chief said yesterday : ' I don't know
about religion, because they tell so
many different things.' Religion is like
the roads ; they all go one way ; all to
the one good place ; so take any one
good road and keep in it, and it will
bring you out right at last." ..." I
heard an Indian say that the white man
has two religions. In one way it looks
so ; but if you will understand you will
see it is only one." ..." It is not two
kinds of religion, but it is as two roads
that both go the same way."

We scarcely think it is within
the province of the federal gov-
ernment to pay a gentleman for
preaching this kind of doctrine to
Catholic Indians. But what was
the new Indian policy ? It was
explained by President Grant, in
his message of December 5, 1870,
in these words :

" Indian agents being civil officers, I
determined to give all the agencies
to such religious denominations as
had heretofore established missionaries
among the Indians, and perhaps to some
other denominations who would under-
take the work on the same terms — that
is, as missionary work."

There is an undesirable lack of
exactness in these words — for, as
they stand, they might be under-
stood as promising the agency of

Our New Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

101

a tribe to a sect which had estab-
lished on its territory a missionary
station years ago, and had subse-
quently abandoned it. This, how-
ever, was certainly not the inten-
tion of the President ; if he intend-
ed to act in good faith in the mat-
ter, he proposed, doubtless, to as-
sign the agencies to churches that
had established successful missions
— missions actually existing, having
churches, schools, and converts.
It is impossible to believe that it
was the intention of the executive
to transfer tribes of Catholic In-
dians to Protestant sects, under
the pretence that the sects, at
some remote period, had made
feeble and fruitless attempts to es-
tablish missions among them. This,
however, has been the construction
placed upon the President's policy
by the sects; and, strange to say,
they have experienced no difficulty
in persuading successive Commis-
sioners of Indian Affairs to agree
with them in this interpretation,
and to carry it out in a manner
productive of the most wanton
cruelty and injustice.

There are seventy-two Indian
agencies : three in Arizona, three
in California, two in Colorado, fif-
teen in Dakota, eight in the Indian
Territory, one in Iowa, two in
Kansas, one in Michigan, three in
Minnesota, four in Montana, five
in Nebraska, five in New Mexico,
one in New York, two in Nevada,
six in Oregon, one in Utah, seven
in Washington Territory, two in
Wisconsin, and one in Wyoming.
According to any fair construction
of the new policy, no less than for-
ty of these agencies should have
been assigned to the Catholic
Church. In all of them the church
had had missions for many years;
in many of them all of the Chris-
tian Indians, or the great majority

of them, were Catholics ; in some
of them the Indians had been Ca-
tholics for centuries, and their civ-
ilization was wholly due to the in-
struction they had received from
Catholic priests. The following is
a list of these agencies, with their
location and the number of Indians
embraced in each :

No. of

/,lil /.I US.

Name of Agency. Location.

Yakima Washington 3,000

Fort Hall Idaho 1.500

Tulalip Washington 3,9?o

Puyallup " . 577

Skokomish " . 875

Chehalis " . 600

Neah Bay " . 604

Colville " . 3,349

La Point Wisconsin 646

Pottawattomie Indian Territory . . 1,336

Flatheads Montana 1,821

Blackfeet " 14,650

Papagoes Arizona 6.000

Round Valley California 1,112

North California "

Mission Indians " 5,°oo

Pueblos New Mexico 7,879

Osages Indian Territory.. 2,823

Coeur d'Alenes Idaho 700

Quapams Indian Territory.. 235

Was, Peorias, etc " " .. 217

Hoopa Valley California 725

Pimas and Mariscopas.. Arizona 4-326

Moquis " Ii7°°

Warm Spring Oregon 626

Grande Ronde " 924

Siletz " 1.058

Umatilla " 8^7

Alsea " 343

Malheur " 1.200

Nez-Perces Idaho' 2807

Navajoes New Mexico 9i"4

Mescaleros " 1.895

Milk River Montana 10.625

Crows " 4-200

Green Bay Wisconsin 1,480

Chippewas Minnesota 1,322

Mackinac Michigan 10,260

Grand River Dakota 6.169

Devil's Lake " 1,020

Total "7,585

Within the jurisdiction of these
agencies there are 52 Catholic
churches, 18 Catholic day-schools,
and 10 Catholic boarding industrial
schools. The Catholic priests and
teachers employed among the In-
dians during the year 1875 num-
bered 117 ; while for the same year
the Protestant sects had only 64
missionaries employed in all the
agencies under their control. Would
it not have been supposed that a

102

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty,

fair interpretation of the new poli-
cy of President Grant — nay, that
the only fair interpretation of it —
would have awarded these 40 agen-
cies to the Catholic Church ? The
missions of the church, in 1870,
were in almost uncontested posses-
sion of these fields of labor. Her
priests had borne the labor and the
heat of the day ; asking and expect-
ing no aid from the state, and re-
ceiving very little from any other
source, they had given themselves
to the work of Christianizing these
Indians ; and while the sects had
from time to time made spasmodic
and desultory attempts at Indian
missions, our priests and their coad-
jutors, the sisters of the teaching
orders, had remained steadfast in
their self-denying and arduous la-
bor. But the sects were now in-
spired with a new and sudden zeal
for the salvation of the Indians.
They were not content with the 32
agencies in which, although there
were many Catholic Indians, the
church had not been able to estab-
lish permanent missions. They set
up claims to the agencies we have
enumerated, and it was observed
that the fervor with which these
demands were pressed was in exact
proportion to the richness of the
reservation and its desirableness as
a future home for a missionary
with a large family and with a nu-
merous corps of needy relations.
So fierce was their onslaught, and
so rapidly were their demands con-
ceded by the then commissioner,
that, almost before the authorities
of the church had been informed
of what was going on, no less than
32 of the 40 agencies which, by
any fair interpretation of the Presi-
dent's policy, should have been as-
signed to Catholic care, were divid-
ed among the sects. Fourteen of
the agencies, with 54,253 Indians,

fell to the Methodists, the sect
then, and perhaps now, most in fa-
vor with the administration ; five,
with 21,321 Indians, went to the
Presbyterians ; the same number,
with 5,311 Indians, were awarded
to the Quakers ; the Congregation-
alists received three, with 2,056 In-
dians; the Reformed Dutch Church
were given two, with 6,026 Indians;
the " American Missionary Asso-
ciation " (a Congregational society)
obtained two, witli 2,126 Indians;
andtheProtestantEpiscopalChurch
was gratified with one agency, the
Chippewas of Missouri, 1,322 in
number, who had beeji Catholics
all their lives. There remained
eight of the agencies to which the
Catholic Church possessed a claim,
and these were left in her posses-
sion, not, however, without a threat
that they also would be taken
from her — a threat already carried
into execution in one case, the Pa-
pagoes, a tribe of 6,000, residing in
Arizona, having been kindly trans-
ferred to the care of a sect called
the "Reformed Church." The
agent of this tribe, in his last re-
port, says :

" There is no school at present taught
among these Indians. The intellectual
and moral training of the young has
been, for a long time, in the hands of
the Roman Catholics, and the school
hitherto kept by the sisters of the Order
of St. Joseph."

The school is now closed, it ap-
pears; and the "Reformed Church"
seemingly does not intend to open
another, as their agent remarks
that " there is, perhaps, but little
use to establish schools, or look for
any considerable advance in edu-
cation among them."

The seven agencies still left to
the care of the church are those of
Tulalip and Colville, in Washington
Territory ; Grande Ronde and

Our New Indian Policy and Religions Liberty.

103

Umatilla, in Oregon ; Flathead, in
Montana ; and Standing Rock (or
Grand River) and Devil's Lake, in
Dakota. These agencies, accord-
ing to the last report of the Com-
missioner of Indian Affairs, have a
population of 12,819 Indians. No
less than 7,034 of these wear "citi-
zen's dress"; they have 825 frame
or log houses ; they have six board-
ing-schools and three day-schools,
taught by 19 teachers ; 382 of the
adults can read; they have 12
churches, and 7,510, or more than
half the whole number, are " church
members." Nothing like this can
be shown at any of the agencies
under Protestant control, save the
five civilized tribes in the Indian
Territory. The whole of the In-
dians on the Grande Ronde reser-
vation— 755 in number — are so far
civilized that all of them wear citi-
zen's dress. They have 375 houses,
and 690 of them are " church mem-
bers." Their agent speaks of them
in glowing terms ; last year, with-
out receiving a penny of the sums
due them by the government, they
not only supported themselves in
comfort, but were able "of their
charity " to relieve the necessities
of two neighboring tribes, the Sal-
mon River and Nestucca Indians,
who were starving to death " in
consequence of the failure of the
government to fulfil the promises
made by the honorable Commis-
sioner Simpson." The parsimony
of the government compelled them
to dispense with the services of
their regular physician ; but, writes
the agent, " we have been fortunate
in securing the services of a sister,
who has, in addition to her duties
as a teacher, kindly dispensed me-
dicines with the most gratifying
success." " The school," he adds,
" is in a very prosperous condition
under the efficient management of

Sister Mary, superior, and three as-
sistants."

The Indians on the Tnlalip re-
servation, 3,250 in number, are
equally well advanced ; the whole
of them wear citizen's dress; they
have 2 boarding-schools, witli 6
teachers, and 2,260 of them are
"church members." We look in
vain for statistics like these among
the agencies under Protestant con-
trol ; when there is anything like
it, it is found in the reports from
the tribes which have been civiliz-
ed and Christianized by the Catho-
lic Church and then stolen away
by the sects.

In addition to the 33 agencies
which belonged by right to the
church, but were distributed among
the sects, 30 others were portioned
out among them, so that, accord-
ing to the last report of the com-
missioner, while the church, enti-
tled to 40 agencies, has but 7, the
Quakers have 16; the Methodists
14; the Baptists 2; the Presbyte-
trians 7 ; the Congregationalists 6 ;
the " Reformed " 4 ; the Protes-
tant Episcopalians 9 ; the Unita-
rians 2 ; the " Free-will Baptists "
i ; the " United Presbyterians,"
who seem to be disunited from the
other Presbyterians, i ; and the
" Christian Union," which is not in
union with any of the other sects,
i. If our space permitted, we
should point out the miserable re-
sults after a seven years' possession
of these agencies. The four agen-
cies under the care of the " Re-
formed " body, for example, em-
brace 14 tribes, numbering 17,049
souls. Among these are the Papa-
goes, 5,900 in number, already tol-
erably well-civilized by Catholic
instruction, and all of whom wear
citizen's dress. With the excep-
tion of these, the " Reformers,"
after seven years' labor, have 50

104

Our

Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

Indians who wear citizen's dress,
2 schools, i church building, and 4
church members ! As they hove not
thought it worth while to send out
any missionaries, one wonders what
they do with their church building,
but it is probably used as a store-
house by the " Reformed " agent.

The Hicksite Quakers have 5
agencies in Nebraska, with 4,098
Indians. They have 392 " church
members," but 348 of these belong
to a civilized tribe — the Santee
Sioux, who are 793 strong. After
seven years of labor the Quakers
have got only 44 out of the other
3,300 Indians under their care to
call themselves "church members."
In the Hoopa Valley reservation,
given to the Methodists, there is a
" school building," but no school,
no teacher, and no pupils ; there
is a "church building," but no
missionary and no "church mem-
bers." The poor mission Indians
in California, the children of Catho-
lic parents for many generations,
also under the tender care of the
Methodists, have neither houses,
nor school, nor church, nor mis-
sionary. The 6,000 Indians on the
. Red Cloud agency in Dakota, un-
der the charge of the Protestant
Episcopalians, have a "school
building," but no teacher, no scho-
lars, no church, no missionary, and
no "church members." The 3,992
Cheyennes and Arapahoes in the
Indian Territory, in charge of the
Quakers, have a school-house, but
no church, no missionary, and no
" church members," and so with
the rest.

In selecting a few typical illustra-
tions of the injustice perpetrated
by the assignment of tribes of Ca-
tholic Indians to non-Catholic
sects, we are embarrassed by the
richness and plenitude of our
facts. We mention only two — the

Chippewas of Lake Superior, and
the Osages.

The agency of the Chippewas of
Lake Superior became vacant early
in 1873, and General Ewing, on the
1 9th of March of that year, ad-
dressed a letter to the Secretary of
the Interior, submitting" that, under
the Indian policy of President
Grant, this agency should be as-
signed to the Catholic Church."
He accompanied his letter with a
brief of the facts on which he thus
claimed the agency for the church.
The Chippewas number 4,551, and
3,696 of them w?ear citizen's dress;
they have six schools and three
churches. More than 200 years
ago the Catholic fathers Dablon
and Marquette established the
mission of St. Mary among the
Chippewas, and the church has
ever since looked upon them as
her children. The Catholic mis-
sions, first permanently established
among them in 1668, continued in
a flourishing manner until the year
1800; they were revived after a
lapse of 30 years ; and for the past
47 years they have been continu-
ously attended by Catholic priests
— one being assigned exclusively
and continuously to the religious
instruction, education, and care of
the Indians. The Indians at their
own expense have built three Ca-
tholic churches, at Bayfield, La
Pointe, and Bad River. The suc-
cessive reports of the Commission-
ers of Indian Affairs from 1868 to
1872 set forth these facts. Praise
is given in 1868 to Father Chebal
for the good result of his labors ;
the agent, writing in 1870, says:
" The religious instruction has
been almost entirely under Catho-
lic missionaries ; 99 out of 100 of
them are Catholics, and Father
Chebal has labored industriously
and successfully among them."

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty. 105

The agent, writing in 1871, again
says : " Most of these people are
members of the Roman Catholic
Church. Their pastor has been a
missionary among them for many
years, and has labored with the
zeal for which his church is pro-
verbial to secure converts. He
has accomplished much good."
The report of the agent for 1868
likewise mentions that the "Rev.
L. H. Wheeler and his most esti-
mable lady " had been conducting
a Protestant mission there " under
the control of the A. B. C. F. M.
Society," but that "this society hav-
ing almost withdrawn their support,
and further for the purpose of edu-
cating their own children, Rev. Mr.
Wheeler has abandoned his mission. "
The agent in 1869, Lt.-Col. Knight,
of the army, thus writes :

"The Chippewas of Lake Superior
generally have abandoned the heathen
faith of their fathers. If they have not
all been made intelligent Christians, they
have abandoned heathenism. The Ca-
tholic missionaries are the most assidu-
ous workers among them, and the lar-
gest portion of them have espoused that
religious faith ; yet the Protestant reli-
gion has its adherents among them.
Father Chebal, of the Catholic faith, is
untiring and devoted in his labors with
them. The Protestant religion is with-
out a missionary representative, which is
unfortunate," etc.

The case, it will be seen, was
plain. The Catholic missions
were shown to be the oldest and
the only successful missions among
the Chippewas, and " the right
of the Catholic Church, under the
policy of the administration, to
the agency " was incontestable.
But the agency had already been
given to the Congregationalists,
who had never before attempted
to establish a mission among the
Chippewas, and whose minister
knew nothing about the tribe.
Pressed hard by General Ewing,

the'secretary referred the matter to
our pious friend Mr. Brunot, who,
in an elaborate and most disingenu-
ous opinion, decided that, although
the assignment of the agency to the
Congregationalists might have been
erroneous, now that it was made it
ought not to be changed — and this,
too, although the department had
made similar changes in other in-
stances, taking, for example, the
Nez-Perces agency from the Ca-
tholics, to whom it had been as-
signed, and giving it to the Metho-
dists in 1870. General Ewing, un-
willing to submit to this palpable
injustice, again addressed the Sec-
retary of the Interior, reviewing
the whole question and incontesta-
bly proving the justice of his claim.
But all was in vain ; the agency
remains in the hands of the Con-
gregationalists, and the Catholic
Chippewas and their priests are at
the mercy of men who have no
sympathy or bond of common feel-
ing with either.

The Osages, now in the Indian
Territory, are and long have been
almost wholly Catholic. But they
were assigned to the Quakers, and
good Friend Gibson, whose pathetic
lament over the worldly sufferings
of his protege's we have already
given, had not been long in charge
of them ere he issued an edict for-
bidding Catholic priests or teachers
to remain on the reservation. Ac-
customed to oppression and mal-
treatment of every kind, the Indians
felt that this last blow was too hard
to bear without remonstrance, and
in June, 1873, they drew up and
signed a memorial to the President,
asking that " their former Catholic
missionaries and school-teachers be
restored to them and allowed to
again locate in the Osage nation."
No response was given to this peti-
tion, and on the 3151 of March in

io6

Our Nciv Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

the next year a delegation of the
tribe, with the governor of the na-
tion at their head, arrived at Wash-
ington, and. without assistance or
suggestions, drew up and presented
to the Assistant Secretary of the In-
terior a memorial which it is impos-
sible to read without emotion. After
setting forth that the signers of the
memorial are " the governor, chiefs,
and councillors of the Great and
Little Osage nation of Indians, and
all duly-constituted delegates of
said nations, "they recount the story
of their former petition, and say :

". . . In the name of our people,
therefore, we beg leave to renew our said
petition, and to ask that our former Ca-
tholic missionary, Father Shoemaker,
and those connected with him in his mis-
sionary and educational labors among
our people previous to the late war, be
permitted to again locate among us.
We think that this request is reasonable
and just. Catholic missionaries have
been among our people for several gene-
rations. Our people are familiar with
their religion. The great majority of
them are of the Catholic faith, and be-
lieve it is right. Our children have
grown up in this faith. Many of our
people have been educated by the Ca-
tholic missionaries, and our people are
indebted to them for all the blessings of
Christianity and civilization that they
now enjoy, and have for them a grateful
remembrance. Since the missionaries
have been taken away from us, we have
done but little good and have made poor
advancement in civilization and educa-
tion. Our whole nation has grieved
ever since these missionaries have been
taken away from us, and we have prayed
continuously that the Great Spirit might
move upon the heart of our great father,
the President, and cause him to return
these missionaries to us. We trust he
will do so, because in 1865, when we
signed the treaty of that date, the com-
missioners who made it promised that if
iae signed it we should again have our mis-
sionaries."

The assistant secretary received
the memorial, promising to present
it to the President at once and to

obtain for the delegation a reply :
but on the next day Mr. Gibson,
who had followed them to Washing-
ton in a state of great alarm, hur-
ried them away from the capital
to Philadelphia, and thence home-
wards, not permitting them to re-
turn. Immediately after their de-
parture the petition they had filed
in the department was missing,
and its loss was only supplied by
General Ewing, who had a printed
copy with the certificate of the
secretary placed on file. Simulta-
neously with the mysterious disap-
pearance of this petition the Com-
missioner of Indian Affairs receiv-
ed a paper purporting to come from
the Osages at home. We dislike
to use the phrase, but the proof
is clear that this document was a
forgery. It purported to be signed
by twenty-eight chiefs and braves,
with their "mark"; but, as Gene-
ral Ewing says, " it was evidently
got up by interested white men and
the names of the Indians signed
without their knowledge." The
substance of it was that the delega-
tion which had gone to Washing-
ton was not to be regarded. Upon
their return home the delegation
met their people in council, and
the result of this conference is re-
lated in a letter to General Ewing,
signed by Joseph Paw-ne-no-posh,
governor of the nation ; Alexander
Bezett, president of the council ;
T. L. Rogers, secretary ; and the
eighteen councillors. The letter
is too long to be given here. In
presenting it to the Secretary of the
Interior, with a full account of the
whole transaction, General Ewing
used some very strong, but not too
strong, language. "Their peti-
tions," said he, " have not been
heard, and now, through me as the
representative of the Catholic In-
dian missions, they make a final

Our New Indian Policy and Religious Liberty.

107

appeal. The petition of a defence-
less people for simple justice at the
hands of a great government is
the strongest appeal that my head
or heart can conceive ; and it is of
course unnecessary for me to urge
it upon you. It is as plain and
open as the day ; and if you can
decline (which I cannot believe) to
comply with the repeated petitions
of this people, it is useless for me
to urge you to it. You must give
this agency to the Catholic Church,
or you publish the announcement
that President Grant has changed
his policy, and that he now intends
to force that form of Christianity
on each Indian tribe that he may
think is best for each."

But it was all in vain. Friend
Gibson carried his point, and, al-
though he has since been compel-
led to retire from the agency, it is
still in the hands of the Quaker or-
ganization. The population of the
reservation, according to the last
report, was 2,679 5 very nearly the
whole of these are good and faith-
ful Catholic Christians; but the
agent reports : " Church members,
none; churches, none; missiona-
ries, none !" The Quakers have
driven away the Catholic priests,
and have not even taken the trouble
to send a missionary of their own
to fill their place.

But we must make *an end, al-
though we have only, as it were,
touched the skirt of our subject.
Time and space would fail us to
tell of the priest in California who
was thrown into prison, brutally
beaten, and expelled from his flock,
for the oflence of coming to his old
mission after the agency had been
assigned to a Protestant sect ; of
the bishops who have been denied
permission to build churches and
schools on reservations for the use
of Catholic Indians: of the frauds

committed by Protestant agents on
Catholic tribes ; of the mingled
tyranny and temptation with which
the Protestant agents have repeat-
edly assailed our poor Indian
brethren, making their apostasy the
condition of their rescue from
starvation. Are not all these things
written in the reports of the Indian
Bureau, in the annals of the Catho-
lic Indian missions, and in the let-
ters of our bishops and priests pub-
lished from time to time ?

The duty of the Catholic laity
throughout the United States in
this business is clear. Happily, the
way for the discharge of this duty
has been made easy. It is simply
to provide generously for the sup-
port and increase of the work of
the Bureau of Catholic Missions at
Washington. This bureau was es-
tablished in January, 1873 ; it is
composed of a commissioner, ap-
pointed by the Archbishop of Bal-
timore, with the concurrence in
council of the archbishops of the
United States ; a treasurer and
director; and a Board of Control,
of five members, appointed in like
manner. The commissioner is a
layman ; he is recognized by the
government as the representative
of the church in all matters among
the Indians. The treasurer and di-
rector must be a priest; the pre-
sident of the Board of Control must
be a priest ; the other four mem-
bers are laymen. The salaries of
the commissioner and of the Board
of Control are — nothing. Their
work, like that of the directors in
the councils of the Propaganda, is
given in charity. " General Charles
Ewing, the commissioner," says Fa-
ther Brouillet, " has for over four
years generously given to the work
of the bureau his legal services and
a large portion of his valuable time
gratuitously. He never made any

St. Hedivigc.

charge nor received any pay for his
services, and on more than one oc-
casion he has advanced his own mo-
ney to keep up the work." The di-
rector and treasurer and two clerks
are the only persons connected with
the bureau who are paid, and their
united salaries are only $i,coo a
year. The whole expenditures of
the bureau, for salaries, printing,
stationery, postage, rent, and travel-
ling, have not exceeded $1,600 a
year during the four years of its
existence — all the balance of its

funds going directly to the benefit
of the missions. The business of
the bureau is to defend Catholic
Indian missions against the organ-
ized assault which has been made
upon them. For those desirous of
aiding so good a work we add the
information that "all remittances
to the treasurer of the Catholic
Indian mission fund should be by
draft on New York or by post-
office order, and should be address-
ed to lock-box 60, Washington,
D. C."

ST. HEDWIGE.*

THE bulwark of Christendom is
the title which Poland long claim-
ed and well deserved, even when
the country now known as that of
Sobieski and Kosciusko was it-
self half-barbarous, and, instead of
being a brilliant, many-provinced
kingdom, was a disunited confed-
ation of sovereigns. Among the
many mediaeval heroes who fought
the invading Tartars on the east,
and the aggressive heathen Prus-
sians on the west, and looked upon
their victories as triumphs of the
cross and their death as a kind of
martyrdom, were two Henrys, " the
Bearded " and " the Pious," the
husband and the son of the holy
Princess Hedwige, Duchess of Si-~
lesia and Poland during the first
half of the thirteenth century. Her
life, chiefly through her connection
with other princely houses, was an
eventful and sorrowful one, and,

* St. Hedwige^ Duchess of Silesia and Poland.
By F. Becker. Collection of Historical Portraits.
No. VIII. Herder & Co., Freiburg in Breisgau
and Strassburg. 1873.

towards the last years of it, person-
ally a checkered one. If God chas-
tises those whom he loves, the
mark of grace was surely set upon
St. Hedwige of Andechs, the aunt
of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, and
second daughter of a Bavarian sov-
ereign whose titles and possessions
included parts of Istria, Croatia
and Dalmatia, Swabia, and the
Tyrol. The life and customs of
the thirteenth century, the magnifi-
cence on state occasions, and the
simplicity, not to say rudeness, ot
domestic life at ordinary times ;
the difficulty of communication,
and consequently the long separa-
tions between friends and kindred;
the prominent part of religion in
all the good works and public im-
provements of the day ; the tales
and legends that grew up among
the people; the traditions which
there was no one to investigate or
contradict, and which did duty then
for newspaper and magazine gos-
sip; the personal connection be-

6V. Hcdivigc.

109

t\veen the sovereign and his people,
and the primitive ideal of charity
unclouded by doubts and theories,
experiments and "commissions";
the summary processes of justice,
tempered only by the pleadings of
generous and tender women ; gov-
ernment in a chaotic state, the
profession of arms the dominant
one, private wars at every turn, and
individual acts of heroism, barbari-
ty, and charity all alike received as
a matter of course — all this is well
known, and is equally true of all
Christian and civilized lands of that
day.

But as you went eastward through
Europe confusion increased and
manners grew rougher ; primitive
standards of right and wrong exist-
ed under the name of the law of
the strongest ; and whatever gene-
rosity human nature displayed was
an untutored impulse, a half-hea-
then quality guided by a natural
sense of honor rather than by fixed
rules of morality. The Slavs, the
Czechs, and the Magyars were
magnificent barbarians, as the
Franks and Teutons of four centu-
ries earlier had been — Christians,
indeed, and as fiercely so as Clovis
when he drew his sword at the
first recital of the Passion and ex-
claimed, " Would to God I and my
Franks had been there "; but un-
restrained and wild, more gene-
rous than obedient towards the
church, which they would rather
endow and defend than curb their
passions in accordance with its
teachings — splendid material, but
an unwrought mine. Bishops and
priests had fallen into loose ways
among them and lost the respect of
the people; vassals of the great
lords, they stood on much the same
level as the secular clergy at pre-
sent do in Russia, and the popes
had long striven in vain to make

them give up marriage when they
took Holy Orders. The parish
clergy were mostly ignorant men,
often employed in common labor
to support their families, while of
teaching monasteries or any places
where learning was imparted and
respected there were very few.

Hedwige came from a well-regu-
lated country, where church digni-
taries were the equals of civil ones,
where the Roman standard was
paramount, and churchmen were
looked upon as powerful and learn-
ed men. Monasteries for both
sexes abounded; Hedwige herself
had been brought up by the Benedic-
tines at Kitzingen, where her special
friend and teacher, Petrussa, many
years afterwards, followed her into
Silesia and became the first abbess
of the monastery of Trebnitz, near
Breslau. Hedwige, whose mind
was from her earliest years in ad-
vance of her time, and who master-
ed all the accomplishments of a
woman of high station at that day
before she was twelve years old,
set herself the task of bettering her
adopted country as soon as she had
entered it. The men of that time
knew less than the women ; for their
education, unless they were des-
tined for the church, was purely
military. Ecclesiastics were law-
yers, doctors, authors, travellers,
savants, poets, and schoolmasters ;
while the majority of laymen were
only soldiers. But the women of
corresponding birth were taught
Latin and a good deal of medicine,
besides household knowledge, em-
broidery, the national literature,
music, and painting. For the times
this was no unworthy curriculum.
They had a practical knowledge of
surgery and of the healing herbs of
the field — which, in days when the
chances of life and death often hung
on the possibility of reaching or

1 10

Sf.

finding a physician within the radius
of forty or fifty miles, was a very
valuable gift — and an equally prac-
tical and useful acquaintance with
all the details of housekeeping.
Nothing in those days was " made
easy "; mechanical contrivances
for saving time and trouble were
not thought of; and even the highest
people worked slowly with their
hands and did cheerfully without
the luxuries which a cottage would
scarcely lack in these days. Hed-
wige in her later years — for she nev-
er gave up her habits of industry —
often reminded her attendants of
the maxim, " He that worketh not,
neither let him eat," and would
never allow that the rule did not
apply to sovereigns as well as to
private individuals. Her own life
was laborious ; she rose with the
dawn, winter and summer, and,
though her devotions took up many
hours, she yet had enough to give
to the education of her children,
the making of vestments for poor
churches, and of clothes for her
pensioners. Her virtues, which
were great and generous, flowed nat-
urally into the mould of her time ;
she built and endowed monasteries,
interceded for prisoners and crimi-
nals, made daily distributions of
alms to the poor, nursed the sick
and leprous in the hospitals — which
she was the first in her adopted
country to found and secure — and
she brought up a number of orphan
children. Of these she was so fond
that when she travelled she took
them with her in several covered
wagons. Later on she kept in the
palace at Breslau, at her own ex-
pense, thirteen poor men, whom she
served every day at dinner, just be-
fore her own meal, and otherwise
ministered to their wants in mem-
ory of our Lord and his apostles.
In fact, her life is a kind of tran-

script of that of St. Elizabeth of
Hungary, and even the poetical
legends of miracles wrought to turn
away her husband's displeasure, fa-
miliar to us all through the pic-
tures of St. Elizabeth and the bread
turned to roses, have a counterpart
in Hedwige's life.

There is a prevalent idea that
holiness and the present time are
incompatible, or rather that the
holiness of which the biographers
of mediaeval saints admiringly tell
us is out of place in this century.
The mistake lies in the frame of
the picture presented to us. Ho-
liness is of all times, and is the
same in substance as it .ever was.
If, instead of reproducing the beau-
tiful legends of old, and restoring
a sort of literary Preraphaelitism
in the history of the strong and
wise women of by-gone times, the
modern biographer were to go to
the root of the matter and bring
out in strong relief the common-
sense virtues, the simplicity and
faithfulness to natural duties, the
reliance upon God, and the single-
minded purpose which distinguish-
ed the women who are known as
saints, they would succeed in^ win-
ning the interest of modern readers.
These saints were wives, mothers,
and mistresses, lived and loved,
sorrowed, rejoiced, and suffered, as
women have done from the wives
of the patriarchs down to the good
women of our own century, perhaps
of our own acquaintance. They
were models whom it is praise-
worthy to copy — not pictures held
up to our gaze as beautiful inacces-
sibilities. The very rudeness of
life then should make them more
human in our eyes ; they made
mistakes with good intentions; they
had predilections which savored of
weakness ; they struggled through
temptations to final perfection — for

.$/. Hcdwige.

saintship implies, not the glorifica-
tion of every act they ever did, but
the general state of their life and
soul after they had suffered and
conquered in the fight that we all
have to wage with the world, the
flesh, and the devil. Of the strik-
ing incidents of a saint's life it is
best to judge as one would of those
in the life of any other personage
of by-gone ages — that is, according
to the standard of the age in which
he or she lived ; of the root-vir-
tues which won the saint's canoni-
zation : by the everlasting standard
of the Ten Commandments. There
is no more mischievous error, nor
one more likely to blind us to the
good we can draw from the lives
of men and women who have gone
before us, than the view which sets
a barrier between historic holiness
and every-day life at the present day.
Hedwige lived in times which
had their share of wars, inva-
sions, pestilences, and other such
stirring events : Poland and Ger-
many were in a stormy state, and
the fate of many of her own fam-
ily was peculiarly stormy; indeed,
hardly a sensational drama of our
day could deal in more violent in-
cidents than did the half century
through which she lived. Her sis-
ter Agnes became the wife of Philip,
King of France, in place of his law-
ful but divorced wife, Ingeburga,
and incurred [not only personal
excommunication as an adulteress,
but was the cause of the French
kingdom being laid under an in-
terdict for more than a year. Her
elder sister Gertrude, Queen of
Hungary, was assassinated by a
political faction in the absence of
her husband, who had left her re-
gent. Her two brothers, Henry
and Egbert (the latter Bishop of
Bamberg), were the accomplices of
Otho of Wittelsbach, the suitor of

Hedwige's only daughter, in the
murder of Philip, the Emperor of
Germany, whom he slew to revenge
himself for the warning the empe-
ror had given the Duke of Silesia
against the would-be suitor of the
young princess; for Otho was as
cruel as he was brave. For this
deed the Electors at Frankfort de-
graded the brothers from their dig-
nities, titles, and possessions, after
which Henry exiled himself to the
Holy Land, where he fought the
Saracens for twenty years, and Eg-
bert fled to Hungary, where the
queen, his sister, gave him a home
and shelter for the rest of his life.
Otho was beheaded, his head
thrown into the Danube and his
body exposed to the birds and
beasts of the forest.

But the punishment of treason did
not end here ; Hedwige's home was
destroyed by the indignant aven-
gers of the emperor, and her father's
heart was broken at the news of
his son's crime ; so that of the old
cradle-land of the family nothing
but smoking ruins and sad memo-
ries remained, while a few years
later she saw her two sons, Henry
and Conrad, meet in deadly con-
flict as the heads of two rival par-
ties in the duchy, the latter defeat-
ed and pursued by his brother, and
only saved by his father to die a
few days later from a fall when out
hunting. Her husband and her
remaining son died within three
years of each other, the latter in
battle against the invading Tar-
tars; and, what no doubt pierced
her heart still more, her husband
was excommunicated for retaining
church property in provinces which
he claimed as his by right of the
testament of the Duke of Gnesen
and Posen. The early death of
three other children must have
been but a slight sorrow compared

112

St. Hedwigc.

with these trials, and the peaceful
life of her sister Matilda, Abbess
of Kit/inger., and of her daughter
Gertrude, second abbess of Treb-
nitz — the same who escaped be-
coming the bride of "Wild Otho,"
as he was called — could not but
have made her envy it at times.
She had had in her youth an incli-
nation towards the monastic life,
but gave it up at her parents' de-
sire, and married, according to the
customs of her time and claSs, at
the childish age of twelve. But
she had seemed from her infancy
marked out for no common lot;
she was grave, sedate, and woman-
ly ; she felt her marriage to be
a mission and the beginning of
duties ; she saw at a glance the
state of neglect and uncivilization
and the need of betterment in which
her adopted country stood, and set
about imbuing her husband with
her ideas concerning improvement.
He was only eighteen, and loved
her truly, so he proved to be her
first disciple. She began by learn-
ing Polish, which her husband's sis-
ter Adelaide taught her, and then
gathered all the inmates of the pal-
ace, to teach them prayers and the
chief doctrines of the faith, in which
they were very imperfectly instruct-
ed, although full of readiness, even
eagerness, to believe. Her father-
in-law, the reigning duke, fully ap-
preciated her worth and respect-
ed her enthusiasm. Her husband
joined her in plans for founding
monasteries and building churches
when it should come to his turn to
reign over Silesia ; and in the mean-
while she strove to teach the nobles
and the people a greater respect
for the priesthood by herself setting
the example of outward deference
towards priests, whether native or
foreign, ignorant or learned. The
strangers she always asked to the

palace, gave them clothes and mo-
ney for their journey, attended their
Masses, and sometimes served them
at table.

In order to introduce clerical
learning and morals into Silesia
and Poland, it was necessary to
rely upon Germans, as has often
been the case in other countries,
where a foreign element has been,
for some time at least, synonymous
with civilization. In England Ital-
ians chiefly, in a less degree Nor-
mans, and in one signal instance a
Greek,* brought with them the
knowledge of church architecture
and chant, besides secular learning;
Irish missionaries had 'before that
helped on the Britons, and Saxons,
later on, carried the same influence
across the sea to heathen Germany,
who in her turn became the evan-
gelizer of the Slav nations. Still
later, when Poland was as fervent a
Catholic country as Germany, an-
other Hedwige (the name had then
grown to be a national one) con-
verted the Lithuanians and became
the mother of the Jagellon dynasty.
Here, on the confines of Russia, the
Latin Church stood face to face
with the Greek, and the tide of
progress and conversion was stay-
ed. Then came the perpetual tur-
moils with the warlike Turks, till
religion became rather an affair of
the knight than of the missionary,
until that wave of circumstances
having passed away, and the Turks
having sunk from the height of
their military renown to the insig-
nificance of a mongrel and undis-
ciplined crowd, the battle between
faith and scepticism — the modern
form of heathenism — has shifted to
a great degree to the arena of the
mind. The Lepanto of our day is
being fought out as obstinately on

* Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury-

St. Hedwige.

paper as that of three hundred
years ago was on sea ; of its na-
ture it cannot be as short or as
decisive, but it is nevertheless the
counterpart — and the only worthy
one — of that romantic and daring
feat of arms. The struggle in the
days of Hedwige was in some sense
much narrower; but though her
husband and son engaged in it
rather as blind instruments than
far-seeing directors, she, with the
instincts of her sex and her habit-
ual union with God, helped in it
as a teacher and missionary. She
proved her gift for it first upon her
household, then, in the years of her
retirement, upon her special charge
— some young heathen girls, natives
of Prussia, whom she taught her-
•self and provided for in life. One
of these, Catherine, to whom she
was god-mother, she married to
her trusty chamberlain, Schavoine,
and left them the estate of that
name after her death. But not-
withstanding her thirst for doing
good and her high idea of her duty
to her subjects, she thoroughly en-
joyed the quiet of home-life, away
from the court, and, whenever it was
practicable, would spend some weeks
at a time with her young husband
and her children at Lahnhaus. It
is here that her memory lives fresh-
est at present ; here that she tend-
ed her dovecot, which is brought
to mind by the yearly market of
doves, unique of its kind, still held
at La'hn on Ash-Wednesday ; here
that she and her favorite doe cross-
ed the Hedwigsteig, a rough, rocky
pathway, to the Chapel of the Her-
mit and the image of the Blessed
Virgin, which afterwards became a
pilgrimage-shrine, where the neigh-
boring peasants came to see her
and unite in her prayers, so that
the present village dates back to
the huts of branches hastily put up

VOL. XXVI. — 8

around the spreading tree that for-
merly protected the image ; here
that she rested on the Hedwigstein,
or moss-grown boulder, yet remain-
ing, with her name attached to it ;
here that she built a chapel dedi-
cated to St. Nicholas, and estab-
lished some Benedictine monks;
and here that in her later years she
received the confidence of her
friend, Baroness Jutta of Lieben-
thal, a pious widow, who founded
the monastery of that name for
Benedictine nuns and the educa-
tion of young girls, and herself be-
came its first abbess.

Duke Henry, when he came to
be sovereign, did not forget his
plans and promises, but helped her
generously in the endowment of
her hospitals, churches, and monas-
teries. Himself the son of a Ger-
man princess, he had great faith in
the influence for good, in morals,
in agriculture, in learning, of his
mother's and his wife's country-
men ; and, according to the custom
of the time, Hedwige was accom-
panied on her journey to Silesia, as
a bride, by an escort of German
knights, who were not to compose
a separate court or household for
her, but to settle in the country
and make it their home. Such im-
migration, of course, had its sad as
well as its good side ; it led to jeal-
ousies that were neither unnatural
nor inexcusable, although it also
leavened the country with some
useful and healthy habits. It was
on this delicate question that her
two sons quarrelled so violently as
to make it the pretext of a civil
war ; Conrad, the youngest, being
passionately attached to the old
Polish customs and not discrimi-
nating between these and crying
abuses, while Henry, the eldest, in-
herited his father's love for the
Germans. The old nobility formed

. Hcdwige.

a powerful party and rallied round
Conrad, hailing him as their fu-
ture national sovereign, although
his father was still alive and his
elder brother the acknowledged
heir. Henry the Bearded had by
that time retired from public life,
and divided his possessions be-
tween his two sons, giving the eld-
est the city of Breslau and all Mid-
dle and Lower Silesia, while the
youngest received the provinces of
Leubus and Lausitz. The latter
were less cultivated than the form-
er, but this was chiefly due to that
want ofj or remoteness from, German
influence and immigration ; so that
the father, knowing his sons' oppo-
site views on this subject, hoped to
satisfy each by his partition. Con-
rad, however, resented the gift of a
less civilized and extended terri-
tory, and took this pretext to make
war on his brother, with the result
already noted.

The retirement of Henry, the
husband of Hedwige, which lasted
for twenty years or more, was the
result of a strange form of piety and
self-renunciation not uncommon
in the middle ages. The Duke
and Duchess of Silesia had been
married twenty-three years, and
had had six children, three of
whom died in infancy. A little
after the birth of the youngest,
in 1209, Hedwige, still in the bloom
of her years (she was only thirty-
iive and her husband forty- one),
and after many prayers and strug-
gles, felt herself impelled to dedi-
cate the rest of her life to God
only, and, with her husband's con-
sent, to live separate from him.
They had always loved each other
tenderly, and Henry's conduct,
unlike that of many sovereigns of
his and of later times, had been ir-
reproachable ; he looked upon his
wife as a saint, and upon her wishes

as commands ; he had allowed her
to guide his charities and public
improvements, had followed her
advice, had trusted to her to bring
up his children exactly as she
thought fit, which was more rigor-
ously and less luxuriously than is
often the case with royal children —
in a word, had leant wholly upon her.
To signify his full acquiescence in
this half-monastic vow, he received
the tonsure, and, contrary to the cus-
tom of his class at that time, let his
beard grow, whence came his sur-
name, the Bearded.

Hedwige retired to Trebnitz,
where she lived in a separate house
with her own women and the cham-
berlain Schavoine, who took his
name from the estate which Henry
gave her on their separation. Other
grants of money were also made
her, and her husband promised his
countenance and help in any good
work she should wish to do there
or elsewhere throughout his pos-
sessions. They often met in alter
years, generally at festive ceremo-
nies for the building or opening of
churches, and once at the grave of
their unhappy son Conrad ; and
Henry himself, though keeping up
a court and moving from place to
place, betook himself to prayers,
study, and good works, having giv-
en over the government to his sons.
In his old age he came forth again
in the character of a sovereign and
a leader, and, indeed, led a stormy,
stirring life for a few years before
his death.

Hedwige, in this proceeding of
her retirement, had another object
in view — that is, the example which
she hoped her voluntary giving up
of married life would be to the
married priesthood of Poland and
Silesia. Such was, to a' great ex-
tent, the case, and the celibacy of
the clergy, so long preached in

St.

vain, became in a few years the
rule instead of the exception.

The Cistercian abbey of Treb-
nitz, now Hedwige's home, was
the first institution of its kind for
women. It was begun in 1200 and
finished eighteen years later, but
was ready to be inhabited in 1202.
It stood in a wooded region, three
miles from Breslau. The legend
of its foundation, as commemorated
in an old rhyme or Volkslicd (peo-
ple's song), refers it to a vow made
by Henry, who, while out hunting,
got entangled in a morass and
could see no human means of res-
cue ; but what is certain is that the
royal couple had long planned and
looked forward to a monastery for
women, and the date of the laying
of the first stone of Trebnitz corre-
sponds with that of Henry's acces-
sion to the throne. The building
was intended to accommodate a
thousand persons, and was built by
the hands of convicts and prison-
ers, even those who were condemn-
ed to death, whose work on it was
to be equivalent to the rest of their
sentence. Hedwige's pity for, and
kindness to, captives, whether inno-
cent or guilty, was a conspicuous
trait of her character; and the un-
deserved physical hardships of pri-
soners in those times were enough
to turn the sympathies of every
kind-hearted person from justice
towards the criminal. In the same
way did the neglected sick, and es-
pecially the lepers, touch her heart ;
indeed, all the oldest hospitals in
Silesia are due to her.

The neighboring Cistercian monks
of Leubus cast the leaden plates
for the roof and the smaller bells of
the new monastery, in return for
which Henry gave them two es-
tates; and the duke himself with
his foremost nobles inspected the
progress of the work, and solemnly

made the round of the land deeded
to the institution, marking his own
name on the boundary stones. Bi-
shop Egbert of Bamberg, Hedwige's
brother (this was before his dis-
grace), procured a body of Cister-
cian nuns of his diocese as a begin-
ning, and accompanied them him-
self on their journey to their new
home. Hedwige's great-uncle, Pro-
vost Popo of Bamberg, came too,
and the meeting of these strangers
with the high clergy of Silesia and
Poland was, as the old chroniclers
would have said, " a. brave and
pleasant sight." The buildings
were decorated with evergreens,
and the pomp of jewelled garments,
clerical and national costumes, ar-
mor, horses richly caparisoned, em-
broidered robes and canopies, was
dazzling. It was the Sunday with-
in the octave of the feast of the
Epiphany — a sharp, bright winter's
day ; the cavalcade from the court
of Breslau, consisting of the duke
and duchess and their retinue, es-
corted the nuns and the foreign
ecclesiastics, while the bishops of
Breslau and Posen, each with his
chapter, and the Cistercian abbot
under whose jurisdiction Trebnitz
was placed, received the latter at
the gate of the finished portion of
the new church. Here the duke
handed the Abbess Petrussa, Hed-
wige's old friend and teacher, a
deed of the property henceforth be-
longing to the order — a docu-
ment which, like all following ones
of the same kind, ended with a
forcible denunciation of any future
injury to the rights of the abbey.
" Whoever injures this founda-
tion, without giving full satisfac-
tion therefor, shall be cut off from
the church; and let his everlast-
ing portion be with Judas, the
Lord's betrayer, who hanged him-
self, and with Dathan and Abiron

5/. Hedivige.

whom the earth swallowed up
alive."

When the deed had been read,
and the dedication of the building
" to the honor of God and of the
holy apostle Bartholomew " de-
clared, the clergy, who held torches
in their hands, threw them on the
ground, as a sign of all secular
claims on the possessions of the
abbey being extinguished ; and
during this ceremony the solemn
excommunication against all who
should injure the monastery was
read aloud once more. The men
who had worked at the building, or
in any way contributed to it, were
freed from all feudal claims, from
the obligation to fight, to furnish
huntsmen, falcons, or horses for the
ducal household, to work at the
fields or at the public works, and
received the immunities and pro-
tection usual to the vassals of a
monastery.

Although Trebnitz was undoubt-
edly named after the neighboring
village so called, a story grew up
of the humorous mispronunciation
of a Polish word, trzcbanic, by the
German abbess, when asked by
Henry if " there was anything else
she needed ?" The word signifies
"We need nothing more," and has
some likeness to the name of Treb-
nitz; but popular tales such as this
abound everywhere. Among the
later gifts to the monastery were
three villages, bound to supply the
nuns with honey, wax, and mead —
the first for their "vesper-meal,"
the second for their candles and
torches, and the third for their
"drink on holidays." The object
of the institution, which the origi-
nal deed set forth as being the se-
curing of " a place of refuge where-
in the weaker sex may atone for its
sins through the mercy of God,"
at once obtained, and other ad-

vantages also grew up around the
women's republic of Trebnitz. It
was soon filled with young girls sent
there to be educated ; widows came
either to enter the order or to live
under its rule and protection as
out-door members ; women fled
there to repent, and others to avoid
temptation ; and lastly came Ger-
trude, the duke's daughter, to be-
come a nun within its walls. Seven
years after its festive opening
Hedwige herself retired there and
began the second half of her long
life by caring for and educating the
heathen maidens from Prussia.
Trebnitz was her favorite home un-
til her death, and the institution
which was most identified with the
holy Duchess of Silesia ; but the list
of great works she and her husband
set on foot, each of them a starting-
point of much hidden good, is a
long one. The parish church of
Bunzlatt having, with most of the
town itself, been burnt, she built a
new one, dedicated to Our Lady. At
Goldberg, a village near one of the
royal summer palaces, she found-
ed a Franciscan convent, intended
to serve the purpose of a school
for the neighborhood. Nimptsch,
her place of refuge during the
civil war between her two sons, was
not forgotten ; for while there she
laid the first stone of a church, and
almost at the same time began one
dedicated to St. Andrew for the
town of Herrnstadt. Her friends
often remarked on her lavishness in
building, and asked her whence she
could expect to draw the means.
She used to answer confidently :
" I trust that the heavenly Archi-
tect who made the world, and my
dear and faithful husband Henry,
will not let me be shamed, so that
I should be unable to finish what I
have begun with good motives and
to their honor. Do not be too

St.

117

anxious about ray doings ; all will
end well with God's help." In
Breslau, the capital, she built three
hospitals — that of the Holy Ghost,
that of St. Lazarus (this was for
lepers), and that of St. Barbara.
For many years Hedwige's charity
towards the sick had produced a
rivalry among all good men, both
nobles and burghers, to tend and
care for some sick persons in their
own houses or in rooms hired or
built for the purpose ; but her wish,
always was to found a public hospi-
tal. The duke gave her a suitable
piece of land for the building and
garden; the abbot of the Augus-
tinians, Witoslaus, gave his lay
brothers as sick-nurses and his
choir-monks as overseers and con-
fessors. Contributions flowed in
from the rich members of the po-
pulation, and the first hospital was
finished in a very short time. The
third contained what was an im-
mense luxury in those days — a num-
ber of bath-rooms, open gratis to
the poor on certain days, and rooms
where they could be bled, as was
the custom on the slightest illness.
All those who came in contact with
Hedwige caught her spirit of gene-
rosity, and rich men, lay and eccle-
siastic, vied with her in founding
churches and monasteries. Canon
Nicholas of Breslau, the duke's
chancellor, obtained Henry's leave
to endow a Cistercian monastery
with the estates which the duke had
given him for his life-time, and
others followed his example.

These ceremonies were always
solemn and the deed of gift publicly
read, signed, witnessed, and sworn
to. As much pomp hedged them
in as was usual in a treaty of peace
or the betrothal of sovereign prin-
ces; and, indeed, the foundation of
churches, though a common occur-
rence, was looked upon as quite as

important as any civil contract. In
1234 a terrible famine, fever, and
pestilence decimated the land, and,
among many other Silesian towns
that possessed as yet no hospital,
Neumarkt was in special distress.
Hedwige hurried there and set on
foot a temporary system of relief
and nursing, but also entreated her
husband to build a permanent hos-
pital for incurables, where they
might be cared for till their death.
This he did, and attached to it a
provostship, the church dedicated
to the Blessed Virgin, and Pope
Innocent IV. sent special blessings
to the Bohemian Benedictine monks
who were entrusted with the care of
the sick. Four years later Henry
built a church in Lowenberg and
gave it to the Knights of St. John
of Jerusalem ; this was a month or
two before his death. But these
are only a few of the works of this
generous couple. Many villages
and remote places obtained benefits
from them, travelling priests were
cared for, young girls helped in
their need and protected or dower-
ed, many poor families housed and
fed ; and the famine of 1234 espe-
cially gave Hedwige an opportunity
of justifying her title of " Mother
of the poor." She distributed un-
heard-of quantities of grain, bread,
meat, and dried fruits to the peo-
ple, who came for relief from long
distances. She gave lavishly, with
that apparent recklessness that
marks the charities of saints, smil-
ingly saying, " We must help the
poor, that the Lord may have pity
on our own needs and appease
our own hunger." She forgave all
feudal dues for years on her own
possessions, and looked after her
employes so diligently that they
complained that the " duchess left
them nothing but the leavings of
the peasants." When she did not

iiS

S/, Hedivige.

distribute her alms in person, the
poor groaned and wept, and cared
less for the charity than if it had
been seasoned by her gracious pre-
sence. When Breslau was wholly
burnt down in 1218, and three years'
distress fell upon the land, she did
the same and relieved thousands.
That year was marked by the
death of the Abbess of Trebnitz,
Petrussa, and the choice of Prin-
cess Gertrude as her successor,
which coincided with the festival
held to celebrate the entire finish-
ing of the monastery and the dedi-
cation of the church. The religious
ceremonies were followed by a ban-
quet in the refectory and by games
for the people in the courtyard.
Henry was present and rejoiced
with her; her son's wife, Anna,
daughter of King Ottokar of Bo-
hemia, was there with her children,
one of whom was to fill, but unwor-
thily, the throne of Silesia. It was
a family gathering as well as a re-
ligious feast ; but if, as tradition
says, Hedwige was then gifted with
a more than ordinary insight into
the future, she must have felt sad
to think of the turmoil that was
coming and that would part her
more and more in spirit from her
husband.

After the death of his second son,
Conrad, Henry turned his arms
against a relation of his own, Duke
Ladislaus of Gnesen and Posen,
and came off victorious. His old
warrior-blood once again stirred in
him, it was impossible to keep him
from the excitement of war, and
Hedwige's entreaties and messages
were of no avail. She feared the
excommunication which Pope Inno-
cent had more than once threaten-
ed to launch against the restless
Polish sovereigns, and was relieved
when he undertook a war against
the Prussians, who at least were

heathens, and whose cruelties real-
ly needed strong repression. Still,
it was rather the thirst for fighting
that led the Duke of Silesia against
them than any exalted motive of
justice or desire to open the way
for their conversion.

The pretext for the expedition
was the cruelties they committed
on their inroads into Poland, and
especially the duchy of Masovia.
To attack them among their own
forests and morasses was so hope-
lessly difficult that the bishops,
whom the pope had admonished to
preach a " crusade" against them,
had hitherto refrained from doing
so. The event proved the wisdom
of this inaction ; for after marching
a large army over the border, under
the command of Henry of Silesia
and Duke Conrad of Masovia, with
whom the bishops with their men-
at-arms joined forces, the assailers
found themselves in a network of
marshes, behind which the assail-
ed quietly waited. The wearied
troops had at last to be inglorious-
ly marched back again, while the
enemy came out in their rear, made
a raid into Masovia, carried off
five thousand Christian captives,
burnt a thousand villages and ham-
lets as well as almost every church
in the province, and drove Duke
Conrad into Germany for refuge.
Henry then advised the fugitive duke
to call upon the German Knights
of Venice, a military order who af-
terwards under their grand-master,
Hermann Balk, settled in Kulmer-
land and effectually routed and
conquered the Prussians. The con-
version of the latter was, therefore,
a feat of arms rather than a triumph
of missionary zeal ; and perhaps it
was less to be wondered at that, af-
ter only three hundred years' Chris-
tianity, they should have accepted
another change in the shape of the

Sf. Hedwige.

119

Lutheran Reformation. The order
itself, however, was more blama-
ble, in that it departed, in the per-
son of its head, the famous Albert
of Brandenburg, from its old chi-
valric standard of honor, and went
over to the " new doctrine," as it
was called, because this defection
promised political independence.
And, again, it strikes one, in reading
of these thirteenth-century feuds,
that history repeats itself; for a new
religious war has sprung up between
Prussia and Posen, and the two
civilized races are in much the
same relative positions, speaking
broadly, as the two barbarous ones
were then, although Posen can
point to a short and dazzling career
between the two eras of persecu-
tion.

It is impossible here to recount
the various and sad events that led
up to the death of Henry. He
died in 1238, at the age of seventy,
under the ban of excommunication,
which was only partially removed,
and deprived to the last of the
presence of his saintly wife. The
scene of the return of his body to
the abbey church at Trebnitz was
heartrending. The nuns and vassals,
no less than his widow and chil-
dren, looked upon him as their stay
and their protector ; they bewail-
ed him with genuine grief as their
benefactor, and buried him with all
imaginable respect and pomp as
their founder. Hedwige's life as
a widow became more penitential
than before.

After her death a hair-shirt and
a belt with small, sharp points turn-
ed inwards were found on her
body ; but these she had worn for
many years before her widowhood.
Her cloister-life, however, was not
her only one, for she watched with
intelligent interest the politics of
the time, the great events, and even

the less obtrusive details, whose
consequences to the cause of good
might afterwards be manifold ; and
above all she lived in her son,
Henry the Pious, a worthy and
able sovereign, whose reign was to
be short, stormy, and glorious.

In January, 1241, the Tartars,
under their chiefs Batu and Peta,
having previously desolated Rus-
sia, fell with nearly three hundred
thousand fighting men upon Bohe-
mia, Hungary, Silesia, and Poland.
The King of Hungary, Bela, was
beaten by Batu, while Peta besieg-
ed, took, and burnt Cracow on his
way to Silesia. The King of Bo-
hemia, Wenzel, brought as large an
army as he could to defend his
frontiers, while Henry gathered
thirty thousand men in his father's
city of refuge, Liegnitz, waiting to
attack Peta on his road to Breslau.
Trebnitz was in dire confusion ;
monasteries always fell the first
prey to the heathen invaders, and
the nuns judged it prudent to scat-
ter themselves and claim each the
protection of her own family, while
Hedwige, with her daughter, the
Abbess Gertrude, and her daugh-
ter-in-law, Anna, shut themselves
up in the strong castle of Crossen
on the Oder. Before she left she
gave her son a scarf, or rather
sword-belt, embroidered with her
own hands, which he received as
an omen of good-fortune, cheering
her with hopes of his speedy and
victorious return, while the stricken,
heroic mother feared but too surely
that she should never see his face
again. All Breslau retired within
the citadel to await the attack, and
Henry tried to intercept the foe on
his way. He drew up his army on
some high ground just outside the
walls — Wahlstatt, a good battle-
ground, as he judged — and himself
gave the signal to attack the on-

I2O

S/. Hcdiuige.

coming foe. He commanded the
main body, while lesser brother-
sovereigns directed the wings ; but
the irresistible might of numbers,
which was the chief reliance of the
Tartars, bore down all opposition,
as a \vbirl\vind does the densest
forest. The Poles and Silesians
fell like heroes, defending them-
selves and asking no quarter, until
a cry arose in German, " Strike
dead! strike dead !" which, wheth-
er raised by accident or by treach-
ery, produced a panic by its like-
ness to the Polish word for " Fly !
fly !" The army seemed literally
to melt away; squadrons broke
and ran, and a cloud of small,
sharp Tartar arrows clove the air
after them ; the Asiatic cavalry
hunted and trampled down the fu-
gitives. One of the Polish leaders
at last succeeded in rallying part
of the troops, and the fight began
again with some hopes of victory,
when the enemy had resort to a
kind of infernal machine used in
ancient Indian warfare, the like-
ness of a gigantic head, which was
so made as to give out a dense
smoke and unbearable stench, be-
sides being in some degree explo-
sive. The contrivance was held
by the Christians to be magical
and devilish, and the Tartars them-
selves, so dangerous was it to those
of their own men who had the
handling of it, only resorted to it
in the utmost extremity, which
shows how hard-pressed they were
on this occasion by the Silesian
soldiery. But the terrible device
stood them in good stead this time.
The panic was renewed, and once
.more a wild flight and wilder pur-
suit took place; the leaders, the
knights, and Henry himself, regard-
Jess of the flight of their followers,
fought on long after they knew
.their fate to be hopeless and death

certain. One by one the brave fel-
lows were cut down, the little band
decreased at every stroke of sword
or flight of arrows, and the duke,
with four knights, found himself al-
most alone on the lost field of bat-
tle. They urged him to try to
save his life by flight; he scouted
the proposal, and told them that
since God had not willed that he
should conquer, he would at least
die. " For the faith, "he said; " at
least, it will be a martyr's death."
His charger was killed under him,
and he fought on foot for some
time, hewing a lane for himself
through his enemies. One of his
knights managed at last- to bring
him a fresh horse, which he had
no sooner mounted than his person
was recognized by hundreds of his
foes and he was hemmed in on all
sides. While in the act of lifting
his sword to cut down a Tartar in
his front, he was wounded from be-
hind by a long lance thrust in pre-
cisely where a joint in his armor
exposed the shoulder ; the spear
went right through and pierced the
lung, and the son of Duchess Hed-
wige sank dying from his horse.
The enemy cut off his head, and,
hoisting it on a spear, paraded it
before the walls of Liegnitz, sum-
moning the defenders to surrender;
but they, guarding Henry's young
sons, answered back from the bat-
tlements : " If we have lost one
duke to-day, we have four yet with
us in the castle, and these we will
defend to the last drop of our
hearts' blood." The next day they
were relieved by King Wenzel of
Bohemia, who, however, came too
late to do anything but hasten the
departure of the Tartar horde, which
had suffered severely in the en-
counter, but rallied soon enough to
maraud, burn, and sack churches,
abbeys, villages, etc., throughout

S/. Hcdwige.

121

Hungary and Silesia, Bohemia and
Mahren, until, one year later, Jaros-
laus von Sternberg finally routed
their diminished army under the
walls of Olmiitz. This roused Ger-
many and France, and the Christian
sovereigns combined sent a mighty
army, under the command of Wen-
zel of Bohemia, to defend the Aus-
tro-Hungarian frontiers, whence
the Tartars retreated, by the same
road by which they had come, to
their steppes on the high table-lands
of Asia. Their traces in Europe,
however, were not blotted out for
half a century ; the ruined churches,
blackened villages, and ravaged
fields long showed their awful track ;
and the outward work of Hedwige's
life would have been well-nigh de-
stroyed had not the spirit she had
brought with it remained alive as the
germ of a future exterior restoration.

The night of the lost battle, when
Henry's headless body lay on the
field, Hedvvige, after a prayer of
unusual length, woke her nearest
friend and favorite attendant, and
said to her :

" Demundis, this night I have
lost my only son. He has left me
as swiftly as a bird flies upwards,
and I shall never look upon his face
again." She forbade her to say
anything of this to the dead man's
wife and sister until some messenger
from the army should bring news
of the battle ; and it was not till the
third day that Jaroslaus von Jano-
witz came with the terrible tidings.
Anna, Henry's young widow, has-
tened to the field to seek and re-
cover her husband's body, which
was so mutilated that she only rec-
ognized it by the six toes of the left
foot. The corpse was brought to
Trebnitzand buried with his father,
brother, and infant sons in the ab-
bey church. Hedwige prayed thus
aloud over his grave : "O Lord ! I

thank thee that thou hast given me
such a son, who, as long as he lived,
loved and honored me truly, and
never gave me an hour's sorrow.
However gladly I would have kept
him by my side on earth, I hold
him blessed in that, by the shed-
ding of his blood, he is now united
in heaven with thee, his Creator.
With supplication, O Lord ! do I
commend his soul unto thee."

Hedwige's life and work were
drawing to an end. Her last pub-
lic act was one of charity to the
dead and comfort to the bereaved
living. The bodies of many heroic
defenders of their country had been
left to rot upon the field of battle.
She had these gathered together
and buried in consecrated ground,
and ordered solemn requiems to
be sung for the repose of their
souls, while she made herself ac-
cessible to every sorrowing widow,
mother, sister, or orphan of the
dead soldiers, listened to their com-
plaints and laments, comforted and
helped them, and brought God's
peace once more into their hearts.
After this she prepared herself to
die. Her first care was a practical
one : she set her affairs in order — a
moral duty too often foolishly con-
founded with worldliness. Then
she redoubled her devotions, and,
sending for her chaplain, asked to
receive Extreme Unction. He de-
murred, seeing no sign of death
about her ; but her holiness was so
well known that he asked her the
reason of her request.

"It is a sacrament," she answer-
ed reverently, " which should be re-
ceived in full consciousness, that
we may treat it with due reverence
and thankfulness ; and I fear that
sickness would make me receive it
with little or no preparation, and
would prevent me from being, as
far as possible, worthy of this dying

122 The Character of the Present Industrial Crisis.

grace. I shall belong to the sick
before many days are over, and I
would fain be strengthened for the
passage through death to the joy
of meeting my God."

Her agony was not long, but she
seemed to struggle with a fear of
death and of the devil's tempta-
tions. When her daughter wished
to send for Anna, she said : " No ; I
shall not die before she comes home"
(she was then absent on a visit to
her brother, King Wenzel of Bohe-
mia). Her biographers tell us that
angels and saints visited her on her
death-bed. She died with the veil
of her holy niece, Elizabeth of
Hungary, wound round her head,
and held in her hand, and often to
her' lips, a little ivory image of the
Blessed Virgin. At the very last
she was calm and peaceful, blessed
her daughter and daughter-in-law,
and every nun in the monastery of
Trebnitz, her chosen home, and
died at evening twilight, on the 15th
of October, 1243. Twenty years
later the clergy of Silesia, Poland,
and Bohemia sent deputies to
Rome to beg for her canonization,

which Pope Clement IV. proclaim-
ed almost immediately. Many mi-
racles through her intercession
were sworn to by credible witness-
es, and the neighborhood blossom-
ed with gracious and beautiful le-
gends of the sainted duchess, the
mother of the poor and the guar-
dian angel of Silesia. The cere-
mony of transferring her body to a
shrine in the abbey church at Treb-
nitz in 1268 was the occasion for
a national festival ; pilgrims flock-
ed in from the remotest districts,
and many foreigners came too.
Sovereigns and knights, in costly
robes and armor, walked in proces-
sion to her altar ; lay and ecclesi-
astical pomp was showered upon
and around her remains ; but noth-
ing of all this was so great a tribute
as the memory she left, deep in the
heart of the people, of a model
wife, mother, mistress, and sover-
eign, a woman strong in principle,
truthful in every word and deed,
charitable yet not weak, merciful
yet not sentimental, a wise, far-
seeing, but tender, brave, and
thoroughly womanly woman.

THE CHARACTER OF THE PRESENT INDUSTRIAL CRISIS.

FROM THE REVUE GENERALS.

EVERY one agrees that "business
is bad " ; but how many give them-
selves the trouble to look for the
causes of this persistent stagnation?
Some are distressed, others aston-
ished, by it. The calmer observers —
those who are not dismayed beyond
measure by a deceptive view from
the bank of the river of fortune —
seek for comparisons in the crises
of 1837, 1848, and 1866.

A gifted writer, who conducts
with deserved success a technical

magazine of our country, the
" Monitor of Material Interests "
(Le Moniteur des Intercts Materiels),
has examined this interesting sub-
ject in a series of remarkable arti-
cles. . M. George de Laveleye — who
must not be confounded with his
relative, the professor at Liege —
maintains that the present crisis is
not transient. He attributes to it
a permanent character. If the
reader will follow attentively the
summary that we are about to give

The Character of the Present Industrial Crisis.

123

of the argument of M. De Lave-
leye, he will not be too alarmed at
his conclusion.

Generally, these crises have had
the effect of rarefying the capital by
which the great industrial enter-
prises were fed ; these, then, de-
prived of the food which enabled
them to live, seemed to hesitate ;
then they shook and fell. But to-
day what do we see ? Entirely the
reverse. Money, floating capital,
unused funds, are more abundant
than ever; the cash-boxes over-
flow ; the large banks literally
sweat with gold ; and this excess,
this plethora of unemployed capi-
tal causes the public funds to ad-
vance and the price of money to
decrease. It is business that is
wanting; it is the employment of
capital that is in default.

Whence comes this accumulation
of savings and this inertia of capi-
tal, and how does it happen that
new and tempting enterprises do
not attract it, notwithstanding its
apparently low price ? M. De Lave-
leye thus instructs us :

" All these tempests," says he, speak-
ing of the crises of 1837, 1848, 1857, and
1866, "which reproduced themselves at
almost equal intervals, were periods of
settlement which marked the impatience
of the industrial speculation over-excit-
ed during a period of forty years ; each
time that it had abused credit, each
time that there was a disproportion be-
tween the engagements entered upon
and the available resources, industrial,
commercial, and financial Europe re-
ceived a warning ; credit vanished sud-
denly ; there was a series of commercial
or industrial failures ; there was a vio-
lent contraction in the stock exchanges
and in business ; there was a slacken-
ing of new enterprises or of those al-
ready in hand ; there were more losses
than one could reckon. But at each of
these momentary and transitory crises
a remedy was very quickly found. Thus
we had free trade and the upward move-
ment of commercial relations ; we had

the play of free joint-stock companies ;
we had the war of secession, which, from
a European point of view, was a power-
ful derivative ; finally, during this long
period we had the discovery of gold
and silver mines, coming annually to
swell the stock of metal at the dis-
posal of business and of speculation.
Thus these crises were not of long dura-
tion. It sufficed to let the overworked
market have time to assimilate the stocks
of paper or of merchandise from which
it suffered, to re-establish the equilibrium
between the current debts, circulating
capital and credit, and immediately in-
dustrial and commercial Europe resum-
ed her progressive march ; the new en-
terprises which presented themselves ob-
tained public favor ; the warning was
forgotten ; the play of credit renewed
itself; and after a period of enforced
quiet, which never exceeded three years,
we felt vibrating anew that febrile ac-
tivity which, in forty years, has caused a
veritable transformation of the world."

This was always the course of
these crises in the past. To-day
there is nothing like this; on the
contrary, " if there be a dispropor-
tion between undertakings and re-
sources, it is absolutely the reverse
of that which marked the preced-
ing crises : the undertakings are
almost null, and the resources are
exaggerated."

Why ? Because the present cri-
sis is not merely a transitional cri-
sis : it is a permanent, final one ; the
origin of the evil from which the
industry and the commerce of
Europe suffer is to be traced to
other causes than those commonly
attributed to it. The true origin
of the crisis, says M. De Laveleye,
is the withdrawal of capital from
the operations in which it had been
employed, and the inactivity and
unproductiveness to which it has
been since doomed. At the begin-
ning of the crisis of 1873 a general
panic was produced among the
lenders, whose confidence was pro-
foundly shaken, and they exerted

124 TJie Character of tlie Present Industrial Crisis.

themselves all at once to realize
their money. The bankers and
the money-lenders of Europe were
seized, by a unanimous accord,
with a desire to have their capital,
or that which remained of it, in
their hands — " to see their money
again," as M. De Laveleye says.
They realized their foreign securi-
ties ; they retired en masse from the
industrial enterprises in which
they were engaged abroad ; and,
above all, they cut off credit. The
countries and the establishments
which lived on credit and on out-
side capital saw their resources cut
off and suspended their activity,
believing, however, that the crisis
would be only temporary. The
three principal lending countries —
England, France, and Holland — re-
alized their money, at the price of
heavy losses on more than one oc-
casion ; and, under the influence of
the panic, they contented them-
selves with keeping it under lock
and key in their cash-boxes. From
this resulted a great and rapid de-
cline in the rate of interest. Bank
paper fell to one per cent., and the
lenders upon short bills, with incon-
testable securities, got but a half
per cent. This was the result of
the return of the capital drawn
back from the foreign countries to
which it had been lent; the capi-
talists had but one ambition : they
wished to be certain that their
money was running no risk what-
ever.

The result of all this was that,
in every instance where they lived
on borrowed capital, industrial
works were stopped and all sorts
of enterprises were cut short. On
the other hand, a plethora of capi-
tal was produced among those who
had realized, and who could no
longer find means to employ their
funds with profit. This is the ex-

planation and the first characteris-
tic of the present crisis — the accu-
mulation of capital and the low
price for the use of money.

The accumulation is general ;
but it is principally in the rich
countries, like England and France,
that this excess was produced.
The same phenomenon, however,
also showed itself in . Austria,
Italy, Sweden, etc. — countries which
live in part upon foreign capital.
On the other hand, the countries
which depended entirely upon this
capital — Turkey, Egypt, Peru, etc.
— were crippled, as they were de-
prived of the resources which credit
had previously placed 'at their dis-
posal.

Thus, then, nothing happened as
in the preceding crises, and from
1873 to 1877 all has been new, the
phenomena themselves and their
causes. There would be reason
for surprise and bewilderment at
this if one did not admit, with M.
De Laveleye, that only now has
ceased the industrial and specula-
tive movement which has led Eu-
rope for forty years to send her
money abroad. New employments
for capital are very nearly exhaust-
ed ; new sources of riches have
been exploited as much as they can
be. The movement of the last
forty years, especially active since
1851, is not merely arrested for a
moment to resume its march once
more, as in the previous crises ; it is
definitely terminated.

The design of the past movement
was the economical furnishing of
Europe and of the world : and this
equipment is completed, or nearly so.
But in giving proof of this assertion
and seeking for its justification,
M. De Laveleye supplies a very
clear account of the direct and
specific causes of the crisis through
which we are passing.

The Character of the Present Industrial Crisis. 12;

"Western Europe," he says — " and by
this generic expression we mean Europe
rich in capital and feeding great foreign
enterprises — Western Europe has made
a rude return upon herself. She has re-
taken her money ; she has made an in-
ventory of what she possessed abroad,
and she shows herself solicitous to pre-
serve, to keep by her, this scattered
wealth. The first element of the force
of progress, then, is in default ; the money
is wanting ; it is hidden ; it is refused.
Concurrently, what have the borrowing
countries done since 1873? They have
abandoned the game and ceased an im-
possible struggle, which consisted in
paying to Western Europe a revenue
which was not produced by the soil or
by practicable enterprises. They have
become bankrupt, and the crisis in their
government funds has opened the eyes
of the two champions. Each perceived
that he was ruined : the borrower by be-
coming indebted without sufficient mo-
tive ; the lender not only by lending his
capital upon illusory guarantees, but by
receiving finally only a part of it, under
the form of arrearages."

This is the second cause,
for the third :

" It is the depreciation of silver, due
to the incapacity and the improvidence
of the Western states, which imagined
they could make a good stroke of politi-
cal economy by allowing one of the
agents of circulation to debase itself.

" Principal possessors of the stock of
gold these states have obeyed an egois-
tic thought in seconding the movement for
a single metal as currency — gold ; a move-
ment which had for its first effect an in-
crease in the relative value of their metal-
lic circulation. But they took no note of
another very grave consequence of this
disturbance of equilibrium.

" When a nominal money submits to
variations in value as great as those
which have been noted in silver, it be-
comes provisionally inapt for its func-
tions. Commercial enterprises, based
upon this metal, become extremely dan-
gerous, and are no longer attempted by
those who wish to operate only with the
security attached to studied and matured
plans. But all the commerce with the
East is based upon silver, which, for
these countries, is the nominal money.
When the value of silver, and, following

it, the course of exchange, became sub-
ject to oscillations of ten and fifteen per
cent., there was no longer any security
for international commerce. The cost of
despatching and of selling raw material
or manufactured goods could no longer
be precisely fixed ; and the most careful
merchant became a speculator in spite
of himself. He then stopped, and by that
very act he added to the difficulty of the
situation. The fall in the value of silver
broke the charm exercised by the con-
stant augmentation of the stock of metals
put at the disposal of international en-
terprises.

" This is the third element in the ad-
vance of progress which has disappeared
in its turn ; and we may thus sum up :

" i. The lenders are not willing, pro-
visionally, to enter upon new schemes.

" 2. The borrowers, weary or feeble,
are incapable of giving birth to new illu-
sions.

" 3. The monetary crisis has added
its action to these two negative ele-
ments.

" So that to-day, after proper delibera-
tion, people decide to do nothing ; or, at
least, to do nothing under the former
conditions of international enterprises."

But is it admissible that we shall
do nothing henceforth, and that the
present situation will prolong it-
self indefinitely ? No, assuredly ;
and, so far as this goes, M. De La-
veleye recognizes with every one
that the stagnation of business can-
not endure, that a reaction is inevi-
table, and that it will come in its
tinie.

"But," he hastens to add, "this re-
turn to activity will not be produced at
all in the form known and hoped for by
those who have seen the revivals of spec-
ulation after the crises of 1837, 1857, and
1866 ; and this for the logical reason
that the industrial, commercial, financial,
and speculative activity of the middle of
this century has had for its base and aim
the economical furnishing of the world
(Toutillage tconomique dn tnonde), and that
this furnishing is very nearly completed.

" The base and the object of the former
activity will no longer exist, or scarcely
so. We must, then, wait for a profound
modification in the form and conditions
of this activity.

126 The Character of the Present Industrial Crisis.

" This is why we have called the pre-
sent crisis a permanent, a final crisis " —
une cris* definitive.

He goes on to give his reasons
for this idea, that the economical
furnishing of the world is finished,
or so far advanced that henceforth
we can expect no such develop-
ment as we have seen in the past :

" In Holland the great works are done ;
the drains are continued ; Amsterdam is
connected with the sea ; international
communications are established.

"In Italy, in Spain, the great arteries
are provided with iron roads, and the
products of their working are notorious-
ly below what one could reckon as re-
muneration upon the capital. The sea-
ports, the mines, are sufficiently provid-
ed for in these countries ; the towns,
there as elsewhere, have their markets,
their water and gas works, their new
quarters, their tramways.

" As for the Pyrenees, they are cross-
ed ; the Alps also ; and after the tunnel
already made by Mont Cenis toward
France, the road in construction through
Saint-Gothard toward Germany, and the
very sufficient pass through the Brenner
toward Austria, industrial activity will
no longer find any occupation in this
quarter.

" In Russia the principal railroad lines
are completed.

"The railway system of Prussia is fin-
ished, and in that country industry is so
well furnished that she is murdered with
her own tools ; the means of production
and of transportation are too vast, and in
evident disproportion to the possible
business of the country.

" Austria is* supplied, and there it
would be rash to go further.

" Turkey has railroads. It has been
difficult enough to construct them ; one
does not speak of them willingly.

" The United States have borrowed
enough from us to establish their sys-
tem ; it is compact and well provided
with lines, even opposition lines. That
country has regained its lost time ; it is
necessary to watch its steps now that it
is furnished sufficiently to put itself in
competition with the industry of Western
Europe.

" The Isthmus of Suez is opened.

" The transatlantic cables are laid.

" The transformation in the merchant
marine is three-fourths completed ; the
sailing ship has disappeared, or at least
is relegated to the second place ; the
steamers have the principal trade.

" On whatever side we turn our eyes
we see these accomplished results of the
work of the last forty years. These re-
sults may not be always excellent from
the financial point of view ; many errors
have been brought out, and by the side
of some brilliant exceptions we must
count a number of deceptions for the
capitalists engaged, and for the govern-
ments which have become needy and in-
solvent. But, whatever may be the
financial result, these lands have been
stirred up and dug out ; the blocks and
the rails have been laid ; the towns have
been transformed ; the distances have
been shortened ; the new apparatus has
been given in profusion to the rich coun-
tries, in more reasonable limits to coun-
tries less open ; everywhere what was
strictly necessary has been done ; often
too much has been done."

Here, very clearly expressed, is
the result of the forty years of ac-
tivity which we have had, and this
result is really the end toward
which tended the great industrial
movement that, for so long a time,
has held minds awake, has kept the
dockyards, the workshops, the fac-
tories, the forges at work. This
end is attained; we see it; and
among the serious consequences of
this fact is one which M. De Lave-
leye exposes with his usual lucidity :

"Thanks to the facilities of communi-
cation, to the new routes opened, to
steam and to electricity, the conditions
of commerce and industry are changed.
There is no longer any place, as there
was at the beginning of this century, for
the boldness of the manufacturer or the
trader, counting upon his skill as well as
on his risk to obtain a large remunera-
tion due to his audacity, to his special
knowledge, and to his capital.

" Between the new and the old com-
merce and industry there exists the same
difference as between the wars of the
empire and the last campaigns of France
and of Austria.

" The same causes have produced the

The Character of the Present Industrial Crisis.

127

same results. In war the cannon and
guns of perfection, the railways and the
telegraphs, the vast masses of men, have
produced rapid campaigns, in which
personal valor and the chances of war,
going almost for nothing, contributed
very little to the final result. In indus-
try the same perfection of apparatus
has changed the conditions of trade ;
and the masses of men are replaced by
the abundance of circulating capital and
the facility of the means of credit — two
other products of this active period of
forty years.

"Only, in war the final result places
the vanquished at the mercy of his foe,
who can, as it appears, dictate his laws ;
in industry and in commerce the final
gain is not left arbitrarily to the swiftest
or to the best equipped. He must con-
tent himself with little ; he is forbidden
to abuse the victory which, without this
moderation, will not be long in escaping
him."

This is what we have come to;
and from a purely economic point
of view we can recognize, with the
judicious writer who has furnished
us with the process of the struggle,
that the most certain consequences
of all this will be the following :

" There will be an excess of circulat-
ing capital, free from employment.

" Now, as long as this has not been
the case the product of capital has been
as follows :

" From three to four and a half per
cent, on unquestionable securities of the
first class.

" From four and a half to six per
cent, on real estate security of the second
class.

" From six to eight per cent, on loans
and limited liabilities.

" From eight to ten per cent, and up-
wards on industrial, financial, and specu-
lative ventures.

" In the future and during a still inde-
finite period, which cannot fail to be
long, very long, this scale must be modi-
fied by the excess of unemployed capital.

" Unquestionable securities will de-
scend to three per cent, or below that ;
those of the second class will bring four
and a half; men will be happy to make
six per cent, in manufactures or produc-
tion ; finally, one can obtain eight per
cent, only by running wild risks. There
will be a general change in the rate of

capitalization, in the sense of lessening
the interest while increasing the amounl
of capital. Some exceptions — that is to
say, some happy chances, some skilful
personal strokes — may occur to confirm
this rule. The general movement, how-
ever, will, we believe, be that which we
have indicated."

But what remains, then, to be
done ? Little of anything, if we
wish to attribute to the revival of
activity, which will come in its own
time, only the sense and the direc-
tion which the movement has had
until now. On the other hand,
forced to admit that the human
spirit has not at all gone to sleep, and
that the inventive genius which the
Master of all things in his good-
ness has bestowed upon his humble
creatures has not in the least di-
minished, it is necessary also to
confess that in the future it is the
unknown which opens before us ;
and just as, before this century,
people had not even thought of all
the beautiful applications of heat,
electricity, steam, and light which
have made the material glory of
our age and of an illustrious galaxy
of savants, even so to-day we can-
not say toward what end the efforts
of humanity might tend to-morrow.
One Being only knows it — he who
knows all and sees all, he for whom
the past, the present, and the future
are but one, he who does not de-
pend at all on tir%e — God, in fact, the
creator of all that has been, that is,
and that shall be, the great dispen-
ser of all good and of all progress; he
who disposes of man at his will in
one way or the other, often while the
latter, in his folly, refuses to abase
his blind presumption sufficiently
to recognize him.

Let us, then, leave to the future
that which belongs to the future,
and let us hold ourselves, each one
for his own account, ready to obey
the impulse which it may please
God to give us.

128

The Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel.

THE LAST PILGRIMAGE TO MONT SAINT-MICHEL.

WHEN the traveller who is visit-
ing the beautiful localities of the
Channel Peninsula quits the south-
ern faubourg of Avranches — a pic-
turesque little town built of spark-
ling granite — a road, marked by a.
succession of rapid declivities,
brings him to the shore of a larg-s
bay formed by the sinking of the
coasts of Normandy and Brittany.
Before him reaches, far away and
out of sight, the flat extent of sands,
furrowed by the rivers See, Se"-
lunce, and Coesnon, whose silvery
windings the eye can follow to a
considerable distance. On the
higher parts of these sands grows a
fine kind of grass, the poa of the
salt-meadows, and which, mingled
with marine plants and sand-weeds,
furnishes a favorite pasture for
sheep. The lower and barren por-
tion of the sands disappears twice
a day beneath the tide, which at
times spreads gently and caressing-
ly over them, while at others it rolls
foaming in with precipitate fury, as
if eager to pass its appointed boun-
dary. At high tide nothing is visi-
ble but an immense lake, partially
engirdled with hills; and in the
distance, like a pyramid of granite,
sometimes from the bosom of the
waves, sometimes from the expanse
of sand, rises a nearly circular rock,
laden with constructions of various
kinds intermingled with vigorous
vegetation, and crowned by large
and lofty buildings.

This is the famous Mont Saint-
Michel : ait ptril de la mer — in
periculo mortis, as our fathers were
wont to say in their strong and
simple language, which, like nature,
speaks in images.

The first time we saw St. Mi-
chael's Mount was in sailing from
Southampton to St. Malo, towards
four o'clock one bright morning in
June. The early sunshine lighted
up the higher part of the rock, with
all its wealth of natural and archi-
tectural inequalities, in one blaze
of gold, while its base lay still in
shadow. The only illuminated ob-
ject, rising from a purplish haze, its
brightness heightened by the blue
of sea and sky, above, beneath, and
around, it appeared rather like an
ethereal vision than anything of
earth.

Mount St. Michael ! What me-
mories are awakened only by the
name, which is in itself a magical
evocation of bygone centuries !
Here, too, present realities still rival
the memories of the past. With
respect to its natural situation, as
well as the share which human
hands have had in its formation,
there is about it much that defies
comparison. It is at once a nest
of legends, the home of religious
thought, of prayer and meditation,
as well as of learning and the arts.
Mount St. Michael, being a monas-
tery, a cathedral, and a fortress, is,
in its triple unity, a summary of the
three great elements of the life of
France during all the poetic, he-
roic, and religious though stormy
period of the middle ages.

Beaten into ruggedness by the
storms of heaven, and discrowned
of the golden statue of its patron
archangel, the summit of the
mount no longer springs upward
into space with the same loftiness
and lightness that used to strike so
forcibly those who_beheld it for the

T/ic Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel.

129

first time. The great human work
thus seems as if arrested in its hea-
venward climbing; but, like other
and grander majesties, St. Michael's
Mount lias been uncrowned with-
out undergoing any diminution of
its glory, and it still presents its
singular threefold aspect to the eye.
On the western side the rock,
stern and bare, seems to bid defi-
ance to the hand of man ; on the
north a strong wall rises to the
height of two hundred feet from
base to battlements, strengthen-
ed with buttresses and flanked by
bastions, pierced irregularly with
pointed windows, and surmounted
by a series of elegant arcades. To
the south we find a rich display of
architectural art, the exuberance of
which is almost equalled by its
caprice. Above all, and larger
than all the rest, rises the church,
with its forest of granite pinnacles
and turrets overlooking the distant
horizons of Normandy and Brit-
tany, and, to use the language of
the ancient chroniclers, imposing
the fear of the archangel on the
vast expanse of ocean — immensi
tremor oceani.

In ages long anterior to any of
its architectural constructions, and
before the Christian era, this rock,
much loftier then than now, rose
from the midst of a vast forest
which extended from Coutances
to the rocks of Cesembre beyond
St. Malo. This forest of Scissey,
or Chesey (Sissiacum), took its
name from the goddess Sessia, who
was invoked at the time of sow-
ing, and worshipped as the pro-
tectress of the corn while in the
ground. The rock itself was call-
ed Tomba, and also Belenus, the
name given by the Gauls and
Druids to their sun-god,* and

* Belatucadus was also the name of a divinity
worshipped by the ancient Britons. A rock situat-
VOL. XXVI. 9

which was identical with Baal of
the Phoenicians, Bel of the As-
syrians, and the Apollo of the
Greeks.

On Mount Belenus was a college
of nine Druidesses, the eldest of
whom, like the pythoness of Del-
phi, uttered oracles. f The Romans,
in the course of their conquests in
Gaul, made Bel give place to Jove :
Tomba Belenus became Mons Jovis
and was sacred to Jupiter.

In the year 708 Mount Belenus,
which until that period had form-
ed a part of the mainland of Ar-
morica, was suddenly detached
from it by a terrible catastrophe
which spread desolation over the
country. The sea, flowing in with
tempestuous fury, overpassed its
limits, submerged the ancient for-
est, as well as the inhabited parts
of the coast, and, except when the
tide is out, made an island of the
Mount. J It was in this same year of

ed a little to the north of Belenus still retains the
name of Tombalaine orTombal^ne, formerly Tuni-
ba Beleni. Several strange legends linger about
both these rocks. The ancient poem of Brut, of
which a MS. copy is preserved in the archivium of
Mount St. Michael, has the story of King Arthur,
Sir Launcelot, and Elaine, and makes out the ety-
mology of the northern rock to be Le Tombe
(d')Elaine.

t These priestesses were in the habit of selling to
the seafaring men who came to consult them ar-
rows of pretended virtue in calming tempests, if
thrown into the sea, during a storm, by one of the
youngest sailors on board. In the ancient Druidit
poem called A r Rannou, or The Series, where the
Child says, "Sing me the number Nine, " the Dru-
zV answers, ". . . Nine Kerrigan with flowers in
their hair, robed in white wool, dancing around the
fountain in the light of the full moon." (See De
Villemarque", Barzaz Breiz, p. 6.) Pomponius Mela
designates as Garrigena (evidently Kerrigan Lat-
inized) the " nine priestesses or sorceresses of the
Armorican Isle of Sein."

$ Monsieur de la Fruglaye mentions the existence,
near to Morlaix, of a vast forest which has been
submerged by the ocean. In a black and compact
stratum, which is covered for the most part by a
fine white sand, he found traces of very ancient and
abundant vegetation : whole trees thrown in every
direction — yews, caks, large trunks, and green moss-
es. Beneath this layer the soil appeared to be that
of meadows, with reeds and rushes, etc. Here all
the plants were undisturbed and in a vertical posi-
tion, and the roots of the ferns still had their downy
coating. (See Observations sur Its orig.ncs du
Mont St. Michel. Maury.)

A similar, though gradual, sinking of the coast is

130

The Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel.

708, in the reign of Childebert II.,
that St. Aubert, the first Bishop of
Avranches, in obedience to a vision
built there a church dedicated to
the Archangel St. Michael, and at
the same time founded a monas-
tery of clerks regular, who replac-
ed the two or three hermits who
had formerly lived in seclusion on
the Mount.

This monastery acquired, later on,
afresh importance under the Dukes
of Normandy. Duke Richard I. en-
larged and made of it an abbey of the
Order of St. Benedict. In 1002 or
J003, great part of the church and
surrounding buildings being con-
sumed by a fire which broke out,
Duke Richard II. considerably en-
larged as well as strengthened the
foundation by the construction of the
crypt, upon which the new edifice
was raised. This crypt appears to
be cut out of the solid rock, and is
divided in two parts by a wall.
Its low and vaulted roof is sup-
ported by massive pillars, round or
-square. A larger or grander sub-
terranean vault does not perhaps ex-
ist, with its space of seventy metres
in length by twelve in breadth, and its
three aisles formed by about twenty
pillars. The roof sustains the
•weight of two stories of building,
the dormitory over the refectory,
and the magnificent cloister over
the Hall of the Knights. *

The original church soon becom-
ing too small to contain the numer-
ous pilgrims who flocked thither,
the construction of a new one was
begun by the Abbot Raoul, who,
in 1048, raised the four pillars and
the arch of the great tower. The
nave, and that part of the monas-

going on on the western coast of France and Eng-
land, also at Alexandria, Venice, Pola, and the
coast of Dalmatia, besides other localities.

*See Itineraire dans ie Mont St. Michel, par
Edouard Le Hericher.

tery called La Mci'reiUc, were built
by his successor, Renaud.

It was in 1091 that Henry, the
youngest son of the Conqueror,
was besieged in the fortress of
Mont Saint-Michel by his brothers
Robert and William. After the ex-
pulsion of the wretched John from
Normandy, Abbot Jourdain wish-
ing to preserve the Mount to the
kings of England, Philip Augustus
sent against him Guy de Thouars,
who, after a lengthened siege, be-
ing unable to take it, set in on fire.
It suffered severely from another
conflagration in 1350, when struck
by lightning during a terrible storm.
The liberality of Philip de Valois
restored the church and monastery
to more than their former splendor.

Early in the fifteenth century
Abbot Jolivet surrounded the town
with fortifications. The English,
at this time invading France, be-
sieged Mont Saint-Michel, but were
repulsed by the brave d'Estoute-
ville and his companions-in-arms,
one hundred and twenty-nine in
all, who successfully defended the
post entrusted to them when the
greater part of France had submit-
ted to the conquerors.

During the religious wars Mont
St. Michel was several times at-
tacked by the Protestants. On the
Feast of St. Mary Magdalen, July
22, 1577, a number of them, ha-
bited as pilgrims and concealing
their weapons, were admitted with-
out suspicion into the church, where,
after hearing several Masses with
great show of devotion, they di-
vided into small groups, and, with
an air of calm indifference, occu-
pied different parts of the buildings,
until, secure of their position, they
murdered such of the guards as
did not escape by flight or conceal-
ment, and then fell not only upon
the garrison but on the monks,

The Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint Michel.

even massacring the priests who
had been saying Mass for them.

This noble abbey had for more
than a thousand years an existence
worthy of its origin. Mingling in
the religious and warlike history of
France, it was simultaneously or
by turns occupied by knights and
monks ; the abode of faith and
courage ; an advanced sentinel in
the direction of England, and thus
affording protection against the foes
of this world and of the next, de-
fending alike with the cross and
with the sword, and held in vener-
ation by the whole of Christendom.

During the ages of faith pilgrims
came hither by thousands, from all
lands, braving the danger of these
treacherous sands, to invoke in this
his sanctuary the prince and leader
of the armies of heaven.

The sacrilegious impiety of mo-
dern times could no more spare
St, Michael's Mount than so many
other holy and beautiful relics of
the past which it has seen fit to
mutilate or destroy. The First Re-
public suppressed the monastery,
drove out the monks, demolished a
portion of their church, changed
the name of Mont Saint-Michel to
that of Ic Mont Libre, or the Free
Mount, and turned it into a prison !
— doubtless in order to prove the
suitability of its new appellation.

The first prisoners there were
the priests of Brittany and Nor-
mandy. Prayer was thus at least
not yet banished from its ancient
abode. In 1811 Napoleon made
of it a Maison dc Reclusion, which,
in 1818, became a Maison de Z>/-
tention, and it was at the same time
also a state prison. Rarely has
any place seen more sad and
strange vicissitudes. The chosen
dwelling-place of those called to
serve God in a religious life be-
came the sink of every crime pur-

sued and punished by society, and
the population of Mount St. Mi-
chael was now recruited not from
men who had received a holy vo-
cation, but from courts of assize.

A decree of 1863, however, re-
lieved it from this unworthy fate,
alike saddening to Christians, archae-
ologists, and poets, and Mont Saint-
Michel, which now belongs to the
see of Cotitances, has been con-
fided by the ecclesiastical admin-
istration to the charge of twelve
priests of the Congregation of Pon-
tigny in the diocese of Sens, who
carry on the services in its church,
receive the visitors drawn thither
by the sanctity or historical inter-
est of the place, and fulfil the office
of preachers and missionaries to all
the parishes of the Channel Islands.
An orphanage for boys is now flour-
ishing in the old barracks, and by
its side are ateliers where painting
on glass is carried on — a kind of
painting (or staining, rather) which,
more than any other, has a reli-
gious object. All this is, so far, a
return to a better state of things,
but the solicitude of its diocesan
does not find it enough, feeling
that, though much has been done,
still the present is too unlike the
past, and earnestly desiring to re-
store the abbey to its former splen-
dor. And he will do it yet. Al-
ready the pilgrimages thither are
renewed with a fervor worthy of
ancient days.

Few things can be more beauti-
ful and edifying than the holy fes-
tivities of which the most recent of
these pilgrimages has just been the
occasion, and which have left so
deep an impression on those who
took part in them, and who follow-
ed the imposing order of the suc-
cessive religious ceremonies, stamp-
ed as they were with the character
of dignity and grandeur which the

132

The Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel.

Catholic Church has impressed up-
on her liturgy and worship.

From earliest dawn long bands
of pilgrims, conducted by the priests
of their respective parishes and pre-
ceded by their banners, began to
enamel with picturesque groups
the white monotony of the sands.
On arriving at the Mount they
formed into regular columns and
slo\vly ascended the steep acclivity
to the church. Towards nine in
the morning the Mount presented
a singular aspect, not unlike a gi-
gantic ant-hill : the flights of steps
disappeared under the long proces-
sions mounting them, while the
ramparts were as if crenellated with
the heads of the crowds watching
for the arrival of the Bishop of Cou-
tances and Avranches and the Bish-
op of Bayeux and Lisieux. An in-
voluntary delay on the part of the
bishops was for a time the cause of
extreme anxiety. Anything may
be feared from this dangerous bay,
whose shifting sands change their
direction after every tide, and en-
gulf the late or unwary traveller in
an abyss of mud. The first car-
riage had passed safely on to terra
firma, but the wheels of the second
were perceived to be sinking, and
the horses, terrified at no longer
finding any footing, were becoming
so unmanageable that a fatal ca-
tastrophe would have been almost
inevitable, had not the men of the
place hastened to the rescue and
succeeded by their prompt energy
in dragging the carriage out of dan-
ger.

The two prelates presented them-
selves at the entrance gate as the
clock of the great tower began to
strike eleven, and were saluted by
acclamations so enthusiastic that it
seemed as if the whole Mount were
bidding them welcome. They pro-
ceeded up the steep lane that winds

upward between houses that look
as if piled almost one upon another,
and which date from three or four
centuries back, low, square, and
solid, and having for the most part
only one story, plunging their foun-
dations into the rock, and wedged,
as it were, against each other, the
better to resist the force of hurri-
canes and tempests. Here and
there trees of thick foliage over-
shadow the narrow, winding ascent,
which at intervals through some
unexpected opening shows a vast
horizon over the waters of the
Channel, with its lovely islands, and
the coast of France.

The procession reached in due
time the threshold of the ancient
abbey, and, after a few words of
warm and respectful welcome spo-
ken to the bishops by the rever-
end father prior, entered the church.

There is something unique in
the beauty of this basilica which so
nobly crowns the summit of Mont
Saint-Michel, and of which the four
extremities rest on four enormous
arched vaults founded in the rock.
It possesses all the essential parts of
a great cathedral — nave,aisles, tran-
septs, choir, and apse. The nave
is Roman, the choir Gothic, and
the aisles Moresque or Byzantine.
Boldly cut in granite, the archi-
tecture is as remarkable as the
site.

The nave was formerly two hun-
dred and forty feet in length, but
underwent an irreparable mutila-
tion under the First Republic, when
it was shortened by the cutting
away of four of its eight transverse
vaultings. It nevertheless remains
singularly imposing — simple even
to severity, but relieved by its tri-
forium and a gallery with deep
arcades. The collateral arches,
which are somewhat narrow, have
the horseshoe form usual in Ara-

The Last Pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel.

133

bian architecture; the transepts,
like the nave, are Roman, but of
more recent date ; the choir, which
is of the best period of flamboyant
Gothic, very delicately sculptured,
has in the clerestory a square win-
dow of remarkable richness ; and
in the apse, which is of granite,
delicate lines of tracery spring up-
wards with exquisite lightness. On
the key-stone of its vaulted roof is
the escutcheon of the abbey. The
choir is surrounded by bas-reliefs
representing the four evangelists,
and a ship, symbolical of the
church militant, tossing on an an-
gry sea which cannot overwhelm
her, guided as she is by an unerr-
ing pilot — Fluctuat^ non mergitur.

The noble edifice had on this
day received an additional decora-
tion from the number and beauty
of the banners there displayed, the
principal of which was a large stan-
dard in the nave representing the
archangel St. Michael victorious
over the dragon. On the balus-
trade in front of the altar were hung
the sword and banner of General
Lamoriciere, with his motto, In
Deo spes mca. Within the balus-
trade were erected the two episco-
pal thrones. The chapel of St.
Michael, which occupies the left
arm of the cross, and in which is
the statue of the archangel, was
thickly hung with the banners of
the different parishes represented
in the pilgrimage. Among their
mottoes were such as these : Quis
ut Deus ? Defende nos in pcriculo;
Deo soli semper Honor ; Deo et Pa-
tria, etc. Above these floated the
banner of the Sovereign Pontiff.
There is in the same chapel some
rich tapestry, the work and offer-
ing of the ladies of Avranches —
les Avranchines, as they are prettily
called in the country.

In the chapel facing this one,

and in the left arm of the cross,
are the two crowns offered to the
glorious archangel, the one by the
Holy Father, the other by the
faithful of France. The latter, re-
splendent with diamonds and other
precious stones of great value, is to
be used next year for crowning the
statue of St. Michael.

High Mass having been sung by
the Bishop of Bayeux, his right
reverend colleague addressed the
assembled multitude. Mgr. Ger-
main, although one of the youngest
members of the French episcopate,
is also one of the most eloquent,
and owes simply to his merit the
rapidity with which he has risen to
be chief pastor of one of the most
religious dioceses of France. As
chaplain of the Lycfo of Caen, he
quickly gained the hearts of the
youth placed under his spiritual
care ; as cure" of the Cathedral of
Bayeux, he made his influence felt
in the whole city ; and now, as Bi-
shop of Coutances and Avranches,
the influence for good which has
marked each step of his career
finds a wider field of action, of
which he does not fail to profit.
With a few words from his discourse,
which are a summary of the whole,
we conclude :

" The days in which we live find
the church still engaged in a war-
fare similar to that which St. Mi-
chael, the champion of God, sus-
tained against the rebel angels.
Still the same revolt continues, and
man has learnt from Satan to de-
clare, ' Non serviam /' As children
of God and of his church, let it be
our happiness, as it is our privilege,
to obey. God and his church hav-
ing an authoritative claim on our
obedience, let us see that ours shall
resemble that of the blessed an-
gels, which is loving, intelligent,
thorough, and prompt."

134

New Publications.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE LIFE OF MARIE LATASTE, La}' Sis-
ter of the Congregation of the Sacred
Heart. With a brief notice of her sister
Quitterie. London : Burns & Gates.
(For sale by The Catholic Publication
Society Co.)

The history of the church is marked at
intervals by the appearance of favored
souls whose wonderful gifts of the su-
pernatural order fully attest the holiness
which our divine Lord has willed should
be the pre-eminent attribute of his blessed
spouse. These manifestations of sanc-
tity in individual souls have, besides, a
special reference to the wants of those
times in which they appear. When ra-
pacity and luxurious wastefulness cha-
racterized the upper classes of French
society, Almighty God raised up St.
Vincent de Paul, the grand apostle of
charity, to rebuke men's hardness of
heart towards their poor and suffering
fellow-creatures. So likewise, in an era
of spiritual torpor and cowardice, he
gave to the world that prince of spiritual
warriors, Ignatius of Loyola, and his de-
voted band of spiritual heroes to awak-
en men from their lethargy. Our own
times are a period of intellectual pride,
of contempt for spiritual things, and a
corresponding exaltation of the material
order ; and divine Providence has seen
fit to confound this dangerous spirit by
working great things through weak in-
struments, and by proposing new devo-
tions which demand an increased exer-
cise of faith. As there is nothing more
opposed to the peculiar spirit of the
world of to-day than devotion to the
Real Presence, the Sacred Heart, and the
Blessed Virgin Mary, so the church di-
rects the attention of her faithful children
to these objects of pious veneration with
renewed fervor, and God himself attests
her wisdom by many wonderful signs
having reference to these three goals of
spiritual life. No doubt it was with
such intent that he bestowed those ex-
traordinary favors on the simple peasant
girl of Mimbaste, Marie Lataste, which,
studied in the light of worldly philoso-
phy, confound and bewilder, but which,
viewed as part of God's supernatural
economy, cannot fail to edify and en-
courage the devout Christian.

Marie Lataste was born in the depart-
ment of the Landes in 1822, and died a
lay sister of the Congregation of the
Sacred Heart in the year 1847 ; so of her
it may be said that she compressed a
long career of virtue into a brief compass
of time, and earned by intensity of work
the crown which is most frequently won
by many years of laborious effort. No
sooner had she made her First Commu-
nion than our divine Lord began to at-
tract her most powerfully to himself as
he exists in the sacrament of the altar.
As a little girl she had been wilful
and rebellious, and with difficulty was
brought to study her catechism and the
merest rudiments of learning. Indeed,
her schooling never went beyond the art
of reading and writing, so that the won-
derful theological and ascetic knowledge
which her letters disclose cannot be
otherwise regarded than as revealed to
her by God. After her First Communion
a wonderful change was made manifest
in her. Thenceforth her sole delight was
to commune for long hours at a time
with our divine Lord in the tabernacle,
to converse familiarly with him, and to
hold him for ever in her thoughts. She
was never easy when other occupations
kept her aloof from him, and when re-
leased from these she sped to him again
with all the ardor which could impel a
loving heart. Nor did our Lord fail to
reward in a signal manner this intensity
of devotion to the sacrament of his love.
One day, towards the close of the year
1839, as Marie was repairing to the vil-
lage church to perform her usual acts of
adoration, a mysterious but irresistible
force hurried her along ; earthly objects
faded from her view, the Spirit of God
filled her soul, and when she entered the
sacred edifice she beheld our Lord him-
self upon the altar, surrounded by his
angels. " She did not," the recital states,
"see him at first whh perfect distinct-
ness. A thin cloud, like an almost im-
perceptible veil, appeared partially to
conceal him from her sight. ... At last
Jesus descended from the altar and ap-
proached, calling her benignamly by
name and raising his hand to bless her.
Then she beheld him with perfect clear-
ness in the brilliant light with which he

New Publications.

135

was invested." "From that moment,"
she said, " the society of mankind has
never ceased to be displeasing to me ; I
should wish to fly from them for ever
and shut myself up in the tabernacle
with him." Thus did her interior life at
once ascend to the highest plane of sanc-
tity, and she, the poor, almost illiterate
peasant girl, began to experience those
intimate dealings and relations with our
divine Lord which are usually deemed
to be the prerogative of the greatest
saints — of those in whom supreme holi-
ness goes hand in hand with profound
knowledge.

But it is a well-known characteristic
of the divine economy to select feeble
instruments for its higher operations and
manifestations, and in this manner to
confound human presumption and to
put our pride of intellect to the blush.
" Thou hast hidden these things from the
wise and prudent, and hast revealed
them to little ones." And if ever it pleas-
ed Almighty God to show forth his pow-
er through the humblest of his creatures,
he seems to delight in doing so at the
present time. He permits our philoso-
phers to split hairs over the subtleties
of evolution, to wander in perplexity
through the mazy intricacies in which
they have enveloped themselves, whilst
he reveals the undreamt wonders of his
wisdom to the lowly and simple-mind-
ed. Father Faber has happily designated
a too common class of Christians as
''view}'" — i.e., holding opinions which are
but the reflection and expression of their
petty egotism. Such was not the case
with Marie Lataste ; she was simplicity
itself, and our Lord favored her accord-
ingly. She sat at his feet as meek and
docile a pupil as ever listened to the
words of an instructor, and he poured
into her heart the treasures of his wis-
dom. It is truly wonderful to read the
profound sentiments with which her let-
ters abound, and to reflect that she, a
girl barely able to read and write, has
given expression to the most abstruse
and difficult points of dogmatic theolo-
gy with correctness, clearness, and force,
and has left behind her precepts for our
spiritual guidance which savor of the wis-
dom and prudence of the most consum-
mate masters of the spiritual life. Many
things in her letters may appear strained
because of the minuteness with which
she describes her visions of spiritual
things, unless they are scanned with the

eye of faith. But both internal and ex-
ternal evidences of the genuineness of
the apparitions with which she was
favored, and of the absolute reliability
of her statements, are so numerous that
in the face of them to doubt is to ques-
tion the validity of all human testi-
mony. There can be no doubt that God
has vouchsafed to our generation this
beautiful picture of a soul thoroughly
united to himself in order that our pride
may be abashed, our faith strengthened,
and our love for him, because of his mani-
fold mercies towards us, increased. The
style of the book is attractive, and who-
ever reads it cannot fail to reap a large
share of edifying knowledge.

A POPULAR LIFE OF POPE Pius THE NINTH.
By Rev. Richard Brennan, A.M. New
York : Benziger Brothers. 1877.
THE LIFE OF POPE Pius IX. By John
Gilmary Shea. New York : Thomas
Kelly. 1877.

A LIFE OF Pius IX., DOWN TO THE EPIS-
COPAL JUBILEE. By Rev. Bernard
O'Reilly. New York : P. F. Collier.
1877.

The appearance within the space of a
few months of three extended and elabo-
rate biographies of His Holiness Pius
IX., some of which have already run
into two or three editions, is a fact most
significant of the deep interest which is
taken by the reading public of America
in everything connected with the venera-
ble head of the church on earth. The
length of years vouchsafed the present
successor of St. Peter, his own illustrious
character, and the preternatural malice of
his enemies have naturally heightened
the curiosity regarding him of the non
Catholic portion of the community, while
his piety, benevolence, and long-suffering
have endeared him to the hearts of all true
children of the church. The magnificent
displays of Catholic sympathy and loyalty
to the Holy See which everywhere charac-
terized the celebration of his late episcopal
Jubilee have also increased the popular
demand for information concerning the
life of a man who, morally and officially, is
acknowledged to be the foremost in
Christendom. Judging by the volumes
before us, it will not be the fault of our
Catholic writers if this laudable desire
remain long unsatisfied. Each of these
valuable works, written by gentlemen of
varied accomplishments and qualifica-
tions for the task, is, in style, mode of

136

Nciv Publications.

treatment, and selection of matter, differ-
ent from the others ; yet all present the
same leading facts and reproduce the
same vivid scenes which have rendered
so instructive and dramatic the long and
eventful life of the Holy Father.

Father Brennan's book, justly called a
popular life of the great Pope, is written
in a simple, concise, yet comprehensive
manner, with little attempt at ornamenta-
tion or philosophic deduction. The au-
thor evidently intended that his work
should be read and understood by per-
sons of average intelligence as well as
by those of higher mental gifts. He has
therefore aimed at telling the story of
Pius IX. 's life plainly and consecutively,
without departing to the right or left,
except when absolutely compelled to do
so in order to elucidate what is yet but
imperfectly understood in the policy
of the Catholic powers of Europe.
While stating conscientiously the de-
tails of a career so full of changes and
reverses of fortune, he succeeds in plac-
ing before us the true lineaments of his
august subject in all their simplicity and
beauty of expression. This is more par-
ticularly observable in the chapter on
"The Supernatural Life of the Pope,"
which will doubtless be read with great
satisfaction by those who consider the
Sovereign Pontiff a providential man ;
and by such as do not, with respect and
jadmiration. It is to be regretted that
Father Brennan had not given at length
an account of proceedings in Rome and
the Catholic world generally for the past
few years, thus completing an otherwise
very full and instructive biography.

Mr. Shea has also succeeded in pro-
ducing a very readable life of the Holy
Father, though we do not think he has
done full justice to his own merits as an
accomplished and painstaking writer.
There are evident marks of haste
throughout his pages which, though they
do not seriously interfere with the con-
tinuity or authority of the work, are apt
to produce an unsatisfactory impression
on the minds of critical readers. His
Life of Pope Pius IX. will, however,
have its admirers ; for, excepting these
slight defects, it is a book that will in-
terest the general reader, no matter what
may be his opinions or prepossessions,
written as it is by an intelligent layman
whose reputation as an author has long
since been established in this country
and in Europe.

The Rev. Father O'Reilly's biography
is, however, not only more voluminous
and more ample in its details than either
of the preceding, but it is enriched by
copious extracts from encyclical- letters
and other important documents, the
proper understanding of which necessa-
rily belongs to the elucidation of the
history of Pius IX.'s pontificate. Apart
from its completeness and elegance of
style, its chief distinguishing feature is
the insight it gives us into the policy
and designs of contemporary rulers and
conspirators in France, Italy, and Ger-
many in their attempts on the integrity
of the church, and their underhand alli-
ances with the secret societies to effect
their evil purposes. Only a man who
has had personal knowledge of the
actors who figured in the bloody drama
of " United Italy," and an intimate ac-
quaintance with their present and pro-
spective strategy, could unfold to the
public gaze, in all its base enormity, the
culpable indifference of the men who
professed the greatest regard for the
sovereign of the states of the church, and
the insidious schemes of the modern
champions of liberty, whose sole and
whole object is the disruption of all
forms of government under which civil
and religious freedom would be pos-
sible. This it is that makes Father
O'Reilly's book not only interesting
but highly instructive ; for, to a cer-
tain extent at least, it furnishes us
with a key to the enigma of European
Continental politics which we Americans,
happily removed from kingcraft and
secret terrorism, so much require. The
venerable and venerated Chief Pastor of
the church has been fortunate in his
American biographers, and we have lit-
tle doubt that he will find some solace
in his afflictions in the thought that three
among our writers have almost simul-
taneously devoted their pens to record-
ing the incidents of his life and defend-
ing his rights as a spiritual and tempo-
ral sovereign.

REPORT OF THE SPECIAL COMMITTEE OF
THE MEDICO-LEGAL SOCIETY UPON
SCHOOL HYGIENE. New York : Ter-
williger. 1876.

Few subjects are of more engrossing
importance than the conditions requi-
site for the physical well-being of the
rising generation ; and as our embryo
men and women spend a very large por-

Nczi< Publications.

137

tion of their lives in school-rooms, it
becomes a serious matter to determine
whether these nurseries of learning are
constructed in such a manner as to con-
sist with the highest possible health
standard. The investigations undertak-
en by Dr. R. I. O'Sullivan and his fel-
low-committeemen at the instance of the
Medico- Legal Society reveal a condition
which is truly startling. Oxygen is the
life of our life-blood, and, if it is not sup-
plied in the requisite quantity, the hu-
man system becomes predisposed to
every disease and the foundation of
a life-time of misery is laid. Yet it is
notorious that the arrangements of our
much-vaunted school buildings go far
short of ensuring a sufficient supply of
this life-sustaining gas. Much of this
deplorable lack of suitable arrangements
is the result of ignorance. Many self-
constituted sanitarians deem loftiness of
ceiling to be the main and, indeed, the
only condition required to ensure proper
ventilation and a sufficient supply of air.
They accordingly build without refer-
ence to horizontal breathing-space, in the
absurd belief that all foul air ascends
and is got rid of, some way or other.
Now, the truth, says the report, is " that a
lofty ceiling only makes that portion of
space above the tops of the windows a
receptacle for foul air, which accumulates
and remains to vitiate the stratum below."
This is of itself a proof that a scientific
supervision of our school buildings is
the only guarantee we can have that the
health of the children will be properly
considered. The quantity of carbonic
acid gas given off at each expiratory ef-
fort is far in excess of what our ama-
teur sanitarians imagine ; and when
school buildings are erected without due
regard for the diffusion of this deadly
emanation, we must not be surprised to
see our schools filled with pale and
stunted children. In addition to the
carbonic acid gas other deleterious ex-
halations of the human body poison
crowded rooms, and are especially the
cause of the peculiarly offensive and
stuffy odor at which healthy olfactories
revolt. Who that has entered one of
our city public school class-rooms, be-
tween the hours of two and three in the
afternoon, has failed to experience this
disagreeable sensation ? Yet physiology,
as well as common sense, tells us that
this effete organic matter which is con-
stantly escaping from the lungs and from

every pore of the skin is eminently in-
jurious to health. Not only this, but in
certain crowded portions of the city the
adjoining streets and buildings lend
their quota of noxious effluvia to the
poisonous agents mentioned. The com-
mittee visited " one of the newest, best-
arranged, and best-appointed schools in
the city, and found it overcrowded and
unventilated, tainted throughout the halls,
and at times, by way of the fan-lights over
the doors in the class rooms, odors arising
from the latrines in the basement, which
are emptied only once or twice a week.''
In this model school-house only from
thirty-three to forty-one cubic feet of air
are allowed to each child, while nature
vigorously clamors for at least eight
hundred feet in the twenty-four hours.

In the second report read by Dr. R. I.
O'Sullivan we are invited to contemplate
a picture which but faintly reveals the
evil effects that the early overcrowding
exercises in after-days over the adult
population: "Look around us in pub-
lic assemblies, and see in those scarcely
entering middle life the evidence of phy-
sical decline, the prematurely bald and
gray, the facial muscles photographing
the wearied brain and overtaxed ner-
vous system." Few can fail to realize,
on due reflection, how much of the terri-
ble truth of this picture is attributable
to the bad condition of our school
houses. The conclusion is plain that
the judgment of the trained sanitarian
is of vital importance in the erection of
school buildings, and that, until the ne-
cessity of his sage interposition is recog-
nized by the Department of Public In.
struction, diseases, the result of early con-
finement in close and crowded schools,
which are quite preventible, will con-
tinue to prevail among us.

GOD THE TEACHER OF MANKIND : A
plain, comprehensive explanation of
Christian Doctrine. By Michael Miil-
ler, C.SS.R. New York, Cincinnati,
and St. Louis: Benziger Bros. 1877.
CATECHISM OF CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE, for
Academies and High Schools. With
the approbation of the Most Rev. J.
Roosevelt Bayley, D.D., Archbishop
of Baltimore. Intermediate No. III.
Benziger Bros. 1877.
This is a most useful and comprehen-
sive book, clear and definite in its plan,
popular and interesting in its style. It
is divided into two parts. Part I. deals

I3S

New Publications.

with " The Enemies of the Church "
from the beginning down to our own
times. These enemies Father Miiller
sets down in the order of time as " Hea-
thenism," " Heresy," and "Freemason-
ry." Part II. is occupied with showing
what in these days of vague beliefs and
religious indifferentism it is most im-
portant to show — namely, that God him-
self is the teacher of mankind, and
therefore that his voice must be listened
to and obeyed. The church is the voice
of God on earth ; consequently, the ever-
lasting object of the enemies of God is
to silence and destroy the church. These
avowed enemies were in the old days
the heathen ; later on the heretics. A
deadlier foe than either, and combining
the evil elements of both, the author
points out to-day as Freemasons, the
term covering, of course, all forms of
secret oath-bound societies.

Father Miiller's sketch of Freemason-
ry is very extensive. For his charges
against the societies comprehended un-
der that head he relies mainly on Ma-
sonic documents and publications. Amid
a vast amount of rubbish and jargon in
the official rites and ceremonies of Ma-
sonry is plainly discernible a distinct
purpose and plan, which can be consi-
dered none other than the destruction
of all fixed belief in God and his revela-
tion, in his church, and in the order of
society and government founded on that
belief. To expose this conspiracy agai nst
God and man — for such it is, and nothing
less — is as much a service to any civil-
ized state as it is to the direct cause of
religion. On this account we do not
think that in a book intended as much
for ordinary readers as for those who
are better instructed Father Miiller has
been at all wasteful in the large amount
of space devoted to this portion of his
subject. There is a tendency sometimes
to pooh-pooh Masonry as a convenient
scarecrow. Yet those who have noted
the march of events in Europe within
the century, and particularly within the
latter half of it, will discover a startling
resemblance between events as they have
occurred, and as it was desired they
should occur according to the pro-
grammes laid down beforehand by the
leaders of the secret societies.

The church does not waste her excom-
munications, and the fact that these so-
cieties have been again and again so-
lemnly condemned by her ought to be

sufficient warning against an}- Catholic
joining, not simply societies which are
avowedly Masonic, but secret societies
of any kind whatever. A good and law-
ful society has no need of secrecy.

The second and more important por-
tion of the book is taken up with what is
really a most lucid and careful explana-
tion of that portion of the .catechism
which refers more especially to God and
the church. The questions and answers
in the catechism are necessarily brief,
and the explanation of the answers is left
to the teacher. The teacher, unfortunate-
ly, is not always as instructed as he or
she might be, without at all being a
paragon of learning. For such, as in-
deed for all, this portion of Father Miil-
ler's book will be of the greatest assis-
tance. Here, for instance, is a question
in the catechism : " How d^o we know
that Jesus Christ is the promised Re-
deemer and the Son of God ?" Now, up-
on a right answer to this and a thorough
comprehension of the answer depends
a Christian's faith. The answer in the
catechism is: "We learn it, i, from the
mouths of the prophets ; 2, from the de-
clarations of the angels ; 3, from the tes-
timony of his heavenly Father ; and 4,
from his own testimony." A correct
reply, doubtless ; but simply to give such
an answer to the ordinary student of
whatever age is to speak to him almost
in an unknown tongue, while to saddle
the average Sunday-school teacher with
a clear and comprehensive explanation
of the answer is quite to overweight
him.

Father Miiller's explanations attached
to such questions are excellent. They
are full without being tedious, and con-
densed without being obscure. About
half the second part is very wisely de-
voted to an exposition of the Ninth Ar-
ticle of the Apostles' Creed — "The Holy
Catholic Church " — which is to be com-
mended, as, indeed, may be the whole
book, just as highly to the attention of
earnest and inquiring non-Catholics as
of Catholics. As a whole, the book
serves two great ends : it is a solemn
warning against the prevalent evils of
the day, unbelief and hatred of the truth ;
also, a judicious and able exposition of
the two great facts in the Christian be-
lief, God and the church. The work has
this advantage over more learned trea-
tises on the same subjects : that while it
commands the attention of the highest,

New Publications.

139

it is within the comprehension of any
person of ordinary intelligence. We
know of no work in English better
adapted to afford Catholics whose op-
portunities of study have not been very
great a clear and intelligent reason for
the faith that is in them. The catechism,
noticed at the head, in addition to the
usual instruction, contains a short form
of morning and evening prayers, instruc-
tions for confession, prayers at Mass
and before and after communion, as well
as a brief but useful summary of sacred
history.

THE GRAMMAR-SCHOOL SPELLER AND DE-
FINER: Embracing graded lessons in
spelling, definitions, pronunciation,
and synonymes ; proper names and
geographical terms ; a choice selection
of sentences for dictation ; and a con-
densed study of English etymology ;
also ecclesiastical terms, etc. By E.
D. Farrell. New York: The Catholic
Publication Society Co. 1877.
With the exception of Swinton's, there
is scarcely a speller in general circula-
tion through the schools of this country
which is worthy of the name. Whatever
is valuable in many of them has been
unscrupulously pilfered, directly or indi-
rectly, from Sullivan's Spelling-Book
Superseded, the text-book used in the
Irish national schools ; and doubtless it
is all the better for the pupils that it has
been so. The present work possesses at
least one merit: it is a brave departure
from the well-beaten path of the plagia-
rist. Not that it is completely original ;
that is impossible ; but it is as nearly so
as is compatible with utility. It has
strong marks of individuality in every
page and lesson, and is evidently the
production, not of a mere book-maker,
but of an experienced instructor of
youth, who has felt, in common with
other teachers, the necessity of more
thought in the conception, and system in
the arrangement, of lessons in orthogra-
phy.

We find, after a careful inspection,
that the work contains information, not
to be found in similar works, on Anglo-
Saxon roots, ecclesiastical terms, noted
names of fiction and of distinguished
persons ; words relating to various oc-
cupations and sciences, etc., all of which
are strict essentials to a useful educa-
tion. Miscellaneous words and defini-
tions, Latin roots and English deriva-

tives, and miscellaneous sentences for
dictation occupy nearly half the volume,
the remainder being distributed between
twenty-six other subdivisions of the sub-
ject ; and well-informed- and competent
teachers will say that such an apportion-
ment of the space is right.

We have noticed what we consider a
few imperfections, unimportant, doubt-
less, but needing emendation — viz., on
page 33 this definition : " Assassinate,
to attack and murder a person of impor-
tance." Assassination is not necessari-
ly restricted to persons of importance.
The author also takes the trouble to cor-
rect such pronunciations as pi an' o for
pi a' no, thrissle for thistle, akraust for
across. Of what use is the teacher, if the
book must attend to such matters? He
also orders us, on page 114, not to pro-
nounce ge-og jog in the words geogra-
phy and geometry. There are pupils
who pronounce these words joggraphy
and jommetry, we know, and such is evi-
dently the error against which he wishes
to guard. These oversights, so preva-
lent in other spellers, are, fortunately, of
rare occurrence in this, and a little care-
ful revision will render the book still
more worthy of the title, to which it has
already such strong claims, of the model
speller of the present day.

MISSA DE BEATA MARIA ET MISSA IN FES-
TIS DUPLICIBUS, ITEM IN DOMINICIS AD-
VENTUS ET QUADRAGESIMA : uti in Grad-
uali Romano et Ordinario Missse, ab
illustri Domino Frederico Pustet, S.
Sedis Apost. typographo, " sub auspi-
ciis SS. D. N. Pii IX., curante Sacr. Kit.
Cong." Cum permissu superiorum.
Opus II. Published by the author, P.
Ignatius Trueg, O.S.B., St. Vincent's
Abbey, Beatty P.O., Pa.
We heartily congratulate all who may
be interested in the study or execution
of Gregorian chant upon the production
of this work. Within a very few years
the study of the holy chant of St. Gre-
gory has occupied the attention cf
church musicians both in Europe and
America, and many notable efforts have
been made to restore it to its rightful
place in the sanctuary. In fact, there is
a true revival and reformation of church
music in progress.

One of the chief difficulties which pre-
sents itself to the ordinary modern mu-
sician who acts as choir-master or or-
ganist is the simple melodic form of the

140

New Publications.

chant with its musical notation as it is
printed in all authorized office-books.
Unaccustomed to its tonality, he makes
wretched work of the phrasing and ac-
centuation, and his execution is like
that of a schoolboy spelling his words
before pronouncing them. Ignorant
also of its modality, his attempts at har-
mony are more wretched still. Under
the hands of such performers the chant
becomes poor music, without expres-
sion, in the minor key.

Translations of the chant into modern
notation harmonized with a view to giv-
ing some notion of the distinctive char-
acter of the various modes, are therefore
a necessity for all who have not made
such a thorough study of the chant as to
enable them to read from the original
notation and harmonize it at sight.

The present work of Rev. F. Trueg
has been composed to supply this want,
and will be found in many respects to
be superior to the greater number of
such translations hitherto published. It
comprises the three masses of the Graduate
Romanum as given in the Ratisbon edi-
tion— viz., for feasts of the Blessed Virgin,
for double feasts, and for the Sundays
in Advent and Lent, together with the
responses at Mass. The harmonization
is arranged in such a manner that it
serves not only as an instrumental (or-
gan or string quartette) accompaniment,
but also, if so preferred, for a vocal exe-
cution in four parts without instrumen-
tal accompaniment. Some excellent re-
marks also accompany it by way of pre-
face, explaining the notation employed,
and giving some valuable hints as to the
proper tempo to be observed.

We commend its careful study to or-
ganists and chanters, and trust that it
may receive such patronage as to war-
rant the composer in completing his de-
sign of publishing the entire Graduate
and Antiphonarium in the same form.

BLANCHE CAREY ; OR, SCENES IN MANY
LANDS. By Patricia. New York:
P. O'Shea. 1877.

" Blanche Carey was a charming girl
of twenty-two summers, beautiful and
accomplished. She had just completed
her education at a fashionable boarding-
school, and was gifted with those graces
which constitute the true characteristics
of woman. She was the admired of all
who knew her, the pride of the family
circle, the delight of society, unrivalled

in intellectual attainments. If we add
to these beauty and grace of form, the
picture is complete."

Phew! And we are only at the first
page. What is one to say of so oppres-
sively perfect a heroine? But " the pic-
ture" is not " complete " yet ; for in the
second page the inventory of her qualities
and accomplishments is continued in
this thrilling style: "The harp she fin-
gered with unrivalled skill ; the piano
keys she swept like a whirlwind " (good
gracious !), " while she executed on the
guitar with no less grace and finish."
We are slightly at a loss to understand
whether or not this highly-accomplished
young lady performed all these startling
feats at once, as the author would seem
to imply. The picture of a girl " finger-
ing" the harp with unrivalled skill,
"sweeping" the piano-keys "like a
whirlwind," while she " executes " on
the guitar " with no less grace and fin-
ish " than a whirlwind presumably, is
something that certainly possesses the
merit of novelty. " Finding that she
was already proficient in music, she
did not wish to devote further time to
painting " — why, we do not know. How-
ever, " it's of no consequence/' as Mr.
Toots would say.

Blanche goes to Rome and sees the
Holy Father, who " was quite affable " to
her, she assures us. Here is one of the
"Scenes in Many Lands":

" Our Irish tourists " (Blanche and her
grandfather, a Mr. O'Rourke) "had al-
ready made quite a sojourn in Italy, and
to the old gentleman's astonishment,
as he entered the coffee-room with his
granddaughter leaning on his arm, both
apparently fatigued after a long drive in
the suburbs " (we are at a loss to under-
stand whether the writer means by " su-
burbs " the suburbs of Italy or the su-
burbs of the coffee-room), " they ob-
served a young man of prepossessing
appearance seated at an opposite table,
gazing at them very earnestly. His tra-
velling companions were two ladies.
One of them, though by no means elder-
ly, might be taken for his mother ; the
other young, and somewhat coquettish in
manner — evidently his sister from the
striking resemblance she bore him. Ail
denoted the air of the Parisian.

"'That gentleman must be going to
make our acquaintance,' said Blanche.
' He must, I imagine, be dying to know
us. All three are looking at us. I know

Neiv Publications.

141

they are French by the way they drink

" The party in question rose to adjourn
to their apartments. As they left the
room, Frank Mortimer— for such was his
name — glanced several times at Blanche.
She, of course, not condescending to notice
the supposed curiosity, evc.ded it."

Artful yet discreet Blanche ! Of
course she makes his acquaintance in the
next page— we have only reached page
6 yet, so that it will be seen events
move rapidly — and here is how she
makes it :

" Having waited for some moments in
the pretty boudoir, looking out on a
veranda of orange-trees not yet in blos-
som " (we copy verbatim}, " Blanche
was humming one of her favorite airs,
' Beautiful Isle of the Sea,' which she
imperceptibly changed to 'Let each man
learn to know himself.' Frank entered
on the words, and seemed slightly confused
for an instant, but, quickly recovering
his composure, he addressed his visitors
with the ease and grace of a debonair."

" May we not hope to meet ye in Pa-
ris ?" is one of the questions put by the
easy and graceful " debonair " to his
visitors. He falls in love with Blanche,
of course, though he confesses that he
" almost fell in love once with a lady from
South America," and no wonder. " She
was a most perfect creature in face and
form ; that delicate cast of countenance
with an exquisite profile ; hair that
might be called golden, coiled on the tip
of her head"

The parting at the end of the first
chapter, between Blanche and Frank, is
net altogether as poetical as it might
have been made. The train whistle in-
terferes with it considerably. " A whis-
tle, and all was confusion; everybody
astir to get on board. A second one,
and Frank started to lake leave. He
tried to speak, but it was impossible.
His face quivered with emotion. He
pressed the hand of Blanche in silence,
and, darting out of the carriage, he en-
countered Mr. O'Rourke at the door.
Bidding him a hasty farewell, he was
soon lost in the crowd. ' What a fool I
am !' he thought, ' but / am human na-
ture. Yet is it not a weakness to bow
to its dictates ? Should I ever meet that
gifted creature again, I will tell her
all . . .' He wiped the cold perspiration
from his forehead, and, with a sigh, tried
to forget his misery."

What a fool he was indeed ! Yet he
said one sensible thing: "'Oh!' said
Blanche, laughing, ' am I not a favored
child of fortune? When I go home I
shall write a novel or some work of fic-
tion.' •

" Frank Mortimer smiled as the words
fell from her lips. 'Heaven save you,'
he said, ' from such a fate !' "

Frank's prayer was not heard, seem-
ingly, and the result, we suppose, is
Blanche Carey. We have not got beyond
the first chapter of this fascinating " work
of fiction," and we are not likely to get
beyond it. The reader may easily judge
of its attractions by the extracts given,
which were positively too tempting to
pass by.

THE LETTERS OF REV. JAMES MAKER,
D.D., LATE P.P. OF CARLO W-GRAIGUE,
ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS. With a mem-
oir. Edited by the Rt. Rev. Patrick
Francis Moran.D.D., Bishop of Osso-
ry. Dublin : Browne & Nolan. 1877.
Seldom do we have an opportunity to
welcome the appearance of so valuable a
book as this, which is the embodiment of
those sentiments, views, and convictions
that distinguish the modern Irish priest.
Few men loved his religion and his na-
tive land with a more intense fervor than
Father Maher. This double love nour-
ished his frame, increased his strength,
stimulated his thoughts, nerved his heart,
and underlay every thought and action
of his life. He was a man who simply
delighted in every opportunity of saying
a word or doing a deed in behalf of his
creed or his country. As a controver-
sialist his enthusiasm made him almost
bitter, but with that bitterness which is
born of zeal for the truth. A man of
stalwart frame and magnificent propor-
tions, he exercised a magnetic influence
over his listeners by his presence alone.
Throughout the entire range of contro-
versial literature it would be hard to find
anything equal to his scathing arraign-
ment of Archbishop Whatcly apropos of
the Nunnery Inspection bill : " I have my-
self," he writes, " two sisters and eighteen
nieces who, following the call of Heaven,
have selected the religious life. Some
of them are in convents in England,
some in Ireland, some in America ; all
engaged in the noble service of forming
the tender minds of the children of the
poor to virtue, for whose sake and the
sake of their Father in heaven they most

142

New Publications.

willingly surrendered in the morning of
life all earthly prospects. I well re-
member what they were under the pater-
nal roof. I know what they are in the
cloister. I have never lost sight of them ;
and as to their happiness, to which I
could not be indifferent, I have only to
affirm, which I do most solemnly, that
I have never known people more happy,
more joyous, more light-hearted, or with
such buoyant hopes as good religie-iises.
Their character, my lord, is unknown
and will remain a mystery to that world
for which Christ refused to pray." These
are the brave words of one of the most
conspicuous champions of religious free-
dom, and one of the most determined
antagonists of the smelling committee
who strove to insult the purest and no-
blest of women. His spirit is not dead
among his confr^. es in the Irish vine-
yard, for Cardinal Cullen, the nephew of
Father Maher, and the distinguished
prelate who has given these inestimable
letters to the world — a near relative of
the great priest — lives to represent every
feeling and pulse of his heart.

SPECIALISTS AND SPECIALTIES IN MEDI-
CINE. Address delivered before the Al-
umni Association of the Medical De-
partment of the University of Vermont.
Burlington. 1876.

This address of Dr. Henry, though un-
pretending in form, is exceedingly well
timed and full of suggestiveness. The
doctor evidently belongs to the con-
servative class of his profession, who
long for the day when eminent respecta-
bility, which is the escutcheon of the
medical man in European countries,
will be fairly won and worn by every
one who subscribes M.D. to his name.
As a consequence, he is the bitter enemy
of every form of quackery and undue pre-
tentiousness. He certainly handles
soi-disant specialists without gloves, and
gives the best of reasons why the com-
munity should rebel against their as-
sumption of skill. Too many so-call-
ed specialists are men who have devot-
ed their time and attention to a special
branch of the profession while entirely
neglecting the others. This is illogical
and cannot be done. Medicine is a sci-
ence whose parts are bound together as
indissolubly as the stages of a reasoning
process, and whoever imagines that he
can master one department without a

knowledge of the others simply follows
the advice of Dogberry. We have
oculists and aurists and gynaecologists
without number who have no knowledge
of general pathology. This is altogeth-
er wrong. The true raison d^etre of a
specialist is that, having profoundly stu-
died the science of medicine, he finds that
his natural aptitude or taste draws him
to one branch of the profession rather
than to others. In this manner only
have the prominent and highly-reputed
specialists in Europe and among our-
selves won their fame and fortune. Dr.
Henry, in a clear and trenchant styl e, de-
monstrates the absurdity of specialties,
as such.

MONGRELISM. By Watson F. Quinby
M.D. Wilmington, Del. : James &
Webb.

This curious monogram is worth pe-
rusing, if for no other reason than the
fanciful and novel views which it pre-
sents. The author attributes many of
our present social evils to mongrelism,
or the admixture of distinct types of
men. He finds in the Book of Revela-
tion the foreshadowing of the natural
distribution of men into white, red, and
black, deeming the three similarly col-
ored horses to be typical of those three
branches of the human family, while the
fourth horse, on which sat Death, he con-
siders to be the emblem of mongrel ia.
He opposes J. J. Rousseau's idea that
man's primitive condition was one of
barbarism, and contends that historical
and archaeological discoveries prove
rather a retrogression than an improve-
ment. The Chinaman is Dr. Quinby's
ideal of a mongrel. In the land of
flowers every art once flourished, learn-
ing was cultivated, the harpist filled the
air with sweetest strains, and the poet
sang delicious lays in the beautiful vale
of Cashmere, till the bane of mongrel
ism fell on it and all progress ceased.
Mexico and South America are other
evidences of the pernicious influence of
hybridism. The conclusions of the au-
thor are in many instances sound, but
his reasoning is too fanciful to satisfy a
sober-minded reader. His statement
that the rapid influx of Chinese into our
midst is fraught with mighty perils is
well worth pondering over, and no true
statesman will shun the serious consid-
eration of this knotty problem.

New Publications.

143

JACK. From the French of Alphonse
Daudet. By Mary Neal Sherwood,
translator of Sidonit-. Boston : Estes
& Lauriat. 1877.

Another painful story by this gifted
author. It is cleverly told and the treat-
ment is highly artistic, showing nil that
careful finish that French writers bestow
even on their smallest characters. The
characters in this story are most of
them wretched enough. Lovers of the
real in fiction will find them realistic
enough. There is a tone of hopeless-
ness and helplessness in Jack, as in
Sidonie, that is very disheartening. Ac-
cording to M. Daudet, a relentless Fate
would seem to clutch some miserable
mortals, and hold them till death came
as a happy release. "The mother cried
in a tone of horror, 'Dead'?" "No,"
said old Rivals ; " no — delivered" are the
last lines of Jack.

There is much truth and also much
untruth in the lesson of the book. So-
cial surroundings, of course, influence
very materially the growth, physical and
moral, of lives. But they are not every-
thing ; over and above them all is a man's
own will, and that is the true lever of
his life. " Jack " only needed a little
more resolution and nerve to have made
him a very useful member of society in-
stead of a nincompoop. As in Sidonie,
so here, the minor characters are to us
the most interesting. The humor in
Jack is unfortunately less in quantity
and more sardonic in quality than in
Sidonie. We suppose it is hopeless to
expect M. Daudet to look for once at
the brighter side of life and find his
heroes and heroines among respectable
people. Meanwhile, we give him all
praise as a very powerful artist, though a
very unpleasing one. He is fortunate in
his American translator.

MCGEE'S ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY : De-
voted to Catholic Art, Literature, and
Education. Vol. I. New York : J. A.
McGee, Publisher. 1877.
An illustrated Catholic weekly jour-
nal, which should successfully compete
in point of illustration and literary work-
manship with the numerous non-Catho-
lic and anti-Catholic — we had almost said
diabolic — journals that are so abundant to-
day, was something greatly needed in this
country. Various attempts have been
made in the past to establish such a jour-
nal. They were so many failures. The vol-

ume which forms the subject of the pre-
sent notice is certainly the most successful
we have yet seen here, and we have great
hopes that, with an increased patronage,
which it certainly deserves, it may be
all we could wish it to be. It has ad-
vanced very much, both in style of illus-
tration, in selection of subjects, and
above all in editorial character and ability
on its own earlier numbers.

The publisher has had the good for-
tune as well as the good sense to secure a
really able editor in Col. James E. McGee,
who, in addition to being an excellent
writer, possesses that sound journalis-
tic sense and judgment without which
the very best matter is simply wasted in
a publication of this kind. Most of the
illustrated journals of the day are so much
mental and moral poison, and the deadli-
est are those that are most generally liked
and enjoy the widest circulation. To fur-
nish an antidote to this bane is a good as
well asabold work, which deserves well
of Catholics everywhere. We most heart-
ily wish continued success to the new
venture.

THE BIBLE OF HUMANITY. By Jules
Michelet. Translated from the French
by Vincenzo Calfa. With a new and
complete index. New York : J. W.
Bouton. 1877.

This is a translation of what may be
called a sensational romance by Jules
Michelet, founded on the earliest re-
cords of various races of the human fam-
ily, including the Old and the New Tes-
tament. The author runs riot amidst
these ancient documents ; and his disor-
dered imagination misinterprets them
unscrupulously, denies boldly what does
not answer his purpose, and invents at
pleasure, until in the end nothing is left
on the mind of the reader except the im-
pression of a defying, scoffing, and volup-
tuous disciple of M. Voltaire — Jules Mi-
chelet.

The translation is in good English ;
we have no reason to think it is not
faithfully done.

THE POETICAL AND PROSE WRITINGS
OF CHARLES SPRAGUE. New edition.
With a portrait and a biographical
sketch. Boston: A.Williams & Co.
1876.

Mr. Sprague's writings, whether in
prose or poetry, are of that kind, we
fear, that are not destined to live long in

144

New Publications.

men's memories, however much imme-
diate interest and attention they may
excite at the time of their publication.
His verse was smooth enough and sweet
enough as a rule, with little or nothing
in it to jar on sensitive feelings, and lit-
tle or nothing in it also to rouse feeling
of any kind. The present edition is
handsomely brought out.

ANNALS OF OUR LADY OF THE SACRED
HEART. Monthly bulletin of the
Archconfraternity of Our Lady of the
Sacred Heart, published with the ap-
probation of Rt. Rev. Edgar P. Wad-
hams, Bishop of Ogdensburg. Print-
ed for the Missionaries of the Sacred
Heart, by Chas. E. Holbrook, Water-
town, N. Y.

We have received the first number of
this little publication, the object of which
is best set forth in the words of the dedi-
cation " to the clergy, religious com-
munities, colleges, institutions of learn-
ing, and Catholic societies of America."
"The Missionaries of the Sacred Heart
of Jesus established at Watertown ear-
nestly recommend to the zeal of Catho-
lics the monthly publication entitled
Annals of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart,
Its object is to make known and to
propagate in America, and in the Eng-
lish possessions, the admirable devotion
to Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, and,
through Mary, to lead souls to the Sacred
Heart of Jesus." The publication be-
gins with the June number.

THE CATHOLIC PARENTS' FRIEND. Devot-
ed to the cause of Catholic education.
Edited monthly by M. Wallrath, pas-
tor of the Church of the Immaculate
Conception, Colusa, California. Num-
bers for May, June, and July, 1877.
We think this little publication may
do great good to the cause of Catholic
education. We trust it may have an ex-
tensive patronage. A little more timeli-
ness and brevity in the articles, and a
more pointed and direct application of
them to matters moving around us here
at home, would add greatly to the value
and interest of so excellently conceived
a work.

WE have received from the Catholic
Publication Society Co. advance sheets
of Cardinal Manning's latest volume,
reprinted from the English plates, which
were specially furnished to this house

by the English publishers. It is im-
possible at so short a notice to deal
fitly with a work by so eminent an au-
thor, and touching on a variety of sub-
jects, each one of which is timely and
important. Some indication of the value
of the volume may be gathered from the
titles of the various papers : " The Work
and Wants of the Catholic Church
in England" ; " Cardinal Wiseman" ;
'• French Infidelity" ; " Ireland" ; " On
Progress" ; '' The Dignity and Rights of
Labor" ; " The Church of Rome" ; " Cae-
sarism and Ultramontanism'1 ; " Ultra-
montanism and Christianity" ; " The
Pope and Magna Charta" ; " Philosophy
without Assumptions," etc., etc.

BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED.

SAINT ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF HUNGARY. By the
author of Life in a Cloister, etc.

HORTENSE: an Historical Romance. Translated
from the French. By R. J. Halm. Kelly, Piet
& Co., Baltimore.

THE CROWN OF HEAVEN, THE SUPREME OBJECT
OF CHRISTIAN HOPE. From the German of Rev.
John N. Stoger, S.J. By Rev. M. Nash, S.J.
P. O'Shea, New York.

SELECTIONS from the Imitation cf Christ. SELEC-
TIONS from the Thoughts of Marcus Aureltus
A ntoninus. Roberts Bros., Boston.

STRENGTH AND CALCULATION OF DIMENSIONS OF
IRON AND STEEL CONSTRUCTIONS, WITH REFER-
ENCE TO THE LATEST EXPERIMENTS. Translated
from the German of J. J. Weyrauch, Ph.D.,
Prof. Polytechnic School of Stuttgart. D. Van
Nostrand, New York.

TEN YEARS OF Mv LIFE. By the Princess Felix
Salm-Salm. R. Worthington, New tfork.

THE FORTY-SEVENTH ANNUAL REPORT OF THE IN-
SPECTORS OF THE STATE PENITBNTIARY FOR THE
EASTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, FOR THE
YEAR 1876. Sherman & Co., Philadelphia.

SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT OF THE WOMAN'S BAPTIST
MISSIONARY SOCIETIES. With the Proceedings of
the Annual Meetings. Rand, A very & Co., Bos-
ton.

NINTH ANNUAL REPORT OF THE CLARKE INSTITU-
TION FOR DEAF MUTES AT NORTHAMPTON, MASS.,
FOR THE YEAR ENDING SEPTEMBER I, 1876.

ON THE VALUE AND CULTURE OF ROOTS FOR
STOCK FEEDING. By David Laadreth & Sons.
McCalla & Siavely, Philadelphia.

FINAL ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE WOODRUFF SCIEN-
TIFIC EXPEDITION AROUND THE WORLD. In-
dianapolis Journal Co., Indianapolis.

ANNALS OF THE CATHOLIC INDIAN MISSIONS OF
AMERICA. Bureau of Catholic Indian Missions,
Washington, D. C.

INDULGENCFS APOSTOI.IQUES, ou INDULGENCES
APPLICABLES AUX VIVANTS ET AUX DEFUNTS.
Que le Saint Pere Pie IX. attache aux Rosaires,
Chapelets, Croix, etc., qui en ont obtenu le pou-
voir approuve par 1'autoritd competente. Rome :
Librsria di Roma.

OHM

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVL, No. 152.— NOVEMBER, 1877.

THE FREE-RELIGIONISTS.

I. — THE NEW-ENGLANDER.

THIS pamphlet * of ninety-five
pages gives an account of the last
annual meeting in Boston of the
" Free-Religious Association, its
object being to promote the prac-
tical interests of pure religion, to
increase fellowship in spirit, and to
encourage the scientific study of
man's religious nature and history."
Associations of this kind seem to
be necessary as safety-valves to a
certain class of men and women,
chiefly found in New England, who,
especially in matters of religion,
are in a state of effervescence, and
feel the pressing need at times of
publicly delivering themselves of
such thoughts as come uppermost
in their minds on this and kindred
subjects. The phenomenon is a pe-
culiar one, and perhaps in no other
country could such a variety of
odd spirits as are usually found
in these assemblies be convoked.
Their proceedings are full of in-
terest to the student of religion and

* Proceedings at the Tenth A nnual Meeting of
the Free-Religious Association, held in Boston,
May 31 and June i, 1877. Boston: Published by
the Free-Religious Association, 231 Washington
Street. 1877.

the mental philosopher, no less
than to the observer of the phases
of religious development of some
of the most active thinkers of this
section of our country.

The American mind at bottom is
serious, clings with deathless tena-
city to a religion of some sort ; and
of none is this more characteristic
than of the descendants of the Pu-
ritan Fathers. The children of the
Puritans may be eccentric, at times
fanatical, and inclined to thrust
their religious, social, political, and
even dietetical notions upon others ;.
but they are men and women who
think ; they are restless until they
have gained a religious belief, and
are marked with earnestness of some
sort, energy, and practical skill.
The Puritan race is a thinking, re-
ligious, and an aggressive race of
men and women. Whatever he
may be, there is always in a genu-
ine Puritan a great deal of positive
human nature. Let him be under
error, and his teeming brain will
breed countless crotchets, any one
of which he will maintain witli the
bitterest fanaticism, and, if placed
in po\ver, will impose it upon oth-
ers with a ruthless intolerance.

146

The Free- Religionists.

Give him truth, and you have an
enlightened faith, indomitable zeal,
and not a few of the elements which
go to make up an apostle. The
main qualities which distinguish
the typical New-Englander, though
not altogether the most attractive,
are nevertheless not the meanest in
human nature, and we candidly
confess, though not a drop of Puri-
tan blood runs in our veins, that
we have but few dislikes, while we
entertain many feelings of sincere
respect, for the New England type
of man. It is, therefore, with spe-
cial interest that we read whatever
offers an insight into the workings
of the minds of so large, influential,
and important a class of the Ame-
rican people.

II. — WHAT IS THE FREE-RELIGION-
IST MOVEMENT.

The Unitarian Association did
not go far enough and fast enough
to suit the temper of a class of its
more radical and ardent members ;
hence the existence of the separate
organization of" The Free-Religious
Association." The movement of
the free-religionists may be said to
spring from a laudable desire to
get rid in the speediest way possi-
ble of the spurious Christianity
which was imposed upon them by
their forefathers as genuine Chris-
tianity and pure religion.

Suppose they have accomplished
this laborious task of purification,
what then ? Have they found
wherewith " to yield the religious
sentiment reasonable satisfaction,"
which Mr. Tyndall says " is the
problem of problems at this hour" ?
By no means ; this discovery is
.quite another affair.

"Hie labor, -
Hoc opus est."

They have only reached its start-

ing point. Let them begin their
search, and investigate every form
or scheme of religion that has ex-
isted among men from the begin-
ning of the human race ; let them
speculate on these to their hearts'
content, and indulge in the fancy
that they have a mission to invent
or construct a new religion — and
what then ? Why, they will find, at
the end of all their earnest efforts,
that there are, and especially for
those who have been under the
light and quickening influences of
Christianity, but two possible move-
ments, one a continuous curve and
the other a tangent. One or the
other of these lines they \till be in-
evitably forced to take. If they
pursue the first and push their pre-
mises to their logical consequen-
ces, they will, if intelligent and
consistent, be led at some point
into the circle of the Catholic
Church ; if they follow the latter,
and have the courage of their
opinions, they will declare them-
selves first infidels and then athe-
ists. The fact is becoming daily
more and more plain to intelligent
and fearlessly honest men that there
is no logical standing ground, we
do not say between Catholicity and
atheism — for atheism has no logi-
cal standing position whatever — but
that there is no logical standing
ground at all outside of Catholicity.
For Catholicity professes to be, and
has ever maintained that it is, the
most perfect manifestation to men of
the supreme divine Reason, and to
reject the truths which it sets be-
fore human reason with the con-
vincing evidence of their divine
origin necessarily involves the de-
nial of human reason itself; conse-
quently, human reason inevitably
falls, in the end, with the rejection
of Catholicity. A man may reject
Protestantism and claim human

The Free Religionists.

reason ; nay, he is bound to repu-
diate Protestantism, if he holds to
human reason, for the doctrine of
" total depravity " taught by ortho-
dox Protestant sects undermines
altogether the value of human rea-
son.* But Catholicity appeals con-
fidently to human reason for its
firm support, since its entire
structure is based upon the infalli-
bility of human reason in its sphere,
and the irrefragable certitude of
its great primary truths. The in-
terdependent relations, therefore,
existing between reason and Ca-
tholicity are essential, and they
stand or fall together. The way
that Dr. Holmes has put this ques-
tion is not, we beg his pardon, the
right way ; he says : " Rome or
Reason?" He should have said:
Rome and Reason.

There can be no rational belief
in God, in the immortality of the
soul, in human responsibility as
against Christianity, as there can
be no rational belief in Christianity
as against Catholicity. Outside of
the Catholic Church there is only
nihilism.

III. THE DRIFTS OF FREE-RELI-
GIONISM.

It would be difficult to predict
the precise course of these " come-
outers " of the latest date, called
free-religionists. Some will proba-
bly stop after having repudiated
Protestantism, rest upon the truths
of reason, and, without inquiring
further, vainly try to satisfy, with a
species of theism, the great aspira-
tions and deep needs of their souls ;
eventually they may fall back on
old Unitarianism. Others will ven-
ture to examine, as some before
them have done, the claims of the
Catholic Church, and finding that

* Vide Moehler's Symbolism,

these are founded on human rea-
son, that her doctrines perfect the
truths of human reason, and that
she alone is adequate to satisfy all
the wants of the human heart,
will become in the course of time
Catholics, and save their souls —
that is, reach their high destiny.
Another section will, during, per-
haps, their whole lives, seriously
amuse themselves with the study of
Brahminism, Buddhism, and every
other kind of outlandish religion —
not a vain intellectual amusement,
except when associated with the
absurd idea of concocting a new
religion. While the larger section,
we fear, will follow the tangent and
end in nihilism. For although the
main drift of the religious world
outside of the Catholic Church, es-
pecially in the United States, is to-
wards naturalism ; although the
face of each free-religionist looks in
a somewhat different way, yet the
actual movement of the greatest
number of these Unitarian dissen-
ters is apparently in the direction
of zero.

Precisely where the president
of the Free-Religious Association
stands, to what definite truths he as-
sents as undeniable, and what con-
victions he holds as settled, is not
to be gathered from any of his ser-
mons, tracts, speeches, and several
published books. He seems to be
laboring under the impression that
he has a mission to bring forth a
new religion, but thus far he or his
associates in this illusive idea have
given to the world no new word in
religion, or in morals, or in philo-
sophy, or in politics, or in social
life, or in art, or in science, or in
method, or in anything else scibilc.
Mr. William R. Alger has ventured
to predict to his free-religionist
brethren in their last annual gath-
ering a new incarnation and its

148

The Free-Religionists.

gospel, in which we fail to see any-
thing new or important, if true.
" The spirit of science," such are
the words of his prophecy, " en-
riched with the spirit of piety, is
the avatar of the new Messiah."

Francis Ellswood Abbot, a con-
spicuous member of the Free-Reli-
gious Association, as well as one of
its active directors and the editor of
the Index, a weekly journal which
is in some sort the organ of the
free-religious movement, has, among
other notable things, come to the
front and publicly impeached Chris-
tianity. His indictment contains
five counts against the Christian
religion : " human intelligence, hu-
man virtue, the human heart, hu-
man freedom, and humanitarian
religion."* Here are his charges:
" Christianity," he says, " no longer
proclaims the highest truths, incul-
cates the purest ethics, breathes the
noblest spirit, stimulates to the
grandest life, holds up to the soul
and to society the loftiest ideal of
that which ought to be." f But
this is neither new nor original;
for what is the Christianity which
Mr. Abbot so boldly impeaches?
Why, in all its main features it
is that disfigurement of Chris-
tianity which he has inherited
from his Calvinistic progenitors,
and which the Council of Trent im-
peached, and for the most part on
the very same grounds as he does,
more than three centuries ago ; so
that in each of his articles of im-
peachment every Catholic to-day
will heartily join, and to each of his
charges say : Amen ; Anathema sit!

What is surprising to Catholics
is that there should be intelligent
and educated men living in this en-
lightened nineteenth century who
have found out that Calvinism is

* The Impeachment of Christianity ^ p. 6.
t Ibid. p. i.

false, and have not yet discovered
in the intellectual environment of
Boston that Calvinism is not Chris-
tianity. " They do not attack the
Catholic Church," said Daniel
O'Connell, in speaking of a similar
class of men, " but a monster which
they have created and called the
Catholic Church."

But Mr. Abbot is not of the men
who are content to rest in mere ne-
gation. In a lecture delivered by
him in a course under the auspi-
ces of the Free-Religious Associa-
tion, entitled A Study of Religion,
after much preliminary discourse,
he gives with the heading, " The
New Conception of Religion," the
following definition of religion :
" Religion," he says, " is the effort
of man to perfect himself. " * Now,
what is the origin of "man's effort
to perfect himself "? "Religion,"
he affirms, " appears in its univer-
sal aspect as the decree of Nature
that her own end shall be achieved.
Religion is the inward impulsion of
Nature, seconded by the conscious
effort of the individual to conform
to it," etc.f

What Mr. Abbot calls " nature "
and " ideal excellence in all direc-
tions " is what the common sense
of mankind has named God. Mr.
Abbot has no objection to the same
name ; only he insists that the idea
of God, which is very proper,
should be submitted " to the edu-
cated intelligence of the human
race." \ " It is," he says, " because
I do believe in God that I am will-
ing to submit my belief in him to
the sharpest and most searching
scrutiny of science." §

Now, Mr. Abbot admits that if
you once concede the Messianic
claim of Christ, " then it is true
that Catholicism is itself Christian-

* P. 26.

tP. 23.

The Free- Religionists.

149

ity in its most perfect form."* He
therefore stops virtually in his an-
alysis of religion at the idea of God,
and, if he believed in the Divinity
of Christ and did not eschew logic,
he would have to embrace Catho-
licity. Mr. Abbot, like many Uni-
tarians, agrees on this point with P.
J. Proudhon, but with this differ-
ence : the Frenchman recedes a
step, and maintains that " outside
of Christianity there is no God, no
religion, no faith, no theology. . . .
The church believes in God, and
believes in God more faithfully and
more perfectly than any sect. The
church is the purest, most perfect,
and most enlightened revelation of
the divine Being, and none other
understands what is worship. From
a religious stand-point the Catho-
licism of the Latin peoples is the
best, the most rational, and the
most perfect. Rome, in spite of her
repeated and frightful falls, remains
the only legitimate church." Hence
Proudhon and those of his school
lay it down as a sine qua non that
the elimination of the idea of God,
and of all obligation to any divine
law, is the condition of all true pro-
gress. From this we may draw the
conclusion that Francis E. Abbot is
on the curve line, and, if he follows
out his definition of religion to its
logical consequences, he will surely
land, whatever may be the sweep of
his continuous curve, in the bosom of
the Catholic Church. There is no
escape from this ultimate result, if
reason is to rule, except by hastily
taking the back track, and starting
on the tangent, and eventually
plunging with Proudhon into the
dark abyss of nihilism. Hence
every sagacious straight-line radi-
cal cannot but look upon the plat-
form of the editor of the Index as

*fs Rjinanism Real Christianity f p. 14.

the jumping-off place into popery
for all consistent theists. That
this is not meant as pleasantry, but
is written in downright earnestness,
we quote the conclusion of his lec-
ture on A Study of Religion, and
preface it by saying that the lan-
guage with which he urges his defi-
nition of religion on his hearers
finds in every word an echo in the
hearts of all sincere and instructed
Catholics, and receives their full
endorsement.

" I speak now," he says, " as one who
believes in religion, thus conceived, from
the sole of the foot to the crown of the
head, without apology either for the
name or the thing, and without the
smallest concession to the prejudice that
assails either the one or the other. To-
day I speak only to the large in heart
and broad in mind — to those who must
accept science and would fain accept re-
ligion too. To these I say that science
itself would lose its fearless love of
truth, were it not that religion fed its
secret springs ; that social reform would
lose its motive and inspiration, litera-
ture and art their beauty, and all human
life its sweetest and tenderest grace, did
not religion evermore create the insatia-
ble hunger after perfection in the soul
of man. Bright, cheerful, ennobling,
stimulating, emancipating, religion is
the greatest friend of humanity, ever
guiding it upward and onward to the
right and the true ; ay, and to all we
yearn for, if, as we believe, the right and
the true are indeed the pathway to God."

But not all free-religionists are
gifted with so deep, intelligent, and
healthy an appreciation of the es-
sence of religion as Francis E. Ab-
bot, who leaves nothing at present
to be desired but the courage of
his convictions — -proficiat !

There is, however, in the Chris-
tian Inquirer a revelation made by
William Ellery Channing, a distin-
guished nephew of the celebrated
Dr. Channing, which tells quite an-
other story. It appears by this ar-
ticle that the president of the Free-

ISO

The Free-Religionists.

Religious Association, O. B. Froth-
ingham, had attributed to Mr.
Charming, one of the speakers in
the tenth annual assembly, a "po-
etic Christianity," a " religion in
the air," an " up-in-a-balloon " reli-
gion, and in reply to this accusa-
tion he draws from nature the fol-
lowing unattractive personal por-
traits :

" Let me," says Mr. Channing, " make
a clean breast of it to you before all on-
lookers. What you mean by the ' rumors '
that I had become ' ecclesiastical in tastes
and opinions ' I can but conjecture. But
the simple facts are in brief these : You
remember how seven years ago, on the
public platform, and in the reunions of
the Free-Religionists in dear John Sar-
gent's hospitable rooms, and in private
'confabs' with yourself, and W. J. Pot-
ter, and S. Longfellow, and S. Johnson,
and J. Weiss, and T. W. Higginson, and
D. A. Wasson, and F. E. Abbot, etc., I
tried to preach my gospel, that the -vital
centre of free religious union is the
life of God in man as made gloriously
manifest in Jesus the Christ. And you
remember, too, how around that centre
I illustrated the historic fact that the
great religions of our race arranged
themselves in orderly groups. For near-
ly a year I opened my heart and mind to
the free-religionists and liberal Chris-
,tians, without a veil to hide my inmost
holy of holies. But shall I tell you, my
friend, that when I bade you all farewell,
in the summer of 1870, it was with sad
forebodings? And why? The story, too
long to tell in full, ran thus : One, in his
wish to be bathed in the sense of ever-
present Deity, had ceased to commune
with the Spirit of spirits in prayer. An-
other, in his repulsion from imprisoning
anthropomorphism, had abandoned all
conceptions of a personal God, and so
lost the Father. A third, in his historic
purpose to lead a heavenly-human life,
here and now, gave up the hope of im-
mortal existence, as a sailor might turn
from contemplating the cloud-palaces of
sunset to pull the tarry cordage and
spread the coarse canvas of his ship.
And, saddest of all, a fourth, in his bold
purpose to be spontaneous in every im-
pulse and emotion, spurned the mother-
ly monitions of duty so sternly that con-

science even seemed driven to return to
heaven, like ' Astraea Redux.' In brief,
one felt as if the liberal college of all re-
ligions in council with pantheism, ag-
nosticism, and atheistic materialism was
destined to fall flat to dust in a confused
chaos of most commonplace spiritual
' knoiv-nothingism.' Such was my dis-
heartening vision of the near future for
dearly-loved compeers. And a darker
valley of ' devastation,' as our Sweden-
borgian friends say, than I was driven
into I have never traversed."

But Mr. Channing goes further ;
he shows that he has studied the
religious philosophers of antiquity
to some purpose, seized their true
meaning and real drift, and in
touching language takes his readers
into his confidence, offering to them
an insight into his present relations
to Christianity.

The following remarkable para-
graph possesses a thrilling interest
for Catholics ; and if it affects others
as it has the present writer on read-
ing it, they will not fail to offer up an
aspiration to Him who has given such
graces to the soul of the man who
penned it — and doubtless to oth-
ers among the free-religionists — that
he will render their faith explicit
and perfect it.

" Once again," he says, " I sought com-
fort with the blessed company of sages
and saints of the Orient and Hellas —
with Lao-Tsee and Kung Fu-Tsee ;
with the writers of the Bhagava-Geeta
and the Dhamma-Bada ; of the hymns of
ancient Avesta and the modern sayings
and songs of the Sufis ; with radiant Pla-
to and heroic Epictetus, etc., etc. Once
more they refreshed and reinspirited me
as of old. But they did something bet-
ter : hand in hand they brought me up
to the white marble steps, and the crys-
tal baptismal font, and the bread and
wine-crowned communion-table — ay, to
the cross in the chancel of the Christian
temple — and, as they laid their hands in
benediction on my head, they whispered :
' Here is your real home. We have been
but your guides in the desert to lead you
to fellowship with the Father and his

The Frce-Rclig ion ists.

Son in the spirit of holy humanity.
Peace be with you." And so, my bro-
ther, once again, and with a purer, pro-
founder, tenderer love than ever, like a
little child, I kissed the blood-stained
feet and hands and side of the Hero of
Calvary, and laid my hand on the knees
of the gentlest of martyrs, and was up-
lifted by the embracing arms of the gra-
cious elder Brother, and in his kiss of
mingled pity and pardon found the
peace I sought, and became a Christian
in experience, as through a long life I had
hoped and prayed to be. Depend upon
it, dear Frothingham, there is on this
small earth-ball no reality more real than
this central communion with God in
Christ, of which the saints of all ages in
the church universal bear witness."

IV. THE MEETING.

But \ve have wandered off some-
what from our present point, which
is the proceedings of " the tenth
annual meeting " of the free-reli-
gionists in Boston. What is singu-
larly remarkable among so intellec-
tual and cultivated a class of men as
assemble at these gatherings, and
especially among its select speakers
and essayists, is that they should
display so great a lack of true
knowledge of the Catholic Church.
If the Catholic Church is not wor-
thy of serious study, then why make
it a subject for speeches and essays
in so important an assembly ? But
if it be worthy of so much atten-
tion, why not give it that investi-
gation which its significance de-
mands ? We dare not say that the
leaders among the free-religionists
are not intelligent men, that they
have not read considerably. But
when they charge the Catholic
Church with heresies which she has
condemned ; when they attribute to
her doctrine which she always has
detested and does detest ; and when
they blacken her with stale and oft-
refuted calumnies, and recklessly
traduce her dearest and best, her
holiest children, we dare not trust

ourselves to give expression to what
comes uppermost in our thoughts.
Shakspere gives good advice in this
matter :

'' Though honesty be no Puritan,
Yet it will do no hurt."

We recommend this to the con-
sideration of our free-religionists.
It will do them " no hurt " to show
more of this virtue when speaking
of the Catholic Church. It be-
comes those who talk so much
about science to talk a little less
about it, and, when the Catholic re-
ligion is concerned, to give more
evidence of scientific study. Es-
pecially does this course become
men who claim to be public teach-
ers belonging to a body whose ob-
ject is " to encourage the scientific
study of man's religious nature and
history."

The first essay, delivered by Wil-
liam R. Alger, entitled Steps to-
wards Religious Emancipation in
Christendom, and published in
their tenth annual report, will serve
to illustrate our meaning. Mr. Al-
ger is a scholar of repute, a man who
has travelled abroad, written and
published several books displaying
extensive reading, refined tastes,
and high literary culture. He is,
moreover, a distinguished minister
of the Unitarian denomination.
His essay, we have reason to be-
lieve, was prepared with the usual
care bestowed upon such papers ;
for the president of the association,
in introducing the author, said :
" The discussion will be opened by
an essay by Mr. William R. Alger,
of New York, who has made this
matter in its historical aspects the
study of years, and is carefully pre-
pared to present the result of his
deepest thought and investigation."*

• P. 82.

152

The Free-Religionists.

In its fourth paragraph the essay
proposes to give a rough sketch of
the "doctrinal thought " on which
in mediaeval times the " intellec-
tual unity " of the church rested.
Our limits will not allow us to
quote it entire, but it is enough for
our purpose to say — and we weigh
our words before putting them on
paper — that scarcely any one sen-
tence of this paragraph contains a
correct statement of the " doctrinal
thought " of the Catholic Church
either in the middle ages or in any
other age.

Here are some of the statements :
" The whole human race, descend-
ed from Adam, who lived five thou-
sand years before" etc. Mr. Alger
would convey new information to
the readers of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD, if he would give his au-
thorities for this assertion. Thus
far, if our authorities do not deceive
us, the Catholic Church has, in her
wisdom, left the question of the
date of man's appearance upon
this earth to the discussion of chro-
nologists and to the disputes among
scientists.

Again : " The Bible, a mysteri-
ous book dictated by the Spirit of
God, containing an infallible record
of what is most important in this
scheme of salvation, is withheld
from the laity" It would also in-
crease the knowledge of our readers
if the author had given his autho-
rities to prove the above charge.
The testimony of Catholics, if we
be a judge, is precisely the contrary
to this accusation. They entertain
the conviction that it was the most
earnest desire of the church in the
period of which Mr. Alger is speak-
ing to render the Bible accessible
to all classes of men. Her monks
devoted themselves to the severe
manual labor of copying the Bible,
and engaged in the noble toil of

translating it into the vulgar tongues
of various nations, that the people
might become readers of the Bible.
She exposed the Bible publicly in
her libraries, and chained it to their
walls by the windows, and to desks
in her churches, in order that it
might be read by everybody and
not stolen. The charge is simply
an old and oft-repeated calumny
quite unworthy a man of reputed
intelligence.

" The actual power or seal of
salvation is made available to be-
lievers only through the sacraments
of the church — confession, baptism,
Mass, and penance — legally admin-
istered by her accredited repre-
sentatives." There is such an in-
extricable confusion pervading this
statement that it is difficult to dis-
cern its meaning. No one, we
venture to say, who had mastered
the " doctrinal thought " of the
church would have ever penned so
distracted a sentence on so impor-
tant a point. One would suppose
that, according to Mr. Alger, there
were two sacraments, one " confes-
sion " and the other " penance " ;
whereas every Catholic who has
learned the little catechism knows
that " confession," the popular term,
means, in the language of the church,
the Sacrament of Penance. Then
what is meant by " baptism legally
administered by her accredited re-
presentatives " ? This is not clear ;
but the whole statement is so con-
fused in thought and tangled in ex-
pression that the only hope of un-
derstanding the author's meaning
is to give him an opportunity of
trying again. It would be, among
ourselves, interesting to read from
non-Catholic authors the " doctrinal
thought " of the church on what is
essential to salvation and what is
ordinarily necessary to salvation.
It would also, we are inclined to

The Free-Religionists.

153

think, clear up many of their mis-
conceptions and do them no little
good to have correct ideas on so
important a matter.

" Those," says Mr. Alger, " who
humbly believe and observe these
doctrines shall be saved ; all others
lost for ever."

This sentence follows the preced-
ing one, and the same confusion
and error underlie both. When
the ingenuous author of this essay
has corrected the former sentence
by reading up on the point involv-
ed, he will, as a matter of course,
correct the error contained in the
latter.

Passing now over several para-
graphs containing many charges, we
regret to say, in unusually bitter
words, we come to the following :
" The revival of the Greek learn-
ing, the study of the works of Plato,
Aristotle, the classic poets, orators,
and historians, with their beautiful
and surprising revelations of genius,
virtue, and piety, entirely indepen-
dent and outside of the church and
Bible, exerted an immense force in
liberalizing and refining the nar-
row, dogmatic mind of the Chris-
tian world, refuting its arrogant
pretensions to an exclusive communion
with God and heritage in Providence"
If the cultivated writer of this essay
had qualified the phrase " outside
of the church " as I understand it,
" exclusive communion " as I view
it, this sentence might pass ; but, as
it stands, the position in which the
Catholic Church is placed is en-
tirely false, and we refer our read-
ers to what is said on these points
under the heading of " The Mission
of the Latin Race," commencing on
page 5, in the last number of this
magazine.

" Now the Pope," says Mr. Al-
ger, "excommunicates the empe-
ror, sets up a rival, foments a re-

bellion among his subjects, or
launches the terrible interdict on a
whole nation, shutting the church-
es, muffling the bells, forbidding
confession to the penitent, unction
to the dying, burial to the dead." *
Either the author has been impos-
ed upon by his authorities, or per-
haps he has not weighed sufficient-
ly his words. The effect of an in-
terdict of the Pope is inaccurately
stated. These are " terrible " mat-
ters, and one who is reciting histo-
ry should be careful and exact in
his specifications. Here, as before,
he is bound to give his authorities,
and learned and credible ones, or
change his language.

"The repeated gross contradic-
tions of bishops, councils, and popes,
their inconsistent decrees reversing
or neutralizing each other, infallibil-
ity clashing with infallibility, begat ir-
repressible doubts." f This sentence
may pass for a rhetorical flourish,
but it involves a grave, a very grave,
a most grave charge, and is backed
up by no example, or proof, or
relation of authorities ! These cut-
ting and slashing assertions where
conscientious accuracy is required
and sound scholarship ought to be
displayed, place the intelligence
and education of his Boston audi-
ence in no enviable light. Let us
have some specimens of "infallibil-
ity clashing with infallibility " by
all means :

" Luther sprang forth with one-
third of Christendom in revolt at
his back. . . . But the fundamental
doctrines of the church scheme
otherwise remained essentially as
they had been, unchallenged."!
What a pity that the theologians of
the sixteenth century had not known
that " the fundamental doctrines
of the church scheme remained es-

* P. 23.

t P. 28.

t P.

154

The- Free- Religionists.

sentially " the same ! The Council
of Trent, if it had only understood
this, might have saved its anathe-
mas.

" After Luther, then, we see Chris-
tendom, with fundamental agreement
of belief , differing, for the most part,
only in affairs of polity and ritual,
split into two bodies — those who
rest their belief on the inspired au-
thority of the church, and those
who rest it on the inspired author-
ity of the Bible." * Here again we
have another fundamental errone-
ous idea of the church. " Inspir-
ed " authority is not what Catho-
lics believe. This language shows
poor theological training or a loose
way of handling delicate and im-
portant points. But on this point
we shall have more to say.

" Third," says Mr. Alger, " a revolt of
common sense against errors with which
tlie teachings of church and Scripture were
identified, but which, by the simple lapse
of time, had been demonstrated to be
filse. For example, in the twentieth
chapter of the Book of Revelations it is
recorded : ' And he laid hold of the
dragon, that old serpent, which is the
devil, and cast him into the bottomless
pit, and shut him up, and set a seal on
him that he should deceive the nations
no more, till the thousand years should
be fulfilled ; after that he must be loosed
a little season.' This passage was
thought to fix the date of the Day of
Judgment. And as the time drew near
the terror was profound. Throughout
the generation preceding the year one
thousand the pulpits of the Christian
•world rang with this frightful text and
•until aivful descriptions of what it implied.
The fear was as intense as the belief was
general."

Has not the author of this essay
taken some romancer of history or
some idle tale for his authority in
the above charge ? When and
where did the church identify her
teachings with this error? We

grow uneasy in asking for authori-
ties and examples ; and when we
are given an example of things
which are said to have taken place
eight hundred years or more ago,
no authority is cited to authenti-
cate the fact. The author may
have given his hearers " the result
of his deepest thought," but he is
too chary of the authorities for his
"historical study of years."

" The priests," he tells us, " from
the first hour scented this enemy
from afar, and declared war against
it [physical science], as the meaner
portion of them still do everywhere.
In the twelfth century the Council
of Tours, in the thirteenth century
the Council of Paris, interdicted to
monks the reading of works on
physical science as sinful." * We
retract having said that Mr. Alger
cites no authorities; he does in the
above accusation, but fails to quote
the decrees or give their language,
or tell what kind of councils these
were and what their weight. We
feel suspicious, and have grounds
for this feeling, and we demand
more definite proofs. The charge
is precise ; let the proofs be equally
so. Let us have the authentic de-
crees and ipsissima verba. This is
asking only fair play. It would
not be pleasant to find this accusa-
tion, on serious investigation, a mis-
conception, or a misinterpretation,
or perhaps an invented calumny,
but not by our author. We take
real pleasure in finding a point in
which we agree with him. Here
is one : they are the " meaner por-
tion," if there be such " priests,"
who "war against" the study of
" the physical sciences." We know
of priests who are devoted to the
study of the physical sciences, and
some who are distinguished in these

* P. 30.

* P. 33-

The Free-Religionists.

155

studies ; but we have no acquaint-
ance with the " meaner portion"
who have "declared war against
physical science." Perhaps Mr.
Alger has, and, if so, he will inform
us who they are.

"Ethnology," he asserts, "multi-
plies the actors in its drama [that
of history], and takes the keystone
from the arch of the church theology
by disproving tlie inheritance of total
depravity from one progenitor of all
men." * Here the author shares
the error in common with almost all,
if not all, Unitarians and free-reli-
gionists. They seem not to be able
to grasp the idea that the Catholic
Church, in the CEcumenical Council
of Trent, condemned the doctrines
of Protestantism concerning origi-
nal sin ; and, whatever may be said
to the contrary, the Catholic Church
never goes back on her authorita-
tive decisions. Mr. Alger well says
that the doctrine of original sin is
" the keystone of the arch of theo-
logy "; so much the more reason,
therefore, that there should be no
mistake on a point which shapes
theology almost entirely. And if
he and his brethren, free-religion-
ists and Unitarians, could be got
to understand and acknowledge
that the Catholic Church has con-
demned the doctrines of Protestant-
ism on original sin, as well as " the
five points of Calvinism" — for they
go together — then there would be
some hope that the gross error of
identifying Catholicity and Protes-
tantism as " fundamentally and es-
sentially the same" on this most
important subject would be cor-
rected. The error is an egregious
one, which is constantly appearing
in their addresses, sermons, tracts,
essays, books, weekly papers, and
journals, and with that error a

thousand dependent errors would
disappear. But, alas ! we fear
that we shall have to regard this
as hopeless, and resign ourselves,
for the present generation at least,
to placing this, with other radical
errors, among the points of "invin-
cible ignorance"! May we just
here be allowed, without being stig-
matized as one of the " meaner
portion" of the priesthood, to put
in a humble demurrer to the unsus-
tained assertion that " ethnology"
has " disproven" "one progenitor
of all men " ?

If the reader is weary of follow-
ing up with us this labyrinth of er-
ror in this not very long essay, he
will pity the present writer ; for he
has not touched upon one-tenth of
the errors which the same short es-
say holds. We have been careful,
too, to be silent on language which
might have come from Exeter Hall
ranters or from the late Dr. Brown-
lee, a notorious anti-popery lecturer
of former days. Indeed, we can
scarcely allow ourselves the free-
dom of expressing our feelings of
indignation at reading such lan-
guage coming from men who have
a reputation for polite culture.
" Men," we say ; for at the close of
its delivery Mr. Alger's essay was
endorsed by the president of the
association as " the admirable essay
by Mr. Alger, at once a history
and an argument, a summary of
facts and also a summary of appre-
hensions and suggestions, etc."*
Another speaker pronounced it a
" most magnificent and masterly
essay." f We are not over-sensitive
in matters of this kind, and before
concluding our remarks we give a
specimen of the language and spirit
of the "most magnificent and mas-
terly essay."

P. 34.

» p. 40.

t P. 42.

156

The Free-Religionists.

V. FREE RELIGIONISTS AND THE
MONKS.

" Few men," says our estimable writer,
" dulyfeel what a debt the nineteenth cen-
tury owes 'to the illustrious founders and
cultivatorsof science, Aristotle, Archime-
des, Kepler, Newton, and the hundreds of
lesser lights in many departments. What
a beneficent and herculean task they have
accomplished in breaking the chains of
false authority, opening the dungeons of
superstition, removing the incubus of reli-
gious terror ! Their sunlit and open-air
minds, in harmonious working connec-
tion with nature and their race, have
done much to dispel the baneful power
of a celibate church, the cloistered and
mephitic minds of monks and hermits, intro-
spective dreamers* tyrannical theonzers, who,
set apart from the living interests of
men, had woven over Christianity a hor-
rid web of diseased logic spun out of the en-
trails of their own morbid brains."

Let free-religionists honor Aristo-
tle, Archimedes, Kepler, Newton,
and other great masters in natural
science ; they are worthy, and we
also pay them honor. Let them
be grateful to those " cultivators of
science " for all the hidden truths
which, by their genius and toil, they
have brought to light, and in this
we also sympathize. Let them join
with this class the men of our own
day distinguished in this line of
studies : the Herschels, the Faradays,
the Agassiz, the Quatrefages, the
Darwins, the Secchis, the Hux-
leys, the Tyndalls, the Drapers, etc. ;
they are all worthy of honor and
gratitude for every new truth which
they have discovered and made
known to the world. Not to love all
truth unreservedly is to renounce
the light of reason and to repudiate
God ; for he was God who said, " I
am the truth." But this grateful
acknowledgment for the labors of
cultivators of the sciences by no
manner of means implies the ac-
ceptance of every hypothesis or
theory, put forth by some of them,

which for the most part are based
upon insufficient data or spun out
of misconceptions of religion with
secret hostility to Christianity.
For there are men who pass for
scientists who seem to be actuated
more by a spirit of opposition to
religion than a sincere desire for
the discovery of the secrets of na-
ture. Hence genuine science has
to suffer no less than true religion
from bigots and hypocrites, who
erect their untenable opinions into
final decisions of scientific investi-
gation, and cloak themselves with
the honorable livery of science to
put forth the ignoble doctrines of
materialism. Speculations, how-
ever brilliant, ought not to pass for
science, and one must be on his
guard in our days, lest he allow the
authority of great names to impose
upon his credulity the romance of
science for real science.

But could not the author of this
essay honor the really great men of
science and be content, without
dishonoring another class of men
who devoted their gifts and gave
their toil as enthusiastically at
least, and with an equal self-sacri-
ficing spirit, to the contemplation
and discovery of another, and even,
in degree, a higher, class of truths ?
Could he not pay Paul without rob-
bing Peter?

Then, again, why this bitterness
of expression towards the monks ?
Have these monks no aspirations
that are holy ? no convictions that
are sacred ? no rights worthy of
respect ? Why could not the
monks with equal liberty lead such
lives as the highest feelings in their
souls called them to do as well as
a Bronson Alcott, a Ralph Waldo
Emerson, a Henry Thoreau, or
William R. Alger? What or who
has given to these Americans the
liberty to lead such lives as they

The Free-Religionists.

157

chose, and deprived men of other
climes of this same personal privi-
lege ? Is it a commendable thing
for a Sir Isaac Newton to lead a
celibate life out of devotion to
mathematics, and a sin for a St.
Benedict to lead a single life out
of as pure a devotion, at least, to
the religion of Christ? If Rever-
end Ralph Waldo Emerson throws
up his pastorate over a respectable
Unitarian congregation, and retires
to a remote country village to de-
vote himself to the cultivation of
literature and whatever he may
please to think a more useful call-
ing, in fidelity to his best aspira-
tions, why may not a Bernadotti of
Assisi retire from the business of
a silk merchant, renounce his gay
companions, and, in obedience to
the voice of God in his soul, prac-
tise poverty and turn a religious re-
former under the name of Francis?
If Henry Thoreau repudiates the
calling to be a clergyman not to be
false to his highest convictions,
devotes his leisure hours to the
study of nature and the Greek poets,
and, living for the most part on
bread and water, takes up the
manual labor of making lead-pen-
cils to meet the cost of his scanty
support, and in so doing not lose
cast among the literary brah-
mins of Boston, why not let, with
equal freedom, Anthony retire to
the deserts of Egypt and give him-
self to divine contemplation and
tiie making of baskets and mats for
his innocent way of life, without
being loaded with a heap of most
abusive epithets ? Was it heroic
in Mr. Bronson Alcott to make an
attempt to realize his ideal of a
pure and holy life with a few choice
spirits at Fruitlands, in the State
of Massachusetts, while it was only
the "mephitic" action of a "mor-
bid brain " in a saintly Bernard

actually to realize the ideal at
Clairvaux, in the province of Bur-
gundy in France? Are we to
praise and never be weary of prais-
ing the Pilgrim Fathers for aban-
doning their country, their homes,
their friends, and their relations to
come to the wilds of inhospitable
New England, in order that they
might worship God according to
the dictates of their consciences,
and must we condemn the first
pioneers in the wilderness who
plunged into the solitudes of Egypt
for precisely the same reason, in
order to fulfil the great aspira-
tion of their souls to God — the pil-
grim saints of the desert ? Who
can read the riddle why the aspi-
ration or effort of the soul to per-
fect itself is the result of " mephi-
tic minds " in a Hebrew, or an
Egyptian, or a Latin, or a Celt, and
the same aspiration is religious,
sacred, holy, when found in the
soul of a New-Englander ?

Did it not suggest itself to the
mind of the author of this essay,
when he perused the passage quot-
ed against the monks, that he ex-
posed himself to a flank movement ?
For where could you find better
specimens and more plentifully of
" introspective dreamers " and "ty-
rannical theorizers " than in the
State, in the very city, nay, in the
actual audience which assembled
at the time to listen to Mr. Alger's
essay ?

" O wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as others see us !
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,

And foolish notion "

Why is it that a certain number
of New England authors, whenever
they can find an occasion or make
an opportunity, are sure to cast a
fling at monks and nuns and a
celibate priesthood ? Even the ge-
nial author, Dr. Oliver Wendell

158

The Free-Religionists.

Holmes, not to mention Whittier
and others, from some yet unex-
plained cause, will turn bitter and
his temper grow ruffled when he
encounters in his literary excur-
sions a monk or speaks of the celi-
bate clergy of the church. There
is no difficulty in acquitting such au-
thors of intentional malice, but men
so well bred and of such broad ex-
perience ought and do know bet-
ter, and should not blot their oth-
erwise pleasant pages with foul
abuse.

But whence does this acrimony
spring ? Does it spring from the
bully who strikes a victim, knowing
himself safe from a return blow ? or
is it that the intellectual faculty of
insight is lacking in these highly-
gifted authors ? Is this rancor to
be attributed to their environment ?
or, finally, is it to be classified by
some future clerical Darwin as an
instance of Puritanical " inherited
habit " ? Be that as it may, Catho-
lics ask no favors from the oppo-
nents of the church, but they have
good reason to look for, and the
right to demand, fair play, sound
scholarship where scholarship is
needed and claimed, and at least
an average amount of intelligence.

These monks — and let us add also
nuns, for their aim is identical —
who have as a distinctive principle
of life the resolve always to tend
towards perfection, are not perfect
and make no pretension to being
saints. For although human na-
ture is immanently good, there is
notwithstanding much evil in the
world, and no class of men or wo-
men, whoever they may be, is whol-
ly free from the possibility of de-
viating from the path which leads
to their true destiny. That there
have been among monks and nuns
hypocrites, fanatics, and those who
have forgotten the sacredness of

their calling and given public scan-
dal everybody knows : "Canker vice
the sweetest buds doth love." Had
these incurred the severe animad-
version of the author of this essay,
his abusive language might have
passed unnoticed ; but no qualifica-
tion is made between innocent and
guilty — the exemplary and scanda-
lous, one and all, are passed upon
as the same by a most unsparing
and unjust sentence.

But not all free-religionists have
read the history of the church and
of the influence of monks upon
civilization in the light of the au-
thor of this essay. We cannot fore-
go the gratification of quoting a
passage written many years ago by
one, a speaker in this tenth an-
nual meeting too, in which he gives
a different estimate of the church
and the monks in the precise pe-
riod of which Mr. Alger has at-
tempted to draw a rough sketch, it
is true, but still his intention must
have been to give a correct pic-
ture.

" Truly," says the Rev. William El-
lery Channing, " the church has been a
quickening centre of modern civiliza-
tion, a fountain of law and art, of man-
ners and policy. It would not be easy
to estimate how much of our actual free-
dom and humanity, of our cultivation
and prosperity, we owe to her foresight
and just acknowledgment of rights and
duties. It is easy to ascribe to the cun-
ning and love of power of priests the
wonderful sovereignty which this spiri-
tual dictator has exerted ; but it is proof
of surprising superficiality that these
critics do not recognize that only sin-
cere enthusiasm and truth, however
adulterated by errors, can give such a
hold upon human will. The Christian
Church has been unquestionably the
most dignified institution which the
earth has seen. . . . Beautiful have been
its abbeys in lonely solitudes, clearing
the forests, smoothing the mountains,
nurseries of agricultural skill amidst the
desolating wars of barbarous ages, sane-

The Free-Religionists.

159

tuaries for the suffering. Beautiful its
learned cloisters, with students' lamps
shining late in the dark night as a bea-
con to wandering pilgrims, to merchants
with loaded trains, to homeless exiles —
their silent bands of high-browed, pallid
scholars watching the form of Science
in the tomb of Ignorance, where she lay
entranced. Beautiful its peaceful armies
of charity, subduing evil with works of
love in the crowded alleys and dens of
cities, amid the pestilences of disease
and the fouler pestilence of crime, and
carrying the sign of sacrifice through
nations more barren of virtues than the
deserts which have bordered them."

VI. — THE FREE-RELIGIONISTS AND
THE MYSTICS.

Mr. Alger must have seen that
his canvas up to this moment was
overcharged with sombre colors,
and to give it a vraisemblance he
put in the following words :

" There has been another marked class
of persons, in the extreme opposite
sphere of life to those just described — a
class nourished in the inmost bosom of
the church itself — whose very important
influence has acted in harmony with
that of science, which seems so wholly
contrary to it — acted to melt away dog-
matism, free men from hatred and force
and fraud, and join them in a heavenly
enthusiasm of accord. I allude to the
mystics, who cultivated the sinless peace
and raptures of the inner life of devotion,
absorption in divine contemplation, ec-
static union with God. Boundless is
the charm exerted, incalculable the good
done, in impregnating the finest strata
of humanity with paradisal germs by
Victor, Bonaventura, Suso, Tauler, Te-
resa, Behmen, Fenelon, Guyon, John of
the Cross, and the rest of these breath-
ing minds, hearts of seraphic passion,
souls of immortal flame. This class of
believers, devoted to the nurture of ex-
alted virtue and piety, were the choicest
depositaries of the grace of religion."

The general reader would sup-
pose that this "marked class of
persons, in the extreme opposite
sphere of life to those just describ-
ed," were not, of course, " monks."

But such is the fact, with the ex-
ception of two he mentions. Let
us examine this list. Here is the
first mystic, Victor. Victor! Who
is he? Whom does the essayist
mean ? There was St. Victor of
Marseilles, who suffered martyrdom
under Diocletian, July 21, A.D. 303.
He surely does not mean this Vic-
tor? Then there was the celebrat-
ed Abbey of St. Victor, near Paris,
named after St. Victor of Mar-
seilles, founded in the first year of
the twelfth century; he cannot mean
that? There is no telling, though.
Then there was Hugh, born in
Flanders, and Richard, a Scotch-
man, the latter a disciple of the
former, both inmates of the monas-
tery of St. Victor, both illustrious
by their writings on mystical theo-
logy, and saintly men. Perhaps he
means one of these, or both ? Per-
haps that is not his meaning. If
it be, then his sentence should have
run thus : Hugh of St. Victor, or
Richard of St. Victor. Let us pro-
ceed ; both of these were " monks."
St. Bonaventure, disciple of St.
Francis, was a "monk." John
Tauler, a disciple of St. Dominic,
another monk. St. Teresa, a nun,
a " cloistered " nun, consequently
as bad, at least, as a " monk." Beh-
men? Behmen? Jacob Boehme. Oh!
yes ; a German, a shoemaker — not
to his discredit — a Protestant, and
mystical writer. O blessed saints
in Paradise ! do not, we beg, lay it
to our charge of making you "ac-
quainted with so strange a bed-fel-
low !" Then comes Fenelon the
saintly archbishop, the friend, be it
known, of monks and nuns. Now
Mm'e. Guyon ; it is singular that
there is always a strange hankering
among a class of Protestants after
Catholic writers of suspected ortho-
doxy. St. John of the Cross is
next, and the last, though not least.

i6o

The Free-Religionists.

the Aquinas of mystical theology, a
Carmelite, a " monk." Now let us
count up. But we have forgotten
our beloved Swabian, Henry Suso,
the Minnesinger of divine love ; and
lie too was a Dominican, a " monk."
In sum — excluding, of course, the
Protestant ; for of him it cannot be
said that he was " nourished in the
inmost bosom of the church " — we
have six " monks," if you include
both Hugh and Richard of St. Vic-
tor in the number, and one " clois-
tered " nun, all, without exception,
"celibates," of the eight examples
selected by our author as " devot-
ed to the nurture of exalted virtue
and piety," and "the choicest de-
positaries of the graces of religion !"
Six out of eight — not a bad show-
ing for monks and nuns "as the
choicest depositaries of the graces
of religion," where a learned author
has his pick, running over many
centuries.

VII. — THE FREE-RELIGIONISTS AND
CHRISTIANITY, OR THE FINAL
ISSUE,

It is time to draw these remarks
to a close, and that, too, without
even casting a glance at the
speeches that followed the essay
which has been under review.

We did not offer, as our readers
will have remarked, a refutation of
the misconceptions, misinterpreta-
tions, and errors which have been
pointed out in the essay of Mr.
Alger. We intentionally abstain-
ed from doing so until its author
brings forth his authorities and
proves his assertions, in obedience
to a commonly-received maxim
rightly followed in discussion,
which says, Quod gratis affirmatur,
gratis negatur. Besides, the Catho-
lic Church is in possession, and
therefore the burden of proof rests
not on her defenders, but on the

part of her assailants. Our refuta-
tions will come soon enough wher
we have learned that there is some-
thing to refute. But, that our pur
pose might not be ambiguous, w«
have italicized, in most instances
the words which contain the spe-
cial errors to which we wished tc
call attention.

The opponents of the church
have not changed their mode ol
attack, but only their weapons
They no longer charge her with
atheism, as the early pagans did, 01
of worshipping the head of an ass
or drinking the blood of an infant,
but absurdities and idle tales oi
the " dark ages " are trumped up
and laid at her door.

Just now, as if by a general
conspiracy, an attempt is made tc
place the church in a false posi-
tion, as hostile to reason, science
education, civilization, liberty, and
the state. These are the populai
charges of the day, and these show
at least that the " gall " of her ene-
mies is active and " coins slan
ders as a mint." Counterfeits, how-
ever, may pass current for a limit-
ed period, but in the long run they
are detected and bring upon their
authors' heads grief and shame,
Only truth and justice are endur-
ing and immortal.

The true position of the Catho-
lic Church is now, as it ever has
been, not against but for reason
and God, science and revelation,
for education and Christianity, for
civilization and progress, for liber-
ty and law, for the state and the
church ; as against atheism, natu-
ralism, infidelity, barbarism, license,
and anarchy.

Let us have in this free country,
where all religions to an uncom-
mon degree are placed on an
equal footing, a fair and honest
discussion, avoiding unsupported

Smoke- Bound. 161

assertions, refuted charges, and all Until then the Catholic Church

bigotry. Whichever religion is is in possession of the field, and in

worsted in such an encounter by the congress of intelligent men

fair and honest blows, why, let it holds its high place ; for all thor-

die. If the free-religionists can oughly-instructed minds see clearly

clear the whole field from Chris- the impossibility of entertaining

tianity, as they appear to think, and honorable ideas of God without

invent instead a better religion, being Christians, and of being

as some fancy, let them do so and Christians and not becoming Ca-

come on with their new religion, tholics. The real issue, if the

Give it a fair chance, and, if their free-religionists can be induced to

new religion proves to be a better look at it, is between Catholicity

one, let it have a joyful greeting. and nihilism.

SMOKE-BOUND.

O COOL east wind ! so moist of breath,
With strength blow from the sea,

Loosen the smoky chains that curb
Our proud hills' sovereignty ;

Wake in the silent mountain glens,

Where streams grow dumb with drought,

The clamor of your lowland home —
The sea-waves' battle-shout.

Sweep onward with your pennon clouds,
Marshal your spears of rain,

Sound in the pines your bugle-call —
Set free our hills again !

Hide them for days, if so you will, '
In cloudy depths of storm ;

Wrestle, as human soul should win
Its strong, immortal form.

We shall not grieve in such dark veil

To lose our valley's crown,
That gaineth so from your pure breath

But mightier renown.
VOL. xxvi. — ir

1 62 Smoke-Bound.

Our hearts shall greet the slanting rain,
Like blessed water flung;

Your voice shall the Asperges sing
The cross-boughed firs among.

Like sin unshriven these earth-fires
Hold heart and mountain fast,

Each day a stronger link is forged,
A drearier Ircht is cast.

All day the smoky shadow flings
Its dream of heaven's blue,

Its mockery of summer's smile,
Its vision all untrue, —

Winning, at eve, the sun to spin

Dull shadow into gold —
Bright meshes of enchanter's web

O'er hill and valley rolled ;

Hiding our far-off sunset peaks
That longest keep day's light —

The temple's porch called Beautiful,
Steps to a holier height.

Broad steps whose strength our valley lacks

To lift our thoughts on high.
Blow, eastern wind ! give our dim eyes
Our peaks that mount the sky.

O moist of breath ! with cloudy lips,
Quench these dread earthly fires

That turn our mountain altars all
To beauty's funeral pyres.

Upon this stifling chain drop dew,

Its glamour exorcise,
That, pure as pardoned soul, our hills

In Heaven-sent strength may rise.

Give us anew their morning grace,
Their midday depths of blue ;

Open the sunset gates where light
Of Paradise shines through.

James of Compostella.

163

ST. JAMES OF COMPOSTELLA.

ALTHOUGH most have heard the
name of Santiago in Galicia, yet it
is now a place |that is scarcely
known. In the days of our infan-
cy there were still such beings
heard of as the pilgrims of Com-
postella, but the silence of the
present day is well-nigh oblivion :
and of this famous sanctuary, which
still exists, there only remains an
almost forgotten and far-distant
renown. France has unlearnt the
very roads which led to the apos-
tle's tomb; and the Spaniards
themselves, who will speak to you
freely of Nuestra Setiora del Pilar,
scarcely guess that the Madonna of
Saragossa placed her origin under
the patronage of St. James, whose
shrine all Christendom in former
days bestirred itself to go and visit.

The apostle venerated at Com-
postella is St. James the Great,
whose vocation to the apostolate
is related in the fourth chapter of
St. Matthew, immediately after that
of Peter and Andrew, and where we
are told that at the call of Jesus
the brothers forthwith " left the
ship and their father and followed
him." According to the most pro-
bable opinion, Zebedee and his fam-
ily dwelt at the little town of Saf-
fa, now called by the Arabs Deir,
about three miles distant from Naz-
areth. Andrichomius, in his Thea-
trum Terrce Sanctce, mentions a
church there, which some years
later no longer existed. Their
prompt obedience indicates the
generous character which rendered
the brothers particularly dear to
their divine Master, and caused
them to be, with St. Peter, the
chosen witnesses of scenes and

miracles at which the other disci-
ples were not present. The last
mention made of St. James in the
Gospel is in the narrative of the
miracvtlous draught of fishes after
the Resurrection. The next is in
the Acts of the Apostles, which
briefly recounts his martyrdom :
" Herod . . . killed James, the
brother of John, with the sword."
This took place in the year 42.
Of the nine years which interven-
ed between the Ascension of our
Lord and this event the Holy Scrip-
tures say nothing, and tradition is
our only source of information.
According to this, St. James de-
parted early from Jerusalem, and,
directing his course towards the
western countries of Europe, ar-
rived in Spain, where he preached
the Gospel and appointed some of
the first bishops. Here also, ac-
cording to an ancient and constant
tradition, he caused to be built at
Saragossa a church dedicated to
the Blessed Virgin, known as "Our
Lady of the Pillar," and, on the
termination of his sojourn in the
west, returned to Jerusalem, where,
a few days after his arrival, about the
time of the Jewish Passover, Herod
caused him to be seized and slain.*

* The fact of St. James having taken this journey
has been generally considered indubitable, although
Baronius held it as uncertain. M;<riana, in his
history, affirms that all written documents were
destroyed in Spain, first by the persecution of Dio-
cletian, and afterwards by jthe Moorish invasion
and its attendant wars. The silence of ancient
testimony is thus fully explained, and the learned
Suarez, writing on the subject, says: " It matters
little that the local histories of the time make no
mention of this journey of St. James ; for, besides
that nothing happened in it so extraordinary or no-
torious that the renown thereof would neces?arily
spread abroad, Spain had at that period no writers
careful to collect the facts of her history, and stran-
gers would not be likely to know anything about it,
especially as being of a religious nature, concern-

164

. James of Compostella.

It is certain that the apostles
delayed not in obeying the divine
command to "go and teach the
nations"; neither can one explain
in any other manner how the light
emanating from Syria so rapidly
illumined (as even the infidel
critic, Renan, confesses) the three
great peninsulas of Asia Minor,
Greece, and Italy, -and soon after-
wards the whole coast of the Me-
diterranean, so that in a short space
of time the Christian world was
co-extensive with the Roman — Or-
bis Romanus, or bis Christiamis. St.
Jerome and Theodoret both af-
firm that Spain was evangelized by
some of the apostles. The Gothic
liturgy, which is considerably an-
terior to the Mozarabic, and which
dates from the fifth century, is the
most ancient interpreter of this
tradition. " The illustrious Sons
of Thunder," it says, " have both
obtained that which their mother
requested for them. John rules
Asia, and, on the left, his brother
possesses Spain." The great doctor
St. Isidore, who lived in the first
half of the seventh century, writes :
"James the son of Zebedee . . .
preached the Gospel to the peoples
of Spain and the countries of the
west." The Bollandists furnish a
number of additional witnesses.*
The breviary of St. Pius V. and
the enactments of Urban VIII.
corroborate their testimony, the
Roman Breviary saying also that
St. Braulio not only compared St.
Isidore to St. Gregory the Great,
but declared that he had been
given by Heaven to Spain as her
teacher in the place of St. James. f

ing which men would not trouble themselves at all.
... If St. Luke had not left in writing the acts of
St. Peter and St. Paul, many of their journeyings
would be forgotten, or rest only upon such traditions
as might be preserved by the churches they
founded."

* Tcme vi. Aprilis.

t In fiist. Sancti Isidori, lect. 20.

Whatever opinion may be adopt-
ed with regard to the mission of
St. James, it does not affect the
facts relating to the translation of
his body to the Iberian peninsula.
The following account of this event
is given in the curious History of
Compostella, written previous to the
twelfth century by two canons of
that church, and confirmed by a
letter of Leo III. which is quoted
in the Breviary of Evreux. The
facts as there given appear to be
free from the legendary embellish-
ments, more or less probable, with
which, in certain other manuscripts,
they have been adorned^

At the time when the apostle was
put to death at Jerusalem the per-
secution was so bitter, and the
hatred against the Christians so ex-
treme, that the Jews would not suf-
fer his body to be buried, but cast
it ignominiously outside the walls
of the city, that it might be de-
voured by dogs and birds of prey.
The disciples of the saint watched
for the moment when they might
carry away his remains, and, having
secured them, they could not ven-
ture to re-enter Jerusalem with
their precious burden, but turned
their steps toward the sea, and, on
arriving at Joppa, found a ship on
the point of sailing for Spain.
They embarked, and in due time
reached the northwest coast of
that country, and landed at the
port of Iria, whence they proceed-
ed some distance inland, and bu-
ried the body of the apostle at a
place called Liberum Donum, after-
wards Compostella. His sepulchre
was made in a marble grotto which
already existed, and which in all
probability had been formerly de-
dicated to Bacchus, as its name
seemed to indicate. Thus the spot
received the highest Christian con-
secration, and the people of Galicia,

St. James of Compostclla.

165

among whom were numerous con-
verts, held in great veneration the
tomb of their .apostle. The pagan
persecution became, however, so
violent in this province that Chris-
tianity entirely disappeared from
it, and was not planted there again
until after the first victory of the
Goths.

The invasion of these barbarians,
instead of being a misfortune, was
of the greatest benefit to the coun-
try, and resulted in prosperity
which continued through several
centuries. The favor shown to
Arianism by some of the earlier
kings for a time imperilled the
truth, but it was not long before
Spain saw the faith of her first
apostle flourishing in all its purity ;
and her sons would doubtless have
flocked to the tomb of him who
was declared in the Gothic liturgy
to be the patron of Spain, if the
same thing had not happened with
regard to the tomb of the second
martyr of our Lord as had before
happened to that of the first.
When the faith had disappeared
from Galicia the place of the
apostle's tomb was forgotten ; it is,
moreover, possible that the last
Christians had buried the grotto
which contained it, that it might be
hidden from pagan profanation.
The spot was overgr6wn with un-
derwood and brambles. Tall for-
est trees rose around it, and there
was no trace left of anything which
could indicate the sanctity of the
spot. Thus, in the early and bright
days of the faith in Spain, the
night of oblivion rested on the re-
mains of her great patron ; but when
evil times came upon the land
God's hour was come for pointing
out the tomb of his apostle. The
Gothic kings were about to disap-
pear, and their sceptres to be wield-
ed by the followers of Mahomet.

Invited to fight against King Ro-
deric, by a competitor to the throne
of the country to which he thus
proved himself so great a traitor,
the Arabs thronged into Spain,
which in less than ten years they
entirely conquered. Their domina-
tion was not always violent and
persecuting ; a certain toleration
was at times accorded to the Chris-
tians ; but, thanks to the proud
courage of Pelayo and a handful
of brave men who would not de-
spair of their country, and who
could not be driven from the moun-
tains of the Asturias, war had set
her foot on the soil of Spain, to
quit it no more until the utter ex-
pulsion of the Moors had been
effected. Galicia, with Leon and
the Asturias, had the honor of be-
ing the centre of the national re-
sistance, and consequently suffered
from frequent and sanguinary de-
vastation while the long struggle
lasted.

It was in these troubled times
that the apostle's tomb was brought
to light.

Already several kings had estab-
lished themselves in the northern
and western parts of Spain. Miron,
King of the Suevi, had regulated
the limits of each diocese ; Alfonso
the Chaste was then king of Leon
and Galicia ; and Theodomir, a holy
and faithful prelate, was Bishop of
Iria.

Certain trustworthy persons one
day came to inform Theodomir
that every night lights of great
brilliancy were seen shining above
a wood on the summit of a hill at a
little distance from the town, and
that all the neighborhood was il-
luminated by them. The bishop,
fearing lest there might be some
deception or illusion, resolved to
see for himself, and repaired to the
place indicated. The prodigy was

1 66

St. James of Compostclla.

evident to all, the lights throwing a
marvellous splendor; and as this
continued night after night, the
bishop caused the trees to be cut
down on that spot and the brush-
wood cleared away, after which an
excavation was commenced on the
top of the hill. The workers had
not dug far before they came to a
marble grotto, within which was
found the apostle's tomb.

Theodomir lost no time in repair-
ins to the court of Alfonso to an-

nounce the discovery, which caused
great joy to the pious monarch, who
saw in it a sign of God's protection
and a presage of the triumph of the
Christian arms. He hastened to
the spot and assured himself by
personal observation of the reality
of the facts related to him by the
bishop. Mariana, the Spanish his-
torian, says : " After having exam-
ined all that has been written by
learned authors for and against the
matter, I am convinced that there
are not in all Europe any relics
more certain and authentic than
those of St. James at Compostella."
The first care of King Alfonso
was to raise a sanctuary on the
spot where the tomb had just been
miraculously discovered. Built in
haste, and at a time when, owing to
the unsettled state of the kingdom,
the royal resources were very limit-
ed, the edifice was of a very hum-
ble character as regarded both size
and materials : " Petra et luto opus
parvum " is the description given
of it in the Act of Erection of the
second church, built later by Al-
fonso III. The king was never-
theless able to endow it with a cer-
tain revenue, and to secure a per-
manent provision to its ministers.
The archives of Compostella long
preserved a privilege granted by
Alfonso the Chaste, in virtue of
which all the lands with their vil-

lages, for three miles round, were
made over to the church.

Spain was speedily made aware
of the discovery; the neighboring
nations, and in particular the Gauls,
heard of it also, and the faithful
from both countries flocked in great
numbers to the tomb, drawn by the
fame of the miracles which imme*
diately began to be wrought there,
and of which Valafrid Strabo, who
died in the year 849, makes men-
tion : Plurima hie prcesul patravit
signa stupenda.

The relations of Gaul with Chris-
tian Spain were at that time very
frequent. The infidels, were the
common enemy. Charles Martel
had driven them from Gaul, but
the struggle that still went on south
of the Gallic frontiers had an in-
tense interest for all Christendom.
Charlemagne was allied in friend-
ship with Alfonso the Chaste,
though it is doubtful whether he
ever made the pilgrimage of Com-
postella, as some have said. It is,
however, certain that he joined his
entreaties to those of the king of
Leon to obtain from Pope Leo III.
the transfer of the bishopric of
Iria to Compostella. This was the
name already borne by the town
which had rapidly risen round the
apostle's tomb, and which was given
in remembrance of the starlike
lights which had revealed its local-
ity— Campus Stella.

The pope granted the request of
the two monarchs. Compostella
replaced the bishopric of Iria and
remained suffragan to the archbi-
shop of Braga until the town of
St. James should be raised to the
metropolitan dignity. King Alfon-
so, who had no children, offered
to bequeath his throne to Charle-
magne, on condition that that mon-
arch would drive the Moors out of
Spain. Charlemagne accepted the

St. James of Compostella.

167

terms and crossed the Pyrenees ;
but the Spanish princes, disapprov-
ing of Alfonso's proposal, leagued
together against the emperor, and
some of them, later on, allied them-
selves with the Moorish king of
Saragossa, and destroyed at Ron-
cesvaux the rearguard of Charle-
magne's army, in which perished
Roland, the hero par excellence of
the lays and chronicles of the time.

Some time afterwards, when
Ramira had succeeded Alfonso the
Chaste, and Abderahman II. was
King of Cordova, the latter, inflated
by his successes, sent to demand of
the Spanish king an annual tribute
of a hundred young maidens. Ra-
mira indignantly drove away the
ambassadors, assembled his troops,
and declared war. He was defeat-
ed in the battle of Alaveda, and
forced to withdraw with the rem-
nant of his army to a neighboring
elevation, where the Moor could
not fail to attack him. The Chris-
tian monarchy in Spain seemed on
the very brink of ruin. That night
the king had a dream, in which the
apostle St. James appeared to him,
grand and majestic, bidding him
be of good courage, for that on the
morrow he should be victorious.
The king related his vision to the
prelates and leaders of his army,
and made it known to the soldiers
also. Immediately every heart kin-
dled with fresh enthusiasm ; the
little band threw itself upon the in-
fidel host, while on all sides arose
the shout, Sant' lago ! Sant' lago !
which has ever since been the war-
cry of Spain.

The Moors were thrown into
confusion and completely routed,
leaving 60,000 of their number on
the field of battle. It was averred
that during the whole engagement
the apostle St. James, mounted on a
white charger, and bearing in his

hand a white banner with a red
cross, was seen at the head of the
Christian battalions, scattering ter-
ror and death among the ranks of
the enemy. Thus was fought, in
846, the famous battle of Clavijo,
all the glory of which is due to the
patron ofjspain.

After a solemn act of thanksgiv-
ing to God the army made a pub-
lic vow, obligatory on all the king-
dom, to pay yearly to the church
at Compostella one measure of corn
and one of wine from every acre of
land. Immense riches were found
in the Moorish camp, and these
were consecrated to the erection of
t\vo magnificent churches — one at
Oviedo, in honor of the Blessed
Virgin, and another under the in-
vocation of St. Michael.

From this time the devotion to
the apostle who had shown himself
the protector and deliverer of the
country spread far and wide. Pil-
grims thronged from every quarter
to his tomb, which became the
great pilgrimage of the west, the
pendant to Jerusalem, with Rome
between the two.

The humble church erected by
Alfonso the Chaste was by no means
suitable to the dignity of the deliv-
erer of Spain, nor sufficient for the
ever-increasing number of pilgrims.
In the year 868 Alfonso III., to-
gether with Sisenand, then Bishop
of Compostella, undertook to re-
place it by a cathedral. " We, Al-
fonso," it is written in the Act of
Erection, " have resolved, together
with the bishop aforesaid, to build
the house of the Lord and to re-
store the temple and tomb of the
apostle which aforetime had been
raised to his august memory by the
Lord Alfonso, and which was only
a small construction of stone and
clay. Urged by the inspiration of
God, we are come with our subjects,

168

St. James of Compostella.

our family, into this holy place.
Traversing Spain through the bat-
talions of the Moors, we have
brought from the city of Ebeca
blocks of marble which we have
selected, and which our forefathers
had carried thither by sea, and
with which they built superb habi-
tations, which the enemy has de-
stroyed."

All the materials for the new
building were thus gathered togeth-
er, the slabs and columns of mar-
ble being of great beauty, but we
have little information as to its
architectural style or merit. The
arts were at that time in a state of
temporary decay. The edifices of
the Roman period had for the
most part perished in the invasions
of the Goths, the Suevi, and the
Alani. These nations, after hav-
ing embraced the faith, were speed-
ily civilized, and under its inspira-
tion had raised numerous religious
buildings which were not without a
certain grandeur, when the Moor-
ish conquest of Spain brought
again an almost universal ruin over
the land. The influence of the
climate, the beauty of the Andalu-
sian skies, softened the fierce cha-
racter of the victors, and their
minds speedily received a wonderful
intellectual development. Never
did any people make so much pro-
gress in so short a time, in art, in
science, in culture of ideas, and
also in a certain elevation of senti-
ment. Architecture of great magni-
ficence and originality made rapid
advances among them, of which
the richness always bore the stamp
of a peculiar tastefulness and deli-
cacy.

The vanquished were unable to
make the same progress, nor were
they to attain to great results until
after having received the contact
of the works of their conquerors.

These results were arrived at later
on, thanks to a certain courtesy
which, outside the war as it were,
and in times of truce, established
between the two peoples mutual
relations and currents of influence
which left their impress on all the
creations of genius.

When King Alfonso commenced
the cathedral of Compostella, the
conquest was still too recent and
the animosity too great between
the Spaniards and their subduers
to allow of any amicable inter-
course or interchange of ideas on
matters connected with the arts of
peace. The architecture of the
close of the ninth century was
heavy and the forms massive; not
without grandeur, though for the
most part devoid of grace. Such,
doubtless, in its general features,
was the ancient cathedral of Com-
postella, which was completed
about the year 874. Mariana,
following the statement of Sando-
val, says that there was held there
in 876 a council of fourteen bishops,
who consecrated the new edifice.
The high altar was dedicated to
our Lord under the title of St.
Saviour, that on the fight to St.
Peter, and that on the left to St.
Paul, while the ancient altar over
the apostle's tomb, which reached
back to a remote antiquity, receiv-
ed no consecration, it being regard-
ed as certain that this had received
it from the first disciples of St.
James.

The erection of the cathedral
gave a new impetus to the pilgrim-
age, to facilitate which roads were
made in the south of France and
the north of Spain. Monasteries
and houses of refuge were built
along the wild and lonely defiles of
the Pyrenees, and bridges thrown
across the streams and rivers. The
roads were thronged by the multi-

St. James of Compostclla.

169

tudes, who came, some from simple
devotion, others to do penance and
seek pardon of their sins, and many
also to obtain some particular fa-
vor— the cure of a sickness or the
success of an undertaking. Great
was the renown of Monsignor St.
James, the power of whose inter-
cession and the splendor of whose
miracles were held in high esteem
at Rome. Pope John X., at the
commencement of the tenth cen-
tury, sent to his tomb a priest nam-
ed Zanelus to obtain correct in-
formation respecting the number
of pilgrims and the authenticity of
the numerous miracles ; he was
also charged to examine the litur-
gical books of the Goths, respect-
ing which it had been stated that
they were full of errors. The bish-
op, Sisenand, received him with all
honor, supplied him with every
means of faithfully acquitting him-
self of his mission, and convinced
him of the purity of the ancient
liturgy of Spain. All the books
which Zanelus took from thence
received the Supreme Pontiff's ap-
proval, the only alteration he re-
quired being that in the words
of consecration the Spanish rite
should conform itself exactly to
that of Rome.

Compostella, daily enriched by
travellers too numerous for her to
entertain, became a town of ever-
increasing importance. The church
especially, to which very costly
offerings were continually being
made, which had immense revenues
and possessed superb domains, was
in richness and magnificence one
of the first in the world. Her pre-
lates, however, did not always make
good use of their riches. The
church was then passing through
deplorable times, and corruption,
which was invading all besides,
made inroads also in the sanctuary.

The bishops of Compostella were
usually chosen from among the
noble and illustrious families of the
kingdom, brought up amid luxury,
pleasure, and the tumult of arms,
and, carrying their worldly pre-
dilections with them to the episco-
pal throne, they might be seen con-
stantly in the chase or at the war,
sometimes driven from their see,
and, attempting to return by force,
dying a violent death. One of
these, Sisenand, unlike his worthy
predecessor of the same name, was
in 979 killed at the head of a squa-
dron while charging the Normans,
who had invaded Galicia. He
would have been a good captain ;
why was he made a bishop ? Com-
postella owed to him the solid walls
and strong towers with which he
fortified the town. His successor,
Pelayo, being equally unfitted for
his office, was deposed, and replac-
ed by a pious priest named Pedro
Mansorio, upon whom the misdo-
ings of his predecessors were visit-
ed. He had the grief of seeing the
city taken by the Moors, who pro-
faned and devastated the cathe-
dral. His immediate successors
failed to profit by this chastisement,
and, after three unworthy prelates
had occupied the see, the enemy
advanced from the direction of
Portugal (which they had invaded
and ravaged) in greater numbers
than before ; again they besieged
and took the city, which they set
on fire and razed the walls. Al-
man-Zour fed his horse from the
porphyry urn in the cathedral which
was used for the baptismal font,
and which still exists; gave up the
sanctuary to pillage and destruc-
tion, throwing down many of the
pillars, as well as a portion of
the walls ; and, taking down the
bells, caused them to be dragged
by Christian captives to the great

170

St. James of Composiclla.

mosque at Toledo, where they were
turned upside down and made to
serve as lamps. He was proceed-
ing to make havoc also of the apos-
tle's tomb, when a bright light,
suddenly emanating from and en-
veloping it, so terrified the infidels
that they stopped short in their
sacrilege, fearing lest they should
be stricken by the " apostle of Isa "
(Jesus). An aged monk sat by the
tomb, alone, and doubtless hoping
for martyrdom in that spot at the
hand of the spoilers. Alman-Zour
asked why he stayed there, and, on
his answering that he was "the
friend of Santiago," commanded
that no one should lay hands upon
him, and the Mussulmans respect-
ed the fakir. It is the Moorish
annals nearly contemporary with
the events we are noticing which
mention this incident, and which
appreciate in a very curious man-
ner the pilgrimage of St. James,
describing as follows Shant Jakoh,
the sacred city of Kalikija (Galicia) :
" Their Kabah is a colossal idol in
the centre of the church ; they
swear 'by it, and come on pilgrim-
age to it from the most distant
lands, from Rome as well as from
other countries, pretending that
the tomb which may there be seen
is that of Jakoh, one of the best
beloved of the twelve apostles of
Isa. May happiness and the bene-
diction of Allah be upon him and
upon our Prophet !"

The army of Alman-Zour did not
reap any benefit from its sacrile-
gious plunder : a contagious mala-
dy made such terrible ravages in its
ranks that there were scarcely any
soldiers left ; he therefore hastened
his departure from Galicia, but was
himself also stricken by death upon
the way.

It was not possible immediately
to raise the cathedral from its

ruins, but the confluence of pil-
grims never ceased, and the offer-
ings of Christendom were such as
to render the hope almost a cer-
tainty that it would at no distant
period be worthily rebuilt.

Towards the year 1038 Ferdi-
nand, having been made king of
Castile and Leon, fought the Moors
in several engagements, defeated
them in Portugal, and, having dis-
possessed them of numerous strong-
holds and fortified places, desired
to testify his gratitude to the God
of armies by repairing to Compos-
tella. There he prayed long at the
apostle's tomb, and took the resolu-
tion never to lay down his arms un-
til he had broken the power of the
enemy.

After taking the powerful city of
Coimbra, the capture of which he
attributed to the protection of St.
James, the king returned to Com-
postella laden with booty, which, in
gratitude for his victory, he pre-
sented to the church.

Compostella had now bishops
worthy of their sacred dignity. In
1056 Cresconius, who then ruled
the diocese, presided, at a council
held there, in his quahty of bishop
of the Apostolic See. Rome thus
exercised her influence, and this
influence was so salutary that Pe-
lago, a near successor of Cresconius,
desired to give it a larger place in
his church. He laid aside the Mo-
zarabic Rite and adopted the Ro-
man in the celebration of Mass and
the recitation of the Canonical
Hours, accepting at the same time
all the Roman rules on important
matters of sacerdotal discipline.
And Compostella had not long to
wait before receiving the recom-
pense of her submission and good-
will. In 1075, the same year in
which Ferdinand took Toledo, the
see of Santiago (for this had be-

S/. James of Compostella.

171.

come the name of the town), which
had hitherto been suffragan to Meri-
da, was raised to the metropolitan
dignity.

We have now reached the period
in which, thanks to the liberality of
the faithful, the cathedral of Com-
postella was not only raised from
its ruins, but entirely rebuilt on a
larger scale and with much greater
splendor. Gemirez, the first arch-
bishop of Santiago, was one of its
greatest prelates.

The work of reconstruction,
which had been commenced about
the year 1082, he not only actively
continued, but also proposed to the
chapter to build cloisters and of-
fices, as well as commodious lodgings
for those who came on pilgrimage
from distant lands, engaging for his
part to pay a hundred marks of
pure silver towards the expense.

The sole aim of this prelate was
the glory of God and the honor of
St. James, never his own worldly
advantage ; the people knew this,
and that the use made of their of-
ferings was always in conformity
with their intentions. The times,
however, were troubled, and the
archbishop had his share of their
disquiet.

Queen Urraca, the sister of Al-
fonso VI. of Castile and Leon, and
widow of Raymond of Burgundy,
claimed as -her right, until her son
should be old enough to reign, the
government of Castile and the
countries dependent on it, while
her second husband, Alfonso of
Aragon, repudiated these preten-
sions. Gemirez, whose influence
was so great that he might be
regarded as the real sovereign of
the country, took the part of Urra-
ca, and her cause prospered for a
time, owing to the weight of his
support; but she ruined her own
case by her haughtiness and ambi-

tion ; a rebellion broke out, and the
prelate narrowly escaped falling a
victim to the fury of the populace,
who set fire to the cathedral.
Happily, the solidity of its structure
was such as to resist the flames, the
interior wood-work and fittings, etc.,
only being destroyed, so that not
many years afterwards, in 1117, we
find the archbishop, in an address
to his canons, able to speak of it as
one of the richest and most beauti-
ful as well as one of the most il-
lustrious churches in the world.

In 1130 Gemirez ended his ca-
reer, but not until he had lived to
see the work far advanced towards
its completion. We hear no more
of its progress for forty years after-
wards. The crosses of the conse-
cration, which are still to be seen,
are floriated at their extremities,
and between the arms are the sun
and moon above, and the letters A
fl below, some of them bearing
also a date which appears to be
that of 1154.

The pilgrims, who came in con-
tinuous multitudes, had innumera-
ble perils to encounter on their
way. The roads were bad ; the
countries through which they pass-
ed often so barren and thinly peo-
pled that they were in danger of
dying of hunger ; the highways so
infested with brigands that in those
days they were avoided as those in
the East had been in the time of
Deborah, every one seeking rather
the by-ways, which were also beset
with obstacles of all kinds. St.
Dominic of Calzada had done well
to make roads and build bridges,
but something was still wanting to
his work, and that was the safety
of those who travelled by them,
and who were constantly liable to
be attacked and despoiled by the
infidels, to be taken captive, and
condemned to slavery or death.

I 72

. James of Compostella.

This state of things could not be
allowed to continue. The Moors
had their rabitos, or armed fa-
kirs— a sort of warrior-monk — to
protect their pilgrims and defend
their frontiers; the religious and.
military orders of the Templars and
Knights of St. John were covering
themselves with glory in the East,
.and Spain could not fail to profit
.by these examples. The canons of
.St. Eloi had recently founded a
'chain of hospices, reaching from
the frontiers of France to Compos-
;.tella, specially destined for the re-
ception of pilgrims, the most con-
siderable being that of St. Mark,
on the borders of Leon. These
places of refuge, which were pro-
ductive of the greatest good, were
richly endowed by various princes ;
but even this was not enough :
some brave noblemen of Castile
resolved to devote their whole life
to the defence and protection of
the pilgrims. They placed their
possessions in one common stock,
and, joining the canons of St. Eloi,
dwelt with them in a convent not
far from Compostella. Being ad-
vised by Cardinal Jacinthus to go
to Rome and obtain from the Pope
the confirmation of their institute
according to the rule of St. Augus-
tine, they charged Don Pedro Fer-
nandez de la Puente with this em-
bassy, and obtained a bull, dated
July 5, 1175, which regulated their
manner of life, their duties, and
their privileges, and created, under
the title of Knights of St. James,
a military order, of which Don
Pedro was the first grand master.
They wore a white tunic, with a
red cross in the form of a sword on
the breast. Their principal house
was at first the hospice of St. Mark ;
but the castles and domains which
were made over to them from time
to time were so numerous that

their riches became almost incalcu-
lable, and their influence and im-
portance increased in proportion.
They established themselves at
Ucles, the better to carry on the
warfare against the infidel, whose
terror they had become. We soon
find them a power in the state,
the grand master taking rank with
kings, and at times appearing to
rule them. Even the simple knights
had great privileges. It was not
until the reign of Ferdinand that,
owing to the skilful management of
Isabella, the power and influence
of the order began to decrease.

Our notice would be incomplete
without a few words'on the subject
of the miracles which took place at
the tomb or by the intercession of
the apostle. The countless favors
which have rendered many a cho-
sen sanctuary justly illustrious will
never be known ; indeed, their ab-
sence would make the continual
faith of the people — always asking
and never receiving ; always believ-
ing, and yet to be ever disappointed
and deceived — not only inexplicable
but impossible, whereas it was ab-
solute and complete ; but exaggera-
tion, which, even in the world of
ordinary facts, so frequently goes
hand in hand with truth, plays still
more freely with facts which are
beyond and above the events of
daily life, and, not being satisfied
with the simple beauty of miracu-
lous deliverances, it must fain make
marvels still more marvellous — quit
the domain of faith for that of
myths an-d chimera. A MS. of the
monastery of La Marcha is full of
the recital of prodigies which a
faith the most robust would nowa-
days find it difficult to accept ; and
Csesar of Heisterbach tells us that
a young man of Maestricht having
been condemned and hung on a
false accusation, commending him-

/. James of Compostella.

'73

self to St. James, was preserved
alive a whole month hanging from
the gibbet, where his father found
him safe and sound at the end of
that time. Whereupon the people
of Toulouse, jealous of the glory
which the renown of this announce-
ment gave to St. James of Com-
postella, attributed to their St.
James a miracle exactly similar.

In numerous instances the ac-
counts of the dead restored to life
have nothing impossible or exag-
gerated about them, and often in
their pathos and simplicity remind
one of those mentioned in the
Gospel narrative ; for instance, a
poor woman, by the intercession of
St. James, obtained a son, who be-
came not only her greatest comfort,
but in time her only support. He
fell ill and died. With a breaking
heart the mother hastens to the
apostle's tomb, and in her agony
of desolation mingles reproaches
with her prayers and tears, asking
the saint why he had won for her
the blessing she had desired, only
to let her lose it when her need
was greatest, and herself a thousand
times more sorrowful than before ;
and then, full of faith, entreated
him to obtain from God the life of
her son. Her prayer was granted,
and, returning home, she found the
youth restored. But of a very dif-
ferent character is the extraordi-
nary legend related by Guibert,
Abbot of Nogent, and which we
quote as a curiosity. A certain
pilgrim was on his way to Compos-
tella to perform penance and ob-
tain the pardon of a crime he had
committed. On the road the ene-
my of mankind appeared to him
under the form of St. James, and,
telling him that his sin was far too
great to be remitted by a simple
pilgrimage, insisted that there was
only one means of obtaining mercy,

and that was by the sacrifice of
his life ; he must kill himself, and
then all would be forgiven him.
The pilgrim, who believed that he
was listening to St. James in person
and was 'bound to obey him, stab-
bed himself and died, a victim to
the fraud of the demon. He ap-
pears before the tribunal of God,
and there Satan claims him as his
prey by a double title : first, because
of the old crime, which had not
been remitted; and, secondly, be-
cause of the new one of which he
had been guilty in committing sui-
cide. In vain the poor man pleads
that he had acted in good faith and
in the simplicity of his heart ; he
was in great danger of being con-
demned. But St. James hears
what is going on and hastens to
the scene. He does not intend
that the evil one should take 'his
form and name to deceive his pil-
grims and then have all the profits,
and pleads that the only way to do
perfect justice in the affair is to
put everything exactly as it was
before Satan had so odiously med-
dled in the matter, and to send
back the soul of the unfortunate
man into his body again. This
representation, being just, was ac-
ceded to, and the resuscitated pil-
grim continued on his way to Com-
postella, where he confessed with
great contrition and was absolved
of all the sins of his past life.

We must, however, leave the
realm of legend and return to his-
torical facts. The anchoretic life
was at an early period introduced
into Europe from the East, and
Spain appears to have been a land
where hermits especially abounded .
We often find them mentioned as
coming on pilgrimage to Compostel-
la, as St. Simeon and St. Theobald
in the twelfth century, St. William
somewhat later, and St. John the

1 74

St. James of Compostella.

Hermit, who built near the cathe-
dral a place of shelter for pilgrims,
where he himself received them,
rendering them all the offices of
Christian hospitality.

Another William also came hither
on pilgrimage, who was an illustri-
ous personage, though not a hermit ;
this was the Count of Poitou and
Duke of Aquitaine, whose past life
had been anything but exemplary.
In Normandy and elsewhere he
had been guilty of grievous misde-
meanors, for which he desired to
do penance before his death; and,
more than this, lie did his utmost,
by good and upright administra-
tion, to repair the evil he had done
before. For this reason Hildebert,
Bishop of Mans, was not well pleas-
ed at his setting out for Spain, and
wrote to him as follows : " We are
told, most noble count, that you
have undertaken a pilgrimage in
honor of Blessed James. We do
not desire to deny the excellence
of this, but whosoever is at the
head of an administration is bound
to obedience, nor can he free him-
self therefrom without deserting his
post, unless, at least, he be call-
ed to one of greater usefulness.
Wherefore, very dear son, it is an
inexcusable fault in you to have
preferred that which is not neces-
sary before that which is — repose
rather than labor, and, instead of
duty, your own will." But the
great prelate would probably have
been less severe could he have
foreseen the holy death of Count
William, who, on Good Friday,
after having received the Blessed
Sacrament, peacefully rendered up
his soul to God before the altar of
St. James.

About the same time a young
maiden of Pisa, afterwards St. Bona,
came to Compostella, and there re-
ceived singular favors and graces.

Sophia, Countess of Holland,* jour-
neying thither also, fell into the
hands of robbers, and through one
whole night found that she had
nothing to expect but spoliation
and death. In the morning their
resolution was changed ; they threw
themselves at her feet and entreat-
ed her pardon, allowing her to pro-
ceed unharmed on her way. After
visiting the tomb of St. James the
princess went to Jerusalem, there
to spend the remainder of her life.

At the beginning of the thir-
teenth century pilgrims from all
lands had become so numerous
that it was frequently impossible,
especially on the feast of the pa-
tron saint, for all to find even
standing-room in the cathedral.
The tumult was indescribable, and
did not always end outside the
doors. On some occasions there
were not only blows but bloodshed,,
so that Pope Innocent III. wrote
to the archbishop, saying that his
church had need of reconciliation,
and the ceremony was performed
with water, wine, and blessed
ashes, f

Alman-Zour, as we have pre-
viously mentioned, had caused the
bells of Compostella to be carried
to Cordova on the backs of Chris-
tian captives. In 1229 Ferdinand,
who had united under his sway
the kingdoms of Castile and Leon,
made the conquest of Cordova, and,
finding the bells in the great mosque,
he inflicted retaliation on the infi-
dels by compelling them to carry
them, on their shoulders, back to
the place whence they had been
taken two hundred and sixty years
before.

After Louis VII. of France had
been on pilgrimage to Compostella,

* See the account as given by John de Beka in
the Chronicle of Utrecht.
t Datum Viterbii, XII. Kalend. Junii.

. James of Compostella.

175

we hear of several other sovereigns
from time to time who did the
same, among whom was St. Eliza-
beth, Queen of Portugal. The
Frieslanders, who had a great de-
votion to St. James, and attributed
to his aid a victory they had gain-
ed over the Saracens, visited his
tomb in immense numbers ; the
English did the same, and from the
time of Edward I.'s marriage with
Eleanor of Castile, having stipu-
lated for the safe-conduct of their
pilgrims, they arrived in such mul-
titudes that the kings of France
became uneasy at so great a con-
course, and made an agreement
with the king of England that his
subjects should obtain permission
of them before proceeding to Com-
postella. In 1434 this leave was
granted to about two thousand five
hundred persons.

These were the palmy days of
pilgrims, who were not only well
received at Santiago, whither they
brought activity, riches, and life,
but they were everywhere sheltered
and protected. No cottager was
too poor to offer them a resting-
place or to share his loaf of hospi-
tality with them. A pilgrim was
not only a brother come from per-
haps some far distant land to do
honor to Monseigneur St. James, but
he was also, in those days when pos-
tage was unknown, the walking ga-
zette, who brought the news of
other countries, and enlivened with
his narratives and conversation the
hearth of the poor as of the rich.

From the time of the Reforma-
tion pilgrimages began to decrease.
England and Germany were the
first to discontinue them. France
showed herself less fervent as soon
as the spirit of rationalistic philo-
sophy had infected the upper class-
es of her people, after which the
Revolution carried down the lower

ranks into the gulf of irreligion.
The wars of the empire, the spolia-
tions of which Napoleon's generals
were guilty, and consequently the
deadly hatred which they evoked
against their nation in the heart of
every Spaniard, struck the last blow
at these pious journeyings. Only
the inhabitants of the country con-
tinued to visit the shrine of their
apostle, and even they by degrees
lost the habit. Pilgrims are now-
adays but few, excepting only on
the feast of the patron, and they
have ceased to be popular at San-
tiago. If they chance to be poor,
the townspeople turn a deaf ear
when they ask an alms " for the love
of St. James " ; or, should they be
rich, seek only to turn them to cc-
count and to lighten their purses.

Although greatly fallen from its
ancient splendor, Santiago, former-
ly the capital of Galicia, and now
the simple chief town of a judicial
circuit, still has importance in the
ecclesiastical order. Her archbi-
shop is, by right, the first chaplain
of the crown, and her cathedral
still subsists in its integrity. She
has two collegiate and fifteen paro-
chial churches, though her nume-
rous convents, pillaged in 1807, and
subsequently despoiled and sup-
pressed, are at the present time in-
habited dwelling-houses, destined
to inevitable ruin, and throwing an
additional shadow into the general
air of melancholy- which now hangs
over this old city.

There are but few public build-
ings of antiquity or interest. The
streets, with their dark and narrow
archways, all start, like the threads
of a spider's web, from the one
centre occupied by the cathedral.
Everything wears an aspect that is
sombre, damp, and cold, augment-
ed by the hue that the granite,
of which most of the edifices are

1/6

St. -James of Coinpostella.

built, takes under a climate of such
humidity that it has given rise to
the disrespectful saying that this
city is the sink of Spain. And yet
the site is picturesque. Seen from
the neighboring heights, Santiago,
itself also built upon an elevation,
with its ancient buildings, walls,
and towers, presents a very striking
appearance, and to any one who
mounts the towers of the cathedral
the grand girdle of mountains en-
circling the horizon affords a spec-
tacle that well repays the trouble of
the ascent.

We are in the great square, and
facing the western front, containing
the principal entrance of the build-
ing, which occupies the middle of
a long architectural line, having at
its left the episcopal palace, melan-
choly enough and not in any way
remarkable, and at its right the
cloister, with its turrets and pyra-
midal roofs, and its long row of
arched windows. This is not the
cloister of Gemirez, of which no-
thing remains, but was built in the
sixteenth century by Archbishop
Fonseca, who furnished it with a
fine library, and also added the
chapter-house and other depen-
dencies of the cathedral. The clois-
ter is one of the largest in Spain,
half Gothic in style, and half Re-
naissance.

This western entrance, between
the cloister and the palace, is call-
ed El Mayor or El Real — the great
or royal entrance ; not that it mer-
its the title from any particular ar-
tistic beauty, but rather from a cer-
tain effective arrangement. The
four flights of steps, two large and
two small, ascend very picturesque-
ly from the square to the doors of
the cathedral, allowing a proces-
sion to spread into four lines, while
above rise the lofty towers, curious-
ly adorned with columns, vases,

balustrades, and little cupolas. You
see at once that you are not be-
holding a work which dates from
the construction of the building,
although the towers are ancient up
to the height of the church walls,
but the upper portion is much
more recent, and the same is evi-
dent of the fa9ade, which, occupies
the space between the towers.

Proceeding onwards to the left,
we follow a vaulted passage of the
twelfth century, bearing the stamp
of ancient simplicity, until we reach
the Plaza San Martino, the north
side of which is formed by the vast
convent of St. Martin, where, on
the centre of the front, are placed,
mounted on their chargers, the two
warrior saints of France and Spain.
Here is the market-place, whither
those should come who wish to
study favorably the picturesque
costumes of the peasants of Galicia,
and, it might be added, to hear
cries more shrill and louder vocifer-
ations than it would be supposed
possible for ordinary human lungs
to send forth. Before appearing
at market the sellers of fruit and
vegetables make an elaborate toi-
lette, which must be not only neat
but effective, those who are unable
to comply with its requirements re-
maining at home. Side by side
with the splendid fruits of Galicia
and fish from river and sea, rosa
ries, medals, and the scallop-shells
of St. James are offered for sale.
The building forms a beautifu
cross, of which the arms are near
ly equal to the upright, the tran
septs having a great development
The arrangement follows that o
most of the churches in Spain, th<
choir being. in the nave and ending
where the transept begins. Th<
aspect of the latter is particularly
grand, being less interrupted thar
the view along the nave, as th<

6V. James of Compost ella.

177

eye easily penetrates the light trel-
lis-\vork which makes a passage
across it from the choir to the Ca-
pilla Mayor. The rounded arches
of the three roofs are evidently of
the close of the eleventh or
the commencement of the twelfth
century. The pillars of the aisles,
with their capitals sculptured in
foliage, are light and graceful, con-
trasting pleasingly with the heavy
mass of the edifice. The triforium,
which runs round the nave, is com-
posed of semi-circular arches, each
containing two smaller ones which
spring from a slender column in
the centre. The east end remains
as it was, with the chapels radiating
from it, but the pillars and arches
of the choir have undergone great
alterations. The Silleria, or en-
closure of the choir, is ornament-
ed by a series of religious subjects
carved by Gregorio Espanol in
1606. Many of the windows of the
cathedral are very fine.

Beneath the Capilla Mayor is
situated the great object of the pil-
grimage— the subterranean chapel
containing the tomb of St. James
and those of two of his first disci-
ples. The famous statue of the
apostle is in the Capilla itself,
above the great altar, which re-
mains as it was in the time of Al-
man-Zour. This is a monumental
altar of richly-wrought marble, or-
namented with incrustations of sil-
ver, the working of which occupied
no less than twenty years. It is
surrounded by an enclosure of open
metal-work, gilt, adorned with vine-
branches and surmounted by an
immense hojarasco, or canopy, which
has little to recommend it in an ar-
tistic point of view, being carved
and gilt in the height of the style
churrigueresque. This serves as a
dais to the statue, and is supported
by four angels, about whose pon-
VOL. xxvi. — 12

derous forms no remnant of celes-
tial lightness lingers. Even the sta-
tue itself, before which kings and
princes have knelt, is not free from
the faults of style inevitable to the
period. The apostle is seated, and
holds in his right hand the pilgrim's
staff, with a gilded gourd and wal-
let (cum baculo perdque), and in
his left a scroll inscribed with the
words, Hie est corpus Divi Jacobi
Apostoli et Hispaniarum Patroni.
He wears on his shoulders the pele-
rine, or pilgrim's mantle, embroi-
dered with gold and precious stones.
This cape has the form of those
worn by cardinals, and has replac-
ed the ancient one of gold, which
was carried off by Marshal Ney.

It is a high honor to be allowed
to say Mass at the altar of the
great patron. Bishops and canons
only have the right. On grand oc-
casions it is splendidly adorned ;
the four statues of kings which
stand behind that of St. James
then support another small image
of the apostle of exceeding richness,
having a nimbus of emeralds and
rubies, and which is placed in a
shrine of wrought gold and silver of
wonderful delicacy. This beautiful
custodia, which is nearly six feet
high, was finished in 1544 by An-
tonio d'Arphe, and is in the style
designated by the Spaniards Pla-
teresque.

Pilgrims are admitted to pay
their homage to St. James by
mounting some steps behind the
altar to kiss the cape or mantle of
the apostle, as at Rome one kisses
the foot of St. Peter. There is an-
other resemblance also to St. Pe-
ter's at Rome in the long range of
confessionals, dedicated to differ-
ent saints, and served by priests
speaking different languages; for it is
not until after confession and com-
munion that the pilgrim can be al-

I78

. James of Compostclla.

lowed any right to the title, or re-
ceive his brevet or Compostdla,
which is a declaration written in
Latin, and signed by the canon-ad-
ministrator of the cathedral, that
he has fulfilled all his duties. These
documents are frequently found
among family papers, and in cer-
tain cases constitute a title without
which such or such possessions
could not be claimed.

The treasures of St. James of
Compostella were formerly renown-
ed throughout the world ; but
there seems to have been some ex-
aggeration respecting their immen-
sity, as, from all the objects of which
the French plundered the cathe-
dral in 1809, they obtained no
more than 300,000 francs. There
still remain various rare and curious
things — reliquaries, statues, sacred
vessels, etc. — some of which are of
great value and antiquity; amongst
others a crucifix containing a frag-
ment of the true cross, and which is
of exquisite workmanship, being also
one of the most ancient specimens
of chasing known. The cross is
wrought in gold filagree, enriched
with jewels, and resembles that of
Oviedo, which is said to be the
work of angels. It bears the in-
scription: "Hoc opus perfectum
est era LXOO. et duodecima. Hoc
signo vincitur inimicus. Hoc sig-
no tuetur pius. Hoc offerunt fam-
uli Dei Adefonsus princeps et con-
jux."

Among the chapels must be no-
ticed the Capilla del Pilar, dedi-
cated to Our Lady in memory of
her apparition to St. James. This,
which is behind the high altar, and
rich in precious marbles and jasper,
was founded by Arthur Monroy, a
rich Mexican prelate, whose kneel-
ing statue on his tomb has a fine
and attractive expression. Many
of the other chapels are also re-
markable ; that of the kings of
France, of the Conception, of the
Relics, etc.

Let us add to these riches of the
old cathedral a large concourse of
worshippers at all the services, a
people profoundly religious, a mag-
nificent ceremonial, the officiating
archbishop surrounded by his cler-
gy, grand and solemn music swell-
ed by the multitudinous voices of
the faithful ; let us imagine a vast
procession beneath these vaulted
roofs, and the trembling light of the
tapers illuminating the sombre walls
as the seemingly interminable train
of choristers, clergy, and people
pass along, and we shall have evok-
ed a scene which, though its like
may be witnessed in other lands,
still bears in Spain a peculiar stamp
of gravity and fervor, and possess-
es the earnest features and the vig-
orous relief of which the Spanish
artists knew the secret, and which
they have reproduced on their can-
vas in warm shadows and golden
lights.

A Sweet Rivnige.

179

A SWEET REVENGE.

SAINT-SAUVEUR-LE-VICOMTE is
a dull little town, situated in Co-
tentin, that long eastern strip of
the coast of Normandy which ex-
tends directly in front of the lovely
isles of Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney,
and Sark. Cherbourg lies to the
north of it, but we only mention
that fact en passant ; for the inci-
dent related in these pages occur-
red long before the Second Empire,
long before Cherbourg attracted
visitors to admire its naval displays,
long before railways had shortened
distances and brought the Cotenti-
nians within daily hearing of their
"ne plus ultra "of cities — inimita-
ble Paris. The little towns then
slumbered peaceably amidst their
corn-fields and apple-orchards; and
none slept sounder than Saint-Sau-
veur-le-Vicomte, whose very exist-
ence was scarcely known beyond
the limits of its native district. It
was remarkable, indeed, for noth-
ing; its church was old and fine, as
most French provincial churches
are ; the open space around it form-
ed the market-place, deserted and
silent except on market-days; and
the Grande Rue contained the one
hostelry of the town — the Hotel
Royale — and various stores.

But there were also a few cross-
streets, interspersed with flowery,
bowery gardens, and it is in a house
situated in one of these that our
scene is laid. It was a plain, un-
pretending dwelling, but large and
exquisitely neat. It had the widest
local reputation of being the snug-
gest in winter, the coolest in sum-
mer, and the most hospitable at all

seasons of any in Saint-Sauveur-le-
Vicomte — nay, in the whole stretch
of Cotentin ! The garden behind
it, too, was famous ; the owners,
M. and Mine. Dupuis, cultivat-
ed it themselves with rare en-
thusiasm and taste. Alphonse
Karr's world-celebrated flowers
would have been considered pale
and scentless beside Mme. Du-
puis'— at least, by the Cotenti-
nians. And the fruits — the peach-
es and green-gages, the pears and
grapes — it was not believed possi-
ble that the like could be found
even in Paris. Let us add that,
when in their first flush of ripeness
and bloom, the greater portion of
these carefully-tended flowers and
fruits were culled by Mme. Du-
puis' own hands, and sent forth to
carry light and beauty, perfume
and freshness, into every sick-room
of the little town.

The- Dupuis were a thoroughly
worthy couple ; they had married
young, for love, and had been bless-
ed with an only child, a daughter,
good and pretty as her mother, and,
like her mother, wedded early and
happily.

When the episode in their lives
which is the subject of this little
story took place, they had passed
together thirty years of tranquil,
uneventful felicity. M. Dupuis
had shortly before sold his busi-
ness— he was a notary — and was
now enjoying a well-earned rest.
He was a man of sixty, well-
educated, intelligent, and still
strong, active, and enthusiastic.
His plump little wife had just
completed her fifty-fifth year — she
did not appear to be forty-five.

i So

A Sweet Revenge.

She was of a deeper, more thought-
ful nature than her husband, but
nevertheless her sympathy with
him was unbounded — she loved all
he loved, the same people and the
same things. She was the type of
a true wife and of a true Christian.

Too modest and timid to have
any personal pretensions, Mine. Du-
puis' great pride lay in her well-
ordered home, her exquisitely clean
house, her nicely-arranged kitchen,
and, though last, certainly not least,
in her cook and housemaid, whom
she considered absolutely unparal-
leled in their several vocations.
And it must be allowed that Jean-
nette and Marianne had, during
twenty years, fully justified their
mistress' good opinion of them.
During all this time the two women
had constantly studied her every
wish, and the result was the per-
fection of domestic economy.

The family party was completed
by a large white Angora cat, pro-
moted since the marriage of Mile.
Dupuis to the enviable position of
" pet of the household," and uni-
versally considered in Cotentin to
be the most remarkable animal of
its species.

One winter's evening, when the
snow lay deep in the streets and
the north wind whistled fiercely
around the eaves, M. Dupuis' din-
ing-room looked particularly cheer-
ful. The heavy tapestry curtains
were drawn close before the win-
dows, and a flaming wood fire
showered sparkles of reflected light
on the crystal and silver placed on
the round dining-table, and lighted
up the portraits of some sober-
looking personages in powdered
wigs which adorned the walls.
The handsome tortoise-shell and
copper clock, a masterpiece of the

style Louis Quinze, standing on a
hanging shelf above the sofa, was,
perhaps, the best article of furni-
ture in the room ; the chimney-
piece was too encumbered with
porcelain shepherds and shepherd-
esses, and china jars filled with ar-
tificial flowers and covered with
great glass globes, for the taste of
the present day. Fashion had
slumbered in Saint-Sauveur-le-Vi-
comte for many a long year. But
there was light and warmth, and a
pervading feeling of comfort, worth
all the gilded, satin-covered chairs
and lounges that Parisian taste can
devise, all the Venetian mirrors
and Sevres vases that luxury can
afford. Mme. Dupuis' dining-room
was certainly rococo and provincial,
incongruous in some respects, defi-
cient in harmony, but what sincere,
cordial hospitality those four walls
had witnessed ! what pleasant re-
pasts ! what real good, wholesome
eating ! what merry toasts had been
drunk there in claret, in sherry, and
champagne — wines as bright as
Mme. Dupuis' eyes, and as pure
and unadulterated as her heart !

A second clock, a very ugly one
it must be confessed, a representa-
tive of the bad taste of the First Em-
pire, which stood in the centre of
the already too encumbered man-
tel-shelf, marked five minutes past
six, and Mme. Dupuis was seated
at the head of her dining-table.
She was neatly dressed in black
silk; her dark brown hair, streaked
here and there with silver threads,
was arranged in simple bandeaux on
each side of her temples, and a small
lace cap trimmed with a few knots
of pink ribbon concealed the pau-
city of the " back hair " ; for Mine.
Dupuis was behind her time. She
had not "marched with her age,"
and had not yet learned to wear a
" switch."

A Sivcet Revenge.

181

M. Dupuis, somewhat old-fash-
ioned in his attire, but scrupulous-
ly neat, sat opposite to her. At
an equal distance from each was
placed a gentleman as old appar-
ently as the ex-notary, but infinite-
ly more pretentious in his style
both of dress and manner. His
coat and trowsers were of Parisian
cut ; his beard in the latest mode;
his voice dictatorial — a man of the
world evidently, and evidently also
accustomed to think more of him-
self than of any one else. The
little party was busily engaged in
the agreeable duty of eating sundry
"plats " which diffused a most ap-
petizing odor. Marianne, madame's
right hand and faithful aid during
many long years, waited at table,
while the beautiful Angora sought
its fortune around and under.

" Well, it happened just as I tell
you," said Mme. Dupuis, as she
handed her guest a delicious-look-
ing chop — " it happened just as I
tell you, M. Rouviere. I believed
that he had gone crazy — completely
crazy ; get down, puss ! He came
rushing up-stairs, four steps at a
time, crying at the top of his voice,
' It's Tom ! it's Tom Rouviere, that
fellow Tom !' Excuse me, M. Rou-
viere, but that's his word, you know.
As for me, I followed, stumbling as
I went along, killing myself trying
to make him hear that it was much
more likely to be M. du Luc in his
new carriage ; for I knew through
Mme. le Rendu that M. du Luc
was to dine to-day at Semonville,
and, as he never passes through
Saint-Sauveur without stopping to
wish us good-day, I had every rea-
son to believe . . ."

"O my dear Reine!" interrupt-
ed M. Dupuis, " what necessity is
there for telling all that to Rou-
viere ? He knows nothing about
M. du Luc and Mme. le Rendu ;

how can all that interest him ? Be-
sides, you know that M. du Luc
never has post-horses to his car-
riage, so it could not be he."

" But I believed it was," replied
madame.

" Allons ! never mind now, dear,"
returned her husband, " but do
keep your cat off; she is teasing
Rouviere."

"Puss! puss !" cried Mme. Du-
puis, "come here and behave your-
self, do. Now, George," she con-
tinued, "you must acknowledge
that it was much more natural
that I should expect to see M.
du Luc, our country neighbor, than
M. Rouviere, whom I did not
know, and from whom you had never
heard for more than thirty years —
really, now. What do you say, M.
Rouviere? You shall be judge."

M. Rouviere, who during this
dialogue had been silently eating
and drinking with evident appetite,
looked up from his plate with an
expression of impatience anything
but flattering to the lady.

"Of course you are right, mad-
ame," replied he sharply ; " of
course you are right. But, God
bless me, madame, I really believe
that your chops are fried with
crumbs !"

Poor Mme. Dupuis started at
this abrupt interpellation ; her
good-tempered smile vanished ;
one might have fancied there was a
tear in her eye as she answered
gently : " I am so sorry ! It was I
who made Jeannette crumb them.
I thought they would be more deli-
cate."

" What heresy !" exclaimed Rou-
viere. " My dear lady, nobody now
fries chops in crumbs, just as no-
body now wears leg-cf-mutton
sleeves! Gracious heavens ! Provi-
dence has granted you one of the
very best articles of food that the

182

A Sweet Revenge.

culinary art is acquainted with —
real, genuine.//'/-^// mutton, pure
Miols mutton — and you fry it in
crumbs — you actually dare to fry it
in crumbs ! Parbleu! I have sailed
round the world, but I had to come
to Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte to see
Miels mutton fried in crumbs."

" How sorry I am !" cried poor
Mine. Dupuis humbly. " Let me
help you to some sole, M. Rouviere.
We have a market for fish only
once a week, but, as M. Dupuis is
very fond of fish, I have made an
arrangement with a fisherman from
Porthail, so that we have a little
extra ' plat ' every Wednesday, and
as, most fortunately, to-day hap-
pens to be Wednesday. . . "

" Oh ! come, Reine," interrupted
M. Dupuis, who had been' listening
with a -very vexed expression of
countenance to what was passing
between his wife and his friend,
" don't go on with all these details ;
what interest can they have for
Rouviere ? Well, Tom, tell me,
now, where were you eight days
ago at this very hour ?"

*' Eight days* ago, George," said
Rouviere, and he stopped eating to
reflect — " eight days ago I was in
Dublin."

" In Dublin !" exclaimed Dupuis
admiringly. " What a fellow !"

"From Dublin," continued M.
Rouviere, " I went to London, and
from London to Jersey, and from
Jersey — here !"

" And was it when you got to
Jersey that the happy thought oc-
curred to you to come and stir up
your old friend ?" asked Dupuis ;
and his bright, soft eyes rested af-
fectionately on Rouviere's face.

" Yesterday morning, my dear
boy," replied Rouviere. "There
was a map of Normandy hanging
up in the hall of the hotel where I
was staying, and I was looking at it

almost mechanically, when suddenly
I came across the name of Saint-Sau-
veur-le-Vicomte. ' Saint Sauveur-
le-Vicomte !' I repeated two or three
times to myself. ' Isn't that the
name of the little town where
George Dupuis used to live — my
friend George? I've a mind to go
and dine with him, if he be still
alive.' "

M. Rouviere seemed to be look-
ing for something on the table as
he finished these words. Mme. Du-
puis, watching every feature, anx-
iously inquired what he wanted.

" Some lemon, madame, for this
sole," replied he. " Marianne —
I think I heard you call her Mari-
anne," he added, turning towards
his hostess — " Marianne, haven't
you a lemon?"

"Here is one," exclaimed Mme.
Dupuis, rising hastily and running
to the sideboard. " Now tell me,
M. Rouviere," she said with her
pleasant smile, as she laid the le-
mon by his plate, " have you really
been going up and down the high-
ways and by-ways of the world
during thirty long years, just like
the Wandering Jew ?"

" I have indeed, madame," re-
plied her guest, squeezing the le-
mon-juice out over his sole.

" You must have eaten some
strange things in your travels,"
continued the lady.

" I rather think so," replied Rou-
viere, with his mouth full of fish ;
" things you never heard of ! Ma-
rianne, my good girl, I smell coffee
roasting in your kitchen. Now,
nearly every one, especially here in
the provinces, roasts it too much —
all the aroma is driven off; run
quick, that's a good lass, and tell
the cook — Jeannette, isn't it ? — that
the coffee must only be toasted —
just scorched. Do you understand,
eh ?"

A Sweet Revenge.

183

"Yes, yes, I understand well
enough," muttered Marianne as
she went out ; " that fellow seems
to like nothing!"

" My dear lady," went on Rou-
viere, turning to Mme. Dupuis,
" the very accident I feared for
your coffee has happened to your
chicken — it is cooked too much, or
rather it has been cooked too fast.
It is a great pity, for it was an ex-
cellent fowl !"

" Oh ! dear, oh ! dear," exclaimed
Mme. Dupuis, who was beginning
to feel a kind of despair thus far
unknown to her. All her dinners
hitherto had been subjects of com-
pliment ; this was quite a new ex-
perience. " Oh ! dear, oh ! dear,
how many misfortunes at one time.
Pray excuse me, M. Rouviere ; you
came so unexpectedly, you know.
We had no time to do things well.
But do, pray, stay a few days with
us, and you shall see. I promise
you that everything shall be bet-
ter."

" Impossible, madame," replied
the guest, as he accepted a fine
snipe done to a turn ; " you are
very kind, but at nine o'clock this
evening I must be on the road
again. Yes, madame, you may
well say that I have eaten strange
things," he continued, raising his
voice. " I've eaten kouskoussou
under the Arab's tent ; curry — that
incendiary curry — on the shores of
the Ganges; I've dined off the
frightful tripang in Java ; and in
China on swallows' nests stewed in
castor-oil !"

"Good gracious!" ejaculated
Mme. Dupuis.

" What a wonderful fellow !" ex-
claimed M. Dupuis enthusiasti-
cally.

M. Dupuis was unwontedly si-
lent ; he was evidently exceedingly
annoyed, and it was pitiful to see

the deprecating glances his little
wife directed towards him from
time to time. He, however, kept
his eyes fixed steadily on his plate.

" In Panama," went on Rouviere,
" I've eaten roasted monkey. But
what need to enumerate? There's
nothing edible in creation that I
have not swallowed. So that I be-
lieve I may say," here he bowed
thanks for a second snipe, " there
does not exist a man under the fir-
mament of heaven easier to satisfy
than myself. The Rocky Moun-
tain Indians — those Indians are
most extraordinarily sagacious —
the Rocky Mountain Indians, I say,
gave me a surname while I was
among them — ' Choc-ugh-tou-saw,'
which signifies good-humored sto-
mach, because I was always satis-
fied with my dinner !"

" What a wonderful fellow !" re-
iterated Dupuis. " Come, Tom,
try this Burgundy; your throat must
be dry. What a wonderful fellow,
to be sure !"

" Do let me prevail on you to
take another snipe," said Mme. Du-
puis, holding up to the guest's ac-
ceptance a third fine, fat bird; " I'm
so glad to find that you like them !"

" No, madame, no, a thousand
thanks. Yes, I don't deny that I
am fond of snipes, but, I'm sorry —
I can't deceive you — these are not
just what they ought to be. In the
first place, they have not been kill-
ed long enough ; and, secondly, you
have forgotten to pepper them — a
process absolutely necessary with
game. But, excuse me, for the last
half-hour I've been looking at that
covered dish, wondering what there
is in it. I really don't believe that
I have ever felt more curiosity in
the whole course of my life ; excuse
me, I must look into it."

He raised the cover as he spoke,
peering in with eyes and nose.

1 84

A -Sweet Revenge.

" In the name of all the saints,
what is it?" he exclaimed, as he
contemplated the contents and snif-
fed up the steam.

" My dear friend," answered Du-
puis, a little nervously, " it is some-
thing I had concocted on purpose
for you — it is macaroni."

"Macaroni! That macaroni!"
shouted Rouviere, as if never more
surprised in his life.

" Yes, M. Rouviere," explained
Mme. Dupuis, no longer smiling,
poor little woman ! " This dish
was inspired by George's friend-
ship. He remembered that you
were very fond of Italy, so I sent
in haste to the grocer's ; he fortu-
nately had still a small quantity of
macaroni on hand, and then, with
the help of my cookery-book — for
Jeannette couldn't manage it — I
made you a plat a Fitalienne"

" A ritalienne /" repeated George's
old friend with a sneering laugh.
" My dear, good lady, that's not ma-
caroni & ritalienne! Oh ! no, no.
However, who knows ? — it may be
good to eat all the same. Let us
try!" So saying, M. Rouviere
helped himself to a spoonful, while
his hosts looked on anxiously.

" Well, how do you like it ?" asked
George, when the taster, after many
grimaces, had got down a mouthful.

"Like it!" replied Rouviere,
"why, not at all ; you might as
well try to masticate organ-pipes !
It really is something remarkable;
it's fossil macaroni, petrified mac-
aroni ! The grocer who sold it to
you deserves the jail ; 7 shouldn't
wonder if he belonged to some
secret society !"

"Marianne, quick! change M.
Rouviere's plate," said Dupuis
sharply — for the old servant was
gazing at her master's friend with
a very unmistakable expression of
disgust on her honest face. " My

dear Tom," he continued, " what a
bad dinner you have made !"

"You are jesting," replied Rou-
viere carelessly ; " at all events,
your wine is capital."

" I don't know what to say,"
sighed poor Mme. Dupuis. " I feel
ready to die with vexation. But,
dear M. Rouviere," with a pretty
supplicatory gesture, " do, I beg and
pray of you, do taste my rice-pud-
ding."

" Very willingly, my dear lady,"
answered the terrible guest — " very
willingly; only let me first finish
eating these green peas, which have
been very well preserved, and
would be really perfect had the
cook spared her butter a little !"

At this moment the church bells
began to ring the Angelas, and
Mme. Dupuis rose precipitately
from the table.

" You will pardon my leaving
you to finish dinner with George,"
said she to Rouviere; "I shall be
back long before you go."

" Surely you are not going out
such an evening as this!" exclaim-
ed Rouviere. " Why, there's a foot
deep of snow in the streets !"

" My wife goes to church every
evening, winter and summer, at the
Angelus, no matter what the wea-
ther," remarked George. " She
has done so for nearly fifty years,
and nothing will break her of the
habit now."

"Ah ! very well," returned Rou-
viere. " I hope you like your pas-
tor, Mme. Dupius ?"

" Oh.! yes, indeed I do," replied
the good little woman enthusiasti-
cally ; " he is a most worthy man.
Do stay twenty-four hours longer
with us, M. Rouviere, and I will
ask him to dine with us; you will
be glad to know him, I am quite
sure."

" So am I," returned her hus-

A Sweet Revenge.

185

band's old chum, with the little
sneering laugh which seemed to be
natural to him ; " but I must wait
for another opportunity."

" Now, George," said Mme. Du-
puis, as she tied her wadded hood
and slipped on the cloak and india-
rubber shoes which had been plac-
ed ready for her on a chair, " do beg
your friend to taste the rice-pud-
ding; and, M. Rouviere, do try my
preserves. I make them myself,
and I really believe that they are
excellent. Good-by for the pres-
ent!"

" Good-by, madame."

" Hem ! hem !" ejaculated Rou-
viere as the door closed behind the
lady, " so ! so ! Now let us look at
this rice. Your wife's given to
piety, eh, George ?"

" Yes, she is a religious woman,"
replied George slowly ; then added,
with some slight eagerness in his
manner, " but she never imposes
her opinions upon any one. She
never teases me, I can assure you,
although I do happen to be some-
what lukewarm about church mat-
ters. But tell me, Tom" — here M.
Dupuis hesitated and appeared
embarrassed — "don't you find her
very provincial, very rustic ?"

" Oh ! no, not at all," answered
Rouvi6re in a tone which seemed
to imply the contrary of his words.

" Yes, you do — I know you do !"
cried George passionately. " But
what can you expect ? It's not her
fault ! She has lived in this hole
all her life. And your unexpect-
ed visit has excited her — upset her.
She really talked as if she did not
know what she was saying — such
nonsense, such silly gossip !"

" Oh ! no, not at all," repeated
Rouviere, as he steadily devoured
the rice-pudding.

" Par bleu ! yes; don't deny it !"
cried Dupuis peevishly. " It made

you nervous — I saw it did. It irri-
tated me, I know : it really seemed
as if she was trying to show you
her defects. It vexed me more,
too, because she really has many
good qualities — admirable qualities,
poor little woman !"

" My dear George," returned
Rouviere, pushing away his plate
and coolly wiping his mouth with
his napkin, " I don't doubt it in
the least; her rice-pudding is cer-
tainly delicious."

Dupuis at this moment caught
sight of the pretty Angora with
one soft white paw laid in silent
petition on his friend's knee. His
irritation, with difficulty kept un-
der so far, instantly boiled over on
the head of the innocent cat.
" Get down !" he roared, " get down,
you brute ! I'll drown that beast
one of these days ! Take that
animal away," he continued, turn-
ing angrily towards Marianne, who
had just brought in the coffee ; "if
she comes into this room again, I'll
throw her out of the window !"

" Come to me, pussy," said Mari-
anne in an extra-gentle tone of
voice, taking the cat in her arms
and kissing it ; " these Parisian
gentlemen don't like you, it seems.
A regular Turk he is, too, turning
the house topsy-turvy," she mutter-
ed as she went out of the room,
scowling over her shoulder at the
visitor.

Rouviere had risen from the
table during this episode, and, tongs
in hand, was busy with the bright
wood fire. He smiled maliciously
when the cat was carried away,
and, as if in very lightness of heart,
broke forth in song :

" ' O bell* alma innamorata ' O
bell1 alma innamorata ! ' Tell me,
George," he interrupted himself to
say, " have you a good theatre here
in Saint-Sauveur ?"

1 86

A Sweet Revenge.

"A theatre? That's an idea!
Well, yes, we have a theatre once a
year, on the fair-day at mid-Lent !"

" That's too bad !" laughed Rou-
viere. " How on earth do you
contrive to get through your even-
ings ?"

"Well, in winter," answered
George, " we chat by the side of
the fire, or ray wife and I play at
piquet ; sometimes two or three
neighbors come in, and then we
have a game of whist !"

"Phew!" whistled the man of
the world. "With the cure, I'll
swear," said he presently with his
customary mocking smile, as he
planted himself comfortably with
his back to the blaze and his coat-
tails gathered up under his arms.

" Yes," went on George simply,
apparently unconscious of his
friend's sneer ; " sometimes with
the curt. And then in summer I
water my garden, and Reine and I
take a walk on the high-road up to
the top of the hill, or in the wood
by the river's side ; and then —
well, everybody goes to bed early
here."

"Very moral, indeed!" sneered
Rouviere again, picking his teeth.

By this time Marianne had clear-
ed away the dinner things, and,
after placing a provision of glasses
and a bottle of brandy, another of
rum, and a case of liqueurs on the
table, had finally departed to dine
in her turn with Jeannette, and to
confide her observations on the
obnoxious Parisian to her compan-
ion's sympathizing ear.

in.

"So at last we are alone!" ex-
claimed Dupuis with a sigh of sat-
isfaction, as the maid closed the
door behind her. " Now, Tom, sit
down and let us drink. Come and

tell me what you think of this
brandy. Here's to your health,
old friend !" filling himself a glass
of old Cognac and tossing it off
excitedly. " Do you know how
many years it is since we last met,
Tom ? Five-and-thirty, Tom — five-
and-thirty years!"

" Yes, parbleu /" said Rouviere,
helping himself to the brandy. "I
suppose it must be some thirty-
five years since we parted in the
diligence yard, Rue Montmartre.
I remember that we swore eter-
nal friendship and constant corre-
spondence. The correspondence
did not last long — less than two
years, it seems to me — but our
friendship, George, it smouldered
under its ashes, but it kept alive,
my boy !"

The two friends clasped each
other's hands for a moment si-
lently.

"Your brandy is first-rate," re-
marked Rouviere presently, as he
finished his petit-verre.

"You like it? Bravo! Well,
there are still some pleasant hours
in life — aren't there now, Tom ?"

"I believe you," answered the
guest meditatively.

" Who should know it better than
you, fortunate fellow as you are !
But I say, Tom, how does it hap-
pen that you have not changed in
the least ? Not in the least, by
Jove ! You've remained young and
handsome. . . . 'I was young and
handsome !' — do you remember how
magnificently Talma used to say
that ? Your beard and moustaches
might belong to an African lion !
You make me think of Henri
Quatre ! But drink, Tom ; you
don't drink !"

" My dear old George," said
Rouviere in a quiet, confidential
tone of voice, and resting his two
arms on the table, while he fixed

A Sweet Revenge.

187

his eyes on his friend's flushed
face — " my dear old George, what
was your reason for burying your-
self alive in Cotentin ? Tell me."

" Why do you ask me that, Tom ?"
cried Dupuis, who suddenly be-
came serious. " You find me rusty,
then?"

" Xo, no ; but what was your rea-
son ? Tell me in confidence, you
kno\v."

" Yes, I am rusty ; I feel it !"
said poor Dupuis mournfully. " I
tell you what, Tom, the provinces
of France deserve all that is said
against them. They are like those
springs of mineral waters which
turn to stone every living creature
you throw into them ! What rea-
son had I, do you ask ? Gracious
heavens ! What is life, Tom, but
a series of chances ; some fatality
gets you into a groove, and you are
pushed on and on until you reach
your grave. Try this rum, Tom."

"Do you indulge in such pro-
longed libations every evening?"
asked Rouviere.

" No, never. These are in honor
of you."

" So I suspected. This is the
rum, isn't it? Come, go on,
George ; I want to hear the rest of
your Odyssey."

" Well, Tom," resumed his friend,
taking a sip at his glass of rum
and breathing at the same time a
sigh which was almost a groan,
"you remember that my prospects
were pretty bright in Paris. I fully
intended to buy that solicitor's
office where I was working — it had
been offered to me on good condi-
tions; but some family affairs called
me home here, and here I stayed.
I don't know how it happened, but
it is certain that I found a charm
in tliis provincial life — in its futile
comfort, its indolent habits, its
tame monotony."

Here poor Dupuis stopped, that
he might give vent to an angry-
gust of self-reproach by punching
the fire with the tongs ; after a sip
of rum he continued : " All these
got possession of me, wound them-
selves around me like a net, and I
remained their captive."

His head bowed itself forward,
and he sat gazing regretfully on
the ugly clock in the middle of the
chimney-piece.

"All right, George!" laughed
Rouviere; "you don't say it, but I
suspect that Madame Dupuis had
a good deal to do with this final
catastrophe !"

"It is true, Tom," replied the
other, his countenance lighting up
for a moment ; " and you may be-
lieve it or not, as you like, but I
swear that she was a charming
girl ! Moreover, my dear old mo-
ther was living then, and it was a
great pleasure to her to have me
settle here where we were all born.
The long and the short of it was
that I married, bought my father-
in-law's office, and all was over —
the die was cast ! Take some of
the Kirschwasser, Tom," he added
hurriedly, as if his remembrances
were too painful to be dwelt on.

" Presently," said Rouviere, a
smile flickering over his worldly-
wise face ; " but tell me, first, you've
not stayed walled up in Saint-Sau-
veur, I hope, all these thirty-five
years? You take a run to Paris every
once in a while, don't you?"

" Don't mention it," groaned
Dupuis. " I've not seen Paris since
I said good-by to you in the Rue
Montmartre !"

" Phew !" whistled Rouviere,
helping himself to the Kirschwas-
ser. The friends remained silent
for a time, gazing at the fire.

" But you used to like to travel,"
exclaimed Rouviere, at last.

iSS

A Sii-cct Revenge.

" And so I do still, my dear
Tom ; my taste has not changed in
that respect, I can assure you. But
what could I do? When I mar-
ried, my idea was to work steadily
for fifteen years, and then sell my
business and live on what I had
saved. I intended then to take a
trip to Paris with my wife, after
that to the Pyrenees — I always
wished so much to see the Pyre-
nees ! But it was not to be ; as
the old women say, Man proposes
and God disposes. We had been
married just five years when our
daughter was born. . . ."

" What's that you say — you have
a daughter?" interrupted his
friend.

" A daughter and a grand-daugh-
ter, Tom," replied George, with an
inflection in his voice that sounded
very like pride, and a soft look in
his eyes; "so you understand that I
had to stick to my business for ten
years more, that I might get her a
dowry ; and then, when at last I did
sellout — well, I was old . . . and I
couldn't think of anything pleasant-
er than just to stay quietly in my
arm-chair ! Didn't I tell you that
my life has been nothing but a chap-
ter of accidents from beginning to
end ? Come, shall we have some
punch, Tom ? I'll make it."

" If you will. So you have a
daughter! And she is married!
Well married, I hope ?"

" Well, yes ; her husband is a sub-
prefect."

George's voice again took a tone
of gratified pride, which elicited a
smile from his observant friend.

" A sub-prefect ! Bravo, bravissi-
mo ! But you're putting too much
lemon into that punch."

" Do you think so ? And now,
Tom, that I've made a clean breast
of it — told you all — you must ex-
plain something to me that I never

could comprehend : how hare you
contrived to make your modest for-
tune suffice for nearly half a centu-
ry's constant travel?"

"It is easy enough to explain,"
said Rouviere, sitting up straight in
his chair and becoming very ani-
mated and somewhat loud as he
proceeded. " I began life with ten
thousand francs a year in land ; my
first operation was to change my
patrimony into bank-notes, by which
means I doubled my income ; then
I invested it in the sinking funds,
which trebled it. And then, freed
from every narrow calculation, from
every family tie, from every social
trammel, I took my flight into
space ! Here's to your health, my
old friend George! Hip! hip!
hurrah !"

"What a wonderful fellow!"
cried George in a paroxysm of ad-
miration, excited, very probably,
much more by the brandy and the
rum and the punch than by Rou-
viere's comprehension of life and
happiness. "What energy! what
grandeur !"

" I consecrated my youth," con-
tinued Tom in a declamatory style,
"to distant adventures, reserving
Europe for the autumn of life.
My foot — this foot, this very foot,
George, which now touches yours on
this carpet — has left its print among
those of the tiger and the elephant
on the sands of India ! Nay, it has
even followed those terrible prow-
lers into their forests of bamboo,
lofty and solemn as our cathe-
drals!"

"Ah! that was something like
living !" ejaculated Dupuis, who
listened with almost breathless in-
terest.

" Two years later I arrived in
Canton. What an arrival, ye gods !
Never shall I forget the scene. It
was a lovely summer night. The

A Sweet Revenge.

189

accession of the emperor of the Ce-
lestials to his ancestral throne was
being celebrated. Our canoe could
scarcely force its way among the
junks and flower-boats, all of them
decorated with innumerable paper
lanterns. Fireworks of a thousand
different hues were reflected, min-
gled with the stars, in the flowing
river, and we could watch their
rainbow tints playing on the porce-
lain temples that rise on its banks !"

" What a fairy-like sight ! Hap-
py, happy Tom !" murmured Du-
puis.

"From China," pursued Rou-
viere, after quaffing off his glass of
punch, " I sailed for the Americas.
I travelled about there for several
years, going to and fro, from north
to south, from the savannas to
the pampas, from the great austere
Canadian woods to the smiling
Brazilian forests ; sometimes on
foot, sometimes *on horseback, oft-
enest in a pirogue. My longest
stay was in Peru. I could not tear
myself away from that coquettish
city of Lima !"

" Ha ! ha ! traitre, gay deceiver !
O Tom, Tom!" laughed Dupuis,
shaking his head in ecstasy.

" I turned gamester, too. It is
impossible for you, George, to con-
ceive the immense attraction a
gaming-table possesses in that land
of gold and silver and jewels. One
might almost fancy that one of
those fabulous trees we read of in
Oriental tales had been shaken
over the green cloth ! There is
little or no regular coined money
to be seen on it, but dull yellow
ingots, bright golden spangles, fiery
diamonds, and milk-white, lustrous
pearls are heaped up there pell-
mell ! All the treasures of earth
and ocean seem to be brought
together on that table, tumbled
and jostled in dazzling confusion !

You can stay whole nights by
that board — nights that fly like
minutes — your eyes fascinated, your
brain on fire ! Twenty times in
twenty-four hours you are raised
to the throne of Rothschild — as
often precipitated down, down to
Job's dunghill. You become bald,
you may become mad, but you feel
what life is — you live !"

" It is true, it is true !" cried Du-
puis in a state of intense excite-
ment; "you are right, Tom, there
is no doubt of that. And to think
that I have never played at any-
thing but that blackguard whist at
a sou the counter ! But go on,
Tom, go on ; you really electrify
me !"

" Everything has its end," con-
tinued Rouviere, highly flattered by
the effect he was producing ; " there
came a day of sadness and discour-
agement, and I took passage on
board an American whaler bound
for the south pole. Yes, my hand
has touched the frozen limits of
our globe ; I have contemplated,
with feelings akin to awe, those
creatures with human-like faces,
the morse, on their pedestals of
ice, recumbent and dreamy as the
sphinx of Thebes. And in the
midst of those silent spaces, so
strangely different from all I had
hitherto seen, I experienced sensa-
tions that seemed to belong to an-
other world. A kind of posthumous
illusion of being in another planet
took possession of me. Certainly
I am much deceived if the days
and nights I saw in those regions of
ice do not resemble those in our
pale satellite. What more shall I
tell you, my dear friend ? Three
years after this I found myself in Rio
Janeiro, whence I returned to Eu-
rope, after having literally described
the whole circumference of our
globe with the end of my walking-

190

A Sweet Revenge.

stick ! And thus passed away my
youth !"

M. Rouviere here threw himself
back in his arm-chair, and stroked
his beard with a sigh.

" Every king living might envy
you, Tom!" cried Dupuis. "But
tell me more. What have you been
doing since then?"

" Since then, George," said Rou-
viere with nonchalance, " I have
not travelled; I have merely made
excursions. First upon the Medi-
terranean— but, pshaw ! it was like
sailing on the basin in the Tuile-
ries' garden ! I have visited all
the countries on its shore. And
by degrees, as I grew older, my
circle became smaller, so that now
I live entirely in Europe, going
from city to city, according to the
attraction of the moment. Indeed,
I may say, my dear fellow, that
Europe is my property, my do-
main!" Here the speaker began
to wax warmer and louder. " Ev-
ery festival given by nature or man
in Europe is given to amuse me.
For me Naples displays her bay
and her volcano, and keeps open
her grand theatre, San Carlos; for
my recreation Paris adorns her
boulevards and builds her opera-
house ; to amuse me Madrid has a
Prado and bull-fights. All the
great exhibitions were made for
me, beginning with that of London.
Evviva la libertct ! Let's drink!"
So saying, he filled for himself a
brimming bumper of punch, and
tossed it off with a very self-satis-
fied smile.

"Tom!" cried Dupuis delight-
edly, " you are a genius ! But you
have said nothing about the great
monuments — the Alhambra,the Co-
liseum, the Parthenon."

" Pshaw! those are your friends!"
retorted Tom with his peculiar
sneer. " I've said nothing about

them because they are dragged
about everywhere. Who hasn't
seen them ?"

There was a minute of silence,
broken by an emphatic " Ah !"
breathed not loudly but deeply by
the excited listener. Starting from
his seat, and thrusting his hands
into his pockets, he began hurried-
ly to pace up and down the room.
His friend glanced at him uneasily.

" What's the matter ? What an-
noys you?" he asked.

" O Tom, Tom !" cried George,
still continuing his agitated walk,
"I blush when I compare your life
with mine. While your heart has
counted each pulsation by some
noble or beautiful emotion, mine
has stupidly gone on ticking off the
hours and days and years as calmly
as a kitchen clock ! Have I really
lived, tell me?" He stopped in
front of his friend, gesticulating
violently. "I was born, and 1 have
slept, and I have eaten ; but what
else ? And what has been the re-
sult ? My intelligence is extin-
guished ; I have dried up ; I have
descended in the scale of being, until
I have come to be on a level with
the idiot of the Alps, with a shell-
fish, with an oyster !"

" Come, come, George, you're go-
ing too far!" said Rouviere sooth-
ingly. " Even supposing that you
no longer possess as much fresh-
ness of imagination, as much viva-
city of wit, as you used to have ..."

"I thought so! I knew it!" in-
terrupted Dupuis, resuming his hur-
ried walk backwards and forwards ;
"you acknowledge that you find
me rusty !"

M. Rouviere rose slowly from his
seat, and, after lighting a cigar, re-
mained standing with his back
against the chimney-piece, his eyes
fixed on his friend, who paused in
front of him at his first word.

A Siveet Revenge.

191

" Listen to me, George," said he
seriously, caressing his moustache
with his fingers as he spoke ; " I
will be frank with you. You know
that I always used to be frank with
you. The impression your house
made on me when I first entered
it was, I must confess, a sinister
one. I seemed to' breathe the air
of a cemetery in it. I could have
fancied that I was in one of those
long-buried dwellings which the pa-
tient labor of enthusiastic antiqua-
ries has restored to light -and life.
While the servant went to call you
I could not prevent myself from
examining, with a kind of wonder-
ing, stupid curiosity, the old-fash-
ioned furniture, and the pictures,
and those dismal tapestries worthy
of figuring in a museum ! I re-
membered the delicacy of your cha-
racter, the elegance of your man-
ners, your intelligent taste, your
love of art ; and positively I could
not reconcile the bright memories
I retained of you with the dull,
insipid existence of which I had
the evidence before my eyes. You
came to me ; I looked at you ; you
spoke. What was it ? Was my
sight affected, or my judgment bi-
assed by the thoughts which were
literally preying on me at that mo-
ment ? I can't tell what it was — I
can't explain — but your language
astonished me ! Your forehead ac-
tually seemed to me to have grown
narrower! I wiped away a secret
tear, and I sighed as I should have
sighed had. I been standing by your
grave ! I even half spoke the words,
' This, then, is all that remains of
my friend !' You're not offended,
George ?" added M. Rouviere, stop-
ping short and looking inquiringly
into his victim's anxious, attentive
face.

" Not a bit, Tom ; not a bit," re-
plied George. " I tell you I felt that

I had sunk; at least, I suspected it,
and the suspicion was intolerable.
I prefer the certainty." He turned
away with an attempt at a smile,
and resumed his agitated walk up
and down the room.

Rouviere applied himself to the
fire, put on a new log of wood,
shovelled up the glowing embers
and ashes and threw them with
much care and skill to the back,
gazed on his work for a minute,
and, finally assuming again his fa-
vorite pose, with his back leaning
against the chimney-piece, started
the conversation afresh in a lively,
chatty tone.

"Let us change the subject,"
said he. " You have sold your
business ; what do you think of do-
ing now ?"

"What do you expect me to
do ?" cried Dupuis vehemently.
" I shall finish by dying !"

" Morbleu ! you had better re-
suscitate. Let us talk seriously,
George. When you married you
created for yourself new duties,
which you have fulfilled to the
utmost, honestly and generously.
You have provided amply for the
future of your wife and daughter.
What is there, then, to prevent you
now from plunging yourself for two
or three years into the vortex of
life, and so awaken and reinvigor-
ate your benumbed faculties ? The
facilities of travel nowadays are
wonderful. In the space of two
years you can run over the whole
of Europe, and even explore a part
of Asia and Africa. All the fresh-
ness and vivacity of thought you
once possessed will return to you
when you find yourself in contact
with the most glorious creations of
art and nature. In the course of
two years — two years, mark you ! —
you can lay at rest for ever every
one of those regretful feelings which

I92

A Siveet Revenge.

are now eating out your heart and
shortening your life ! Choose now :
suicide or travel ? Remember that
you are free in your choice — you
are free to do as you like !"

"Pish!" cried George, turning
on his heel and pursuing his walk.
" Is it probable that at my time of
life I shall set out alone to scour
the highways of Europe?"

" But who wants you to go alone ?"
said Rouviere, going up to him
and laying a hand on his shoulder.
" Am not I ready to go with you ?
My experience, my post-chaise, my
servant — everything I have is at
your service, George !"

" Is it possible, Tom ? Are you
really in earnest ?" exclaimed Du-
puis, gratified beyond expression at
this proof of his friend's affection.
" You really will accompany me ?"

" I will lead you by the hand,
my boy !" answered Rouviere gaily ;
and, falling into step with George,
the two friends paced the room to-
gether. " I will spare you the tor-
ment of guides and ciceroni, and
all that species of vermin which be-
sets the tourist. No, don't thank
me," he continued, when Dupuis be-
gan to express his gratitude. " The
thought delights me as much as it
does you. Your new impressions
will revive mine of past days. And
won't it be delicious, George, to
end our lives as we began them —
participating in the same adventures,
in the same pleasures, and even shar-
ing our purses ? Come, now, is it
settled ?" /

" My dear friend," replied Du-
puis, with a slight hesitation in his
voice, " I will confess to you that
no project was ever more agreeable
to me, but . . ."

"Nobuts! nobuts!" cried Rou-
viere imperatively; "it is settled!
We will go direct from this to Paris
and wait there until the spring.

The museums and theatres will help
us to while away the time. I will
take you behind the scenes ; you
shall hear Ristori and Patti ! You
used to love music !"

" I love it still," said George,
smiling ; " I play the flute !"

"So much the better!" cried
Tom with increasing animation, as
they continued to pace the room
side by side ; " so much the better !
You shall bring your flute with you.
What was I saying ? Oh ! yes ;
well, the winter in Paris — that's
settled ; but at the very beginning
of spring we'll cross the Pyrenees
and spend three glorious months in
Spain. Then we'll ta"ke advantage
of the summer to visit all the prin-
cipal cities of Germany; and after
that we'll get down into Italy by
Trieste and Venice. What do you
say to this programme ?"

" I say," replied Dupuis, stopping
in his walk and speaking in a strong,
decisive tone — " I say that it opens
Paradise to me. Give me a cigar,
Tom. I say that you are right. I
have lived long enough for others.
I Jiave offered up a sufficiently large
portion of my life as a sacrifice.
Bah ! a man has duties towards
himself." He lighted his cigar
and puffed vigorously for a minute
or two. " Providence has conferred
gifts on us," he resumed, " for which
we have to render an account. In-
tellect, imagination, the feeling of
the beautiful — these are gifts which
bind us. Savages only ought to be
capable of such a crime as to allow
these sacred flames to die out for
want of nourishment !"

"Well said!" exclaimed Rou-
viere exultingly ; " that's my old
George again ! Now let us strike
while the iron's hot. Marianne !"
He went towards the door to open
it as he spoke.

"Hush! hush!" cried Dupuis,

A Sweet Revenge.

193

stopping him and speaking under his
breath ; " what do you want with
her?"

" I want to tell her that you are
going away to-night, and that she
must look after your portmanteau.
Marianne !" he called again.

" Hush, I beg of you !" repeated
poor George earnestly. " Surely
we are not going to start to-night ?"

" At nine o'clock to-night," an-
swered Rouviere decisively ; " you
know very well that I ordered
horses for nine o'clock."

"Yes, I know," said Dupuis,
hesitating and embarrassed ; " but
the night is going to be deucedly
cold — Siberian. I think we should
do better to wait until to-morrow
morning."

" Now, just let me tell you this,
George," cried the other impa-
tiently: "if you're afraid of frosted
fingers or toes, and of a night in a
post-chaise, you'd better pull your
night-cap over your ears at once
and go to bed, and never talk again
about travelling !"

" I'm afraid of nothing and of
nobody," replied poor Dupuis,
driven to his wits' end; "but the
truth is this haste rather puts me
out. I had reckoned upon two or
three days to look about me and
to make my preparations."

" Preparations ! What prepara-
tions ?" cried Tom in a tone of in-
dignant surprise. "You need a
portmanteau and a few shirts and
stockings, and you have an hour
before you to get them together,
and that's more than time enough.
Come, now, George, no childish-
ness ; if you defer your departure
for two or three days, you know
just as well as I do that you won't
go at all. I've no need to tell you
what influences will be brought to
bear on you, what obstacles will
rise up before you, to unman you
VOL. xxvi. — 13

and break down your resolution.
Believe me, my dear fellow, in such
cases as this, however you yourself
may suffer and make suffer, you
must cut down to the quick or give
up. . . ."

*' Once more you are right, Tom,"
said Dupuis after a moment's silent
thought. "I'm your man; there's
my hand on it."

"Marianne!" shouted Rouviere,
shaking his friend's hand with a
will.

" No, no, don't call Marianne,"'
cried Dupuis hurriedly, and getting
between Rouviere and the door.
" I know better than she does what
I shall need. I shall pack my port-
manteau myself as soon as my
wife comes in. It's just eight now,"
looking at the clock ; " she'll not be
long. Well," he continued with
some agitation, "I shall have to
pass a few minutes — sad ones they
will be, I know — but my con-
science reproaches me with noth-
ing; . . . and after all, if my cup be
filled with generous wine, what does
it matter though the edge be a lit-
tle bitter ? ... . O Tom!" he con-
tinued after a moment's pause, dur-
ing which he seemed to have rous-
ed his courage, " what a perspec-
tive you have opened out before
me — what a horizon! Granada!
Venice! Naples! It is a dream !'
He glanced at the clock and his
voice fell. " Five minutes past
eight ! I would willingly give twenty-
five louis to be a quarter of an hour
older — a quarter of an hour! I
know that I am very weak, but ..."

" Shall I tell your wife for you ?"
interrupted Rouviere, who was
watching him anxiously.

" Well, frankly, Tom, you would
do me a service," cried Dupuis
eagerly.

" Go and pack your trunk, then,
and I'll settle the business."

194

A Siveet Revenge,

" There's no danger of a scene,"
said George, stopping short near
the door; "you would be quite
mistaken in your estimate of her
character if you feared that."

" I shall see," returned his friend
laconically.

" Tell her that I entreat her to
keep calm. Tears might unman
me, but could change nothing in
my plans."

" I'll tell her. Go to your trunk."

" I'm going, Tom."

He opened the door, hesitated,
rthen closed it again and came back
:to the fire-place, near which Rou-
\viejre was still standing.

•" My dear friend," said he softly,
"laying his hand on Tom's arm,
"you will be very gentle with her,
will you,no4;j)"

A kind .smile gleamed in the usu-
ally cold, sharp eyes of the travel-
ler, as he looked in his friend's
anxious, agitated face.

"Don't be afraid/' he replied;
" but you — don't you desert me
when I've gone to the front."

" Desert during the baitle ! You
don't know me, Tom !"

" Why, you see," said Tom, " I
should look wondrous silly if you
did!"

" Tom Rouviere," cried Dupuis
solemnly, " permit me to assure you
that my mind is made up, and that
this evening at nine o'clock, come
what will, I go with you. I pledge
you my word of honor. Are you
satisfied?"

" Go and pack your trunk !"
laughed Rouviere, taking him by
the shoulders and pushing him out
of the room.

Left to himself, M. Rouviere re-
turned to the chimney-piece and
stood over the fire, rubbing his
hands meditatively, and from time
to time breaking out into words.
"Now then, Mine. Dupuis, it's

between you and me," said he, half-
aloud, with a kind of chuckle-
" It's very certain that my princi-
pal object is to make poor George
something like himself again, but I
really sha'n't be sorry to try the
effect of a thunder-bolt on that
serene-looking lady !" Here M.
Rouviere rubbed his hands gleeful-
ly and laughed heartily; picturing
to himself, probably, the poor wife's
consternation and despair when
he should announce the fatal news.

" I'm not a Turk," he muttered
presently — " far from it, I'm sure ;
until now I always believed, like
every true Christian, that polygamy
deserved the gallows ; but, hang it i
only think of a decent man con-
demned to perpetual communion
with such a disagreeable creature
as that old village sauce-pan !
Such a life is clearly impossible !"
A minute's silent thought followed,
and then M. Rouviere roused him-
self, and sat down before the fire to
warm the soles of his feet. But not
for long.

"I understood that woman," he
suddenly exclaimed, starting up
from his seat and beginning to
pace rapidly up and down the
floor — " I understood her and judg-
ed her before I saw her ! I knew
her to be exactly what she is, from
her cap to her shoes ! She was al-
ways odious to me ! Just see with
what stupid symmetry all this fur-
niture is arranged : two chairs
here and two chairs there, every-
thing square with its neighbor, all
at equal distances — how wearisome!
That old barometer, too, and these
absurd curiosities " — he stopped, as
he spoke, in front of the chimney:
" a stuffed bird, a shell-box, spun-
glass, and horrid cocoanut cups
carved by galley-slaves ! They
absolutely give one the height and
the breadth and the weight of the

A Glance at the Indian Question.

195

woman, both physically and moral-
ly. Poor George ! an intelligent
man, too. I was sorry for him, "he
continued, taking a seat in front of
the fire, " but I couldn't help it.
How I pegged into her all dinner-
time! Ha, ha, ha! I was as dis-
gusting as a Kalmuck ! I really was
ashamed of myself! but, the deuce
take it ! every one's nerves are not
made of bronze. M. du Luc !
Mme. le Rendu ! and her fish . . .
and her cat . . . and her curt . . .
hang it ! I couldn't stand it."

Here M. Rouviere interrupted
his monologue for a minute to ex-
amine the toe of his boot ; satisfied
that it was intact, he resumed his
train of thought.

" No, I really don't believe that
it would be possible to meet with a
more perfect type of the humdrum
existence, the narrow-minded ideas,
and flat conversation prevalent in
these provincial mole-hills than

this dowdy female presents ! That
good fellow — how much he must
have suffered before he learnt to
bow his intellect beneath her im-
becile yoke ! God bless me ! I
know the whole story. He proba-
bly struggled hard at first, and
then, little by little, he was bowed
and bent and broken, as so many
others have been, by the continued
pressure of a feminine will ! Thirty
years' martyrdom. But, ha! ha!
Mme. Dupuis, your hour has come ;
he shall be avenged."

Here M. Rouviere drew him-
self up straight in . his chair and
laughed merrily. " It reminds
me," continued he half-aloud, " of
my battle with that old Indian
woman when I stole her idol while
she was asleep. What a good-
for-nothing hussy she was ! Ex-
traordinary how much old women
resemble one another all the world
over."

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.]

A GLANCE AT THE INDIAN QUESTION/

LET us begin by considering the
Indian himself. As soon as he is
able to stand alone he commences
that practice with the bo\v and
arrow which makes him a good
marksman before he is well in his
teens. He is tied in his saddle
before he can walk, and a horse be-
comes as much a part of his nature
as if he were a Centaur. While yet
a child he learns the subterfuges

* We published last month an article on the In-
dian question, based chiefly on the official reports
to and of the Board of Indian Commissioners. We
publish this month a second article on the same
question by another writer, one who is personally
familiar with the matter of which he treats, and
whose observations and suggestions on so important
a subject cannot fail to command attention. — ED.
C.W.

of the chase : the quiet, patient,
breathless watchfulness, the stealthy,
snake-like advance, which enable
him in adult life to crawl, unseen
and unheard, upon his unsuspect-
ing victim, to take him at a disad-
vantage, surprise and kill him with-
out the risk of a wound. From his
earliest years he hears the warriors
of his tribe relate their acts of
treachery and blood, of rapine and
violence, and boast of them as
brave and glorious deeds. He is
taught to consider treachery cour-
age, robbery and murder honora-
ble warfare, and the most renown-
ed warrior the one who despatches
his foe with the least possibility of

196

A Glance at tJie Indian Question.

danger to himself. For him re-
venge is a sacred duty. He hears
shouts of savage laughter and ap-
plause greet the warrior who de-
vises the worst tortures for the mis-
erable captive. His initiation to
the order of warriors is a terrible
ordeal of physical suffering, which
must be borne without flinching or
murmuring to ensure the success
of the candidate. The grossest sen-
suality is practised openly under
his childish eyes. He learns to re-
gard cunning and falsehood as vir-
tues, and to look upon the warrior
most skilled in the arts of deceit as
the greatest hero of his tribe. Un-
til he has committed some signal
act of murder, treachery, or rob-
bery, he is without influence among
the braves or attractions for the
squaws.

All is fair in the wars of Indians,
either with the white man or foes
of their own color. The Sioux
kills the Crow — man, woman, or pa-
poose at the breast — at sight. The
Grow will brain the sleeping Sioux
equally without regard to age or
sex. A small party of Minnecon-
jon Sioux went to the Tongue
River Cantonment, last December,
to surrender. They carried a flag
of truce. Unfortunately, they rode
into the camp of some Crow scouts
which was situated within a few
hundred yards of the cantonment.
The Crows received them in a
friendly manner, shook hands with
them, and while with one hand
they gave the pledge of amity, with
the other they poured the contents
of their revolvers into the breasts
of the bearers of the white flag.
The Crows could not understand
the indignation of the officers and
soldiers at such an act of treachery
and cowardice (we regret to say
that it was not without apologists
and applauders among white fron-

tiersmen), but they feared it enough
to run away to their agency, where
the leader in the bloody deed was
the recipient of high honors. There
he was the hero of the time.

HOW THE INDIAN IS CIRCUM-
STANCED.

Next let us consider the circum-
stances in which this creature, so
savagely nurtured and developed,
is placed.

We find him in a district of coun-
try which he believes to be his by
immemorial right of possession. It
is the land of his fathers. The
white man formally recognizes his
claim by making solemn treaties
for the transfer of portions of the
Indian's heritage. The land being
his, the game is his. The Great
Spirit created the buffalo for the
sustentation of his red children.
The buffalo-hunter enters the In-
dian's domain, and slaughters the
buffalo by tens of thousands for the
robes, leaving the flesh to rot upon
the plain. Thousands are wanton-
ly destroyed by wealthy idlers who
call themselves sportsmen. The
buffalo supplies the Indian not
only with food, but with raiment
and shelter. It furnishes him the
article of exchange which enables
him to obtain the necessaries of his
savage life. The diminution of
the buffalo means privation, suffer-
ing, nakedness, starvation to the
Indian and his family.

Tl>£ white man by formal com-
pact purchases from the Indian
some certain district, and solemnly
binds himself to respect the In-
dian's remaining rights within cer-
tain prescribed limits, to keep tres-
passers from entering the now di-
minished territory, and to ensure it
to him and his tribe for ever. But
this does not stop the insatiate ad-

A Glance at the Indian Question.

197

venturer, who again crosses the
newly-defined limit.* The govern-
ment seems powerless to compel
its citizens to respect its treaty ob-
ligations or to punish their infrac-
tion. The exasperated Indian kills
some of the trespassers. Would it
be astonishing that he should do
so, even if he had been reared
under the influences of Christian-
ity instead of those of barbarism ?
Troops are now sent against the
Indians. After the sacrifice of a
greater or less number of brave
soldiers the hostile tribe is sub-
jected, compelled to return to a
quasi-peaceful condition, and to
consent to a further reduction of
its territorial limits. Before the
ink is dry with which the so-called
treaty is written the adventurer
again crosses the newly-designated
boundary. Thus the process goes
on ad infinitum, or until the In-
dian, driven from the last foot of
his ancestral earth, starving, naked,
the cries of his suffering women and
children ringing in his ears, is com-
pelled to accept any terms which
will give him food and covering.

THE INDIANS ON THE RESERVA-
TIONS.

The Indian is now taken to a
reservation. Even his removal may
be a transportation job by which
some politicaster in New York or
Boston or friendly Philadelphia,
who never saw a hostile Indian,
and who invests no money in the
enterprise, makes a fortune. From
this time on he is a means of money-
making for a crowd of sharpers.
A scanty supply of bad beef at a
high price, a little coffee and sugar
of the lowest grade, with sometimes
indifferent flour, compose his ra-
tion. If he happens to be where

* Audax omnia perpeti,
Gens humana ruit per vetitum nefas.

he can occasionally kill a buffalo,
a deer, or a wolf, his squaw dresses
the skin, and he takes it to the
trader's store, where he barters it
for a little sugar, coffee, or peini-
can to add to his meagre ration.
He gets in exchange for his peltries
what the trader chooses to give
him. For a calf-robe or a wolf-
skin he may get a few cupfuls of
the coarsest sugar, or a tin cup
worth about ten cents in New York.
For a fair calf-robe the trader will
ask three dollars ! " We make eve-
ry white man rich who comes to
our country," said Sitting Bull to
Gen. Miles in the council which
preceded the fight on Cedar Creek,
in Montana, last October. The re-
mark was not without truth, so far
as Indian traders and reservation
rings are concerned.

It is alleged that Indians on re-
servations have been compelled to
kill some of their ponies to feed
their families. We do not person-
ally know this to be so, but we can
well believe it. We do know that
not three years ago the Kiowas and
Comanches were without flour for
months; that the beef issued to
them was miserable. We have seen
it stated and have been told time
and again that rations have been
drawn for numbers greatly exceed-
ing those actually at the agencies ;
and, with the developments made
through the honesty and courage
of Professor Marsh still fresh in
our memory, we can well believe it
also. Is it a subject of special
wonder that, being the victim of
such a system, in addition to his pe-
culiar training, the Indian should
look upon deceit and robbery as
not only justifiable but laudable ?

WHAT WE ASK OF THE INDIAN.

All men are naturally tenacious
of their rights of property; the more

198

A Glance at the Indian Question.

civilized the community the more
sacred those rights. The Indian
has the instinct of property very
strongly developed. After we have
subdued, swindled, and reduced
him to the verge of starvation we
say to him: " You must now sur-
render your horses and your arms."
The earliest ambition of an Indian
is to possess a fire-arm. He will
pay thirty to forty ponies for a good
rifle. Ponies are his currency. If
the government sells this rifle by
auction, it will bring perhaps five to
ten dollars. It is hard for the In-
dian to see his rifle carried off and
his horse ridden away by some
white hunter, "wolfer," or trapper.
He is very fond of his ponies. No
consideration of value will induce
him to part with a favorite horse.
A friend of the writer saw a squaw,
with tears in her eyes, cut a lock
from the mane of her favorite pony
before surrendering the animal to
the representative of the govern-
ment. Thus, we starve the Indian ;
we deprive him of his arms, with
which he might kill game to eke
out a subsistence ; we take away
his ponies, which furnish him food
when he is reduced to extremity
through our fault or failure. What
Christian people would be content
under such treatment ? Can we be
surprised that an untutored savage,
who cannot understand our clash-
ing of bureaus, our shifting of re-
sponsibility, or our red-tape refine-
ments of official morality, should
look upon the white man as the
liar of liars and the thief of thieves,
and, when he is on the war-path,
should execute the wild justice of
revenge on any of the race who
happens to come within reach of
his rifle ? Can we be surprised if
he leaves his reservation and
chooses to fight to the last rather
than be the patient victim of such

a system of injustice and spoliation ?
It is not astonishing that the In-
dian should surrender only his
poorest animals, should hide his
magazine guns and rifles and give
up only rusty old smooth-bores or
arms for which he cannot procure
fitting ammunition. In our every
transaction with him we strengthen
by example the lessons of decep-
tion he was taught in his child-
hood.

INDIAN LIFE AT AN AGENCY.

An Indian agency is not usual-
ly a school of morality. Interpre-
ters, traders' clerks, "squaw-men,"
have what are euphemistically
termed " Indian wives." It is
scarcely necessary to say that these
are nothing more than concubines.
These poor red slaves are usually
purchased from their savage sires
for a blanket, a cheap trinket, a
pony, or a few cartridges. Some-
times they are presents given for
the purpose of making interest with
influential underlings. Agency life
has no tendency to elevate the In-
dian. He lives in idleness and in-
action. He has nothing to do
and nothing to hope for. He has
no future. He must occupy his
time in some way, and he becomes
a slave to gambling and sexual in-
dulgence. Occasionally the young
men, wearied by the monotony of
such a life and ambitious of dis-
tinction, seize upon the first real or
fancied wrong as a pretext for re-
volt, fly the agency, and go upon
the war-path.

OUR INDIANS IN CANADA.

Why is it that the Indians who
give us so much trouble become
peaceable, and remain so, when they
settle on the Canadian side of the
border? There they receive no

A Glance at the Indian Question.

199

governmental aid, and are able to
procure their own subsistence.
We read of no outrages or robber-
ies there. It is simply because the
Indian's rights are respected. He
has been protected in his rights
even against the greedy nephews
of English statesmen who cast
covetous eyes upon his lands. If
he is guilty of offence, he is prompt-
ly and sternly punished. The arm
of the military is not held back
when offending Indians are within
reach of punishment because a mil-
lion or so has been appropriated to
be expended for their benefit as
soon as they can be reported peace-
able, and because the vultures of
the ring are a-hungering for the
spoil.

THE FRONTIERSMAN AND THE IN-
DIAN.

It is difficult for the honest fron-
tiersman— the hardy pioneer who,
an axe in one hand and a rifle
in the other, hews himself a farm
)ut of the wilderness — to be just
toward the Indian. The memory
massacre of his neighbors or
relatives, of outrage on defenceless
women, stirs up, even in gentle
breasts, a hatred of the red man
which prompts an undying vendetta,
which begets a feeling that a re-
morseless shedding of Indian blood
to the very last drop would not be
an adequate punishment for such
atrocities. There is man^ a worthy
and otherwise humane and law-abid-
ing pioneer who believes that dead
Indians are the only good ones ;
and such a feeling seizes even the
strongest advocate of a humane pol-
icy when he sees the scalp of a
white woman dangling from the
girdle of a filthy savage. There
are men on the frontier, otherwise
brave and gentle-hearted, who

would have no more scruple to
shoot an Indian at sight than to
kill a prairie-wolf. Peace is diffi-
cult to keep between two opposing
elements imbued with correspond-
ing sentiments toward each other.
For this state of things the rapa-
cious Indian rings, the violators
of treaty stipulations, the ruthless
adventurers, the horse-thieves, the
murderers, fugitives from justice,
respecting no laws, human or divine,
who infest the Indian country, are
mainly responsible. An American
gentleman who spent two years re-
cently in Manitoba told the writer
that he found many of the Sioux
who were engaged in the Minnesota
massacre living there peaceful and
contented. " Wearing a red coat,"
said he, " I can travel alone from
one end of the Territory to the other
without danger of molestation."

THE QUAKERS AND THE INDIANS.

The failure of the Quaker spe-
cific does not need to be dwelt
upon. We have had under the
Quaker management the most se-
rious and bloody Indian wars that
have afflicted the frontier for many
years. Besides, there is scarce-
ly a wild tribe of which some por-
tion has not been in a state of hos-
tility to a greater or less extent.
There are itching palms among the
Quakers as well as among the other
religious denominations. What was
needed was not men who made
professions of peace — or "made-up
Quakers," who put on the Friendly
drab for the occasion — but men
who practised honesty and fair-
dealing.

THE ARMY AND THE INDIANS.

The worst elements of society
on the frontier — " wolfers," buffalo-
hunters, trappers, guides, scouts,

2OO

A Glance at the Indian Question.

contractors, venders of poisonous
whiskey, and keepers of frontier
gambling-saloons — may and gene-
rally do desire Indian wars ; for to
them they are a source of employ-
ment and profit. Territorial offi-
cials, their friends and clients, may
desire a state of hostility, on ac-
count of the money it causes to be
expended in their districts, espe-
cially if authority can be obtained
to raise special forces. This, in
addition to opportunities of profit,
offers a means of augmenting and
strengthening what is delicately
termed " political " influence by a
judicious distribution of patronage.
It is not very long since a force
was raised, in a certain frontier
State, which, during an Indian war
then raging, did not kill or cap-
ture an Indian, inflict or receive a
scratch, or fire a shot. This force,
which was in service only for a few
months, cost the country at large
nearly two hundred thousand dol-
lars. This was very pleasant for
the force, very profitable to the
State. No doubt a repetition of
the experience would be agreeable
at any time. It was not very eco-
nomical or beneficial to the coun-
try at large. But to suppose that
the regular army desires wars with
the Indian tribes is a very great
mistake. Why should it ? To the
army Indian wars are neither sour-
ces of honor nor of profit. To it
they only mean hard work, no glo-
ry, increased personal expenditures
without additional pay. For our
hard-worked little army receives
no field allowances. A member of
the non-combatant branches of the
military establishment can effect
more toward his advancement in
one campaign in Washington than
can the live, the real soldiers, the
fighting men, in five lustres of labo-
rious and dangerous field-service in

the Indian country. Operations
against hostile tribes, though at-
tended by exposure, hardship, suf-
fering, and dangers to which civil-
ized warfare presents no parallel,
with the possibility of death by in-
describable tortures in the event of
capture, are not considered "war/'
by certain gentlemen who sit at
home at ease and enjoy, if they do
not improve, each shining hour.
Hundreds of brave men in blue
may fall in Indian battle, crushed
by the mere power of numbers ; but
this, forsooth, is not " war." It is
only wounds, or maiming for life
without hope of recognition or re-
ward, or death upon a battle-field
to which glory is denied.

THE TRANSFER OF THE INDIANS
TO THE WAR DEPARTMENT.

The transfer of the Indians to
the War Department would be ad-
vantageous, for a time, both to the
government and the Indian, but it
would be ruinous to the army. The
Indian Ring would eventually either
effect the abolition of the army al-
together— which would be bad
enough — or fill it with the material
of which Indian traders and reser-
vation sharks are made — which
would be still worse. The country
cannot afford to risk the deteriora-
tion or destruction of a class of of-
ficials admitted on all hands to
be among the most honorable and
trustworthy servants of the govern-
ment.

CAUSES OF INDIAN WARS.

The usual cause of Indian wars
is want of good faith in carrying
out the obligations of treaties. It
is scarcely too much to say that we
rarely, if ever, carry out treaty stip-
ulations with Indians. The great
majority of the people of the United

A Glance at the Indian Question.

201

States wish to treat the Indian not
only fairly, but kindly, generously,
magnanimously. Money enough is
appropriated, if it were judiciously
and honestly expended. But the
sums appropriated seem to become
small by degrees and wonderfully
less before they reach the Indian.
It is not the interest of the Indian
Ring to have the Indian question
settled.

The transgression of limits so-
lemnly agreed upon has been al-
ready mentioned. The lawless
classes enumerated above steal In-
dian ponies and do not scruple to
kill an unoffending Indian occasion-
ally. The Indian does not under-
stand individual responsibility for
crime. He holds the whole race
or tribe accountable for the actions
of one of its members, and avenges
the killing of his brother on the
first victim presented to him.

Indian wars have doubtless been
caused by more than usually grasp-
ing traders whose rapacity has made
the Indians discontented and dri-
ven them from the reservations.
We have read, at least, of cases in
which numbers have been fed on
paper in excess of the actual num-
ber present on the reservation.
We are told that in such cases,
when an impending investigation
has made discovery possible, the
tribe is reported hostile and large
numbers said to have left the agen-
cy. The Indians who have lived
quietly on the reservation, utterly
unable to comprehend the forcible
measures about to be adopted,
suspicious as Indians always are,
and supposing they are all to be
killed, leave the reservation and
go upon the war-path.

THE FIRST STEP TOWARD PEACE.

The first step toward bringing
the Indian to a permanently peace-

ful condition is to place in his
country a military force strong
enough to show him the utter mad-
ness of keeping up the war. In
general, a show of sufficient force is
all that is necessary to bring the
Indian to subjection. No one un-
derstands the lesson of force better
or applies it more readily than he.
It is the only thing he respects or
fears. Instead of doing this, how-
ever, we place in the Indian coun-
try meagre garrisons, barely able
to protect themselves, and power-
less for offensive operations. The
Indian does not believe our state-
ments of the numbers we could put
in the field if we would. He thinks
we are boasting, or — as he plainly
calls saying anything that is not
exact truth — lying. With the di-
rectness of mind of a child of na-
ture, he takes a plain, logical view
of the situation, and cannot imagine
that we have strength and do not
use it, or, at least, exhibit it. Af-
ter the annihilation of Custer on
the Little Horn in 1876, and the
retirement of all forces from the
country between the Yellowstone
and the Missouri, except four or
five hundred infantry, the Indians
at certain agencies, who sympathiz-
ed and held constant communica-
tion with the hostiles, thought they
had succeeded in killing nearly all
the white soldiers, and boasted
that at length the Great Father in
Washington would have to accede
to their terms. There should be
to-day 10,000 men in the Sioux
country — 6,000 infantry, 2,500 tho-
roughly drilled and disciplined
light cavalry (not raw boys from
the great cities who can neither
ride nor shoot, mounted on un-
trained horses), and 1,500 light ar-
tillery with light steel guns easily
transportable over rough country,
but possessing considerable com-

202

A Glance -at the Indian Question.

parative length of range. Such a
force would thoroughly complete
the work done by the infantry amid
the snow and ice of the past win-
ter. It would be the most humane
and least expensive mode of laying
the indispensable foundation for
further work toward the elevation
and amelioration of the Indian's
condition. Such a force would
drive all the Indians between the
Yellowstone and the British line to
their agencies, with little, if any,
loss of life. If the humanitarians
would end the war with the least
possible shedding of blood, this is
the way to do it. When such a
display of force is made as makes
resistance hopeless — and the In-
dian will be quick to see it — there
will be an end of Indian wars and
we may begin the work of civiliza-
tion in earnest.

THE MODE AND EXTENT OF INDIAN
CIVILIZATION.

We must not try to push the In-
dian forward too fast. There is
no use in trying to make the adult
Indian of to-day an agricultur-
ist, or to take him far out of the
sphere in which he was brought up.
Once the writer happened to be in
company with a gentleman who
has given some thought to the
Indian question, and has had some
experience of the Indian charac-
ter, when a feathered and beaded
warrior made his appearance. He
was richly dressed — scarlet cloth,
eagle's feathers, profusely-beaded
moccasins. " It is nonsense to
expect such a creature as that to
dig in mud and dirt," said our
friend. " He would spoil his fine
clothes and ruin his dainty mocca-
sins." And there was much wis-
dom in the remark. The best you
can do with the adult Indian is
to make him a stock-raiser. Give

him good brood mares. Introduce
good blood among his herds of
ponies. 'Then find a market for
his horses. Buy them for the cav-
alry. Let him raise a certain pro-
portion of mules, and let the gov-
ernment buy them for the Quarter-
master's Department. Encourage
him to raise beef-cattle enough at
least for his own consumption ; and
if you can induce him to raise a
surplus, buy the surplus for the
Subsistence Department. Give the
Indian a fair price for his produce.
Dash down the monopoly of Indian
trading. Allow any merchant of
good standing to trade with the
Indian, under proper restrictions as
to exclusion of ammunition and
spirituous liquors. Let the red man
have the benefit of free-trade and
competition. Ammunition should
be furnished, when necessary, only
by the Ordnance Department.

Let the red man also have the
same liberty of conscience which
is accorded to the white, the black,
and even the yellow. Let there
be no more parcelling out of In-
dians among jarring sects. Let
them have. missionaries of their
choice.

Compel all children now under
fourteen years to attend schools.
Vary school exercises with the use
of tools in the workshop or agricul-
tural training in the field. Thus
you may make some mechanics and
some agriculturists out of the gen-
eration now rising. You will have
more out of the next generation.
But you cannot make an agricultu-
rist out of the grown-up Indian,
nor a mechanic. It is folly to at-
tempt it. You cannot reconcile to
our nineteenth-century civilization
those who have grown up to matu-
rity with the ideas, manners, and
morals of the heroic ages. You
can no more expect Crazy Horse

Charles Lever at Home.

203

to use the shovel and the hoe than
you could Achilles and Tydides
Diomed to plant melons or beans.

THE ONE GREAT REMEDY, AND THE
HOPELESSNESS OF ITS APPLICA-
TION.

The remedy of remedies is com-
mon honesty in our dealings with
the Indian, backed by a force
strong enough and always ready to
promptly crush any attempt at re-
volt, and punish speedily and se-
verely every act of lawlessness
committed by an Indian. But
too many are interested in keeping
up the present system to warrant
even the slenderest hope of any
radical change. To put it in crude

frontier terms : " There is too
much money in it." Politicasters,
capitalists, contractors, sub-con-
tractors, agents, traders, agency em-
ployes, " squaw-men " — or degrad-
ed whites who live in a state of
concubinage with Indian women,
and who are generally tools and
touters for the traders — hosts of
sinecurists and their friends, find
" money in it." The links of the
ring are legion. It is too strong.
It can shelve or crush any man
with honesty and boldness enough
to attack the system. It is too
strong for the commissioner or the
secretary. It is to be feared that
it may prove too strong for the
country.

CHARLES LEVER AT HOME.

THE man whose rollicking pen
has made more dragoons than all
the recruiting-sergeants in her
Britannic Majesty's service; who
has " promoted" the " Connaught
Rangers" and Faugh a ballaghs into
corps (Cttite ; who has broken more
bones across country than the six-
foot stone walls of Connemara ;
whose pictures of that land " which
smiles through her tears like a sun-
beam in showers " are as racy of the
soil as her own emerald shamrock ;
who has painted Irish girls pure as
angels' whispers, bright as saucy
streamlets, and the " boys " a be-
wildering compound of fun, fight,
frolic, and " divarshin " ; whose ca-
reer was as stainless as his suc-
cess was merited, and whose mem-
ory is an heirloom — was born in
the city of Dublin in the year of
grace 1806. Graduating at Cam-
bridge University, and subsequent-
ly at the £/-niversity of Gottingen,

his student-life betrayed no symp-
toms of the mental dan which was
to distinguish him later on, and,
save for its Bohemian ism, was ab-
solutely colorless, and even dull.
The boy was not father to the man.
Selecting the medical profession as
much by chance as predilection, he
succeeded, during the visitation of
cholera in 1832, in obtaining an
appointment as medical superin-
tendent in the northwest of Ire-
land, in the districts of Londonderry
and Coleraine, and for a time con-
tinued to " guess at prescriptions,
invent ingredients," and generally
administer to the requirements of
afflicted humanity. But the task
was uncongenial, the life a dead-
level, flavored with no spice of va-
riety, uncheckered in its monotonous
routine. It was a " bad billet, an'
no Christian man cud live in it,
barrin' a say-gull or a dispinsiry
docthor." Doctor Lever ! — pshaw !

2O4

Charles Lever at Home.

Charley Lever ; who ever thinks of
the author of Harry Lorrequer
as Doctor Lever? Nevertheless,
his experiences at this period bore
him rich fruit in the after-time, and
in Billy Traynor, " poet, peddler,
and physician" {The Fortunes of
Glencore), we have a type of the
medical men with whom he was
then associated. " I am the nearest
thing to a doctor going," says Billy.
" I can breathe a vein against any
man in the barony. I can't say
that for any articular congestion
of the aortis valve, or for a sero-
pulmonic diathesis, d'ye mind, that
there isn't as good as me ; but for
the ould school of physic, the hu-
moral diagnostic touch, who can
beat me ?" The hedge doctor and
hedge schoolmaster, pedants both,
are now an institution of the past.

Charles Lever, however, was not
destined to blush unseen or waste
his sweetness on a country practice.
Appointed to the Legation at Brus-
sels, he bounded from the dreary
drudgery of a dispensary to the
glittering gayety of an embassy,
from the hideous squalor of the
fever-reeking cabin to the coquet-
tish gravity of the palatial sick-
room. In u Belgium's capital " the
cacoethes scribendi seized him, and
the result was Harry Lorrequer.
He awoke, and, like Lord Byron,
found himself famous. The dis-
tinct portraiture, the brilliant style,
the thoroughly Hibernian ensemble,
claimed a well-merited success for
the book, and, written at the right
moment — how many good works
have perished by being floated on
an ebb tide ! — the public, who had
hitherto accepted Ireland through
the clever but trashy effusions of
Lady Morgan, and the more genuine
metal of Maria Edgeworth and Sam-
uel Lover, joyously turned towards
the rising sun, and, seizing upon

this genuine bit of shillelah, clam-
orously demanded a fresh sprig
from the same tree. The wild clash,
as exhilarating as " mountain dew,"
the breezy freshness, the gay aban-
don of society and soldiering, the
" moving accidents by flood and
field," acted upon the jaded palates
of the British public like a tonic,
and Harry Lorrequer, instead of
being treated as an entree, became
respected as the pihe de resistance.
Harry's appearance on parade with
the Othello blacking still upon his
face ; Miss Betty O'Dowd's visit to
Callonby on the " low-backed car " ;
her desire of disowning the non-
descript vehicle, and its being an-
nounced by her shock-headed re-
tainer as " the thing you know is
at the doore " ; the description
of boarding-house life in Dublin
sixty years ago ; Mrs. Clanfrizzle's,
in Molesworth Street — the establish-
ment is still in existence, and may
be recognized in Lisle House ; the
" amateur hotel," so graphically de-
scribed by Mr. Lever; the pic-
ture of " dear, dirty Dublin" itself:

" Oh ! Dublin, sure there is no doubtin',

Beats every city upon the say ;
'Tis there you'll see O'Connell spoutin1

And Lady Morgan making tay " ;

a night at Howth ; the Knight of
Kerry and Billy McCabe — form a
succession of sketches teeming
with vivacity, humor, and wit, and
dashed off with a pen which almost
makes a steeplechaser of the reader,
so exciting and so rapid is the pace.
To Lever's official career at
Brussels we are indebted for several
diplomatic portraits, notably those
of Sir Horace Upton ( The Fortunes
of Glencore] and Sir Shally Double-
ton (A Day's Ride] j the former of
" a very composite order of human
architecture, chivalrous in senti-
ment and cunning in action, noble

Charles Lever at Home,

205

in aspiration and utterly sceptical
as regards motives, deep enough
for a ministerial dinner and fast
enough for a party of young guards-
men at Greenwich," and the latter
who could receive a Foreign Office
" swell " thus : " Possibly your name
may not be Paynter, sir; but you
are evidently before me for the first
time, or you would know that, like
my great colleague and friend,
Prince Metternich, I have made it a
rule tli rough life never to burden
my memory with what can be
spared it, and of these are the pa-
tronymics of all subordinate peo-
ple; for this reason, sir, and to this
end, every cook in my establishment
answers to the name of Honore",
my valet is always Pierre, my coach-
man Jacob, and all Foreign Office
messengers I call Paynter." Upon
the small-fry of diplomacy Mr.
Lever is occasionally very severe,
and his pictures of life at Hesse
Kalbbratonstadt and similar un-
pronounceable principalities are as
amusing as they are possibly real-
istic.

The success of Harry Lorreqiier
set its author at quill-driving in the
same direction, and Charles C? Mai-
ley, or The Irish Dragoon, was given
to the world. The very name
sounds " boot and saddle " — rings of
the spur and clanks of the sabre.
What a romance : the high-spirit-
ed lad who leads his rival to the
jaws of the grave in the hunting-
field, and follows him in a ride of
death against the unbroken front
of Cambronne's battalions on the
blood-stained field of Waterloo !
What a picture of the old Penin-
sular days ! What portraits of Le
petit Caporal, as the French army
loved to call Napoleon, of the " Iron
Duke," the gallant Picton, and the
great captains of that eventful pe-
riod ! What glimpses of dark-eyed

seiioritas and haughty hidalgos ; of
lion-hearted sons of Erin charging
to the cry of Faugh a ballagh, and
leading forlorn hopes with saucy
jokes upon their laughing lips; of
" Connaught Robbers," as the Con-
naught Rangers were jocosely call-
ed, on account of the number of pri-
soners which they invariably made,
and for the most part single-hand-
ed ; of Brussels the night before Wa-
terloo ; and of the Duchess of Rich-
mond's celebrated ball :

" There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave
men."

What pictures of old Ireland — of
Daly's Club-House, the resort of
the Irish members in College Green,
still standing, but now converted
into insurance offices. " I never
pass the old club," said Sir Thomas
Staples, the last surviving member
of the Irish House of Commons, to
the writer, " without picturing it as
I remember it, when Grattan, and
Curran, and Ireland's best blood
strolled in after a fiery debate, or
rushed out on the whisper of that
awful word, 'division.' Very lit-
tle would restore Daly's to its ori-
ginal shape ; and who knows but it
may yet be revived, if repeal of the
Union be carried ?" Sir Thomas
Staples is dead some years, and the
Home-Rule question had not come
to the front whilst he was yet num-
bered amongst the living. Shall we
behold an Irish Parliament sitting
once again in College Green ? Shall
Daly's club be restored to its for-
mer splendor ? Shall we see Mr.
Butt, Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Mitchell
Henry, with many other earnest
sons of Ireland, enrolled amongst
its members ?

Who can forget the account of
Godfrey O'Malley's election, when,

2O6

Charles Lever at Home.

in order to avoid arrest for debt,
he announced his own death in
the papers, and, having travelled
in the hearse to Connemara, reach-
ed his stronghold in the west,
where bailiffs and process-servers
foolhardy enough to cross the Shan-
non were compelled to eat their
own writs under penalty of tar
and feathers, and from whence he
triumphantly addressed his con-
stituents, appealing to their sympa-
thies and support on the very pow-
erful plea of having died for them ?
There is a story extant of Jackey
Barrett which has not travelled far,
if at all, beyond the walls of Trini-
ty. Upon one occasion the vice-
provost was dining off roast turkey
in the glorious old Commons Hall,
and next to him sat his nephew, the
heir expectant to his enormous
wealth. The turkey was somewhat
underdone, and the nephew sent
the drumsticks to be devilled.
Some little delay occurred, which
caused the vice-provost to observe
to his kinsman with a malicious
grin : " That devil is keeping you
a long time waiting." " Not half as
long as you are keeping the devil
waiting," was the retort. Jackey
never forgave him. What a crea-
tion is Mickey Free, that devoted,
warm-hearted, rollicking Irish fol-
lower, that son of song and story,
who, by his own account, sang duets
with the commander-in-chief in the
Peninsula, and wore a masterpiece
of Murillo for a seat to his trousers !
Mickey was quoted recently, dur-
ing a debate in the British House
of Commons on the Eastern question
by Major O'Gorman, the jester-in-
chief, vice Mr. Bernal Osborne, the
rejected of Irish constituencies:

; For I haven't a janius for work —

It was never a gift of the Bradies ;
But I'd make a most illigant Turk,
For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies."

The House roared, and even Mr.
Disraeli, that was, allowed his
parchment visage to snap into smil-
ing. Charles Lever informed the
writer that he originally intended
Mickey Free for a mere stage ser-
vant, who comes on with a tray or
exits with a chair or a table ; but
upon discovering that Mr. Free had
made his mark he wrote him up.
" I never could give a publisher a
complete novel all at once," said
Mr. Lever, " although I have been
offered very large sums of money
for one ; I always wait to see how
my public like me, and write from
month to month, trimming my sails
to suit the popular br,eeze."

Charles O'Malley was a brilliant
success. A spirit of martial enthu-
siasm inflated the minds of the ris-
ing generation, until to be a dragoon
became the day-dream of existence,
and many an embryo warrior who
failed in obtaining a commission
compromised with a cruel destiny
by accepting the queen's shilling.
The charm of the book is com-
plete ; and for break-neck, dashing
narrative, for wit, sparkle, and
genuine Irish drollery, interspersed
here and there with tender touches
of pathos and soft gray tones of
sorrow, Charles O'Malley stands unJ
rivalled, and will hold its own when
hundreds of so-called Irish roman-
ces shall have returned to the dust
out of which they should never
have emerged, even into a spas-
modic vitality.

Perhaps the only smart thing
ever uttered by King George III.
was when he taxed Sheridan with
being afraid of the author of the
School for Scandal ; and perhaps
Lever was afraid of the author of
Charles O'Malley, as he published
Con Cregan, Maurice Tiernay, Sir
Jasper Carew, and one or two other
novels anonymously; but a quick-

Charles Lever at Home.

207

witted public, detecting the ring of
the true metal, compelled " Harry
Lorrequer " to stand revealed. No-
vel followed novel in quick succes-
sion, Ireland providing the mine from
which he dug his golden ore ; and
although he carries his readers to
fairer climes and sunnier skies,
somehow or other he contrives to
land them safely and soundly in
the "ould counthry " at last. We
have not space, nor is it our pro-
vince, to deal with Lever's works
in detail. No modern productions
of fiction have gained a greater or
more popular reputation for their
writer. By no Irish author is he
equalled in Irish humor, by no au-
thor is he surpassed in unwearying
narrative. The foreign tone infus-
ed into some of his later produc-
tions is due to his residence in
Italy. " You wish to have nothing
to do, Lever? There is eight hun-
dred a year; go and do it," said the
late Lord Derby, bestowing the vice-
consulship of Spezzia upon him.
Later on he was promoted to
Trieste.

For a time Charles Lever edited
the Dublin University Magazine,
then a coruscation of all that was
brilliant in literature. He resided
at the village of Templeogue, situat-
ed in the lap of the Dublin moun-
tains, with Sugar Loaf at one ex-
tremity, and Mount Pelier, with its
ruined castle renowned for the or-
gies of the infamously-celebrated
"Hell-fire Club," at the other.
Templeogue Lodge was the Mecca
towards which all " choice spirits "
devoutly turned, and the wit, repar-
tee, song, jest, and story circulated
within its walls made the Nodes Am-
brosiana but dull affairs in compari-
son. " One little room rises to recol-
lection, with its quaint old sideboard
of carved oak, its dark-brown cabi-
nets, curiously sculptured, its heavy

old brocade curtains, and all its
queer devices of knick-knackery,
where such meetings were once held,
and where, throwing off the cares
of life — shut out from them, as it
were, by the massive folds of the
heavy drapery across the door — we
talked in all the fearless freedom
of old friendship." There are a
few still surviving who will recog-
nize that room, and recall with a
throb of painful pleasure the nights
at the little lodge at Templeogue.

Lever was fond of portraying ban-
ished heroes, misanthropes — men
who had dug their own graves, or,
overtaken by some whirlwind of
misfortune, " gave signs that all was
lost." The character of Lord
Glencore is admirably drawn, and
his life of torture in his mad cry for
vengeance fearfully vivid. Luttrell
of Arran is the story of a disap-
pointed life, from out of which
springs a bright flower of maiden-
hood— Kate, one of Lever's most
charming creations. Again, we
have the Knight of Gwynne, over
whose gentle head wave after
wave of hard fortune pitilessly
breaks, and, driven from the lordly
home of his ancestors to a sheeling
by the sad sea wave, he is as
cheerful in adversity as he was no-
ble in prosperity. The portrait of
the fire-eating Bagenal Daly is not
overdrawn, and the introduction of
Freeny the robber, although highly
melodramatic, is not only possible
but probable. Freeny 's " charac-
ter " stood remarkably high. He
would rob a rich miser to save a
poor family from starvation, and
his word was as good as his bond ;
'98 turned many a man upon the
king's highway who, but for being
"out," would have lived respecting
and respected. The Martins of
Cro1 Martin is another ghastly
narrative of the wreck and ruin of

208

Char.les Lever at Home.

a proud old Irish race. It is " an
owre true " story. A few miles
outside of the town of Gahvay, on
the road to Oughterard, stand two
gaunt pillars surmounted by gran-
ite globes. The gates have disap-
peared, as also the armorial bearings;
but this was formerly the entrance
to Ballinahinch, the seat of the
" ould, anshint " Martins, and from
that gate to Ballinahinch Castle
was a drive of forty Irish miles.
The castle, situated in one of the
loneliest and loveliest valleys in
Connemara, was maintained in a
style of regal magnificence, the sta-
bles, marble-stalled, affording ac-
commodation for sixty hunters. On
an island, in the centre of a small
lake opposite the castle, stands
a desolate, half-ruined keep, with-
in the four walls of which such
of his retainers or neighbors as
proved refractory were imprisoned
by " The Martin " of the period.
Recklessness and improvidence
scattered the broad acres, mortgage
overlapped mortgage, and every
inch of the grand old estate became
the property of the London Law
Life Assurance Society. Notably
the last of the family was Richard
Martin, commonly known as ''Hu-
manity Dick," in reference to a
bill introduced by him into the
British House of Commons for the
repression of cruelty to animals.
Upon the occasion of its introduc-
tion the English members essayed
to cough him down. " I perceive,"
said Mr. Martin, " that many of
you seem troubled with severe
coughs ; now, if any one gentleman
will cough distinctly, so that I may
be able to recognize him, I can
give him a pill which may, perhaps,
effectually prevent his ever being
again troubled with a cough on this
side of the grave." Mr. Martin's
prescription was at once effectual.

With " Humanity Dick's " grand-
daughter perished the race ; and
her name is still breathed in Con-
nemara as a prayer, as one " who
never opened a cabin-door with-
out a blessing, nor closed it but to
shut hope within." The farm-house
where she was nursed is still fond-
ly pointed out, and "Miss Martin's
lep " — she was a superb horsewo-
man— is proudly shown to every
" spalpeen " of an Englishman who
travels that wild, bleak, and deso-
late road between Oughterard and
Clifden. Mr. Lever, with that ma-
gic all his own, has told the sad story.
His Mary Martin is but the portrait
of that fair young Irish girl who
dearly loved " her people " unto the
last, and who, in the bright blossom
of her life, died an exile from that
western home which was at once
her idol and her pride. Where but
in Ireland could this sad and so-
lemn gathering around the bedside
of a dying girl take place?

" And yet there was a vast multitude
of people there. The whole surface of
the lawn that sloped from the cottage to
the river was densely crowded with every
age, from the oldest to the very infancy ;
with all conditions, from the well-clad
peasant to the humblest ' tramper ' of
the highroads. Weariness, exhaustion,
and even hunger were depicted on many
of their faces. Some had passed the
night there, others had come long dis-
tances, faint and foot-sore ; but, as they
sat, stood, or lay in groups around, not
a murmur, not a whisper, escaped them.
With aching eyes they looked towards an
open window where the muslin curtains
were gently stirred in the faint air. The
tidings of Mary Martin's illness had
spread rapidly ; far-away glens down the
coast, lonely cabins on the bleak moun-
tains, wild, remote spots out of human
intercourse, had heard the news, and their
dwellers had travelled many a mile to
satisfy their aching hearts."

This is Ireland. This is the un-
dying affection of the people for

Charles Lever at Home.

209

the " rale ould stock." This is the
imperishable sentiment, as fresh at
this hour as the emerald verdure
upon the summit of Croagh Patrick.

In A Days Ride : a Life's Ro-
mance, Mr. Lever has given us Al-
gernon Sydney Potts — one of those
romantic visionaries who believe
in destiny, bow to their .Kismet,
and, going with the tide, clothe the
meanest accidents of life in dreamy
panoply. The adventures which
befall the Dublin apothecary's son,
from his ride in Wicklow to his im-
prisonment in an Austrian fortress,
are as varied as they are exciting,
and we are strongly inclined to be-
lieve that Lever, "letting off "a good
deal of Bohemia, is at his best in
the wild vagaries of this reckless
day-dreamer. Tom Burke tf Ours
is a dashing military story, as is
also y^ack Hinton, the Guardsman.
The (? Donoghue is charmingly
written and is thoroughly Irish.
That Boy of Norcotfs is unsatisfac-
tory. Commencing in Ireland, it
wanders from the old country with
the evident intention of returning to
it ; but a change came o'er the spirit
of the author's dream, and it bears
all the imprint of having been has-
tily written, a changed venue, and
of being " hurried up " at its con-
clusion. Sir Brook Fosbrooke, on
the other kand, bears traces of the
utmost care, the details of char-
acter being worked out with mi-
croscopic minuteness. The old
lord chief-justice is supposed to
have been meant for Lord Chief-
Justice Lefroy, of the Court of
Queen's Bench in Ireland, who died
at a very advanced age a few years
since, in full possession of the as-
tounding legal acumen which mark-
ed his extended career at the bar,
and subsequently upon the bench.

The writer spent a long-to-be-
remembered day with Charles Le-
VOL. xxvi. — 14

ver in the April before his death.
He was stopping in Dublin at Mor-
rison's Hotel, Dawson Street. We
found him seated at an open win-
dow, a bottle of claret at his right
hand and the proof-sheets of Lord
Kilgobbin before him. It was a
beautiful morning borrowed from
the month of May; the hawthorns
in the college park were just be-
ginning to bloom, and nature was
young and warm and lovely.

At the date of our visit he looked
a hale, hearty, laughter-loving man
of sixty. There was mirth in his
gray eye, joviality in the wink that
twittered on his eyelid, saucy hu-
mor in his smile, and bon mot, witr
repartee, and rejoinder in every
movement of his lips. His hair
very thin, but of a silky brown, fell'
across his forehead, and when it
curtained his eyes he would jerk
back his head — this, too, at some-
telling crisis in a narrative when the
particular action was just the exact
finish required to make the story
perfect. Mr. Lever's teeth were
all his own, and very brilliant, and,
whether from habit or accident, he
flashed them upon us in company
with his wonderful eyes — a battery
at once both powerful and irresis-
tible. He spoke slowly at first, but
warming to his work, and candying
an idea in a short, contagious, mu-
sical laugh, his story told itself all
too rapidly, and the light burned
out with such a glare as to intensify
the succeeding darkness. Like all
good raconteurs, he addressed him-
self deferentially to his auditor in
the beginning, and as soon as the
fish was hooked, the attention en-
thralled, he would speak as if think-
ing aloud. Mr. Lever made great
use of his hands, which were small
and white and delicate as those of
a woman. He made play with
them — threw them up in ecstasy or

2IO

Charles Lever at Home.

wrung them in mournfulness, just
as the action of the moment de-
manded. He did not require eyes
or teeth with such a voice and such
hands; they could tell and illus-
trate the workings of his brain.
He was somewhat careless in his
dress, but clung to the tradition-
al high shirt-collar, merely com-
promising the unswerving stock of
the Bruramel period. " I stick to
my Irish shoes," he said, thrusting
upwards about as uncompromising
a " bit of leather " as we have ever
set eyes on right under our nose,
"and until a few years ago I got them
from a descendant of the celebrated
Count Lally, who cobbled at Let-
terkenny. There is no shoe in the
world equal to the Irish brogue."

" You are ' taking time by the
forelock,' as we say in the play,"
:said the writer, pointing to the
rough copy of the Cornhill Magazine,
in which the story was running.

" Always at the heel of the hunt,"
he replied. " This is the May num-
ber, and not corrected yet."

" I consider Lord Kilgobbin as
good as, if not better than, anything
you have written."

There was unutterable sadness
in his tone and gesture as he said,
with a weary sigh :

" Ah ! I have been tilting the
cask so long that the lees are com-
ing out very muddy."

" Which of your novels do you
like best?" was asked.

" Well, my most careful work is
Sir Brook Fosbrooke, but I prefer the
Dodd Family Abroad, and all for
••the sake of Carry Dodd, who is my
ideal of a pure, bright, charming
Irish girl."

Further on :

" You are the same reckless, rol-
licking, warm-hearted, improvident
;people as when I left you, and the
lower orders entertain the same ha-
tred of Saxon supremacy. I was

walking down College Green yes-
terday, and as \ stood opposite the
old Parliament House, a troop of
dragoons, in all their panoply of
glancing helmets, blood-red coats,
and prancing steeds, trotted past.
A ragged, tatterdemalion carman
was feeding a horse only fit for the
knacker's yard, attached to an out-
side car, with a wisp of hay.

" ' What regiment is that ?' I ask-
ed, partly from curiosity, partly for
the sake of a conversation.

" ' Sorra a know I kno\v,' was
the gruff response.

" ' Where are they going to ?'

" Without raising his head, and
giving a vicious chuck to the hay :

" ' To h— 1, I hope.'

" I will give you another illus-
tration," continued Mr. Lever, " of
how determinedly the lower order
of my countrymen disparage any-
thing and everything English. I
was invited to spend some days
with the late Lord Carlisle, twice
your Lord Lieutenant, at Castle
Howard, in Yorkshire. I had at
that time an Irish servant, a son of
Corny Delany, to whom grumbling
was chronic. As we drove through
the magnificent avenue beneath the
extending branches of giant oaks
and lordly elms, I observed to my
follower: 'What do you think of
those trees ?'

"'I see thim.'

" ' Are they not splendid ?'

" ' Och ! threes is threes any-
where.'

" ' But the Howards are proud of
these trees; they are the finest in
England. Lord Carlisle sets great
store by them.'

"'Arrah, thin, why wudn't he
have the hoighth av fine threes?
Shure hadn't he the pick av the
P hay nix Park f

"I was dining with Judge

on Sunday, who, as you know, is
a very diminutive, shrivelled-up-

Charles Lever at Home.

211

looking little man," continued Mr.
Lever, " and he told me an amus-
ing story. When attorney-general,
he purchased an estate in Tippe-
rary near Clonmel. Shortly after
the purchase he resolved upon pay-
ing the place a visit to take a look
at his recent acquisition. As he
was proceeding with his agent
through a boreen which led to
mearings of his property, he over-
heard the following conversation
between two old women :

" ' Wisha, thin, d'ye tell me that's
the new landlord, Missis Mulligan ?'
" ' Sorra a lie in it, ma'am.'
"'That dawny little bit av a
crayture ?'

" 'A leprechaun, no less.'
" ' Why, begorra, the boys might as
well be shoo tin at a jacksnife.' "

Mr. Lever's conversational pow-
ers were simply marvellous ; his
anecdotes fell like ripe fruit from
an overladen tree. In London his
great delight was a night at the Cos-
mopolitan Club, Berkeley Square.
This club is only open upon Wed-
nesday and Sunday nights during
the Parliamentary session. The
members stroll in from eleven
o'clock at night to about three
o'clock A.M. Cabinet ministers,
ambassadors of all nations, mem-
bers of the legislature, eminent
litterateurs, Royal Academicians,
repair thither for a gossip ; and
here, amidst the best talkers in the
world, Charles Lever stood pre-
eminent. As the wits and racon-
teurs at Will's Coffee House were si-
lent whilst Joseph Addison talked
Spectator, so the members of the
Cosmopolitan maintained a breath-
less attention when Charles Lever
talked Cornelius O ' Dowd ; and many
a man has "dined out considera-
bly " upon a mot, and has, perhaps,
established a reputation, by the re-
tailing of an anecdote recounted
within the salons of the club by

the inimitable and fascinating " Har-
ry Lorrequer." When the writer
parted with Lever upon that even-
ing, he felt justifiably elated at be-
ing enabled to amuse, if not aston-
ish, the most brilliant man of the
day, but, upon a rigid self-examina-
tion, was somewhat disappointed
upon discovering that, instead of
his having been engaged in enter-
taining Lever, Lever had been en-
tertaining ///>//, and that he had not
uttered a single sentence out of
the veriest commonplace. Such
was the charm of Lever's manner
that he took you, as it were, from
out yourself, and for the time in-
fused his own groove of thought,
causing your ideas to mingle with
his and float joyously onward upon
the glittering current of his conver-
sation. Lever was a devoted wor-
shipper of the " sad solemnities of
whist," playing rubber after rubber
up to any and all hours. It is re-
lated that an eminent wearer of the
ermine, a fellow of Trinity College,
a gallant field officer, and Lever
met, dined early, and played whist
until the hour at which the train
departed for Kingston by which
" Harry Lorrequer" was to leave
en route for London. " Come on
to Kingston," said Lever, " sleep
at the Anglesea Arms Hotel, and I
will not go until the morning boat."
They played all night and until
one o'clock next day. Si non e vero
e ben trovato, but the writer has the
story from unimpeachable authority.

Charles Lever's last novel, con-
cluded shortly before his death, is
Lord Kilgobbin. Let its unutter-
ably sad preface speak for itself:

" To the memory of one whose
companionship made the happiness
of a long life, and whose loss has
made me helpless, I dedicate this
book, written in breaking health
and broken spirits. The task that
once was my joy and my pride I have

212

Order.

lived to find associated with my sor-
row. It is not, then, without a cause
I say, I hope this effort may be my
last. — TRIESTE. January 20, 1872."
It is with a pang of regret that
we peruse the Cornelius CfDowd
papers. They are tinged with that
abominable spirit which is sending
Italy at the present hour to perdi-
tion, and we greatly fear that Mr.
Lever wrote them for the London
market. He was no bigot, how-
ever; on the contrary, his life was
passed amongst Catholics, and his
dearest and best friends were of the
true church ; consequently, the pain
is intensified when we come to
stand face to face with the fact that
these papers were, if not the out-
come of a pecuniary necessity, at
least the result of a craving for
money, and the hollow effusions of a
hirelingpen. His Italian sojourn led
him gradually away from the more
kindly tone towards Catholics which
pervaded his earlier Irish novels.

Lever and Griffin have been
compared as writers of Irish fic-
tion. We would rather have been
the author of The Collegians than
of any work of Mr. Lever's. There
is a virgin simplicity in Gerald
Griffin's style that " Harry Lorre-
quer " could not touch ; an atmos-
phere which he could not breathe ;
a purity which, while the morale
of Lever's writings is unimpeach-
able, is of that order that is so
rarely attained by the most chaste
and most elevated amongst our
writers of fiction. Griffin's Irish
is not stagy — it is real ; so, too, is
Lever's. But while the former
paints the portrait, leaving the im-
agination of the reader to put in
the finishing touches, the latter
rubs in a laugh here or a keen
thrust there, so as to dramatize
the picture ; and, while it is more
vivid during perusal, the mind falls
back upon the other for less excit-
ing pabulum.

ORDER.

FROM A POEM BY ST. FRANCIS D*ASSISI.

Our Lord Speaks:

AND though I fill thy heart with warmest love,
Yet in true order must thy heart love me ;
For without order can no virtue be.
By thine own virtue, then, I from above
Stand in thy soul ; and so, most earnestly,
Must love from turmoil be kept wholly free.
The life of fruitful trees, the seasons of
The circling year, move gently as a dove.
I measured all the things upon the earth;

Love ordered them, and order kept them fair,

And love to order must be truly wed.
O soul! why all this heat of little worth ?

Why cast out order with no thought or care ?
For by love's warmth must love be governed.

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

213

THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN.

SITUATED in the wildest portion
of the county of Mayo, Monamul-
lin, at the date upon which this
story opens, mustered about forty
mud-cabins erected here and there,
and in such positions as were deem-
ed most suitable, having regard
to the cruel winds from the ocean,
and the "bit o' ground" for the
cultivation of the potatoes.

A cottage covered with a crisp
amber thatch, and whitewashed
to the color of the driven snow,
held the post of honor in the vil-
lage. It boasted a flower-garden
in front and a vegetable patch in
the rear. Moreover, it was guarded
by a neatly-cropped privet hedge,
while a little green gate admitted
to a red-bricked pathway leading
to a rustic porch adorned with
roses that seemingly bloomed the
whole year round, and a Virginia
creeper whose leaves were now the
hue of blood.

In the front garden, his head
bared, the rays of the setting sun
surrounding it as with an aureole,
' stalked a man attired in the black
flowing soutane of a Catholic cler-
gyman.

Father Maurice O'Donnell, the
parish priest, was engaged in read-
ing his office from a tattered and
dog's-eared breviary. Tall and thin
almost to emaciation, there was yet
a wiry swing in his gaunt frame that
spoke of unfaded vigor, whilst the
glowing fire in the dark blue eye
told its own tale.

" Father Maurice" was loved and
cherished by his little flock. His
every want — and his wants were few
enough — was anxiously anticipated.
His patch of oats was tilled, weed-

ed, cut, and stacked, his cottage
thatched and whitewashed, his po-
tatoes planted, his pony treated as
common property in so far as fod-
der was concerned, while upon fast-
days the " finest lump av a salmin"
or the "illigantest" turbot, ever
found its way to the back door of
" The House, " as his humble abode
was somewhat grandiloquently
styled.

Maurice O'Donnell was wrapped
tip in his flock. In good sooth he
was their shepherd. Night, noon,
and morning found him ever watch-
ful at " the gate in the vineyard
wall." He was the depositary of
all their griefs, the sharer in all
their joys — their guide, philosopher,
and friend. In worldly matters he
was simple as a child. Living, as
he did, out of the world, he was
perfectly contented to learn what
was whirling round within it from
the pages of the Nation, from the
columns of which it was his prac-
tice to read aloud on Sunday after-
noon to a very large muster, if
not to the entire adult population,
of Monamullin — in summer time
seated in a coign of vantage by
the sad sea wave, in winter oppo-
site a rousing turf fire laid on es-
pecially for the important occasion,
and with a great display of cere-
mony by his housekeeper, " an
ould widdy wumman" rejoicing in
the name of Clancy, whose husband
had been lost at sea in the night of
" the great storm."

Father Maurice never asked for
money — he had no occasion for it.
His solitary extravagance was snuff,
and the most sedulous care was
taken by the " boys " returning from

214

The Little Chapel at Monamnllin.

Castlebar or Westport to fetch
back a supply of " high toast, " in
order that his " riverince's box "
might stand constantly replenished.

Upon this particular August
evening Father Maurice was hur-
rying through his office with as
much rapidity as the solemn nature
of the duty would permit, as a drive
of no less than seven honest Irish
miles lay between him and his din-
ner.

The even tenor of his life had
been broken in upon by an invita-
tion to dine and sleep at the pa-
latial residence of Mr. Jocelyn
Jyvecote, a Yorkshire squire, who
had purchased the old acres of the
Blakes of Ballinacor, and who had
recently expended a fabulous sum
in erecting a castle upon the edge
of a gloomy lake in the desolate
valley of Glendhanarrahsheen. In
his letter of invitation Mr. Jyvecote
had said : " I am extremely desirous
of introducing my youngest daugh-
ter to you, as she has taken it into
her head to go over to your church ;
and, since you are so devoted to
her interests, I beg of you to accept
this invitation as you would under-
take a little extra duty."

To decline would be worse than
ungracious, especially under the
peculiar circumstances of the case,
and it was with a heavy heart, and
not without a keen debate with Mr.
Lawrence Muldoon, the " warm "
man of the village, in which the
pros and cons were duly and gravely
weighed, that the worthy priest re-
plied in the affirmative. While Fa-
ther Maurice was engaged in pac-
ing his little garden, Mrs. Clancy,
his housekeeper, was calmly pre-
paring for a steady but copious
enjoyment of her evening meal in
the kitchen, which from floor to
ceiling, from fire-place to dresser —
shining again with crockery of the

willow pattern — was, to use her
own expression, " as nate as a new-
biled egg." A large brown earth-
enware teapot had just been pro-
moted from the hob to a table
" convaynient " to the window. A
huge platter of stirabout, with a lump
of butter oiling itself in the middle,
stood within easy reach of her right
hand, while a square of griddle-
bread occupied a like position upon
her left, and a wooden bowl full
of jacket-bursted potatoes formed
the near background.

Mrs. Clancy was strong upon tea,
and in the village her opinion upon
this as upon most other subjects
was unwritten law. She was par-
ticularly fond of a dash of green
through a full-flavored Pekoe, pre-
paring the mixture with her own
fair hands with a solemn gravity
befitting so serious an undertaking.
She was now about to try a sample
of Souchong which had just arriv-
ed from Westport, and her condi-
tion of mind was akin to that of an
analytical chemist upon the eve of
some exceedingly important result.

Mrs. Clancy had seated herself
in that cosy attitude peculiar to
elderly females about to enjoy, to
them, that most inviting of all
meals, and had already ascertained,
upon anxious reference to the tea-
pot, that its contents had been suf-
ficiently drawn, when the door was
thrust somewhat violently open,
and Murty Mulligan, the " priest's
boy," unceremoniously entered the
sanctum.

Murty was handy-man and fac-
totum. He " s\vep out " the chapel,
rang the bell, attended Mass,
groomed the pony, dug the pota-
toes, landed the cabbage, and made
himself generally useful.
' Although designated a " boy," he
had allowed — not that he could
claim any particular option in the

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

215

matter — some forty-five summers
to roll over his head, every one of
which, in addition to their attend-
ant winters, had been passed in
the peaceful little village of Mona-
mullin. His travels had never ex-
tended further than Westport, which
he regarded as a vast commercial
seaport — a Liverpool, in fact — and
it was his habit to place it in com-
parison with any city of note that
might come upon the tapis, extol-
ling its dimensions and dilating
upon its unlimited importance.

Murty's appearance savored much
of the stage Irishman's. His eyes
sparkled comically, his nose was
tip-tilted — Mr. Tennyson will ex-
cuse the application of the simile —
while his mouth was large and al-
ways open. His forehead was ra-
ther low, and his ears stood out
upon either side of his head like
the orifices of air-shafts. He was
now arrayed in his bravest attire, as
he had been told off to drive his
reverence to Moynalty Castle. His
brogues were as highly greased as
his hair, and his Sunday — last Mass
— clothes, consisting of a gray
frieze body-coat with brass buttons,
a flowered silk waistcoat, corduroy
knee-breeches, and blue worsted
stockings, looked as fresh as if they
had been donned for the first time.

Not a little vain of the impor-
tance of his office, combined with
the general effect of his appearance,
he swaggered into the kitchen in a
manner totally at variance with
his usual custom, as Mrs. Clancy
was every inch queen of this realm,
and a potentate who exercised her
prerogative with right royal des-
potism.

The "consait " was considerably
taken out of Murty by being met
with an angry, contemptuous stare
and " What ails ye, Murty Mulli-
gan ?"

" It's time for to bring round the
yoke, ma'am," replied Murty in an
abashed and respectful tone, eye-
ing the teapot with a wistful glance,
as he was particularly partial to a
cup of the beverage it distilled,
especially when brewed by Mis.
Clancy.

" Well, av it is, bring it round,"
was the tart rejoinder.

" I dunna how far he's upon his
office," said Murty.

"Ye'd betther ax, Murty Mulli-
gan."

" I dar'n't disturb him, Mrs.
Clancy, an' ye know that as well as
I do meself, ma'am."

" Well, don't bother me, anyhow,"
observed the lady, proceeding to
pour out a cup of tea.

"Is that the tay I brought ye
from Westport, ma'am?" demand-
ed Murty, upon whom the sight of
the rich brown fluid and its pungent
aroma were producing longing ef-
fects.

Mrs. Clancy took a preliminary
sip with the sound of a person en-
deavoring to suck a coy oyster
from a clinging shell.

" Sorra worse tay I ever wetted,"
she retorted. " There's no more sub-
stance in it nor in chopped sthraw.
I'll never take a grain o' tay out
o' Westport agin — sorra a wan."

" I done me best for ye, anyhow,
ma'am. I axed Misther Foley him-
self for the shupariorest tay in the
town, an' he gim me what's in
that pot; an', faix, it smells rosy an'
well." And Murty sniffed, as if he
would drive the aroma up through
his nostrils out to the top of his
head.

Mrs. Clancy turned to Murty
with a frowning and ominous as-
pect, the glare of an intense irrita-
tion blazing in her face.

" Do ye know what I think ye
done, Murty Mulligan ? It's me-

2l6

The Little Chapel at Monamidlin.

belief ye done it, an' if ye tuk the
buke to the conthrairy I wudn't
credit ye," placing her arms
akimbo and fixing him with her
eye.

" What is it I done, Mrs. Clancy ?"
demanded Murty boldly, flinging
his caubeen upon the floor and as-
suming a defiant attitude. " What
is it I done, ma'am ?".

The housekeeper regarded him
steadily, while she said in a slow and
solemn tone of impeachment :

" Ye got me infayrior tay, an'
ye tuk a pint out av the change."

It was Murty's turn to become
indignant now.

"I'd scorn for to do the likes of
so mane an action, Mrs. Clancy.
There's them that wud do the like,
but I'd have ye know, ma'am, that
me father's son wud rather be as
dhry as a cuckoo, ma'am, nor de-
mane himself in that way. Yer
sentiments, ma'am, is very hurtful
to me feelin's, an' I'd as lieve ye'd
call me a thief at wanst, ma'am, as
for to run down me karakter in that
a- way."

" I don't want for to call ye no-
thin', but I repate that — "

" Don't repate nothin', ma'am.
Av ye wur a man I'd give ye a crack
in the gob for daarin' to asperge
me karakter, more betokin all for
the sake av the filthy lucre av a
pint of portlier. Portlier, indeed !"
added Murty. "I'm goin' to-day,
ma'am, where I'll get me fill av
port wine, an' sherry wine, and Ma-
dayrial wine, ma'am ; an' dickins
resave the word I'll tell ye av the go-
in's-on at the castle beyant for yer
thratemint av me this blessed eve-
nin', Mrs. Clancy."

This threat upon the part of
Murty threw the housekeeper into
the uttermost consternation. The
proceedings at Moynalty Castle were
fraught with the deepest interest to

her ; for in addition to her person-
al curiosity, which was rampant, it
was necessary that she should be-
come acquainted with everything
that took place, in order to retail
her special knowledge to her cro-
nies in the village, who awaited the
housekeeper's report in eager and
hopeful expectation.

Had she burnt her boats ? Had
she cut down the bridge behind
her?

Murty Mulligan's tone was reso-
lute.

"Murty, Murty avic! shure it's
only jokin' I was — sorra a more,"
she said in a coaxing way.

Murty grunted.

" Shure yer welkim to yer pint
av— "

Murty confronted her :

"I tell ye, Missis Clancy, that I
tuk iiothin', nayther bit, bite, nor sup,
from the time I et me brekquest till
I met Misther Fogarty's own boy,
and he thrated me. Av I tuk a
pint out av yer lucre, ma'am, I'd
say it at wanst, wudout batin' about
the bush."

" That's enough, Murty ; say no
more about the tay. They gev ye
a bad matarial, Murty, an' shure
that's none o' you're fault. Here,"
she added, pouring out a saucerful
— the saucer being about the di-
mensions of a large soup-plate —
and presenting it to him ; " put
that to yer mouth an' say is it
worth three hapence an ounce ?"

" Sorra a care I care," growled
Murty, but in a much softer tone.

" Thry it, anyhow," urged the
housekeeper.

" I don't care a thrancen for tay,
Mrs. Clancy," said Murty, throwing
a glance full of profound meaning
towards a small press in which
Mrs. Clancy kept a supply of cor-
dials.

"Ah!" exclaimed that lady, " I

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

217

see be the twist in yer eye that ye
want somethin' to put betune yer
shammy an' the cowld. Ye have a
long road to thravel, Murty, so a
little sup o' ginger cordial will warm
it for ye, avic." And while the now
thoroughly pacified Murty gently
remonstrated, Mrs. Clancy pro-
ceeded to the cupboard, and, pour-
ing a golliogue of the grateful com-
pound into a tea-cup, handed it to
Murty, who tossed it off with a
smack that would have started a
coach and four.

" So ye'll stop the night at the
castle ?" observed the housekeeper
in a careless tone.

" Yis, ma'am."

" It's a fine billet, Murty."

" Sorra a finer. Shure it bates
Lord Sligo's an' Mitchell Hinry's
beyant at Kylemore; an' as for atin'
an' dhrinkin', be me song they say
that lamb-chops is as plentiful as
cabbages is here, an' that there's as
much sperrits in it as wud float
ould Mickey Killeher's lugger."

" It's a quare thing for Misther
Jyvecote for to be axin' Father
Maurice to a forrin' cunthry like
that, Murty."

" Troth, thin, it is quare, ma'am ;
but, shure, mebbe he wants for to
be convarted."

"That must be it; an' he'd be
bet intirely, av Father Maurice
wasn't there for to back his tack.
His sermon last Sunda' was fit for
the Pope o' Room."

" I never heerd the like av it.
It flogged Europe. Whisht!" sud-
denly cried Murty, "who's this
comin' up the shore ?"

"It's a forriner," exclaimed the
housekeeper, after a prolonged
scrutiny — meaning by the term for-
eigner that the person who was now
approaching the cottage was not an
inhabitant of the village. " A fine,
sotiple boy," she added admiringly.

" It's a gintleman, an' he has a
lump av a stick in his hand," said
Murty.

" Arrah ! what wud bring a gin-
tleman here, ye omadhawn?" ob-
served Mrs. Clancy with some as-
perity.

"A thraveller, thin," suggested
her companion. "He's a bag on
his back."

" Troth, it's badly off he'd be for
thravellin', if he come here for to
do the like."

" He's makin' for the gate."

" He's riz the latch."

" I'll run out, Mrs. Clancy, and
bring ye the hard word, while ye'd
be axin' for the lind av a sack."

"Ay, do, Murty avic; an' I'll
have a cup av Dimp*sy's tay wet be
the time yer back."

Father Maurice had just finished
the perusal of his office, and was in
the act of returning to the house,
when the stranger approached him.

" Father Morris?" said the new-
comer, lifting his hat.

" Maurice O'Donnell, ^at your
service, sir," replied the priest.

" I should apologize for address-
ing you so familiarly, reverend sir,
but three or four persons of whom I
asked my way told me that Father
Morris was Monamullin, and that
Monamullin was Father Morris."

" My people invariably address
me by my Christian name, and I
beg, sir, as you are now within my
bailiwick, that you will continue to
do so."

" As I am within your bailiwick,
I must needs do your bidding, Fa-
ther Maurice."

Such a genial, happy voice ! Such
frank, kind blue eyes ! Such a
well knit, strong-built figure !

The priest gazed at a young
man of about five-and-tvventy, six
feet high, with crisp brown cur-

218

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

ly hair, beard en Henri Quatre,
broad forehead, and manly, sun-
burnt neck and face, attired in a
suit of light homespun tweed, a
blue flannel shirt very open at the
throat, a scarlet silk tie knotted
sailor fashion, and heavy shoes,
broad-toed and thick-soled.

" My name is Brown," he said. " I
am an artist. I have walked over
from Castlebar. I am doing pic-
turesquebits of this lovely country —
not your confounded beaten tracks,
but the nooks which must be sought
like the violet. I have very little
money, and needs must rough it.
This stick and knapsack consti-
tute my impedimenta, and, like Cae-
sar, I have carried my Commenta-
ries before now in my teeth while
bridging a river by swimming it.
I asked for the inn, and I was re-
ferred to Father Maurice."

" I can answer for it, Mr. Brown,
that you will find every house in
Monamullin willing to shelter you;
and, further, that you will find this
to be possibly the best. I am
unfortunately compelled to travel
seven miles along the coast to-night,
but will be back, please God, to-
morrow ; in the meantime my house-
keeper will try what some broiled
fish and a dish of ham and eggs
can do towards appeasing what
ought to be a giant's appetite. And
I can answer for the sheets being
well aired, having pulled the laven-
der myself in which they are peri-
odically enshrined."

Father Maurice ushered his guest
into the cottage with a welcome so
genuine that Mr. Brown felt at his
ease almost ere the greeting had
died upon the priest's lips, and
proceeded to hang up his hat and
knapsack with the air of a man who
was completely at home.

The neat little parlor was cosily
furnished. A genuine bit of Do-

mingo mahogany stood in the cen-
tre of the room, and round it half
a dozen plump horse-haired, brass-
nailed chairs, with a " Come and
sit on us, we are not for show " air
about them peculiarly inviting. A
venerable bureau, black as ebony
from age, and brass-mounted, orna-
mented one corner, and opposite
to it a plaster-of-paris bust of Pius
IX, upon a fluted pedestal, while
the recesses at either side of the
fireplace were furnished with antique
book-cases containing a well-thumb-
ed library of ecclesiastical litera-
ture, the works of St. Augustine
being prominently conspicuous.
Over the mantel-piece hung a por-
trait of Daniel O'Connell, with the
autograph of the Liberator in a
small frame beneath, and at his
right and left engravings, and of
no mean order either, of Henry
Grattan and John Philpot Curran.
The walls were adorned with co-
pies of the cartoons of Raphael,
a view of Croagh Patrick from
Clew Bay, a bird's-eye glance at
St. Peter's, and an illuminated ad-
dress from the inhabitants of Mo-
namullin to their beloved pastor
upon the completion of his thirtieth
year on the mission — an address the
composition of which conferred
undying renown upon Tim Rafferty,
the schoolmaster, and begat for the
boy who wrote it a fame only se-
cond to that of the erudite peda-
gogue.

" You are delightfully snug here,
Father Maurice," observed his
guest, seating himself and glancing
admiringly round the apartment.
" What a treasure of an antique
bureau ! Why, the brokers in Lon-
don are giving any amount of mo-
ney for such articles; we are all
running mad over them. If you
could get it whispered that Dean
Swift or Joe Addison worked at

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

219

that desk, it would be worth its
weight in gold. It's Queen Anne
now or nothing."

" You are an Englishman ?"

" A base, bloody, and brutal
Saxon !"

"We have one of your country-
men residing in this part of the
country — a Mr. Jyvecote."

The stranger started. " Any of
the Jyvecotes of Marston Moor, in
Yorkshire ?"

" The Jyvecote, I believe. He
came over here about ten years ago
to shoot, taking poor Mr. Bodkin
Blake's Lodge in the valley of
Glendhanarrahsheen, and — "

" Oh ! do say that word again, it
is so delightfully soft — a cross be-
tween Italian and Japanese," burst
in the artist.

" Glendhanarrahsheen," repeated
Father Maurice. " We have some
softer than that. What think you
of Tharramacornigaun ? But, as I
was saying, Mr. Jyvecote liked the
valley so much that he brought his
family over in the following year.
Mr. Jyvecote was delighted with
the place, and he bought the Lodge,
extended it, and at length deter-
mined upon building a castle. This
castle — Moynalty Castle he calls it
— was completed about three years
ago, the bare walls alone costing
seventy thousand pounds. Except
the Viceregal Lodge in Dublin,"
added the priest, " there is nothing
so grand in all Ireland."

" I must walk over there some
day. Which way does it lie ?"

" It's between us and Westport,
along the coast, almost out upon a
rock."

" What a strange idea to put
such a lot of money into such a
corner !"

" Is it not ? It's completely out
of the world. The nearest railway
station is fifty miles."

" Then I forgive Mr. Jyvecote.
I take off my hat to him. I con-
gratulate him. O my dear Father
Maurice!" exclaimed the artist en-
thusiastically, " you who live in
such tender tranquillity, with the
moan of the sea for a lullaby, can
know nothing of the ecstatic feeling
attendant upon leaving steam fifty
miles behind one. It is simply a
new, a beatific existence ! And so
Jocelyn Jyvecote is within ten
miles," he added, more in the tone
of a person engaged in thinking
aloud than by way of observation.

" Are you acquainted with him ?"
asked the priest.

" Oh ! yes — that is, very slightly."
There was a decided shade of em-
barrassment in his manner that
would have struck an ordinary ob-
server, but the simple-minded cler-
gyman failed to notice it.

" The yoke's at the doore, yer
riverince, an' if we don't start at
wanst we'll be'bet be the hill be-
yant Thronig na Coppagh," shout-
ed Murty Mulligan, thrusting his
shock head into the apartment.

" How unfortunately this hap-
pens !" exclaimed the priest. " I
have not slept out of this cottage
for nearly thirty years, and the very
night I could have wished to be
here I am compelled to go else-
where. However, Mr. Brown, I shall
leave you in good hands, and be-
fore I start I must make you ac-
quainted with my housekeeper."

Murty had returned to the kitch-
en considerably baffled.

" He's goin' for to stop the
night, Mrs. Clancy," he reported to
the expectant housekeeper.

" Who's goin' for to stop the
night ?"

" The strange gintleman above."

"Where is he goin' for to stop,
I'd like for to know ? Mrs. Doo-
ly's childre is down wud maysles.

220

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

The ganger is billeted at Moo-
ney's — "

" He's goin' to stop here in this
house. I heerd his riverince axin'
him."

"Arrah, baithershinr exclaimed
Mrs. Clancy incredulously.

" It's truth I'm tellin' ye, ma'am."

" Well, may—"

At this moment the voice of
Father Maurice was heard calling,
" Mrs. Clancy."

" Yer wanted, ma'am," cried
Murty.

" I'm not fit for to be seen. Slip
up an" discoorse him, Murty avic,
till I put on a clane cap an' apron."

" Mrs. Clancy, you will take good
care of this gentleman, Mr. Brown,
till I come back. Show your skill
in frying eggs and bacon, and in
turning out a platter of stirabout.
Don't let the hens cheat him of his
fresh egg in the morning, and see
that his bed is as comfortable as
my own." And seating himself upon
one side of the low-backed jaunting-
car, with Murty Mulligan upon the
other, and with a courteous fare-
well to his guest, Father Maurice
rapidly disappeared in the direc-
tion of the valley of Glendhanar-
rahsheen.

Mr. Brown stood in the middle
of the road gazing after the car,
his hands plunged into his breeches
pockets, and a sweet little bit of
meerschaum stuck in his handsome
mouth.

" What a turn of the wheel is
this ?" he said to himself. " I wan-
der here into the most out-of-the-
way place in out-of-the-way Ire-
land, and I find myself treading
on the kibes of the very man whom
of all others I would least care to
meet. I always thought that Jyve-
cote was in Kerry, neaf Valentia,
wiiere the wire dives for America.
However, seven miles mean utter

isolation here, and, by Jove ! I'm too
much charmed with this genial old
clergyman and his genuine hospi-
tality to think of shifting my quar-
ters; besides I'll paint him a
holy picture, perhaps a Virgin and
Child, which will in some small
measure repay him. Nowhere in
the world would one meet with
such a reception, save in Ireland.
Here I am taken upon trust, and
believed to be an honest fellow un-
til I am found out, completely re-
versing the social code. He places
his house, his all, at my disposal,
believing me to be a poor devil of
an artist on tramp a.nd ready to
paint anything for bread and butter.
Hang it all ! it makes me feel low
and mean to sail under the false
colors of an assumed name, and
yet it is better as it is — much bet-
ter. Suppose I meet Mr. Jyvecote ?
He'd scarcely recognize me. I've
not seen him since our stormy
interview at Marseilles. Had I
my beard then? No; it was on
my way out to Egypt, and that's
exactly three years ago this very
month. He had a lot of woman-
kind with him. Per Bacco ! I sup-
pose he was making for this place."

Mr. Brown strolled over to the
beach, and, seating himself upon a
granite boulder, smoked on and on,
buried in thought. The sea was
as still as a sea in a dream, and
gray, and mystic, and silent. The
hush that Eve whispers as Night
lets fall her mantle was coming
upon the earth, and the twinkling
stars began to throb in the blue-
black sky ; not a speck was visible
on the billowy plain save a solitary
fishing-boat, which now loomed out
of the darkness like a weird and
spectral bark.

In such scenes, and in the awful
quiet of such hours, images and
thoughts that dare not die are

The Little Chapel at Monamulhn.

221

deposited upon the silent shore of
memory. The man who sat gazing
out to sea with his hands clasping
his knees was Sir Everard Noel, the
fourth baronet of a good old York-
shire family, and owner of a fine
estate between Otley and Ilkley, in
the North Riding of that noble
county. He was five-and-twenty, and
had been his own master ever since
he attained his majority, until which
momentous event he had been the
victim of a peripatetic guardian and
the Court of Chancery, his father
having died while he was yet an
infant, and his mother when he
had reached the age of nineteen.
Freed from the yoke of his guar-
dian, who led him a tour of the
world, and placed in possession of
ninety thousand pounds, the accu-
mulation of his minority, and with an
income of ten thousand a year, he
plunged into the giddy whirl of
London fast life, and for a brief
season became the centre of a set
composed of the crhne de la crime,
the aurati juvenes of that modern
Babylon. He was liberal to lavish-
ness, was fascinated with Clubland
and ("carte", losing his money with a
superb tranquillity, and addicted to
turning night into day. He flatter-
ed the fair sex with the " homage
of a devotee," and broke hearts as
he would nutshells. Intriguing
dowagers fished for him for their
"penniless lasses wi' long pedi-
grees," but somehow or other, after
four seasons, during which he had
had several hairbreadth escapes,
he still was single, still healthy and
heart-whole, but minus his ninety
thousand pounds.

During his minority he had
wooed Art, wisely and well, and
even while the daze of deviltry was
upon him he never totally neglected
her. He painted with more than
the skill of a mere amateur, and had

even the best of it in a tussle with
the art critic of the Times upon the
genuineness of a Rembrandt which
had burst upon the market, to the
intense excitement of the cognos-
centi. There was a good deal of
the artist in his nature, and he was
an immense favorite with the beard-
ed Bohemians, knights of the brush,
who voted him a good fellow, with
the solitary drawback of being un-
avoidably a " howling swell."

Four years of wasted life brought
on satiety, and he turned from the
past with a shudder, from the pre-
sent with loathing. He wanted to
do something, to be interested in
something, and to shake off the
sickening aimlessness of his every-
day life that clung to him like a
winding-sheet.

There came a day when the men
in the smoking-room of the club ask-
ed each other, " Where the doose
is Noel ?" when wily matrons
found their gushing notes of invi-
tation unanswered ; when toadies,
hangers-on, and sycophants found
hisapartments in Half-Moon Street,
Piccadilly, closed. There came a
day when club and matron and
toady thought of him no more.
The wave of oblivion had passed
over him and he was forgotten.
Sic itur ad astra. Away from the
fatal influences that had, maelstrom-
like, sucked him into their whirl,
new thoughts, new impulses, new
aspirations burst into blosso\o, and
his old love — Art — turned to him
with the radiant smile of the bygone
time.

There is red red blood in the
veins at twenty-five, and white-
winged Hope ever beckons onwards
with soul-seductive gesture. He de-
termined to seek change of scene
and of thought. As Sir Everard
Noel, the president of the Four-in-
Hand Club ; the owner of Katinka,

222

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

the winner of the Chester Cup; the
skipper of the Griselda, that won the
queen's prize at Cowes ; the best ri-
der with the Pytchley hounds, every
hotel on the Continent, every village
in Merrie England, would recognize
him, and the old toadying recom-
mence ; but as plain Mr. Brown, an
obscure artist, with a knapsack on
his back, he would be free, free as
a bird, and the summer morning this
idea flashed across his mind found
him once again a bright, happy, and
joyous man.

Sir Everard Noel was a gentle-
man of warm temper and great
energy, prone to sudden impulses
and unconsidered actions. No
sooner had he made up his mind
to go upon the tramp than he start-
ed; and, considering that he would
be less liable to recognition in
Connemara than in Wales, made
Galway the base of his supplies,
and, knapsack on back, containing
sketching materials and a change
of flannel, a few days' walking
brought him to Monamullin in
glorious health, splendid spirits, and
prepared to enjoy everybody and
everything.

" How much more delightful all
this is," he thought, "than the
horrors I have passed through —
horrors labelled pleasures ! Faugh !
I shudder when I think of them.
Let me see, it's ten o'clock ; at this
hour I would be about half-way
through a miserably unwholesome
dinner, spiced up in order to meet
the requirements of a demoralized
appetite, or yawning in an opera-
box, with six or seven long,
dreary hours before me to kill at
any price, especially with brandy
and soda. How delicious all this
is ! Ho\v fresh, how pure ! What
a dinner I ate of those rashers and
eggs ! And such tea ! By Jove ! that
old lady must have a chest entirely

for her own consumption. If my
bed is as comfortable as it looks, I
shall not awaken till the padre re-
turns from Jyvecote's. How disa-
greeable to meet Jyvecote or any of
the lot ! I never knew any of them
but Jasper and the father. What
a glorious old gentleman is Father
Maurice — simple as a child, with the
dignity of a saint. I had better
get to bed now, as I shall begin on a
Virgin and Child for him to-morrow;
or, if his Stations are daubs, I can
do him a set, though it will take me
a deuce of a time. I must visit the
chapel to-morrow ; I suppose it's
very dingy." And with a good stout
yawn Mr. Brown — for we shall con-
tinue to call him by this name until
the proper time comes — turned to-
wards the cottage.

Mrs. Clancy met him at the
door.

" I was afraid ye wor lost, sir,"
she said as he entered the hall.

" Not lost, my good lady, but
found. I suppose you lock the
doors here earlier than this."

"Lock !" she exclaimed almost in-
dignantly— " lock indeed ! There's
not a bowlt nor a bar nor a lock on
the whole house. Arrah ! whowud
rob Father Maurice but th' ould
boy ? — an* he'd be afeard. He
daren't lay a hand on anything here,
an' well he knows it, God be good to
us!"

" I suppose you've been a long
time with Father Maurice, Mrs.
Clancy."

" Only sence me man — the Lord
rest his sowle, amin ! — was lost in the
night av the great storm, nigh fif-
teen year ago — fifteen year come
the fourteenth av next month, on a
Frida' night. He was a good man.
an' a fine provider, an' wud have
left me warm an' comfortable but
for the hard times that cum on the
cunthry be raison av the famine.

The Little CJiapel at Monamullin.

223

Ye might have heard tell of it,
sir."

"Oh! indeed I did."

" Och ! wirra, wirra ! but it was
an awful time, glory be to God !
whin the poor craythurs was dyin'
by the roadsides and aitin' grass
to keep the sowles in their bodies,
like bastes."

" I was far away then, in China,"
said Brown.

" That's where the tay cums
from ; an' very infayrior tay we're
gettin' now, sir, compared wud
what we used to get. I can't rise
more nor a cup out av two spoon-
fuls, an' well I remimber whin wan
wud give me layves enough for to
fill a noggin. Are ye thinkin'
av Maynewth, sir ?" asked Mrs.
Clancy, exceedingly desirous of
some clue as to the identity, habits,
and occupation of her guest, as it
would not do to face Monamullin
with her finger in her mouth.

" Maynewth ?" he replied. " What
is Maynewth ?"

" The collidge."

"What college?"

" The collidge where the young
priests is med."

"Oh! dear, no, Mrs. Clancy,"
he replied, laughing heartily. " I am
a painter."

" A painther !" she said in con-
siderable astonishment.

" Yes, a poor painter."

" Musha, now, but that flogs. An'
what are ye goin' for to paint ?"

" Anything that turns up."

She thought for a moment, hesi-
tated a little, scrutinized his appa-
rel, hesitated again, and at length,
" Wud ye be afther doin' his riv-
erince a good turn ?"

" I should be only too delighted."

" Thin ye might give the back
doore a cupple o' coats o' paint
afore ye go."

The artist burst into an uncon-

trollable fit of laughter, long, loud,
joyous, and rippling as that of a
schoolboy's, again and again renew-
ed as the irritated puzzle written
in the housekeeper's face met his
glance. At length he burst out af-
ter a tremendous guffaw :

" I am not exactly that sort of a
painter, Mrs. Clancy, but I dare say
I could do it if I tried ; and I will
try. I am more in that line," point-
ing to the picture of Daniel O'Con-
nell suspended over the mantel-
piece.

The cloud of anger rapidly dis-
appeared from Mrs. Clancy's brow
upon this explanation, and in a
voice of considerable blandishment
she half-whispered :

" Arrah, thin, mebbe ye'd do me
a little wan o' Dan for the kitchen,
honey."

After another hearty peal of
laughter Mr. Brown most cordially
assented, and, taking his chamber
candle — a flaring dip — retired to
his bed-room.

"J/a foi," he gaily laughed,
"this is homely. Do I miss my
valet? Do I miss my brandy and
soda? Do I miss my Aubusson
carpet, my theatrical pictures, my
Venetian mirror, or my villanous
French novel ? Not a bit of it.
This is glorious ; and what a tub I
shall have in the morning in the
wild Atlantic !"

Father Maurice's guest was up,
if not with the lark, at least not far
behind that early-rising bird, and
out in the gently-gliding wavelets,
buffeting them with the vigorous
stroke of a skilful swimmer. The
ocean on this still, clear morning
was beautiful enough to attract
wistful glances from eyes the most
blast. The cloudless sky was in-
tensely dark in its blue, as though
the unseen sun was overhead

224

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

and shining vertically down. The
light did not seem of sea or Land,
but it shone dazzlingly on the low
line of verdure-clad hills, on the
cornfields in stubble, causing every
blade to glisten like a golden spear,
on the whitewashed cottages, on
the bright green -hedges, on the
line of dark rock, and enveloping
the mountains of Carrig na Copple
in the dim distance in blue and sil-
ver glory. The colors of the sea
were magical, in luminous green,
purple, and blue ; and out across
the billowy plain great bands of
purple stretched away to the sky
line, as a passing cloud flung its
shadows in its onward fleecy pro-
gress. The artist felt all this
beauty, drinking it in like life-wine,
till it tingled and throbbed in every
vein.

After partaking of a breakfast
the consumption of which would
have considerably astonished some
of his quondam London set, and
having lighted his meerschaum, Mr.
Brown set out for a stroll through
the village, accompanied by half a
dozen cabin curs, who, having scent-
ed the stranger, most courteously
made up their minds to act as his
escort. The inhabitants of the
cabins en route turned out to look
respectfully at him. Children tim-
orously approached, curtsied, and,
when spoken to, retreated in laugh-
ingterror. Matrons gazed and gos-
siped. A cripple or two touched
their caps to him, and on every side
he was wished "good-luck." He
was Father Maurice's guest, and, as
a consequence, the guest of Mona-
mullin. Whitewash abounded eve-
rywhere ; amber thatch covered the
roofs ; scarlet geraniums bloomed
vigorously, their crimson blossoms
resembling gouts of blood spurted
against marble slabs. A shebeen
or public-house was not to be seen ;

order and peace and happiness
reigned triumphant.

" A few trees planted down this
street— if I may call it so — would
make this an Arcadian village. I
must ask Father Maurice to let me
have them planted. A fountain, too,
would look well just opposite that
unpretending shop. I wonder
where the church can be ?"

A man with a reaping-hook
bound in a hay rope happened to
be passing, to whom he addressed
himself.

" Can you tell me where the
church is ?"

" Yis, yer honor ; troth, thin, I
can."

" Where is it, please ?"

" Av it's Mass ye want, Father
Maurice is beyant at Mo)^nalty
Castle."

" I merely want to see it."

" An' shure ye can, sir ; it's open
day an" night."

"But where is it, my man ?"

" Where is it ? Right foreninst ye,
thin. Don't ye see the holy and
blessed crass over the doore ?"

The chapel was a small, low, cru-
ciform building, very dingy despite
its whitewash, and very tumble-
down-looking. It was surrounded
by a small grass-plat and a few
stunted pines. A rude cross with
a real crown of thorns stood in one
corner, at the foot of which knelt
an old man, bare-headed, engag-
ed in repeating the rosary aloud,
and two women, who were rock-
ing themselves to and fro in a fer-
vor of prayer. Within the church
the fittings were of the most primi-
tive description. The floor was
unboarded, save close to the altar-
rails ; a few forms were scattered
here and there, and one row of
backed seats occupied a space to
the right. The altar, approach-
ed by a single step, was of wood, a

The Little CJiapel at Monamullin.

golden cross ornamenting the front
panel, and a series of gilded Gothic
arches forming its background,
while the tabernacle consisted of a
rudely-cut imitation of a dome-cov-
ered mosque. A picture of the
Crucifixion hung over the altar
suspended from the ceiling, and, as
this was regarded as a masterpiece
of art by the inhabitants of Mona-
mullin from time immemorial, we
will not discuss their aestheticism
here. The Stations of the Cross
were represented by small colored
engravings in mahogany frames,
and the holy-water font consisted
of a huge boulder of granite which
had a large hole scooped out of it.

" This will never do," said Mr.
Brown, gazing ruefully at the several
works of art. " What a splendid
chance for me ! I shall paint, as
the old masters did, under direct in-
spiration. What a sublime sensa-
tion, when my picture shall have
been completed, to witness the re-
verential admiration of the poor de-
vout people here ! I shall be regarded
as a benefactor. Fancy my being a
benefactor to anybody or anything !
Heigh-ho!" he sighed, "what a
glorious little Gothic church, a
prayer in stone, a portion of the
money I so murderously squander-
ed would have built here ! — that four
thousand I flung last March into
the mire in Paris. Faugh !" And,
dragged back over the waves of
Time, he sat down upon one of the
wooden benches, overwhelmed by
the rush of his own thoughts.

Of the length of time he remain-
ed thus absorbed he made no count.
The dead leaves of the misspent
past rustled drearily round his
heart, weighing him down with a
load of inexpressible sadness — a
sadness almost amounting to an-
guish— and two hours had come and
gone ere his reverie was broken.
VOL. xxvi. — 15

Happening to raise his eyes to-
wards the altar, he was startled by
perceiving a female form kneeling
at the railings, lithe, svelte, and at-
tired in costly and fashionable rai-
ment. As he gazed, the young
-girl finished heryprayers, and, with a
deep, reverential inclination in front
of the altar, swept past him with
that graceful, undulatory motion
which would seem to be the birth-
right of the daughters of sunny
Spain. She was tall, elegantly
formed, and possessed that air of
high breeding which makes itself
felt like a perfume. Her bright
chestnut hair was brushed tightly
back from an oval face, and hung
in massive plaits at the back of her
head. Her eyes were soft brown,
her complexion milk-white.

" What a vision, and in this
place, too ! That is the best of the
Catholic religion. The churches are
always open, inviting one to come in
and pray. I wonder who she can be?
Some tourist. Pshaw ! your tour-
ist doesn't trouble this quarter of
the globe. To see, to be seen, to
dress, and wrangle over the bills
at palatial hotels, means touring
nowadays. Some county lady,
over to do a little shopping ; but
there are no shops, except that
miserable little box opposite, and
they apparently sell nothing there
but marbles, tobacco-pipes, kites,
and corduroy. Ah ! I have it :
some inlander coming for a plunge
in the Atlantic. I suppose I shall
meet her pony phaeton as I pass
up through the village. I seriously
hope I shall. There is something
very fetching about her, and it pu-
rifies a fellow to see a girl like that
at prayer."

Such were the cogitations of Mr.
Brown as he emerged from the
dingy little chapel. Brown was
not a Catholic. He had been edu-

226

The Little. Chapel at Monamullin,

cated at Eton, and, although in-
tended for Cambridge, his guar-
dian took him to Japan when he
should have been cramming for his
degree. Of the religion as by law
established in England, he paid
but little attention to the forms
and merely went to church during
the season to hear some " swell "
preacher, or because Lady Clara
Vere de Vere gave him a rendezvous.
But, with all his faults and follies,
he was never irreverent, and his
respect for the things that belong un-
to God was ever honest, open, and
sincere.

He was doomed to be disappoint-
ed. No pony phaeton disturbed
the stillness of the village street.
The curs, which had patiently
waited for him whilst he remained
in the church, received him with
noiseless but cheery tail-wagging
as he came out, and marched at
his heels as though he had been
their lord and master. The chil-
dren rushed from cabins and
dropped their quaint little curt-
sies. The cripples doffed their
caps, the matrons gazed at him
and gossiped ; and, although he
lingered to say a few words to a
passing fisherman, and somewhat

eagerly scanned the surrounding
country, no sign could he obtain of
the fair young girl who had flash-
ed upon him like a "vision of the
night."

" I shall never see her again," he
thought; "and yet I could draw
that face. Such a mouth ! such
contour! I must ask the padre if
he knows her, though that is
scarcely probable; and yet she is
one of his flock — at least, she is a
Catholic, so there is some hope."

He returned to the cottage, and
encountered Father Maurice in
the garden.

" I did not like to disturb you at
your devotions, Mr. 'Brown," he
said, " but I was only going to give
you five minutes longer, as the
salmon grill will be ready by that
time."

''How did you ascertain I was
in the church ?" asked Brown, en-
tering the hall and hanging up his
hat.

" A beautiful young lady told
me."

"I saw her; who is she?" ex-
claimed the artist eagerly.

" I shall present you to her.
Here she is. Mr. Brown, Miss
Julia Jyvecote."

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.]

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

227

THE TWO PROPHETS OF MORMONISM.

MR. T. B. H. STENHOUSE, one
of the Scottish converts to Mor-
monism, was for a quarter of a
century an elder and missionary of
the church of the Latter-Day
Saints. He is the author of the
most complete and careful history
of the Mormons in the English lan-
guage. Although he has " out-
grown " the faith of Brigham Young
and Joseph Smith, and disbelieves
the doctrines which he once preach-
ed, he writes of his former asso-
ciates in a tone of moderation and
good sense, and gives them more
credit for sincerity than the rest of
the world will be likely to concede
them. In the introduction to his
Rocky Mountain Saints he says :

"Whatever judgment maybe passed
upon the faith and personal lives of the
Mormon Prophet and his successor,
there will be a general recognition of a
divine purpose in their history. Under
their leadership the Mormon people
have aided to conquer the western de-
sert, and to transform a barren and deso-
late region of a hitherto ' unknown
country ' into a land that seems destin-
ed at no distant day to teem with mil-
lions of human beings, and which pro-
mises to stand pre-eminent among the
conquests of the republic. It is doubt-
ful whether any collective body of other
citizens, unmoved by religious impulses,
would ever have traversed the sandy
desert and sage-plains, and have lived
an age of martyrdom in reclaiming them,
as the Mormons have in Utah. But this
has been accomplished, and it was ac-
complished by faith. That was the Pro-
vidence of the saints, and it must be
conceded that, as a means subservient to
an end, the Mormon element has been
used in the Rocky Mountain region by
the Almighty Ruler for developing the
best interests of the nation, and for the
benefit of the world at large. "

The fallacies hidden in these re-
flections will not escape the notice

of any thoughtful Catholic reader.
Mr. Stenhouse has got a feeble
hold of a great truth, but, embar-
rassed by the materialistic ideas
which form so important a part of
the Mormon philosophy, he does
not know how to apply it. We
quote the passage as a striking il-
lustration of the spirit in which too
many of our countrymen are inclin-
ed to judge the history and charac-
ter of the saints of the Great Salt
Lake. Americans have a profound
veneration for material prosperity,
and hardly find it in their hearts to
condemn a community which has
built cities in the remote wilder-
ness, planted gardens in the midst
of the desert, taught brooks to run
across the arid plains, and " devel-
oped the resources " of one of the
least promising territories in our
national domain. Any man, ac-
cording to the popular theories of
the emancipation of conscience,
has a right to make a religion to
suit himself; and whatever he may
profess — unless, indeed, he should
chance to concur with about 160,-
000,000 other persons in professing
the doctrines of the holy Catholic
Church, in which case there would
be a fair presumption that he was
dangerous to society — his fellow-
citizens are bound to treat his creed
respectfully and admit the purity
of his motives.* Hence the world
honors the founder of a new state,
even though he may be also the
founder of a false religion. There
are 80,000 Mormons in Utah, and

• " Gentiles have often said before me that Mor-
monism is as good as any other religion, and that
Mr. Joseph Smith ' had as good a right to estab-
blish a church as Luther, Calvin, Fox, Wesley, or
even bluff King Hal'" (TAe City of the Saints,
by Richard F. Burton).

228

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

as a community they are rich and
thrifty. It is not surprising that
we have heard of late so much ad-
miring comment upon the genius
of Brigham Young, so many pre-
dictions that he will be reckoned
hereafter among the great men in
American history.

It may be worth while to
clear our minds by a brief sketch
of the rise and development of
Mormonism. It is a phenome-
non too important to be passed
over, and it has a closer connection
with the moral and intellectual
tendencies of the time than most
of us suspect. The general direc-
tion of Protestant theology has al-
ways been towards rationalism and
materialism. Founded upon the
denial of everything that man can-
not perceive by his unaided natural
powers, it leads irresistibly to the
rejection of divine interposition in
worldly affairs and of all manner of
heavenly revelation. But the hu-
man mind can no more rest without
belief in the supernatural than the
human body can rest upon air.
Superstition is consequently the
offspring of infidelity. The ex-
tremes of negation produce a reac-
tion of credulity ; the worship of
Baal alternates with the worship
of God; we see Protestantism
swaying perpetually to and fro
between a cold philosophical
scepticism and the wildest ex-
travagances of fanaticism and im-
posture. A time of general nega-
tion and intellectual pride is fol-
lowed by an epidemic of rhapso-
dies and convulsions. Prophets
arise ; spirits are seen in clouds of
light ; conventicles resound with
the ravings of frenzied sinners and
the shouting of excited saints ; Swe-
denborg makes excursions in the
body into heaven and into hell ;
the Shakers place Mother Ann on

yflie throne of the Almighty; the
Peculiar People look for the direct
interference of God in the pettiest
affairs of life, and demand a miracle
every hour of the day. Mormon-
ism was the product of such a sea-
son of spiritual riot. Fifty years
ago animal magnetism and clair-
voyance were at their height. The
pride which refused to worship God
stooped to amuse itself with ghosts
and witches. The soul, emanci-
pated from religion, became the
slave of magic ; and superstition,
rejecting the revelations of a lov-
ing Creator, was almost ripe for the
instructions of dancing tables and
flying tambourines. Mesmer had
excited the learned world with his
mystic tubs; throngs of prophetic
somnambulists had prepared the
way for the oracles of Andrew
Jackson Davis. In England there
was even a more chaotic disturb-
ance of minds than here. Multi-
tudes on the one hand, disbelieving
in a personal deity altogether, took
refuge in pure scepticism. Multi-
tudes on the other looked for the
advent of the Lord in power and
glory, to establish on earth in visi-
ble form the kingdom foretold by
the inspired writers. The study
of the prophecies became an ab-
sorbing passion of sectaries and
enthusiasts. They muddled their
brains with much reading of Isaias
and the Apocalypse. They made
it their mission to explain dark
sayings ; and having placed their
own interpretation upon the divine
predictions, they watched the sky
for signs of their immediate fulfil-
ment, and found in contemporary
events a thousand confirmations of
their crazy fancies, a thousand por-
tents of the speedy coming of the
Lord. There was no conceivable
theological vagary for which they
did not seek authority among the

TJie two PropJiets of Mormonism.

229

prophets. There was a wide-spread
revival of the ancient belief in a
terrestrial millennium, with a faith
that it was close at hand. Edward
Irving was setting England and
Scotland aflame with fiery an-
nouncements of the Second Ad-
vent ; fashionable society left its
bed at five o'clock in the morning
to hear him preach, for three hours
at a stretch, on the impending ac-
complishment of what had been
foretold; and although it was not
until a few years later that William
Miller organized in this country
the first regular congregations of
those who expected the speedy end
of the world, and who sat in white
robes listening for the judgment
trump, there is no doubt that the
general religious ferment which
preceded this particular hallucina-
tion was felt simultaneously on
both sides of the ocean, and pre-
sented on both sides the same es-
sential characteristics.

Naturally this exciting period
was also a season of powerful Me-
thodistic revivals. These sensa-
tional experiences belong, like
spiritualism and the other delu-
sions which we have mentioned, to
what has been called " inspiration-
al " as distinguished from rational-
istic Protestantism, and they are
apt to run their course together.
Between 1825 and 1830 the revival
movement was carried to great
lengths, and its excesses seem to
have been most marked in Central
and Western New York just at the
time when Mormonism arose there..
We speak of the revivals as Metho-
distic only by way of defining their
character ; they were by no means
restricted to the Methodist denomi-
nation. The most famous revival
preacher of the day was the Rev.
Charles G. Finney, a Presbyterian ;
and any one who is curious about

the spiritual uproar which he car-
ried through the State with him is
referred to the chapter on " Fanati-
cism in Revivals " in the Personal
Reminiscences ot Dr. Gardiner Spring,
of the Brick (Presbyterian) Church
in New York City.*

It was in such a time, equally
favorable to delusions and impos-
tures, that Joseph Smith, the inven-
tor of Mormonism, made his ap-
pearance. The accounts of his ear-
ly life are not satisfactory. His
origin was obscure. His neighbors
were ignorant. Little is on record
except his Autobiography and a
sketch by his mother, neither of
which productions is entitled to
much credit. It is evident, how-
ever, that he was caught up by the
religious excitement which raged
all around him. We are assured
that on at least two special occa-
sions during his boyhood he was
" powerfully awakened " by Me-
thodist revivalists. His writings
abound with revival phraseology ;
his pretended revelations are full
of the cant-terms of the camp-meet-
ing; his code of doctrines bears
traces of the denominational con-
troversies which were most active
in Western New York when he
emerged upon the stage of history.
In 1827 he was an illiterate and idle
rustic of twenty-two years, living
at Palmyra, in Wayne County, New
York. His parents were shiftless

* It was one of Mr. Finney's doctrines that when-
ever we pray with sufficient faith, God, so to speak,
is bound not only to answer the prayer, but to give
us the precise thing we ask for ; in other words,
that we know better than God what is good for us.
" There are men and women still alive and among
us,:l says Dr. Spring, "who remember the circum-
stances of the death of Mrs. Pierson, around whose
lifeless body her husband assembled a company of
believers, with the assurance that if they prayed
in faith she would be restored to life. Their feel-
ings were greatly excited, their impressions of their
success peculiar and strong. They prayed, and
prayed again, and prayed in faith. But they
were disappointed. There was none to answer,
neither was there any that regarded." The italics
are Dr. Spring's.

230

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

and visionary people, who got
drunk, and used the divining-rod,
and dug for hidden treasures, and,
according to their neighbors, stole
sheep. Joseph was no better than
the rest of the family. By natural
disposition he was a dreamer and
an adventurer. According to his
own account, he began to see mi-
raculous appearances in the air and
to hear the voices of spiritual mes-
sengers as early as his fifteenth
year. It was in one of his seasons
of " awakening," when, perplexed
by the contradictions of rival sects,
he went into a grove and asked the
Lord which he should follow, in
the firm persuasion that his ques-
tion would be answered by some
physical manifestation. We give the
Mormon account of the result of
his experiment :

" At first he was severely tempted by
the powers of darkness, which endeavor-
ed to overcome him ; but he continued to
seek for deliverance, until darkness gave
way from his mind. He at length saw a
very bright and glorious light in the
heavens above, which at first seemed to
be at a considerable distance. He con-
tinued praying, while the light appeared
to be gradually descending towards him;
and as it drew nearer it increased in
brightness and magnitude, so that by
the time that it reached the tops of the
trees the whole wilderness for some dis-
tance around was illuminated in the
most glorious and brilliant manner. He
expected to have seen the leaves and
boughs of the trees consumed as soon
as the light came in contact with them ;
but perceiving that it did not produce
that effect, he was encouraged with the
hopes of being able to endure its pre-
sence. It continued descending slowly,
until it rested upon the earth and he
was enveloped in the midst of it. When
it first came upon him it produced a pe-
culiar sensation throughout his whole
system ; and immediately his mind was
caught away from the natural objects
with which he was surrounded, and he
was enwrapped in a heavenly vision,
and saw two glorious personages, who
exactly resembled each other in their

features or likeness. He was informed
that his sins were forgiven. He was al-
so informed upon the subjects which had
for some time previously agitated his
mind — namely, that all the religious de-
nominations were believing in incorrect
doctrines, and consequently that -none
of them was acknowledged of God as his
church and kingdom. And he was ex-
pressly commanded to go not after
them ; and he received a promise that
the true doctrine, the fulness of the gos
pel, should at some future time be made
known to him ; after which the vision
withdrew." *

Joseph, upon whose word alone
this narrative rests, relates that when
he came to himself he was lying on
his back looking up into the clouds.
He seems to have accepted cheer-
fully the condemnation of all exist-
ing religions, but the vision had no
other practical effect upon him ;
as Orson Pratt confesses, his life
continued to be unedifying, and
his story of the celestial apparition
was received with stubborn incredu-
lity by those who knew his character
and habits. It was three years be-
fore he professed to be favored
with a second visit. Then, he says,
a white and lustrous angel came
into his room while he was at pray-
er, and told him that Heaven de-
signed him for a great work.
There was hidden in a certain
place, to be revealed hereafter, a
book written upon gold plates,
which contained " the fulness of the
everlasting gospel as delivered by
the Saviour to the ancient inhabi-
tants " of the American continent.
This was the Mormon Bible, com-
monly known now as the Book of
Mormon from the title of one of
its divisions. In his Autobiography
Joseph Smith states that the angel
was Nephi, author of the First and
Second Books of Nephi, which

* Remarkable Visions. By Orson Pratt, one of
the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-Day Saints. Liverpool, 1848.

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

231

stand at the head of the Mormon
scriptures ; but in his Doctrine
and Covenants he speaks of his
visitant as Moroni, who wrote the
last book in the collection and
placed the gold plates where
they were afterwards to be found.
We do not know what explanation
the Mormons offer of this singular
discrepancy. The vision was re-
peated during the night, and Joseph
was directed to search for the bur-
ied treasure in a hill near Man-
chester, a village about four miles
from Palmyra, in the adjoining
county of Ontario. He saw, as if
in a dream, the exact spot in which
he was to dig. He went to Man-
chester and found the plates, en-
closed in a sort of box formed of
stones set in cement. With them
" there were two stones in silver
bows (and these stones, fastened to
a breastplate, constituted what is
called the Urim andThummim), and
the possession and use of these
stones was what constituted seers
in ancient or former times, and God
had prepared them for the purpose
of translating the book " — an idea
which Joseph borrowed, of course,
from the Jewish high-priest's "ra-
tional of judgment," described in
Exodus, chap, xxviii. Moroni (or
was it Nephi ?) would not allow
the plates to be removed yet; but
he gave Joseph a great many inter-
esting and comfortable, though ra-
ther vague, instructions. He open-
ed the heavens and caused him to
see the glory of the Lord. He
made the devil and his hosts pass by
in procession, so that Smith might
know them when he met them.
Once a year Joseph was to return
to the same spot and receive a new
revelation. On the fourth anniver-
sary of the discovery — that is, in
September, 1827 — the angel placed
the plates and the Urim and

Thummim in his hands, with a
caution that, he should let nobody
see them. But he seems to have
talked freely about his experiences ;
for, according to his own story, the
whole country-side was up in arms
to get the plates away from him.
He was waylaid and chased by ruf-
fians with clubs. He was shot at.
His house was repeatedly mobbed ;
and when at last he removed to
Pennsylvania in search of peace,
carrying the plates in a barrel of
beans, he was twice overtaken by a
constable armed with a search-war-
rant, who failed, however, to find
what he was looking for. Possibly
the plates and the constable were
equally fictions of Joseph Smith's
imagination.

Incredulous historians of Mor-
monism offer various explanations
of the story which we have thus
far recounted. They detect in
Joseph Smith's alleged visions a
close resemblance to the trance
state sometimes brought on by
spiritual excitement among the
Methodists and other sects who
make strong appeals to the emo-
tional nature ; or they refer his
supernatural exaltation to mes-
meric clairvoyance; or they see in
him merely a " spiritual medium, "a
precursor of the rappers and table-
tippers who became so common a
few years later. Others, again, ac-
count for the whole case upon the
theory of demoniac possession ;
while still others suppose that,
having really discovered some sort
of metallic tablets, the dreams of a
disordered mind supplied him with
the interpretation and the dramatis
persona* It seems to us hardly

* Mormon books contain representations of six
plates of brass, inscribed with unknown figures,
which are said to have been dug out of a mound in
Pike County. Illinois, in 1843. Like those which
Moroni is supposed to have revealed to Joseph
Smith they are described as bell-shaped and fas-

232

The two Prophets of Mormon ism.

necessary to discuss these various
explanations, for there is no proof
of the alleged facts. The whole
narrative rests upon nothing but
Joseph Smith's word. It is the
story told by him in after-years to
account for the new gospel. There
is none who shared with him the
privilege of angelic visitations.
There is none who saw the great
light, who heard the mysterious
voices, who even beheld Joseph
himself at the moment of the al-
leged revelations. No one knows
what became of the golden plates.
The angel, said Joseph, came and
took them away again. While they
remained in the prophet's hands
they were kept from curious eyes.
Prefixed to the Book of Mormon in
the current editions is the " Testi-
mony of Three Witnesses " — Oliver
Cowdery, David Whitmer, and
Martin Harris — that they were per-
mitted to see the plates, and that a
heavenly voice assured them of the
faithfulness of Smith's translation ;
but all these three witnesses after-
wards^ confessed that their testimo-
ny was a lie. To their certificate
is appended the testimony of eight
other witnesses — namely, Joseph's
father and two brothers, four of the
Whitmer family, and a disciple
named Page — who also profess to
have seen the plates; but their
connection with the beginnings of
the Mormon Church makes it im-
possible to put confidence in their
statement. We do not know the
circumstances under which the
sight may have been vouchsafed to
them, and we certainly have no suffi-
cient reason to believe their word.*

tened together by a ring. But the evidence that any
such plates were ever found is not satisfactory, and
the characters on the published pictures of them
bear little or no resemblance to those which Joseph
Smith presented to the world as a fac-simile of a
part of the Book of Mormon.

* Many suppose that Joseph Smith and his
brother Hyrum fabricated plates of some base

Thus far, then, Mormonism is a
mere legend. In 1828 it becomes
historical fact ; and whatever may
be thought of the prophet's good
faith in the matter of his early
dreams and visions, we find it impos-
sible to resist the conviction that
henceforth he was only a conscious
and daring impostor. From this
time to the day of his death, in his
acts and his writings, in his shrewd-
ness, his ambition, and his reckless
courage — planning new settlements,
fabricating new Bibles, uttering
forged revelations, nominating him-
self for President of the United
States, assuming to command ar-
mies, running a wild-Cat bank, de-
bauching women — we can see noth-
ing but a career of vulgar fraud.
There was wild fanaticism in the
foundation of the Mormon Church ;
but it was not on the part of Joseph
Smith.

There is proof that about fifteen
years before this pretended revela-
tion an ex-preacher, named Solo-
mon Spalding, a graduate of Dart-
mouth College, and a resident of
Crawford County, Pennsylvania,
offered for publication at a Pitts-
burgh printing-office a book called
the Manuscript Found, in which he
attempted to account for the peo-
pling of America by deriving the
Indians from the lost tribes of Is-
rael. It was a sort of Scriptural
romance, written in clumsy imita-
tion of the historical books of the
Old Testament, and it contained,
among its other divisions, a Book
of Mormon. Although announced
for publication, it never appeared.

metal and imposed them upon their credulous fol-
lowers. But if they had gone to the trouble of do-
ing this it is probable that they would have shown
them to a number of people, and not confined the
exhibition to a handful of their immediate associ-
ates. The mere fact that evidence as to the exist-
ence of any plates at all is so defective seems to us
conclusive that there were none— not even forged
ones.

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

233

The manuscript remained in the
printing-office for a number of
years. Spalding died in 1816. The
bookseller died in 1826. Sidney
Rigdon, one of the first disciples
of Mormonism, was a compositor
in the printing-office, and it seems
to be pretty well established that
he made a copy of the book and
afterwards gave it to Smith. At
any rate the Book of Mormon,
when it came from the press in
1830, was immediately recognized
as an adaptation of Solomon Spald-
ing's romance. A great many peo-
ple had read parts of it during
Spalding's lifetime, and remember-
ed not only the principal incidents
which it narrated, but the names
of the leading characters — Nephi,
Lehi, Moroni, Mormon, and the
rest — which Smith boldly appropri-
ated. Spalding's only object was
literary amusement, with perhaps a
little harmless mystification. The
theological teachings incorporated
with his pretended history were the
additions of Smith and Rigdon. As
it now stands the Mormon Bible
purports to relate the wanderings
of a Hebrew named Lehi, who went
out from Jerusalem six hundred
years before Christ, and, after
travelling eastward eight years
" through a wilderness," came to
the sea-coast, built a ship, got a
mariner's compass somewhere, set
sail with his wife Sariah, his sons
Laman, Lemuel, Sam, Nephi, Jo-
seph, and Jacob, the wives of the
four elder sons, and six other per-
sons, and in due time reached
America. After the death of Lehi
the Lord appointed Nephi to rule
over the settlers, but Laman and
Lemuel, heading a revolt, were
cursed, and became the ancestors
of the Indians. We shall not waste
much time over this absurd and
wearisome farrago, a mixture of

Scriptural parodies, stupid inven-
tions, and bold thefts from Shak-
spere and King James' Bible. It
is intolerably verbose, dragging
through fifteen books, stuffed with
gross faults of grammar, anachro-
nisms, and solecisms of every kind,
and comprising as much matter as
four hundred and fifty of these
pages, or more than three entire
numbers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
There are wonderful miracles and
tremendous battles. Vast cities
are created in North and South
America. Nations wander to and
fro across the continents. Priests,
prophets, judges, and Antichrists,
with names curiously constructed
out of those in the Jewish Scrip-
tures, appear and disappear like
travesties of the persons in sacred
history. The Nephites and the
Lamanites hack and slay each oth-
er. A republican form of govern-
ment is instituted, and is assailed
by monarchical conspiracies. Ne-
phi, Jarom, Omni, Mosaiah, Mor-
mon, Moroni, Alma, Ether, and
other leaders of the Nephites write
the records of the people upon
golden plates, and save them for
Joseph Smith to find in due sea-
son. Seers give long-winded ex-
planations of the divine purposes,
and predict the incidents of the
beginning of Mormonism, which
had already taken place when Jo-
seph Smith brought these predic-
tions to light. The history of the
Nephites is supposed to be con-
temporaneous with the history of
the Jews, but entirely independent
of it ; their Scriptures are intended
to supplement, not contradict, the
holy Bible. The crucifixion of our
Lord was announced to these Ame-
rican Jews by portents and pro-
phecies, and afterwards the Saviour
came to the chief city of the Ne-
phites, showed his wounded hands

234

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

and feet, healed the sick, blessed
little children, and remained here
forty days teaching Christianity.
Gradually the Lamanites, or In-
dians, overcame the Nephites. In
the year 384 a final battle was
fought on the hill Cumorah (Onta-
rio County, New York), where 320,-
ooo Nephites were slain. This was
the end of the pre-Columbian civi-
lization of America, little or noth-
ing being left of the Nephites ex-
cept Mormon and his son Moroni,
who completed the records on the
gold plates and " hid them up " in
the hill. Such, in brief outline, is
the Mormon Bible. With the nar-
rative of the descendants of Lehi,
however, it contains an account of
two other emigrations from Asia to
America — namely, that of the Jare-
dites, who came here direct from
the tower of Babel, and perished
after they had stripped the conti-
nent of timber, and that of a party
of Jews who followed Lehi at the
period of the Babylonian captivity.
The Jaredites came in eight small
air-tight barges, shaped like a cov-
ered dish, loaded with all manner
of beasts, birds, and fishes, and
driven by a furious wind. The
voyage lasted three hundred and
forty-four days, so that, in spite of
the miraculous gale astern, it was
probably the slowest on record.

It would be an endless task to
point out even a tithe of the huge
blunders in this fraudulent volume.
We read of Christians a century
before Christ, of the Gospel and
the churches six centuries before
Christ, of three oceans lying be-
tween Asia and America, of pious
Hebrews eating pork, of Jews long
before the name of Jew was invent-
ed, of horses, asses, swine, etc.,
running wild all over "the face of
this continent in the time of the
Jaredites, although it is certain that

they were first introduced by the
Spaniards. Nephi, in giving an ac-
count of the emigration of his fa-
ther Lehi, says : " And it came to
pass that the Lord spake unto me,
saying, Thou shalt construct a ship
after the manner which I shall
show thee, that I may carry thy
people across these waters. And
I said, Lord, whither shall I go
that I may find ore to molten, that I
may make tools ? . . . And it came
to pass that I did make tools of the
ore which I did molten out of the
rock." Nephi, like St. John, was un-
able to write down all the things that
Jesus taught : " Behold, I were about
to write them all, but the Lord/«?r-
bid it." Alma declares: "And it
came to pass that whosoever did
mingle his seed with that of the
Lamanites did bring the same curse
upon his seed ; therefore whomso-
ever suffered himself to be led away
by the Lamanites were called that
head, and there was a mark set up-
on him" Mormon is one of the
most eccentric in syntax of all the
scribes: "And Ammaron said un-
to me, I perceive that thou art a
sober child, and art quick to ob-
serve ; therefore when ye are about
twenty-and-four years old I would
that ye should remember," etc.
Nephi " saiv wars and rumors of
wars." Alma writes: "And when
Moroni had said these words, he
went forth among the people, wav-
ing the rent of his garment in the
air, that all might see the writing
which he had wrote upon the rent "/
The language of the precious re-
cords is described as " reformed
Egyptian," and Nephi explains
that it " consists of the learning of
the Jews and the language of the
Egyptians," though upon »what
principle they are combined we
are left to imagine. Pressed to ex-
hibit a specimen of the mysterious

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

235

characters, Joseph Smith gave what
purported to be a fac-simile of a
few lines to one of his disciples,
who came to New York and sub-
mitted it to Prof. Anthon. "It
consisted," says Prof. Anthon, " of
all kinds of crooked characters
disposed in columns, and had evi-
dently been prepared by some per-
son who had before him at the
time a book containing various al-
phabets, Greek and Hebrew letters,
crosses and flourishes ; Roman
letters inverted or placed side-
ways were arranged and placed in
perpendicular columns ; and the
whole ended in a rude delineation
of a circle, divided into various
compartments, decked with various
strange marks, and evidently copied
after the Mexican calendar given
by Humboldt, but copied in such
a way as not to betray the source
whence it was derived." Mormon
says he would have written in He-
brew, if the plates had been large
enough.

In giving the translation of the
mysterious books to the world
Joseph Smith, whose education
had been sadly neglected, made
use of an amanuensis. This at
first was a farmer named Martin
Harris. The prophet sat behind a
blanket stretched across the room,
and, thus screened from profane
eyes, read aloud from the gold
plates, by the miraculous aid of the
Urim and Thummim, the sacred
text, which the confiding Harris re-
duced to writing. The sceptical,
of course, believe that what Smith
held before him was no pile of me-
tallic tablets, but merely the manu-
script of Solomon Spalding, into
which he emptied from time to
time a great deal of rubbish of his
own make. No one, however, suc-
ceeded in penetrating behind the
blanket. The work had gone on

for a year and a half, when Harris,
tempted by his wife, embezzled
the manuscript. This was a seri-
ous loss. Joseph could not repro-
duce it in the same words, and it
would not do to risk discrepancies.
" Revelation " came to his aid in this
dilemma, and informed him that
Harris had " altered the words " of
the manuscript " in order to catch
him " in the translation. The sto-
len pages were from the Book of
Mormon ; he must not attempt to
replace them ; he should let them
go, for a narrative of the same
events would be found in the Book
of Nephi :

" And now verily I say unto you that
an account of those things that you have
written, which have gone out of your
hands, are engraven upon the plates of
Nephi ; yea, and you remember it was
said in those writings that a more parti-
cular account was given of these things
upon the plates of Nephi. Behold they
have only got a part or an abridgment
of the account of Nephi. Behold, there
are many things engraven on the plates
of Nephi which do throw greater views
upon mv gospel ; therefore it is wisdom
in me that you should translate this first
part of the engravings of Nephi, and
send forth in this work." *

Oliver Cowdery now became
scribe, and the task was finished
without further accidents, the Books
of Nephi standing at the head of
the volume, and the remnant of the
Book of Mormon, which gives its
title to the whole collection, com-
ing near the end of the table of
contents. Still, the wretched Har-
ris was not altogether cut off for
his sin. He owned a farm. When
the translation was finished Heaven
uttered, by the mouth of Smith, " a
commandment of God, and not of
man, to Martin Harris ": "I com-

*" Revelation given to Joseph Smith, Jr., May,
1829, informing him of the alteration of the manu-
script of the fore part of the Book of Mormon."
— Covenants and Commandments, sec xxxvi.

236

The two PropJiets of Mormonism.

mand thee that thou shalt not co-
vet thine own property, but impart
it freely to the printing of the Book
of Mormon. And misery thou shalt
receive if thou wilt slight these
counsels — yea, even the destruction
of thyself and property." So Har-
ris mortgaged his farm to pay the
printer, and in 1830 appeared at
Palmyra, New York, The Book of
Mormon : an Account Written by
the Hand of Mormon upon Plates
taken from the Plates of Nephi. By
Joseph Smith, Jr., author and pro-
prietor.*

Instructed by John the Baptist,
Smith and Cowdery now went into
the river and baptized each other
by immersion. Joseph then or-
dained Oliver to the Aaronic priest-
hood, and Oliver ordained Joseph.
In April, 1830, the "Church of
Christ " was organized at the house
of Peter Whitmer in Fayette, Se-
neca County, New York, the com-
pany of the faithful consisting only
of the prophet, his two brothers,
his scribe, and two Whinners ; but
in the course of the summer seve-
ral other converts appeared, and
Joseph became associated with
three men of some ability and edu-
cation, who gave the Mormon creed
a doctrinal development which the
founder himself was quite incapable
of devising. These three were Sid-
ney Rigdon, Orson Pratt, and Par-
ley P. Pratt. They were devotees
of the sensational and inspirational
school, ready for any new form of
spiritual extravagance, believers in
visions, crack-brained students of
the prophecies. Rigdon had been
a preacher among the Campbell-
ites — a sect whose fundamental doc-
trine it is that no precise doctrines

* Five thousand copies were printed, yet the
first edition is excessively rare. The later editions
differ a little from the original. The " third Euro-
pean edition," which is now before us, was pub-
lished at Liverpool in 1852.

are necessary. Read your Bible,
say they, select your opinions from
it, don't allow infant baptism, but
get yourselves baptized by immer-
sion as often as you commit sin.
Upon this broad foundation they
can erect as many different systems
of theology as they have congrega-
tions. Rigdon had outgrown the
latitudinarianism and bibliolatry of
the Campbellites, and at the time
of Joseph Smith's appearance he
was preaching a religion of his own,
rousing his little Ohio congregation
with apocalyptic dreams and inter-
pretations, and bidding them look
for the instant coming of the Lord.
Although his name does not appear
in the roll of the first converts and
apostles, it is certain that he was
intimately associated with Smith
from the beginning; it is certain
that he embodied his peculiar views
in the Mormon creed; it is sus-
pected that he had more than a
half-share in arranging the original
machinery of imposture. Parley
P. Pratt was likewise a Campbellite
preacher, a man of ardent and pas-
sionate temperament, restless, elo-
quent, a brilliant albeit somewhat
rude orator. Orson Pratt, inclin-
ing rather towards metaphysical
speculations than prophecy and
spiritual excitement, became the
Mormon philosopher and contro-
versialist, and to him are attributa-
ble the extraordinary materialistic
doctrines which form so important
a part of the new system.* When
Smith and his companions began
to preach it does not appear that

* Oliver Cowdery was expelled from the church
some years later for "lying, counterfeiting, and
immorality," and died a miserable drunkard. Sid-
ney Rigdon attempted to rule the church by reve-
lation after the death of Joseph Smith, and, being
"cut off" at the demand of Brigham Young, led
away a small sect of seceders. Parley P. Pratt,
having induced a married woman to become his
polygamous wife, was killed by the outraged hus-
band. Orson Pratt is still living, and one of the
ablest of the Mormon leaders.

The two Prophets of M or monism.

237

they had any scheme of theology
ready at hand. Moroni and the
golden plates made up the sum of
their first teachings. There was
comparatively little doctrine of any
kind in the Book of Mormon ; but,
as Joseph's prophetic pretensions
found acceptance, it became neces-
sary for the prophet to announce
some positive creed. In setting it
forth, point after point, he appeal-
ed neither to history nor to reason ;
" revelation " taught him from day
to day all that he wished to know;
and so, little by little, he built up a
mass of dogma in which it is im-
possible to discover any regular
plan. The authoritative handbook
of Mormon theology as it existed
in Smith's time is a small volume
first published in 1835, entitled
The Doctrine and Covenants of the
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-
Day Saints, carefully selected from
the revelations of God, by Joseph
Smith, President of said Church.
It comprises two parts. The first
consists of seven Lectures on Faith,*
which need not detain us; the se-
cond and more important contains
about one hundred " revelations,"
addressed sometimes to Smith,
sometimes to one or another of the
disciples, sometimes to the church,
and occasionally to sceptical Mor-
mons who showed signs of becom-
ing troublesome. They embrace
counsels and instructions of all
kinds, for the organization of the
hierarchy, the preaching of the new
gospel, the regulation of private
business affairs, and the manage-
ment of congregations. Here is a
sample of a " revelation given in
Kirtland, August, 1831 " : " Let my
servant Newel K. Whitney retain
his store — or, in other words, the

* Although these lectures bear Smith's name, it
is understood that they were really written by
Sidney Rigdon.

store yet for a little season. Never-
theless, let him impart all the money
which he can impart, to be sent up
unto the land of Sion." A few
days later the voice of heaven spoke
through Joseph Smith again :

"And now verily I say that it is ex-
pedient in me that my servant Sidney
Gilbert, after a few weeks, should re-
turn upon his business, and to his
agency in the land of Sion ; and that
which he hath seen and heard may be
made known unto my disciples, that
they perish not. And for this cause
have I spoken these things. And again,
I say unto you, that my servant Isaac
Morley may not be tempted above that
which he is able to bear, and counsel
wrongfully to your hurt, I gave com-
mandment that his farm should be sold.
I willeth not that my servant Frederick
G. Williams should sell his farm, for I
the Lord willeth to retain a stronghold
in the land of Kirtland for the space of
five years, in the which I will not over-
throw the wicked, that thereby I may
save some."

There was a special revelation
to the prophet's wife, Emma, who
never quite relished Joseph's pro-
ceedings :

" Hearken unto the voice of the Lord
your God while I speak unto you, Emma
Smith, my daughter ; for verily I say
unto you all those who receive my gos-
pel are sons and daughters in my king-
dom. A revelation I give unto you con-
cerning my will, and if thou art faithful
and walk in the paths of virtue before
me, I will preserve thy life and thou
shall receive an inheritance in Sion.
Behold, thy sins are forgiven thee, and
thou art an elect lady whom I have call-
ed. Murmur not because of the things
which thou hast not seen, for they are
withheld from thee and from the world,
which is wisdom in me in a time to
come. And the office of thy calling
shall be for a comfort unto my servant,
Joseph Smith, Jr., thy husband, in his
afflictions, with consoling words in the
spirit of meekness."

She was afterwards styled by
the saints the Elect Lady, or" Cyria
Electa," and was " ordained " by

238

The two. Prophets of M or monism.

Joseph as his scribe in the place of
Oliver Cowdery. The dogmas to
be found in this book are few and
simple. The saints were taught to
believe in " God the Eternal Father,
and in his Son, Jesus Christ, and
in the Holy Ghost"; to. believe that
men will not be punished for origi-
nal sin ; that the four saving ordi-
nances of the Gospel are faith, re-
pentance, baptism, and the laying-
on of hands for the Holy Ghost ;
that the church enjoys still, as it
did in primitive times, " the gift
of tongues, prophecy, revelation,
visions, healing, interpretation of
tongues, etc." ; that the Bible, " as
far as it is translated correctly,"
and the Book of Mormon are both
the word of God ; that " the or-
ganization of the primitive church
— viz., apostles, prophets, pastors,
teachers, evangelists, etc." — ought
to be revived ; and that Israel will
be literally gathered and the ten
tribes restored, Sion built on this
continent, the personal reign of
Christ established on earth, and the
earth renewed in paradisaic glory.
Finally, the book contains elaborate
instructions for the establishment
of a double priesthood ; that of
Melchisedech is the higher, and em-
braces the offices of apostle, Seven-
ty, patriarch, high-priest, and elder ;
the other is that of Aaron, and in-
cludes bishop, priest, teacher, and
deacon ; it can only be held by the
lineal descendants of Aaron, who
are designated by revelation.

It will be seen how artfully this
plan of a church was adapted to
the purposes of Smith and Rigdon,
supposing them to have been, as
we have no doubt they were, arrant
and conscious cheats. There was
novelty and mystery enough in it
to attract the fanatical, and there
was not so very much after all to
shock their common sense ; while

the doctrine of continuous revela-
tion and the prophetic office left a
door wide open for the introduc-
tion of other inventions as fast as
they were found desirable. We
shall see, further on, what mon-
strous blasphemies and absurdities
were in reality adopted as the
saints became strong enough to
bear them.

Noyes, in his History of Amer-
ican Socialisms, speaks of Western
New York as " the volcanic region"
of spiritual and intellectual distur-
bance. Here sprang up Mormon-
ism ; here were first heard the
ghostly rappers ; here raged Miller-
ism and Second-Adventism ; here
John Collins founded the Skan-
eateles community on the basis of
" no God, no government, no mar-
riage, no money, no meat" ; here
arose the "inspired" Ebenezer
colony, since removed to Iowa ;
here flourished all manner of Fou-
rierite phalanxes, wild social ex-
periments, and extravagant beliefs ;
here at the present day are found
the Brocton community, with their
doctrine of "divine respiration,"
and the Perfectionists of Oneida,
perhaps the worst of all the
professors of free-love. In this
region of satanic activity the Mor-
mon preachers made disciples so
fast that Smith was soon encour-
aged to undertake the " gathering
of the tribes." He had visited Sid-
ney Rigdon at Kirtland, Ohio, early
in 1831, and had a revelation com-
manding the saints in New York to
follow him. But in June the town
of Independence, in Jackson Coun-
ty, Missouri, was revealed as the
site of the American Sion, and
there some hundreds of the faith-
ful, selling all that they had in the
East, assembled and laid the foun-
dation of a temple. With this
event begins a phase of Mormon-

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

239

ism — the political separation of the
Latter-Day Saints from the Gen-
tiles— which at once illustrates
most forcibly its fanaticism and
accounts for its temporal success.
Henceforth the leaders had only to
give the word of command, and the
people went wherever the finger of
the prophet pointed, sacrificed their
lands and houses, broke off domes-
tic ties, and marched through pain,
starvation, and death into the
parched wilderness. The settle-
ment at Kirtland, however, was re-
tained ; a revelation even com-
manded the saints to build there a
house for Joseph Smith " to live
and translate in," and another
great temple for the Lord. This
was fortunate, because the Mor-
mons were soon expelled from In-
dependence by a mob; and when
Joseph, in obedience to revelation,
raised an army of two hundred men,
and, with the title of " commander-
in-chief of the armies of Israel,"
marched twelve hundred miles on
foot to reinstate them, his expedition
was dispersed by cholera and thun-
der-storms as soon as it reached the
scene of action. The saints were
never restored to the homes from
which they had been driven out ;
yet to this day they look for a re-
storation. They refused all offers
to sell their estates; they hold the
Missouri title-deeds as the most
precious of their inheritances ; the
city of the Great Salt Lake is only
the temporary home of their exile ;
and Brigham Young, in his will,
which was published the other day,
after giving instructions for his
funeral, says : " But if I should live
to get back to the church in Jack-
son County, Missouri, I wish to be
buried there."

It is not our purpose to follow
the persecuted fanatics in all their
early migrations. Driven from

place to place, they came, in 1840,
to Hancock County, Illinois, where
the owner of a large tract of wild
land gave Smith a portion of it, in
order to create a market for the
rest. The prophet sold it in lots
to his followers, at high prices, and
there, on the bank of the Mississip-
pi, the Mormons built the city of
Nauvoo. It was revealed to them
that they should build a goodly
and holy " boarding-house," and
give Joseph Smith and his posterity
a place in it for ever, and those who
had money were commanded by
name to put it into the enterprise
(" Revelation given to Joseph
Smith, Jan. 19,1841"). They were
to build a magnificent temple also;
they were to organize a military
force, known as the Nauvoo Le-
gion ; they were to create, in short,
within the limits of Illinois, a theo-
cratic state, with Joseph Smith at
its head as mayor, general, pro-
phet, church president, and inspir-
ed mouthpiece of the divine will.
The city grew as if by magic. The
legislature of Illinois granted it a
charter of such extraordinary lib-
erality that its officers became prac-
tically independent of all other au-
thority. The apostles, sent all
over America and England, preach-
ed with such zeal that in the course
of six years no fewer than fifteen
thousand believers were numbered
in the Nauvoo community. Arrest-
ed several times for , treason, for
instigating an attempt at murder,
and for other crimes, Joseph Smith
was released by Mormon courts
and set all " Gentile" laws at defi-
ance. He was absolute in every-
thing, organizing the government
upon the most despotic principles,
yet copying in some things the sys-
tem and the phraseology of the
Hebrew nation. His aids and
counsellors received names and ti-

240

The tivo Prophets of 1\I or monism.

ties imitated from the Bible. Brig-
ham Young was " the Lion of the
Lord," Parley P. Pratt was " the
Archer of Paradise," Orson Pratt
was " the Gauge of Philosophy,"
John Taylor was " the Champion
of Right," Lyman Wight was "the
Wild Ram of the Mountains." No
one could deal in land or liquor
except Joseph Smith. No one
could aspire to political office or
to church preferment without his
permission. No one could travel
abroad or remain quiet at home ex-
cept by his consent. In Kirtland,
with the assistance of Rigdon, he
had started a bank and flooded the
country with notes that were never
redeemed. In Nauvoo he amassed
what was, for that time and that
region, the great fortune of $1,000,-
ooo. From the first gathering of
the saints into communities he had
made it a practice to use them in
politics. He had given their votes
to one party or another as interest
dictated, and in 1844 he went so
far as to offer himself for the Pres-
idency of the United States, and
sent two or three thousand elders
through the States to electioneer
for him.

As he grew in pride and prosper-
ity the revelations multiplied, the
faith became more and more ex-
travagant, the ceremonies and or-
dinances of the church more cum-
brous and more mystical. Moroni
and Raphael^ Peter and John, visit-
ed and conversed with him. He
healed the possessed ; he wrestled
with the devil. The brethren be-
gan to prophesy in the temple;
mysterious impulses stirred the
congregations ; " a mighty rushing
wind filled the place"; "many
began to speak in tongues; others
saw glorious visions, and Joseph
beheld that the temple was filled
with angels, and told the congrega-

tion so. The people of the neigh-
borhood, hearing an unusual sound
within the temple, and seeing a
bright light like a pillar of fire rest-
ing upon it, came running together
and were astonished at what was
transpiring." * This diabolic mani-
festation, or alleged manifestation,
reminds us of the scenes in the
Irvingite congregations in London
six years previously, when those
brethren likewise prophesied in an
unknown language. But the speci-
mens of the Mormon " gift of
tongues " which have been pre-
served for us are not calculated to
inspire awe. " Eli, ele, elo, ela —
come, coma, como — reli, rele, rela,
relo — sela, selo, sele, selum — vavo,
vava, vavum — sero, sera, seri, se-
rum " — such was the style of the
rhapsodies which inflamed the zeal
of the Mormon saints. f

It was discovered that there was
no salvation in the next world with-
out Mormon baptism, and, to pro-
vide for the generations which pre-
ceded Joseph Smith, every saint
was told to be immersed vicarious-
ly for his dead ancestors. There,
was incessant dipping and sputter-
ing ; the whole church for a sea-
son was in a chronic state of cold
and dampness ; and the recorders
worked their hardest, laying up in
the temple the lists of the regener-
ated for the information of the
angels. The double hierarchy be-
came so complicated that long study
was needed to comprehend it. The
church offices were multiplied.
The authority of the president and
the apostles grew more and more
despotic. A travelling sho\vman
visited the West with some Egyp-
tian mummies. Joseph Smith
bought them, and, finding in the

* Autobiography of Joseph Smith, quoted by
Stenhouse.

t This is quoted by Capt. Burton, but he does
not give his authority.

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

241

wrappings a roll of papyrus, he pro-
duced a miraculous translation of
the hieroglyphics as the " Book of
Abraham." A fac-simile of the
papyrus was taken to Paris in 1855
by M. Re"my and submitted to the
Egyptologist Deveria, who found
it to consist of a representation of
the resurrection of Osiris, together
with a funerary manuscript of com-
paratively recent date.

All who have studied the manu-
facture of American religions and
social philosophies are aware how
characteristic of these moral and
intellectual rebellions is an attack
upon the Christian law of marriage.*
The inventions of Joseph Smith
soon took the usual course, although
it was probably not until near the
end of his career that he became
bold enough to contemplate the
general establishment of polygamy.
It appears that as early as 1838
he had a number of "spiritual
wives " who cohabited with him, and
Mr. Stenhouse asserts that " many
women" have boasted to him that
they sustained such relations with
the prophet. This sort of license,
however, was an esoteric doctrine,
for the advanced believers only,
not for the common people. In-
deed, in 1842, although a practical
plurality had been for some time
enjoined by the illuminated, the
doctrine was formally repudiated
by a number of elders, apostles,
and women, who declared that they
knew of no other marriage than
that of one wife to one husband.
In 1845 an appendix on" Marriage"
was added to the book of Doc-
trine and Covenants, in which oc-

* About the time of the invention of Mormonism
Robert Owen's communistic propaganda was mak-
ing an extraordinary sensation in America. In his
"Declaration of Mental Independence'1 at New
Harmony, July 4, 1826, Owen declared that man
had up to that hour been the slave of " a trinity of
monstrous evils "—Irrational Religion, Property,
and Marriage.

VOL. XXVI. 16

curs the following passage : " In-
asmuch as this church of Christ has
been reproached with the crime of
fornication and polygamy, we de-
clare that we believe that one man
should have one wife, and one wo-
man but one husband, except in
case of death, when either is at lib-
erty to marry again." Yet it is be-
yond all question that Joseph long
before this had been involved in
serious domestic difficulties on ac-
count of the jealousy of his true
wife, Ernma, and he was obliged to
resort to " revelation " to pacify
her. The " Revelation on Celestial
Marriage," which enjoins a plurality
of wives as a service especially ac-
ceptable to God, purports to have
been given at Nauvoo in 1843. It
contains these sentences :

"And let mine handmaid Emma
Smith receive all those that have been
given unto my servant Joseph, and who
are virtuous and pure before me. And
I command mine handmaid Emma Smith
to abide and cleave unto my servant
Joseph and to none else. And again
verily I say, let mine handmaid forgive
my servant Joseph his trespasses, and
then shall she be forgiven her tres-
passes."

The revelation, however, was kept
secret until long after Joseph's
death. Emma, if not satisfied, was
quieted. The spiritual marriages
went on, and even the initiated
continued to deny them. John
Taylor, the present head of the
church, held a public discussion of
Mormonism in the English colony
at Boulogne in 1850, and stoutly
denied the doctrine of polygamy,
although he had at the time five
wives in Utah.

It was polygamy that brought
Joseph to his violent end. He
had attempted to take the wife of
a disciple named Law. The hus-
band rebelled, and with one or two
other malcontents established a

242

The tit>o Prophets of Mormonism.

paper called the Nauvoo Expositor,
for the purpose of exposing the
secret corruptions of the "prophet
and his chief associates. Only one
number was printed- Joseph or-
dered the press to be destroyed
and the type scattered. Law and
his party appealed to the autho-
rities of the county for redress.
Writs of arrest were issued, and
set aside by the Mormon courts.
The government called out the
militia to enforce the process. An
armed conflict appeared inevitable,
when the Mormon leaders surren-
dered, and Joseph Smith, Hyrum
Smith, John Taylor, and Willard
Richards were lodged in the coun-
ty jail at Carthage. There, on the
27th of June, 1844, they were at-
tacked by an armed mob. Hy-
rum was shot down at the first
volley and almost instantly expir-
ed. Joseph, after defending him-
self with a revolver, attempted to
escape by the window, and was
killed by a discharge of musketry
from the yard below.

In his lifetime the prophet was
often denounced and resisted by
his own followers ; " revelation "
repeatedly put down revolts ; apos-
tates in great numbers, including
the very founders of the church,
were cut off and given over to Sa-
tan for questioning the truth of
Joseph's inspired utterances. But
his death healed all such quarrels.
He became in the eyes of his fa-
natical followers the first of saints,
the most glorious of martyrs. To
this day even those who do not
believe in Mormonism argue that
Joseph must have believed in it,
because for its sake he lived a life
of persecution and submitted to a
cruel death. The narrative which
we have briefly sketched is enough
to show the fallacy of this reason-
ing. Mormonism gave Joseph

Smith wealth, power, flattery, and
sensual delights. It found him a
miserable, penniless country boy;
it made him the ruler of a state,
the autocrat of a thriving commu-
nity, the head of a harem. There
never was a time when the choice
was offered him between worldly
advantage on the one hand and
fidelity to his creed on the other.
To renounce his pretensions would
have been the ruin of his fortunes.
Having once entered upon the ca-
reer of imposture, he had every
temptation to persevere to the end.
He was mobbed and exiled and
imprisoned, not because he believ-
ed in the Book of Mormon, but be-
cause he warred upon existing so-
cial and political institutions ; and
there was nothing to make his
death more sacred than that of
any other cheat and libertine who
is murdered by masked ruffians in
a frontier settlement. After his
death the twelve apostles ruled the
church, waiting for' the will of
Heaven to designate by inspiration
a new leader.* Sidney Rigdon
claimed the prophetic office, but
was rejected and driven forth.
The prime mover in his excommu-
nication was the senior apostle, to
whom the accident of rank gave a
practical precedence in all the af-
fairs of the church. He taught the
saints to be patient and expectant,
to reverence Joseph as their chief
for all eternity, to be governed by

* In the " Revelation on Celestial Marriage "
Joseph Smith is styled " him who is anointed both
as well for time and for all eternity ; and that, too,
most holy," and it is added: ''I have appointed
unto my servant Joseph to hold this power in the
last days, and there is never but one on the earth
at a time on whom this power and the keys of this
priesthood are conferred." Hence a government
by the quorum of apostles, in the Mormon idea, can
never be anything but an interregnum. They be-
lieve that Heaven will not fail to send them a " pro-
phet, seer, and revelator," and, as Brigham succeed-
ed Joseph, so they look for some one in the appointed
time to succeed Brigham. Una avulso, nan deficit
alter.

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

243

Joseph's voice, to cease vexing
themselves about Joseph's succes-
sor. This was Brigham Young.

At length the time was ripe and
the minds of the people were pre-
pared. On the 24th of December,
1847, Brigham ascended the pulpit
to preach. The Gentiles assert
that he arranged his face and
dress, modulated his voice, regulat-
ed his gestures, to imitate the de-
parted prophet. The effect was
electrical. The people believed
that Joseph stood before them. Wo-
men screamed and fainted; men
wept ; cries resounded through
the temple. Here was the succes-
sor of Joseph at last, and Brigham
Young was made president of the
church, and recognized as " pro-
phet, seer, and revelator." He
was a man greatly inferior in edu-
cation to some of the other leaders,
and lie had done little as yet to
justify the preference now shown
him. He was a native of Vermont,
and one of the early converts. Be-
fore joining the church he had
been a painter and glazier. In the
church he was noted as a stanch,
shrewd, hard-working, useful broth-
er, not much troubled with visions
or theological theories, rarely caught
up by those tempests of spiritual
madness whicli used to sweep
through the congregations. He
could not have devised the impos-
ture which Joseph and Rigdon cre-
ated. He could not have built up
the elaborate system which they
constructed out of Old-World re-
ligions and modern politics. He
was fierce, and perhaps fanatical,
but he had little imagination and
little inventiveness. In the case of
other early Mormons it was some-
times doubtful whether they were
not occasionally deceived by their
own impostures, hurried along by a
spirit which they had raised and

knew not how to control ; but
Brigham offered no cause for such
suspicion. He left Mormonism a
very different thing from what it
was in 1840, yet he added nothing
to it. A change had been going on
insensibly ever since the saints
gathered at Nauvoo ; a further
change had been begun by the
preaching of Orson Pratt; and
Joseph Smith had originated two
great movements — the introduction
of polygamy and the removal into
the heart of the wilderness — which
Brigham was to bring to their term.
He is the developer, therefore, of
other men's ideas.

The notion that the Mormons
were a chosen and inspired people,
blessed with revelations not given
to the rest of the world, and gov-
erned by the direct and special
commands of Heaven, necessarily
implied the establishment of an
independent political community,
and it was their disloyalty to the
state rather than their immoralities
which roused against them so often
in the early times the anger of
mobs and the animosity of the
civil authorities. The experiment
of creating a state within a state
had failed, and Joseph Smith be-
fore his death had taken the first
steps towards beginning a new
settlement in the far West, and
removing the whole body of his
disciples to some remote and
solitary region where neither the
United States nor any other gov-
ernment would be likely to inter-
fere with them. It was Brigham's
part to lead this extraordinary
exodus. It began more than a
year before his formal appointment
as head of the church ; it was has-
tened by the fact that warrants
had been issued in Illinois for the
arrest of a large number of promi-
nent saints on a charge of manu-

244

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

facturing counterfeit money, and
that, partly on this account, partly
by reason of the prevalence of
murders, thefts, arsons, and vari-
ous other outrages in which the
Mormons and their opponents were
about equally implicated, Nauvoo
appeared likely soon to be the
theatre of a civil war. An explor-
ing party had been sent to the
Pacific coast in 1844. Early in
February, 1846, the general migra-
tion began. Rarely has the world
witnessed such a scene. The great
temple at Nauvoo had just been
completed with extravagant splen-
dor. The city contained 17,000
inhabitants, and only a small frac-
tion of their valuable property
could be disposed of at any price.
They abandoned all that they could
not carry, sacrificed their lands and
houses, collected about twelve hun-
dred wagons, and, under the com-
mand of captains of fifties and cap-
tains of hundreds, crossed the Mis-
sissippi on the ice and moved into
the wintry wilderness. We shrink
from repeating the narrative of
that horrible march. For more
than two years they toiled west-
ward, strewing the path with their
dead. In winter they camped
near Council Bluffs, and thence
Brigham and a body of pioneers
made their way across the Rocky
Mountains. The first detachment
reached the Great Salt Lake in
July, 1847; the rest followed in the
summer of 1848. It was a parched,
desolate, rainless valley, but the
wanderers hailed it as a haven of
rest ; they encamped on the bank
of a small stream, rested their
weary animals, and without loss
of an hour began to plough the
ground, sow the autumn crops, and
build a dam and a system of irri-
gating canals. They had escaped
from the United States as they

fondly believed, and were on the
soil of Mexico, where they had no
doubt they could maintain them-
selves against the feeble Mexican
government. But " manifest des-
tiny " was pursuing them. The
boundaries of the United States
were soon extended beyond this
region by the treaty of Guadalupe
Hidalgo ; the discovery of gold in
California destroyed the isolation
of the new Sion ; it was no longer
a city hid in the desert, but a rest-
ing-place on a great route of travel ;
and the irrepressible conflict be-
tween the federal republic and the
absolute theocracy has been stead-
ily growing sharper and sharper
ever since. Of the great multitude
which set out from Nauvoo barely
four thousand ever reached the
Great Salt Lake, the rest having
deserted or dropped by the way ;
but thousands of converts soon ar-
rived from England, and in a very
short time the community was again
strong and prosperous. In 1849,
just a year after the treaty of
Guadalupe Hidalgo, the Mormons
formally declared themselves " free
and independent," and decreed the
erection of the " State of Deseret,"
whose imaginary boundaries en-
closed the whole of Nevada and
Utah, and large parts of New Mexi-
co, Arizona, California, Oregon,
Idaho, Colorado, and Wyoming.
To this political fiction they have
resolutely adhered; and even while
recognizing, as a matter of pru-
dence, the de facto organization of
the United States Territory of
Utah, they have always maintained
the de jure existence of their free
and independent state.* Brigham,
of course, was chosen governor of
Deseret, and he held that title to

* To avoid unpleasantness, the '' Legislature of
Deseret " annually re-enacts en bloc the laws of
the territorial legislature of Utah.

The two Prophets of Monnonisni.

245

the day of his death, although, with
his usual worldly shrewdness, he
also accepted from Presidents Fill-
more and Pierce the title of gov-
ernor of Utah.

To understand, however, the op-
position which soon developed into
such alarming hostility between
Deseret and the United States, we
must look at the changes which
had been taking place in Mormon-
ism itself. Possibly the early disci-
ples of Joseph Smith were in the
main ignorant, peaceable, and well-
meaning fanatics, but in twenty
years their character had under-
gone a transformation. They first
became quarrelsome, then dishon-
est, next licentious, and afterwards
unspeakably cruel and bloodthirsty.
Joseph Smith lived long enough to
see the beginning even of this last
stage of corruption, but it was
Brigham Young who brought the
budding immoralities into full flow-
er. The " Revelation on Celestial
Marriage " was brought forth at a
public meeting in Salt Lake City
on the 2pth of August, 1852, and
Brigham Young gave a history and
explanation of it. The original
manuscript was burned up by Jo-
seph's real wife, Emma; but Brig-
ham had a copy.

" This revelation," said he, "has been
in my possession many years, and who
has known it? None but those who
should know it. I keep a patent lock
on my desk, and there does not anything
leak out that should not. . . . The prin-
ciple spoken of by Brother Pratt this
morning we believe in. Many others
are of the same mind. They are not ig-
norant of what we are doing in our so-
cial capacity. They have cried out, Pro-
claim it ; but it would not do a few years
ago ; everything must come in its time,
as there is a time to all things. I am
now ready to proclaim it."

We do not read that any particu-
lar sensation was created by the

announcement. Indeed, the prac-
tice had already become so com-
mon that a federal judge, a year
before this date, had denounced it
in a Mormon assembly, and made a
somewhat remarkable appeal to the
women to put a stop to the horri-
ble practice :

" The women were excited ; the most
of them were in tears before he had
spoken many minutes. The men were
astonished and enraged, and one word
of encouragement from their leader
would have brought on a collision.
Brigham saw this, and was equal to the
occasion. When the judge sat down, he
rose, and, by one of those strong, ner-
vous appeals for which he is so famous
among the brethren, restored the equilib-
rium of the audience. Those who but a
moment before were bathed in tears
now responded to his broad sarcasm
and keen wit in screams of laughter ;
and having fully restored the spirits of
the audience, he turned to the judge and
administered the following rebuke: 'I
will kick you,' he said, 'or any other
Gentile judge from this stand, if you or
they again attempt to interfere with the
affairs of our Sion.' "*

Judge Brocchus, finding his life
in danger, resigned his office and
left the Territory. Once avowed, a
belief in the doctrine was pronounc-
ed essential to salvation, and the
practice of it was carried to a depth
of bestiality which would horrify a
Turk. All degrees of relationship
were practically ignored. Incest
and vicarious marriage became ev-
ery-day affairs. The saints were
taught that " when our father Adam
came into the Garden of Eden he
came into it with a celestial body
and brought Eve, one of his wives,
with him " ; f and such blasphemies
were coupled with the holiest of all

* The Mormon Profiket. By Mrs. C. V. Waite.
Cambridge. 1866.

t Address by Brigham Young in the Salt Lake
City Tabernacle. April 9, 1852, four months before
the publication of Joseph's " Revelation."

246

The tii'o Prophets of Mormonism.

names that the Christian shudders
to think of them.

The formal adoption of the doc-
trine of polygamy, no longer as the
personal peculiarity of a few lead-
ers, but as the corner-stone of
Mormon society, had a result which
Brigham doubtless anticipated when
he established it. The separation
of the saints from the rest of Chris-
tendom was made complete and
final. Gentile civilization had forc-
ed itself upon their mountain re-
treat, and in the daily contact with
Christianity and common sense the
Mormon imposture was not likely
long to survive. But the institu-
tion of plural marriage placed be-
tween the Gentile and the Latter-
Day Saint a barrier more formida-
ble than snow-crowned sierras and
alkali deserts. Social intercourse
became impossible between the fol-
lowers of the two rival systems.
Contempt and horror on the one
side bred hatred on the other. For
the polygamous saint, moreover,
judging after the manner of men,
there was no repentance. He was
tied for ever to the church, an out-
law from all Christendom, liable to
a long imprisonment if he re-enter-
ed the pale of society, safe even in
Utah only so long as he enabled
the " Governor of Deseret " to defy
the authority of the United States.
The polygamist learned to place in
the prophet all his hopes for this
world and the next, and to accept
all his utterances with the docility
of a child. So Brigham became
not only a more powerful man than
Joseph Smith, but beyond doubt
the most absolute ruler in the en-
tire world.

It was now that the Mormon
theology began to assume its most
repulsive shape. Cut off from its
early connection with a form of
Christianity which, however cor-

rupt, contained at least a remnant
of the ancient faith, it sank with
startling rapidity into the most dis-
mal abysses of polytheism. To the
materialistic doctrines which con-
stituted the foundation and chief
characteristic of the philosophy of
Orson Pratt and other primitive
expounders of Mormonism, was
added an immense mass of crude
and incongruous beliefs, not de-
veloped by any process of logic,
but simply heaped on by agglome-
ration. Daily " revelations " brought
forth daily inconsistencies and ab-
surdities, under the weight of which
the truths once professed by Smith
were gradually buried 'and forgot-
ten. Hence it is impossible to
construct for Mormonism anything
like a theological system. We can
only state the isolated and often
contradictory principles which are
held by the saints at the present
day, premising that although many
of them can be traced more or less
distinctly in the early literature of
the sect, the most shocking of them
were little, if at all, known until un-
der Brigham Young the separation
of the saints was completed. The
most startling of Mormon dogmas,
relieved of extraneous complica-
tions, is that God is only a good
man, and that men advance by
evolution until they become gods.
There is no Creator, there is no
creature, there is no immaterial
spirit. What we call God, says
one authority, is nothing but the
truth abiding in man. What we
call God, says Orson Pratt, is "a
material intelligent personage, pos-
sessing both body and parts," like
an ordinary man. He has legs,
which he uses in walking, though
he can move up and down in the
air without them. He cannot be
in more than one place at a time.
He dwells in a planet called Kolob.

The two Prophets of Mormonism.

247

He was formed by the union of
certain elementary particles of mat-
ter, self-moving, intelligent, and ex-
isting from all eternity. All mat-
ter is eternal. All substances are
material. The souls of men were
not created ; they are from eternity,
like God himself. God eats, drinks,
loves, hates; his relations with man-
kind are purely human ; he begets
existences in the natural way.*
Before he became God he was an
ordinary man. He differs from
other men now only in power. He
is not omnipotent ; he still increases
and may continue to increase in-
finitely. As God is only an improv-
ed man, so man may come by grad-
ual progress to know as much as
God. Indeed, there are already in-
numerable gods. The first verse of
Genesis, " In the beginning God
created heaven and earth," ought to
read: "The Head God brought
forth the gods, with the heavens
and the earth. "f Each god rules
over a world which he has peopled
by generation, and the god of our
world is Adam, who is only another
form of the archangel Michael ; " he
is our father and our God, and the
only God with whom we have to
do." The Mormons believe in a
vague way in the Trinity — nay, in
two Trinities, one composed of Fa-
ther, Son, and Holy Spirit ; the
other, and older, of " Elohim, Jeho-
vah, and Adam." The Father and
Son have bodies of flesh and blood ;
they occupy space ; they require
time to move from place to place ;
but the Holy Spirit (which is the
mind of the Father and the Son),

' " You believe that Adam was made of the dust
of this earth. This I do not believe. I never did
and I never want to, because I have come to un-
derstanding and banished from my mind all the
baby stories my mother taught me when I was a
child" (Sermon by Brigham Young, Oct. 23,
1853).

t Joseph Smith professed to get this version by
inspiration.

although his substance is material,
has no flesh and blood and per-
meates everything. After death
the souls of the wicked will be im-
prisoned in the brutes. The saints
will inhabit the planets, where they
will have houses, farms, gardens,
plantations of manna, and plenty of
wives, and they will go on marrying
and multiplying for all eternity.
When this planetary system is filled
up, new worlds will be called into
existence, and in them the faithful,
gradually developing into gods, will
revel in the sensual delights of a
Moslem paradise.

Surely no such mixture of panthe-
ism, polytheism, and rank atheism
was ever devised before ; but we
have not yet reached the worst.
It was in 1852 that Brigham pro-
claimed the doctrine that Adam is
God, and to be honored and rever-
ed as such. To this soon follow-
ed the announcement that Joseph
Smith was God. In a year or two
more the doctrine was taught, at
first cautiously, but after 1856 pub-
licly and officially, that the only
God to whom this generation is
amenable is BRIGHAM YOUNG !

The declaration of this appal-
ling impiety was made in the midst
of a tempestuous " Reformation"
which historians will probably
regard as the culminating point
of Mormon fanaticism. In the
autumn of 1856 one Jedediah
Grant, who stood high in the Mor-
mon priesthood, began to preach a
revival in which the most remarka-
ble practices were public " accusa-
tions of the brethren" and public
"confessions of sin." An uncon-
trollable madness seized upon the
whole community. Preachers and
penitents vied with one another in
disgusting disclosures. The meet-
ings resounded with wails and
curses and slanderous charges.

248

The two Prophets of Mormonisni.

Men, women, and children, not sat-
isfied with laying bare their hidden
sins, accused themselves of crimes
they had never committed, and
called upon the church to punish
and disgrace them. " Go to Presi-
dent Young," was the cry of the
preachers. " Give up all that you
have to President Young — your
money, your lands, your wives,
your children, your blood." " Brig-
ham Young," exclaimed Heber
Kimball, " is my God, is your God,
is the only God we shall ever see,
if we do not obey him. Joseph
Smith was our God when he was
amongst us ; Brigham Young is our
God now." The church authori-
ties fanned the flame of excitement.
They sent preachers into every
ward and every settlement. Thou-
sands of the saints placed all their
property in Brigham's hands.*
Then they became inflamed with
persecuting zeal. They sacked
the houses of offenders, whipped
and mutilated those who spoke
evil of the church. From such
outrages it was but a step to mur-
der. At Brigham's instigation the
step was taken. In a discourse in
the Tabernacle in February, 1857,
he laid down a new law of love.
We must love our neighbors as our-
selves. But if we love ourselves,
we must consent to the shedding
of our own blood in order to atone
for our sins and exalt us among the
gods ; so also it is true love to shed
our neighbor's blood for his eternal
salvation. " I could refer you to a
plenty of instances where men have
been righteously slain in order to
atone for their sins. The wicked-
ness and ignorance of the nations

* They made it over to him as trustee, retaining,
however, the use of it. Thus an additional tie
was made to keep them true to the faith. Brigham
could at any time take away all that they possessed,
and if they left the Territory they would have to
go penniless.

forbid this principle being in full
force, and the time will come
when the law of God will be in full
force. This is loving our neigh-
bor as ourselves ; if he needs help,
help him ; if he wants salvation,
and it is necessary to spill his blood
on the earth in order that he may
be saved, spill it !" " There are sins,"
said he on another occasion while
the " Reformation " was at its
height, '* that must be atoned for
by the blood of the man. That is
the reason why men talk to you as
they do from this stand ; they un-
derstand the doctrine and throw
out a few words about it. You
have been taught that doctrine, but
you do not understand it." Alas!
understanding came soon enough.
The Springville murders in March,
1857, were followed that summer
by the appalling massacre at the
Mountain Meadows of one hun-
dred and twenty peaceable emi-
grants, men, women, and children,
on their way to California. The
midnight assassin went his rounds.
The church executioners were de-
spatched upon their awful missions.
Sinners were sent on errands from
which they never returned. Apos-
tasy was punished by the knife or
the bullet. A Welshman named
Morris set up as a rival prophet, and
was shot down in cold blood with
a number of his deluded followers.
Gentiles were put to death for pre-
suming to dispute with Mormons
over the title to property. A hus-
band took his wife upon his knee
and calmly cut her throat to atone
for her sins.

"Men are murdered here," said a
federal judge to the grand jury — " coolly,
deliberately, premeditatedly murdered.
Their murder is deliberated and deter-
mined upon by church-council meetings,
and that, too, for no other reason than
that they had apostatized from your

The two Prophets of Mor monism.

249

church and were striving to leave the
Territory. You are the tools, the dupes,
the instruments of a tyrannical church
despotism. The heads of your church
order and direct you. You are taught
to obey their orders and commit these
horrid murders. Deprived of your lib-
erty, you have lost your manhood and
become the willing instruments of bad
men."

Close upon the reign of terror
established by the " Reformation "
came the great Mormon rebellion,
and the march of an army to Utah
to install the territorial officers ap-
pointed by President Buchanan.
Brigham thundered defiance from
the pulpit ; but on the approach of
the troops he ordered the whole
community to leave their homes
and once more move out into the
wilderness to build a new Sion. It
is a wonderful illustration of the
fanaticism and abject submission
to which he had brought the peo-
ple that this order was promptly
obeyed. Before the " war " was set-
tled by negotiation no fewer than
30,000 poor creatures took flight,
and many of them, being utterly
destitute, were never able to return.
The frenzy of the Reformation era
died out ; the rebellion was quell-
ed; but the doctrine of blood-
atonement has not been abandon-
ed, and to this day the soil of Utah
is red with human sacrifices.

With such a savage and brutal
paganism as the Mormon religion
thus became under Brigham Young's
influence it is impossible that Chris-
tian civilization should ever be at
peace. The steady resistance
which it has offered to the authori-
ty of the United States needs no
further explanation than we find in

the constitution of the Mormon
Church and the fundamental doc-
trines of the Mormon creed. There
are chapters in the history of the
Latter-Day Saints upon which we
have not thought it necessary to
linger. The organization of the
Danites, and the long list of mur-
ders and other outrages preceding
the open inculcation of human sac-
rifices, are among the most impor-
tant of the events which we have
thus passed over. They might be
considered excrescences which time
would perhaps remove. We have
confined ourselves to the natural
and logical consequences of the
preaching of the two prophets ; to
the circumstances which throw
light upon their personal charac-
ters ; to the facts which may ena-
ble people to place a juster valua-
tion than now seems to be current
upon the elements which they have
introduced into American society
and the work which they have ac-
complished in the Rocky Mountain
desert. Accepting even the most
extravagant estimates of the mate-
rial prosperity of the Mormon set-
tlements, we think it must be ad-
mitted that their thrift is a curse to
the world. And as for Brigham
himself, cold, calculating, avari-
cious, sensual, violent, cruel, roll-
ing in luxury, stretching out his
hands on every side to grasp the
property of his dupes, and pushing
them on from crime to crime, from
horror to horror, that he might the
better amass money, he will take
his place in history not only as a
worse man than Joseph Smith, but
as one of the most dangerous mon-
sters ever let loose upon the world.

250 To the Wood-Thrush.

TO THE WOOD-THRUSH.

How shall I put in words that song of thine ?

How tell it in this struggling phrase of mine ?

That strange, sweet wonder of full-throated bliss,
The wild-wood freedom of its perfectness,

Faint scent of flowers frail, strong breath of pine,

The west wind's music, and the still sunshine.

Could I weave sunshine into words, hold fast

Day's sunset glow that it might ever last,

That clothes as with immortal robe each height,
Rugged and stern 'mid glare of noonday light,

Softened beneath eve's gracious glory cast —

Like soul released, from strife to sweetness passed —

Were such power mine, so might I hope, perchance,
In fitting speech to rhyme thy song's romance,
To sing its sweetness with a note as sweet
As thine that makes this sunset hour complete —
As voice beloved doth richest joy enhance,
As swelling organ yearning soul doth trance.

There is no sorrow set in thy pure song ;

Thy notes to realms where all is joy belong.

Thou callest — woods grow greener through thy voice,
The stainless skies in deeper peace rejoice,

All their best glories through thy singing throng —

Voice of a life that ne'er knew thought of wrong !

No martyr life of conquered grief is thine,
Whose happiness but through old tears can shine;
So, sure, didst thou in Eden sing ere Eve,
Our eldest mother, learned for life to grieve,
When thought was fresh, and knowledge still divine,
And in love's light no shade of death did twine.

Our songs to-day grow sweetest through our pain ;

Our Eden lost, we find it not again.
Even our truest, most enduring joy
Earth's twilight darkens with its dusk alloy.

Soft, -soft the shadow of thy heaven-dropt strain

Only our weakness dims with sorrow's stain.

Thou singst, O hermit bird ! of Paradise,
Not as lamenting its lost harmonies,

Not as still fair through perfect penitence,

But as unconscious in first innocence —
Token of time thou art when sinless eyes
Were homes for cloudless thoughts divinely wise.

The God of "Advanced" Science.

251

All tilings that God found good seem yet to fill

The few sweet notes that triumph in" thy trill ;
All things that yet are good and purely fair
Give unto thee their happy grace to wear.

Sweet speech art thou for sunset-lighted hill ;

Yet day dies gladlier when thou art still.

And I, O rare brown thrush ! that idly gaze
Far down the valley's mountain-shadowed ways —
Where bears the stream light burden of the sky,
Where day, like quiet soul, in peace doth die,
Its calm gold broken by no storm-clouds' blaze —
Hearken, joy-hushed, thy vesper song of praise

That from yon hillside drops, strong carolling,

A living echo thereto answering,

Doubling the sweetness with the glad reply
That drifts like argosy, joy-laden, by.

Light grows my soul as thy uplifted wing ;

Heart knows no sorrow when it hears thee sing !

THE GOD OF "ADVANCED" SCIENCE.

" THE fool hath said in his heart :
There is no God." None but fools
attempt to blind themselves to the
irrefragable evidence which com-
pels the admission of a Supreme
Being ; and not even these can en-
tirely succeed in such an endeavor.
For it is only in the frowardness of
their heart, not in the light of their
reason, that they pronounce the
blasphemous phrase ; their heart,
not their intellect, is corrupted ;
so that, notwithstanding the great
number of avowed atheists who. at
different times have disgraced the
human family, one might be justi-
fied in saying that a real atheist,
a man positively convinced of the
non-existence of God, has never
existed.

What has led us to begin with
this remark is an article in the
Popular Science Monthly (July, 1877)
entitled " The Accusation of Athe-

ism," in which the able but unphi-
losophical editor undertakes to show
that although modern " advanced "
science may not profess to recog-
nize the God of the Bible, yet we
have no right to infer that this
" advanced" science is atheistical.
The God of the Bible is to be sup-
pressed altogether ; but " advanc-
ed " scientists, who have already
invented so many wonderful things,
are confident that they have suffi-
cient ability to invent even a new
God. Our good readers may find
it a little strange ; but we are not
trifling. The invention of a new
God is just now the great postula-
tum of the infidel pseudo-philoso-
phers. The less they believe in
the living God who made them,
the more would they be delighted
to worship a mock-god made by
themselves, that they might not be
accused of belonging to that class

252

The God of '•'Advanced" Science,

their

of fools who have said
heart : There is no God.

Prof. Youmans starts with the
bright idea that if Dr, Draper had
entitled his book " a history of the
conflict between ecclesiasticism
and science" instead of " between
religion and science," he would
have disarmed criticism and saved
himself from a great deal of philo-
sophical abuse. We cannot see,
however, how criticism could have
been disarmed by the mere adop-
tion of such a change. The whole
of Dr. Draper's work breathes in-
fidelity; it falsifies the history of
Christianity ; it denounces religion
as the enemy of science ; and from
the first page to the last it teems
with slander and blasphemy ; it is,
therefore, a real attack upon reli-
gion. On the other hand, we must
assume that Dr. Draper knew what
he was about when he opposed
"religion" to science; he said just
what he meant; and this is, per-
haps, the only merit of his produc-
tion. If the title of the book were
to be altered so as to " disarm cri-
ticism," we would suggest that it
should be made to read: A mali-
cious fabrication concerning a fabu-
lous conflict between religion and
science.

Then Prof. Youmans proceeds to
say that religious people " are
alarmed at the advancement of
science, and denounce it as sub-
versive of faith." This is not the
case. Religious people are not in
the least alarmed at the advance-
ment of science, nor do they feel
the least apprehension that science
may prove subversive of faith; quite
the contrary. They love science,
do their best to promote it, accept
thankfully its discoveries, and ex-
pect that it will contribute to
strengthen, not to subvert, the re-
vealed truths which form the ob-

ject of theological faith. We ad-
mit, at the same time, that there is
a so-called "science " for which we
have no sympathy. Such a pretend-
ed " science " originated, if we do
not mistake, in the Masonic lodges
of Germany, whence it gradually
spread through England and Amer-
ica by the efforts of the same secret
organization. The promoters of
this neoteric science boast that
their cosmogony, their biology,
their sociology, their physiology,
etc., are " subversive " of our faith ;
which would be true enough, if
their theories were not at the same
time " subversive " of logic and
common sense. But when we
show that their vaunted theories
cannot bear examination, when we
point out the manifold absurdities
and contradictions they fall into,
when we lay open the sophisms by
which their objectionable assertions
are supported, and challenge them
to make a reply, they invariably
quail and dare not open their
mouths, or, if they venture to speak
they ignore criticism with a conve-
nient unconcern which is the best
palliation of their defeat. As an ex-
ample of this we may remind Prof.
Youmans that we ourselves have
given a refutation of Prof. Huxley's
lectures on evolution, and that we
have yet to see the first attempt at
a reply. We have also refuted
defence of Prof. Huxley written by
Prof. Youmans himself in answer to
Rev- Dr. W. M. Taylor, and we
have shown how his own " scienti-
fic " reasoning was at fault in every
point; but of course his scientific
acuteness did not allow him to
utter a word of reply. No, we are
not afraid of a " science " which
can be silenced with so little effort
Were it not that there is a prevail-
ing ignorance so easily imposed
upon by the charlatanism of false

The God of "Advanced" Science.

253

science, there would be no need
whatever for denouncing it : it de-
nounces itself sufficiently to a logi-
cal mind.

Prof. Youmans pretends that the
difficulty of religious people with
regard to advanced science is sim-
ply that of " narrowness or igno-
rance inspired by a fanatical ear-
nestness." We are greatly obliged
by the compliment ! Prof. Youmans
is, indeed, a model of politeness,
according to the standard of mod-
ern progress; but it did not occur
to him that, before speaking of the
" narrowness and ignorance " of
his critics, he should have endea-
vored to atone for his own blunders
which we pointed out in our num-
ber for April. To our mind, a
man whose ignorance of logic and
of many other things has been de-
monstrated has no right to talk of
the ignorance of religious people.
And as to " fanatical earnestness,"
we need hardly say that it is in the
Popular Science Monthly and in
other similar productions of " sci-
entific " unbelievers that we find
the best instances of its convulsive
exertions. But let us proceed.

" Atheism," continues the professor,
"has now come to be a familiar and
stereotyped charge against men of sci-
ence, both on the part of the pulpit and
the religious press. Not that they ac-
cuse all scientific men of atheism, but
they allege this to be the tendency of

; scientific thought and the outcome of
scientific philosophy. It matters noth-
ing that this imputation is denied ; it
matters nothing that scientific men claim
that their studies lead them to higher
and more worthy conceptions of the di-
vine power, manifested through the or-
der of nature, than the conceptions of-
fered by theology. It is enough that they
disagree with current notions upon this

I subject, and any difference of view is
here held as atheism. In this, as we
have said, the theologians may be honest,
but they are narrow and bigoted."

Mr. Youmans does not perceive
the tendency of" scientific" thought
to foster atheism. Not he ! Dar-
win's theory of development has
for its principal object to destroy,
if possible, the history of creation
and to get rid of the Creator. This
Mr. Youmans does not perceive.
Tyndall, in his Belfast lecture, pro-
fesses atheism as the outcome of
scientific philosophy, and, though
he has offered some explanations to
screen himself from the imputa-
tion, he stands convicted by his
own words. Of this Mr. Youmans
takes no notice. Biichner ridicules
the idea that there is a God, and
teaches that such an idea is obso-
lete, contrary to modern science,
and condemned by philosophy as
a manifest impossibility. Mr. You-
mans seems to hold that this is not
genuine atheism. Huxley, to avoid
creation, gives up all investigation
of the origin of things as useless
and unscientific, and the advanced
thinkers in general are everywhere
at work propagating the same view
in their scientific lectures, books,
journals, and magazines. Yet Prof.
Youmans wishes the world to be-
lieve that the tendency of advanc-
ed scientific thought is not towards
atheism ! Is he blind ? The man
who writes Nature with a capital
letter, who denies creation, who
contributes to the best of his power
to the diffusion of infidel thought,
can hardly be ignorant of the fact
that what is now called advanced sci-
ence is, in the hands of its apostles
and leaders, an engine of war
against God. But he knows also
that to profess atheism is bad poli-
cy, for the present at least. Sci-
ence, as he laments in many of his
articles, has not yet advanced
enough in the popular mind ; peo-
ple are still " narrow" and " igno-
rant," and even "fanatic" — that is,

-54

The God of "Advanced" Science.

their religious feelings and consci-
entious convictions do not yet per-
mit a direct and outspoken con-
fession of the atheistic tendency
of modern "scientific" thought.
Hence he is obliged to be cautious
and to put on a mask. Such are,
and ever have been, the tactics of
God's enemies. Thus Prof. Huxley,
in his lectures on evolution, while
attacking the Biblical history of
creation, pretends that he is only
refuting the " Miltonian hypothe-
sis." The same Prof. Huxley, with
Herbert Spencer and many others
of less celebrity, endeavors to con-
ceal his atheism, or at any rate to
make it appear less repulsive, by
(he convenient but absurd admis-
sion of the Great Unknown or Un-
knowable, to which surely neither
he nor any other scientist will offer
adoration, as it would be an utterly
superfluous, unscientific, and un-
philosophical thing to worship what
they cannot know. And Prof.
Youmans himself follows the same
tactics, as we shall see in the se-
quel. Hence we do not wonder
that he considers Mr. Draper's
words " a conflict between religion
and science" as unfortunate, and
only calculated to provoke criticism
and theological abuse. It would
have been so easy and so much
better to say " between ecclesiasti-
cism and science." This would
have saved appearances, and might
have furnished a plausible ground
for repelling the accusation of athe-
ism.

But, says Prof. Yxmmans, " this
imputation is denied." We answer
that the imputation cannot be
evaded by any such denial. If
there were question of the inti-
mate convictions of private indi-
viduals, their denial might have
some weight in favor of their secret
belief. Men very frequently do

not see clearly the ultimate conse-
quences of their own principles ; and
it is for this reason that an atheis-
tic science does not always lead to
personal atheism. As there are
honest Protestants who believe on
authority, though their Protestant
principle sacrifices authority to
private judgment, so also there are
many honest scientists who, not-
withstanding their admission of
atheistic theories, believe in God.
This is mere inconsistency after
all; and it can only furnish a
ground for judging of the views of
individual scientists.

But our question regards the
tendency of " advanced scientific
thought" irrespective of the incon-
sistency of sundry individuals.
This question is to be solved from
the nature of the principles and of
the conclusions of " advanced " sci-
ence ; and if such principles and
such conclusions are shown to lead
logically to atheism, it matters very
little indeed that " the imputation
is denied." This the editor of
the Popular Science Monthly must
admit. Now, that atheism is the
logical outcome of " advanced"
science may be proved very easily.
Dr. Buchner, in his Force and Mat-
ter, gives a long scientific argumen-
tation against the existence of God.
The science which led him to this
profession of atheism is the " ad-
vanced " science of which Prof. You-
mans speaks. Has any among the
advanced scientists protested against
Dr. Biichner's conclusion ? Have
any of them endeavored to show
that this conclusion was not logi-
cally deduced from the principles
of their pretended science ? Some
of them may have been pained at
the imprudent sincerity of the Ger-
man doctor ; but what he affirms
with a coarse impudence they too
insinuate every day in a. gentler

The God of "Advanced" Science.

255

tone and in a more guarded phra-
seology. Their doctrine is that
" whereas mankind formerly be-
lieved the phenomena of nature to
be expressions of the will of a per-
sonal God, modern science, by re-
ducing everything to laws, has giv-
en a sufficient explanation of these
phenomena, and made it quite un-
necessary for man to seek any fur-
ther account of them." Dr. Car-
penter, from whom we have borrow-
ed this statement, adds : " This is
precisely Dr. B*iichner's position ;
and it seems to me a legitimate in-
ference from the very prevalent as-
sumption (which is sanctioned by
the language of some of our ablest
writers) that the so-called laws of
nature ' govern ' the phenomena of
which they are only generalized
expressions. I have been protest-
ing against this language for the
last quarter of a century." *

Mr. Youmans himself implicitly
admits that " advanced " science
has given up the old notion of God ;
and he only contends that scien-
tists, while disregarding the God
of theology, fill up his place with
something better. " Scientific men
claim that their studies lead them
to higher and more worthy concep-
tions of the divine power manifested
through the order of nature than
the conceptions offered by theolo-
gy." Our readers need hardly be
told that this claim on the part of
our advanced scientists is prepos-
terous and ridiculous. For if the
order of nature could lead to a
conception of divine power higher
or worthier than the conception of-
fered by theology, it would lead to a
conception of divine power greater
and higher than omnipotence ; for
omnipotence is one of the attri-
butes of the God of theology. But

* See the whole passage in the Popular Science
Monthly for November. 1872.

can we believe that Mr. Youmans
entertains the hope of conceiving a
power higher than omnipotence?
How, then, can he make good his
assertion ? On the other hand, the
God of theology is immense, eter-
nal, and unchangeable, infinitely
intelligent, infinitely wise, infinitely
good, infinitely perfect, as not only
all theologians but also all philoso-
phers unquestionably admit. Must
we believe that our scientists will
be able to conceive a higher intel-
lect, wisdom, or goodness than in-
finite intellect, infinite wisdom, or
infinite goodness ? Will they ima-
gine anything greater than immen-
sity, or than eternity? The edi-
tor of the Popular Science Monthly
has a very poor opinion indeed of
the intellectual power of his ha-
bitual readers, if lie thinks that
they will not detect the absurdity
of his claim.

But there is more than this. " Ad-
vanced " science has repeatedly con-
fessed its inability to form a con-
ception of God. The ultimate con-
clusion of " advanced " science is
that the contemplation and study
of nature afford no indication of
what a God may be ; so much so
that the leaders of this " advanc-
ed " science, after suppressing the
God of theology, could find noth-
ing to substitute in his place but
what they call " the Great Un-
known " and " the Great Unknow-
able." Now, surely, the unknow-
able cannot be known. How, then,
can these scientists claim that their
studies lead them "to higher and
more worthy conceptions of the
divine power " ? Can they con-
ceive that which is unknown and
unknowable ? Have they any means
of ascertaining that a thing unknow-
able has power, or that its power
is divine ?

Let them understand that if their

256

The God of "Advanced" Science.

" Unknowable " is not eternal, it is
no God ; if it is not omniscient, it is
no God ; if it is not omnipotent, it
is no God. And, in like manner,
if it is not self-existent, immutable,
immense, infinitely wise, infinitely
good, infinitely perfect, it is no
God. And, again, if it is not our
Creator, our Master, and our Judge,
it is no God, and we have no rea-
son for worshipping it, or even for
respecting it. How can we know
that these and similar attributes
can and must be predicated of the
Unknowable, since the unknowable
is not and cannot be known ? If,
on the contrary, we know that such
a being is omnipotent, omniscient,
eternal, immense, and infinitely per-
fect in all manner of perfections,
then it is obvious (even to Prof.
Youmans, we assume) that such a
being is neither unknown nor un-
knowable. Thus the unknowable
can lay no claim to " divine pow-
er " or other divine attributes ; and
therefore the pretended worship-
pers of the Unknowable vainly at-
tempt to palliate their atheism by
claiming that their studies have led
them " to a higher and more worthy
conception of the divine power
than the conception offered by
theology."

As to Prof. Youmans himself, he
tells us that the divine nature is
"unspeakable and unthinkable."
This evidently amounts to saying
that the divine nature is unknowa-
ble, just as Herbert Spencer, Hux-
ley, and others of the same sect
have maintained. - The professor
will not deny, we trust, that what
is unthinkable is also unknowable,
unless he is ready to show that he
knows the square circle. Hence
the remarks we have passed on the
doctrine of his leaders apply to
him as well as to them. It is sin-
gular, however, that neither he nor

any of his sect has thought of ex-
amining the question whether the
" Unknowable " has any existence
at all. For if it has no existence,
they must confess that they have
not even an unknown God, and
therefore are absolute atheists; and
if they assume that it has a real
existence, they are supremely illo-
gical ; for no one has a right to
proclaim the existence of a thing
unknown and unknowable. The
existence of the unknowable cannot
be affirmed unless it be known ;
but it cannot be known unless the
unknowable be known ; and this
implies a manifest contradiction.
To affirm existence is to affirm a
fact ; and Mr. Youmans would cer-
tainly be embarrassed to show that
science, however "advanced," can
affirm a fact of which it has no
knowledge whatever. Hence athe-
ism is the legitimate result of the
doctrine which substitutes the "Un-
knowable " in the place of the God
of theology ; and " it matters noth-
ing " that this consequence is pro-
visionally denied by Prof. Youmans.
Were it not that the horror inspired
by the impious pretensions of his
fallacious science obliges him to
keep within the measures of pru-
dence, it is very likely that Prof.
Youmans would not only not deny
his " scientific " atheism, but even
glory in its open profession. So
long as this cannot be safely done
he must remain satisfied with writ-
ing Nature with a capital N.

From these remarks we can fur-
ther infer that Mr. Youmans' com-
plaint about the narrowness and
bigotry of theologians is utterly un-
founded. There is no narrowness
in rejecting foolish conceptions, and
no bigotry in maintaining the rights
of truth. Theology condemns your
doctrines, not because they " disa-
gree with current notions," but be-

The God of "Advanced" Science.

257

cause they are manifestly impious
and absurd. The views you encour-
age are atheistical. You admit only
the Unknowable ; and the Unknow-
able, as we have just proved, is not
God. Hence the theologians are not
" narrow " nor " bigoted," but strict-
ly logical and reasonable, when they
condemn your doctrines as atheis-
tical.

And now Prof. Youmans makes
the following curious argument :

" It is surprising that they (the theolo-
gians) cannot see that in arraigning sci-
entific thinkers for atheism they are sim-
ply doing what stupid fanatics the world
over are always doing when ideas of the
Deity different from their own are main-
tained. And it is the more surprising
that Christian teachers should indulge in
this intolerant practice when it is re-
membered that their own faith was
blackened with this opprobrium at its
first promulgation."

Herealongpassageis quoted from
The Contest of Heathenism with
Christianity^ by Prof. Zeller, of
Berlin, in which we are reminded
that the primitive Christians were
reproached with atheism because
they " did not agree with the pre-
vailing conceptions of the Deity,"
and that " Down with the atheists "
was the war-cry of the heathen mob
against the Christians. This sug-
gests to Mr. Youmans the following
remarks :

" It would be well if our theologians
would remember these things when
tempted to deal out their maledictions
upon scientific men as propagators of
atheism. For the history of their own
faith attests that religious ideas are a
growth, and that they pass from lower
states to higher unfoldings through pro-
cesses of inevitable suffering. It was
undoubtedly a great step of progress
from polytheism to monotheism, . . .
but this was neither the final step in the
advancement of the human mind toward
the highest conception of the Deity, nor
the last experience of disquiet and grief
VOL. XXVI.— 17

at sundering the ties of old religious
associations. But if this be a great nor-
mal process in the development of the
religious feeling and aspiration of hu-
manity, why should the Christians of
to-day adopt the bigoted tactics of hea-
thenism, first applied to themselves, to
use against those who would still further
ennoble and purify the ideal of the Di-
vinity ?"

Thus, according to the professor,
as the pagans were wrong and stu-
pid in denouncing the Christians as
atheists, so are the Christians both
wrong and stupid in denouncing
the atheistic tendency of " advanc-
ed " science ; and the reason alleg-
ed is that as the pagans did not
recognize the superiority of mono-
theism to polytheism, so the Chris-
tian theologians fail to see the su-
periority of the " scientific " Un-
knowable to the God of Christian-
ity. Need we answer this? Why,
if anything were wanting to prove
that Prof. Youmans is laboring for
the cause of atheism, his very man-
ner of arguing may be regarded as a
convincing proof of the fact. For,
if his reasoning has any meaning,
it means that as the Christians re-
jected the gods of the pagans, so
Prof. Youmans rejects the God of
the Christians ; and this is quite
enough to show his atheism, as he
neither recognizes our God, nor has
he found, nor will he ever find, an-
other God worthy of his recogni-
tion ; for, surely, the " Unthinkable "
of which he speaks is not an ob-
ject of recognition.

On the other hand, is it true that
the history of Christianity " attests
that religious ideas are a growth,
and that they pass from lower
states to higher unfoldings " ?
Does the history of Christianity
attest, for instance, that our con-
ception of God has passed from a
lower to a higher state ? But, waiv-
ing this, it requires great audacity

The God of "Advanced" Science.

to contend that the theory -of the
"Unknowable" and of the "Un-
thinkable " is an unfolding of the
conception of God. We appeal to
Prof. Youinans himself. A theory
of natural science which would lay
down as the ultimate result of hu-
man progress that what we call
chemistry, geology, astronomy, me-
chanics, electricity, optics, magnet-
ism, is something " unknowable "
and " unthinkable," would scarcely
be considered by him an " unfold-
ing" of science. For how could
he " unfold " his thoughts in the
Popular Science Monthly, if the sub-
ject of his thought were " unthink-
able " ? But, then, how can he as-
sume that his theory of the "un-
thinkable " is an " unfolding " of
the conception of God ? God can-
not be conceived, if he is unthinka-
ble. We conceive God as an eter-
nal, immense, omnipotent, personal
Being. These and other attributes
of Divinity, as conceived by us,
constitute our notion of God ; and
this notion is as unfolded as is con-
sistent with the limits of the human
mind. But to " unfold " the con-
ception of Divinity by suppressing
omnipotence, wisdom, eternity,
goodness, and all other perfections
of the divine nature, so as to leave
nothing " thinkable " in it, is not
to unfold our conception, but to
suppress it altogether.

As to the flippant assertion that
the Christian conception of Divinity
is not "the final step in the ad-
vancement of the human mind to-
ward the highest conception of the
Deity," we might say much. But
what is the use of refuting what
every Christian child knows to be
false? We conceive God as the
supreme truth, the supreme good,
and the supreme Lord of whatever
exists ; and he who pretends that
there is or can be a " higher con-

ception of the Deity " has himself
to thank if men call him a fool.

We shall say nothing of " intoler-
ant practices," " stupid fanaticism,"
or " bigoted tactics." These are
mere words. As to " the aspiration
of humanity," it may be noticed that
there is a secret society that con-
siders its aspirations as the aspira-
tions of " humanity," and, when it
speaks of " humanity," it usually
means nothing more and nothing
better than its " free and accepted "
members. This " humanity " has
doubtless some curious aspirations ;
but mankind does not aspire to de-
throne God or to pervert the no-
tion of Divinity.

Prof. Youmans accounts for " the
aspiration of humanity " in the fol-
lowing manner :

" It cannot be rationally questioned
that the world has come to another im-
portant stage in this line of its progres-
sion. The knowledge of the universe,
its action, its harmony, its unity, its
boundlessness and grandeur, is compa-
ratively a recent thing ; and is it to be
for a moment supposed that so vast a
revolution as this is to be without effect
upon our conception of its divine con-
trol ?"

This manner of arguing is hardly
creditable to a professor of science ;
for, even admitting for the sake of
argument that the knowledge of
the universe is comparatively " a
recent thing," it would not follow
that such a knowledge must alter
the Christian conception of the di-
vine nature. Let the professor
make the universe as great, as
boundless, and as harmonious as
possible ; what then ? Will such a
universe proclaim a new God ? By
no means. It will still proclaim
the same God, though in a louder
voice. For the harmony, beauty,
and grandeur of the universe reveal
to us the infinite greatness, beauty,

The God of "Advanced" Science.

259

and wisdom of its Creator; and the
greater our knowledge of such a
universe, the more forcible the de-
monstration of the infinite perfec-
tion of its Creator. Now, this Crea-
tor is our old God, the God of the
Bible, the God to whom Mr. You-
mans owes his existence, and to
whom he must one day give an ac-
count of how he used or abused his
intellectual powers. This is, how-
ever, the God whom the professor
would fain banish from the uni-
verse. Is there anything more un-
philosophic or more unscientific ?

But the knowledge of the uni-
verse, from which we rise to the
conception of God, is not "a re-
cent thing." Infidels are apt to
imagine that the world owes to them
the knowledge of natural science.
We must remind them that science
has been built up by men who be-
lieved in God. " Advanced" sci-
ence is of course " a recent thing,"
but it does not " constitute an im-
portant stage" in the line of real
progress ; for it consists of nothing
but reckless assumptions, deceitful
phraseology, and illogical conclu-
sions. Three thousand years ago
King David averred that " the
heavens show forth the glory of
God, and the firmament declareth
the work of his hands." Has ad-
vanced science made any recent
discovery in the heavens or on
earth which gives the lie to this
highly philosophical statement ?
Quite the contrary. It is, there-
fore, supremely ridiculous to talk
of a " vast revolution" whose ef-
fect must be " to purify the ideal
of Divinity." This vast revolution
is a dream of the professor.

But he says :

" Is it rational to expect that the man
of developed intellect whose life is spent
in the all-absorbing study of that mighty
and ever-expanding system of truth that

is embodied in the method of Nature
will form the same idea of God as the
ignorant blockhead who knows and cares
nothing for these things, who is incapa-
ble of reflection or insight, and who pas-
sively accepts the narrow notions upon
this subject that other people put into
his head ? As regards the divine
government of the world, two such con-
trasted minds can hardly have anything
in common."

This is a fair sample of the logi-
cal processes of certain thinkers " of
developed intellect." Our profes-
sor assumes, first, that Catholic theo-
logians are "ignorant blockheads,"
that they " know and care nothing"
for natural truths, that they are "in-
capable of reflection or insight,"
and that they " passively accept"
what others may put into their
heads. Would it not be more rea-
sonable to assume that a " block-
head" is a man who asserts what
cannot be proved, as a certain pro-
fessor is wont to do ? And would
it be unfair to assume that the man
who " knows and cares nothing""
for truth is one who beguiles his
readers into error, and, when con-
victed, makes no amends ? We
would not say that the professor is
" incapable of reflection or insight/''
for we think that no human being
can be so degraded as to deserve
this stigma ; but we cannot help
thinking that Mr. Youmans " pas-
sively accepts" many absurd no-
tions, for which he cannot account,
except by saying that they " have
been put into his head" by such
"developed intellects" as Huxley's^
Darwin's, Spencer's, and other no-
torious falsifiers of truth.

Professor Youmans assumes also
that our intellects cannot be " de-
veloped " enough to form a true
conception of God, unless we apply
to " the all-absorbing study of the
method of Nature," by which he
means the conservation of energy,.

260

The God of ''Advanced" Science.

the indestructibility of matter, the
evolution of species, and other
cognate theories. This assumption
has no foundation. To form a true
conception of God it suffices to
know that the universe is subject
to continual changes, and therefore
contingent, and consequently cre-
ated. This leads us directly to the
conception of a Creator, or of a
First Cause which is self-existent,
independent, and eternal. Modern
science and " developed intellects"
have nothing to say against this.
It is therefore a gross absurdity to
assume that the study of the method
-of nature interferes with the old
conception of God.

A third assumption of the profes-
sor is that our notion of divine na-
ture is " narrow." It is astonish-
ing that Mr. Youmans could have
allowed himself to make so mani-
festly foolish a statement. Is there
anything " narrow" in immensity ?
in omnipotence ? in eternity ? in
infinite wisdom ? or in any other at-
tribute of the true God ? And if our
notion of God, which involves all
such attributes, is still " narrow,"
what shall we say of the professor's
notion which involves nothing but
the "unthinkable" — that is, nothing
at all ?

The professor proceeds to say
that if a man is ignorant and stupid
his contemplation of divine things
will reflect his own limitation.
This is a great truth ; but he should
have been loath to proclaim it in a
place where we find so many proofs
of his own " limitation." On the
other hand, it is not from the igno-
rant and the stupid that our philoso-
phers and theologians have derived
their notion of God ; and to confound
the latter with the former is, on the
part of a " developed intellect," a
miserable show of logic. The ig-
norant and the stupid, continues

Mr. Youmans, " will cling to a
grovelling anthropomorphism," and
conceive of the Deity " as a man
like himself, only greater and more
powerful, and as chiefly interested
in the things that he is interested
in." To which we answer that the
stupid and the ignorant of divine
things are those who do not know
God, and who maintain against the
universal verdict of reason that
God is " unknowable." We defy
Mr. Youmans to point out a stu-
pidity and an ignorance of divine
things which equals that of him who
pretends to think of the "unthink-
able." This is even worse than
"to cling to a grovelling anthropo-
morphism." Of course our anthro-
pomorphism is a poetic invention
of the "developed intellect," and
therefore we may dismiss it without
further comment.

"The profound student of science," he
adds, " will rise to a more spiritualized
and abstract ideal of the divine nature, or
will be so oppressed with a conscious-
ness of the Infinity as to reverently re-
frain from all attempts to grasp, and
formulate, and limit the nature of that
which is past finding out, which is un-
speakable and unthinkable."

To understand the real meaning
of this sentence we must remember
that he who wrote it does not ac-
cept the God of theologians. Sci-
entific men, as he has told us, claim
that their studies lead them "to
higher and more worthy concep-
tions " of the divine power than
the conceptions offered by theolo-
gy. It is obvious, therefore, that
the " spiritualized and abstract
ideal of the divine nature " to which
the profound student of science is
expected to rise is not the ideal
recognized by theology. This is
very strange; for if theology does
not furnish the true ideal of divine
nature, much less can such an ideal

The God of "Advanced" Science.

261

be furnished by the science of mat-
ter. Every science is best ac-
quainted with its own specific ob-
ject; and since God is the object
of theology, the ideal of the divine
nature is to be found in theology,
not in natural science. Hence " the
profound student of science " may
indeed determine the laws of phy-
sical and chemical phenomena,
speak of masses and densities, of
solids and fluids, and of other ex-
perimental subjects without much
danger of error, but he has no
qualification for inventing a new
ideal of divine nature. The ideal
of a thing exhibits the essence of
the thing; and the study of essen-
ces does not belong to the scientist,
whose field is confined within the
phenomena and their laws. The
best scientists confess that they do
not even know the essence of mat-
ter, though matter is the proper
and most familiar object of their
study. Yet these are the men who,
according to Mr. Youmans, should
know best the essence of God.

But we should like further to
know how the " profound student "
of advanced science will be able to
rise to a " spiritualized " ideal of
Divinity. The general drift of mod-
ern infidel science is towards ma-
terialism. It teaches that thought
is secreted by the brain as water is
by the kidneys, or, at least, that
thought consists of molecular move-
ments, and that the admission of a
spiritual substance in the organ-
ism of man is quite unwarrant-
ed. How, then, can a science
which rejects spiritual substances
lead its " profound student " to a
spiritualized ideal of Divinity? It
is Vnanifest, we think, that all this
talk is mere jugglery, and the pro-
fessor himself seems to have felt
that it was ; for he admits that the
profound student of science may

be " so oppressed with a conscious-
ness of the Infinite as to refrain
from all attempts to grasp and for-
mulate and limit the nature of what
is past finding out." This last ex-
pression shows that Mr. Youmans
has no ground for expecting that
his profound student will rise to
the ideal of the divine nature, as
what is " past finding out " will
never be found, and is not only
" unspeakable," as he declares, but
also "unthinkable." The profound
student of science is therefore,
doomed, so far as Mr. Youmans
may be relied on, to remain with-
out any ideal of God. What is this
but genuine atheism ?

Mr. Youmans will reply that his
profound student will not be an
atheist, because he will feel " so
oppressed with the consciousness
of the Infinite." But we should
like to know how the profound stu-
dent can have consciousnessof what
he cannot think of. And, in like
manner, if the Infinite is unthink-
able, how can the profound student
know that it is infinite? These
contradictions go far to prove that
" ignorance " and " stupidity," far
from being the characteristics of
Christianity, find a more congenial
abode in the " developed intellects
of the profound students of advanc-
ed science."

As all errors are misrepresenta-
tions of truth, we cannot dismiss
this point without saying a word
about the truth here misrepresent-
ed. God is incomprehensible;
such is the truth. God is unthink-
able ; this is the error. To argue
that what is incomprehensible is
also unthinkable, is a manifest fal-
lacy. There are a very great num-
ber even of finite things which we
know but cannot comprehend. For
instance, we know gravitation, elec-
tricity, and magnetism, but our

262

The God of "Advanced" Science.

knowledge of them is quite inade-
quate. We know ancient history,
though numberless facts have re-
mained inaccessible to our research.
We know the operations of our own
faculties, but we are far from com-
prehending them. Comprehension
is the perfect and adequate know-
ledge of the object comprehended.
If the cognoscibility of the object
is not exhausted, there is knowledge,
but not comprehension ; and as our
finite intellect has no power of
exhausting the cognoscibility of
things, human knowledge is not
comprehension, though no one will
deny that it is true and real know-
ledge. In like manner, though we
do not comprehend the infinite, yet
we conceive it, and we know how
to distinguish it from the finite.
We know what we say when we af-
firm that the branches of the hy-
perbola extend to infinity, that the
decimal division of ten by three
leads to an infinite series of figures,
that every line is infinitely divisi-
ble, that every genus extends infi-
nitely more than any of its subor-
dinate species, and the species in-
finitely more than the individual,
etc. Thus the notion of the infinite
is a familiar one among men ; and
when Mr. Youmans contends that
the infinite is unthinkable, he com-
mits a blunder, and every one of
his readers has the right to tell him
that such a blunder in inductive
science is inexcusable.

Perhaps it may not be superflu-
ous to point out, before we con-
clude, another fallacy of the " de-
veloped intellect " of the professor.
He assumes that to form a concep-
tion of God is to limit the divine
nature ; for he declares that the
profound student of science oppress-
ed with the consciousness of Infin-
ity ought reverently to refrain
"from all attempts to grasp, and

formulate, and /////// the nature of
that which is past finding out."
We would inform Mr. Youmans
that the notion of a thing does not
limit the thing, but simply ex-
presses that the thing is what it is,
whether it be limited or unlimited.
In all essential definitions some no-
tion is included, which expresses
either perfection or imperfection.
When we say that a being is ir ra-
tional ^ we point out an imperfec-
tion, or a defect of further perfec-
tion ; whereas when we say that a
being is rational, we express a per-
fection of the being. Now, since
all imperfection is a real limit, it
follows that all denial of imperfec-
tion is a denial of some' limit, and
therefore the affirmation of every
possible perfection is a total exclu-
sion of limit. Thus omnipotence
excludes all limit of power, eternity
all limit of duration, omniscience all
limit of knowledge, immensity all
limit of space. We need not add
that all the other attributes of God
exclude limitation, as they are all
infinite. It is evident, therefore,
that we can " formulate " our no-
tion of God without " limiting " the
divine nature ; and that those
" profound students " of nature
whose " developed intellect " is
" oppressed with the consciousness
of Infinity " strive in vain to pal-
liate their atheism by " reverent-
ly (?) refraining from all attempts to
grasp and formulate " the nature
of the Supreme Cause.

We may be told that Prof. You-
mans, though lie rejects the " God
of theology," admits something
equivalent — viz., Infinity, the con-
sciousness of which he feels so op-
pressive. He also admits that "'re-
ligious feelings may be awakened "
in a mind so oppressed by the
thought of Infinity, and insists that
"religious teachers ought in these

The God of "Advanced" Science.

263

days to have liberality enough to
recognize this serious fact, remem-
bering that human nature is reli-
giously progressive as well as pro-
gressive in its other capacities."
Would not this show that we can-
not without injustice hold him up
as a professor of atheism ? We re-
ply that the accusation of atheism
preferred against the tendency of
advanced science has been met by
the professor in such a manner as
to give it only more weight, ac-
cording to the old proverb which
says that

Causa pa.trocin.io non bonapejor frit.

He does not believe in the God
of theology. In what does he be-
lieve? In the "unthinkable"!
This is sheer mockery. But the
unthinkable is said to be infinite.
This is sheer nonsense, as we have
shown. Again, the unthinkable is
said to awaken religious feelings.
This is written for unthinkable per-
sons. The professor, as we have
already noticed, admires the gran-
deur of nature, and holds it to be
"boundless," and therefore infinite.
This may lead one to suspect that
the material universe — the sun, the
planets, the stars, heat, light, elec-
tricity, gravity, and their laws — con-
stitute the " Infinity " with the con-
sciousness of which the professor is
oppressed. If this could be sur-
mised, we might regard him as a
pantheist. This, of course, would
not better his position, as panthe-

ism is, after all, only another form
of atheism. But if nature (or rath-
er Nature, as he writes it) is his
Deity, how can he affirm that such
a nature is " unspeakable " and
" unthinkable " ? If nature is " un-
thinkable," the science of nature is
a dream ; and if it is " unspeak-
able," all the talk of the Popular
Science Monthly is a fraud.

If Prof. Youmans wishes us to
believe that " advanced " science
does not tend to foster atheism, and
that its foremost champions are not
atheists, let him come forward like
a man, and show that, after reject-
ing the God of theology and of
philosophy, another God has been
found, to whom " developed intel-
lects " offer religious worship, and
in whom their religious feelings are
rationally satisfied. Let him give
us, above all, his " scientific " rea-
sons for abandoning the God of the
Bible, in whom we " ignorant block-
heads " have not ceased to believe ;
and let him state his "philosophic "
reasons also, if he has any, that
we may judge of the case according
to its full merit. We need not be
instructed about the " religious
progressiveness " of mankind, or
any other convenient invention of
unbelievers ; we want only to know
the new God of " advanced "
science, his nature and his claims.
When Prof. Youmans shall have
honestly complied with this sugges-
tion, we shall see what answer can
best meet his appeal to the " liber-
ality " of religious teachers.

264

A Legend of Dieppe.

A LEGEND OF DIEPPE.

A r.i.ooMY three days' storm has
prevailed all along the French
coast. Dull gray clouds hide the
blue vault of heaven and frown
upon the tossing waters beneath.
The fresh, invigorating air, remem-
bered with delight by all who have
ever been in Normandy, has given
place to a damp, chilly heaviness,
broken occasionally by fierce gusts
of wind and rain. The fisher-boats
are all in port, the small ones drawn
up high on the beach, the larger
securely anchored. But this is not
due only to the storm. Even if it
were the fairest of weather, no
Dieppe fisherman would set sail to-
day. It is All-Souls' day — the feast
of the dead, the commemoration
of the loved and lost ; and who is
there that has not loved and lost ?
But among these simple Catholic
souls one feels that the loved are
nevey lost. The dead live still in
the tender remembrance of those
left behind. Tears shed in prayer
for the departed have no bitterness.

But the heartless and ungrateful
man \vho fishes to-day will be eve-
rywhere followed by his double — a
phantom fisher in a phantom boat.
All signs fail him, all fish escape
his net. Again and again he draws
it in empty. If he persist, at length
he thinks himself rewarded. His
net is so heavy he nearly swamps
his boat in the endeavor to draw it
in ; and horrible to "say, his catch
is only grinning skulls. and disjoint-
ed human bones.

At night, tossing on his sleepless
pillow, he hears the ghostly "white
car " rolling through the silent
street. He hears his name called
in the voice of the latest dead of
his acquaintance, and dies himself
before the next All-Souls' day.

Spite of the bleak and rainy
weather, all the good people of
Dieppe, or rather of its fisher sub-
urb, Le Pollet, are gathered to-
gether in church. Rude as it is,
weather-beaten, discolored, gray-
green, like the unquiet ocean it
overlooks, Notre Dame du Pollet
is still grand and picturesque. It
has suffered both from time and
desecration, as is seen by its broken
carvings, empty niches, and ruined
tombs. The altars are plain, the
ornaments few and simple. On the
wall of the Lady chapei hang two
rusty chains — the votive offering, it
is said, of a sailor of Le Pollet,
once a slave to pirates. Miracu-
lously rescued by Our Lady, he re-
turned to his native place only to
sing a Te Deum in her chapel and
hang up his broken fetters therein ;
then, retiring to a neighboring
monastery, he took upon himself a
voluntary bondage which love made
sweet and light.

It is the solemn Mass of requiem,
and almost noon, though the som-
bre day, subdued yet more by stain-
ed-glass windows, seems like a win-
ter twilight. The church is all in
deep shadow, except the sanctuary
with its softly-burning lamp, and
its altar decked with starry wax-
lights. Black draperies hang about
the altar, black robes are upon the
officiating priests. The slow, mourn-
ful chant of the Dies Ira, sung by
a choir invisible in the darkness, re-
sounds through the dim, lofty aisles.

Motionless upon the uneven
stone pavement kneel the people, a
dark and silent mass, only relieved
here and there by the gleam of a
snowy cap or bright-colored ker-
chief; for the fisher-folk, and, in-
deed, all the peasantry of thrifty

A Legend of Dieppe.

265

Normandy, dress in serviceable
garb, of sober colors. There is
one little group apart from the rest
of the congregation ; not all one
family, for they are too unlike.
They seem to be drawn together
by some common calamity or
dread. First is an old woman
perhaps seventy years of age, and
looking, as these Norman peasants
usually do, even older than her
years. The full glow of light from
the altar falls upon her white cap,
with the bright blue kerchief tied
over it. A string of large beads
hangs from her bony fingers. Her
eyes, singularly bright for one so
aged, are raised to the black-veil-'
ed crucifix, and tears glisten upon
her brown and withered cheeks.
Her arm is drawn through that of
a slender young woman, and near
them is a little girl, round and
rosy. All three are dressed nearly
alike, and all say their beads,
though not with the same tearful
devotion. Anxiety and weariness
are in the young girl's pale but
pretty face ; and the child looks
subdued, almost frightened, by the
gloom around her.

Behind them kneels a comely
matron, a little child clinging to
her gown ; near her two fisher-
men, one old and gray-haired.
The other, who is young, has an arm
in a sling; he kneels ,upon one
knee, his elbow on the other, and
his face hidden in his hand.

They are two households over
whom hangs the shadow of a ca-
lamity, perhaps all the greater be-
cause of its uncertainty. Two
months ago Jacques Payen and his
son sailed for the fishery. Jacques
Suchet and his cousin, Charles
Rivaud, completed the crew ; for
Jean Suchet, disabled by a broken
arm, remained at home with his
grandmother and sister. The
season proved unusually stormy.

Two fishing-boats of Le Pollet
narrowly escaped the terrible rocks
of the Norman coast; and one of
these reported seeing a vessel, re-
sembling that of the Payens, drift-
ing past them in a fog, with broken
mast and cordage dragging over
the side. They hailed the wreck,
but heard no reply, and conclud-
ed that the crew had been swept
overboard, or possibly had escaped
in their boat.

Weeks had passed since this
vague but terrible intelligence had
reached the stricken families. Old
Mere Suchet had at once received
it as conclusive. She wept and
prayed for the bold young fishers,
the hope and comfort of her old
age. Not so Manon Payen. No
one' dared condole with her, not
even her old father, Toutain. Life
hitherto had gone so well with
her ! Her husband loved her ; her
son was her pride and delight ; her
rosy Marie and little toddling
Pierre filled her cottage with laugh-
ter and sunshine. Grief was so
new and strange and frightful.
What ! her husband and son taken
from her at one blow? No, it
could not be ! It was too dreadful !
God could not be so cruel ! Be-
sides, there were no better sailors
than the Payens, father and son ;
none who knew the coast so well,
with all its perils, its hidden rocks,
and dangerous currents. Their
vessel was new and strong; why
should they be lost; they alone?
Jean Pinsard was not positive it
was their vessel he had seen ; how
could he tell in a fog? No; she
was sure they were safe. They
had put in to one of the islands.
They would not risk a dangerous
journey in stormy weather just to
tell her, what she knew already,
that they were safe.

To Mere Suchet's Mathilde, the
betrothed of Jacques Payen> how

266

A Legend of Dieppe.

much better and clearer was this
reasoning than the submissive grief
of her pious old grandmother !
Young people cannot easily believe
the worst when it concerns them-
selves. Mathilde could not pray for
the repose of the souls of lover,
brother, and cousin. With the pas-
sionate, impatient yearning of a
heart new to affliction, she besought
the Blessed Mother for their safe
return. Her brother Jean did not
try to destroy her hopes, though he
would not say he shared them.

As time passed on and brought no
news of the absent, the hearts of
these two poor women grew faint
and sore ; but they refused to ac-
knowledge it to one another, or
even to themselves. Their days
passed in feverish, and often vain,
endeavors to be cheerful and busy;
their nights in anguish all the more
bitter because silent and unconfess-
ed. On All-Souls' day old Toutain
and Mere Suchet had wished to
have a Requiem Mass offered for
the lost sailors, but Mathilde wept
aloud at the suggestion, and Manon
forbade it instantly, positively, al-
most angrily.

Manon had borne up well through
the sad funereal services of the
church. She smiled upon her little
ones, and returned a serene and
cheerful greeting to the curious or
pitying friends who accosted her.
All day she had carried the burden
of domestic cares and duties, while
her heart ached within her bosom
and cried out for solitude. Now,
at night, alone with her sleeping
babes, the agony of fear and pain,
so long repressed, takes full posses-
sion of her sinking heart. Mingled
with the roar of the treacherous sea
she hears the voices of husband and
son, t now calling loudly for help,
now borne away on the fitful wind.
She sees their pale faces, with un-
closed eyes, floating below the cruel

green water, their strong limbs
entangled in the twisted cordage.
Now great, gleaming fish swim
around them. Oh ! it is too fearful.
From her knees she falls forward
upon her face and groans aloud.
But on a sudden she hears a stir
without — a sound of repressed
voices and many hurrying feet.
Hope is not dead within her yet;
for she springs to the window with
the wild thought that it is her
absent returned. No, 'tis but a
group of fishermen on their way
to the pier ; but Pinsard stops to
tell her, with a strange thrill in his
rough voice, that there is a fishing-
boat coming into port !

Manon screams to her father to
watch the little ones — she must go
to the pier — then flies out into the
night. It is not raining, and she re-
turns to snatch her wakened and
sobbing babe, and wrap him in his
father's woollen blouse. She does
not know when Mathilde joins her ;
she is scarcely conscious of the
warm, exultant clasp of her hand.
Jean is there, too, agitated but
grave.

As they turn the angle of the
village street, before them lies the
open bay. It is past midnight, but
the pier is crowded. There, truly,
coming on with outspread canvas,
white in the struggling rays of a
watery moon, is the missing ship !
They know it well. Upon the bro-
ken, pebbly shore the two women
kneel to thank God ; but they can
only lift up their voices and weep.

"They are not safe yet," says
Jean shortly. " The wind takes
them straight upon the pier. They
will need all our help."

The crowd make way instantly
for the breathless women. The
light-house keeper stands ready
with a coil of rope. The fishermen
range themselves in line, tighten
their belts, and wait to draw the

Death of Father Marquctte.

267

friendly hawser. Great waves thun-
der against the long pier, sending
showers of spray high above the
pale crucifix at the end against
which the women lean. Now the
moon, emerging from a light cloud,
sends a flood of pale radiance up-
on the vessel's deck. It is they !
Jacques Payen is at the helm; young
Jacques stands upon the gunwale.

The light-house keeper throws
his rope; the fishermen raise their
musical, long-drawn cry. Jacques
catches the rope, but in silence ;
and silently the crew make fast.

" It is their vow !" cries Manon,
darting forward among the wonder-
ing men. " They will not speak un-
til they sing Te Deum at Notre
Dame for their safe return."

Reassured, the men pull in vigor-
ously, but to no effect. Again, and
yet again, but the ship does not
move. A moment since it came
on swift as the wind ; now it seems
anchored for ever not fifty yards

away. They can see plainly every
object upon the deck, where the
silent crew stand gazing towards
the pier. Even Manon and Ma-
thilde have seized the rope, and
draw with the strength of terror.
Breathless, unsteady, large drops of
sweat standing upon their faces,
they pause irresolute. Stretching
her arms towards her husband,
Manon holds out her babe.

A white mist rises out of the sea
and hangs like a veil between them.
Sad, reproachful voices rise out of
the waves, some near at hand,
others far out. An icy wind lifts
the mist and carries it slowly away,
clinging for a moment like a shroud
around 'the crucifix. The cable
falls slack in the strong hands that
grasp it. The ship is gone — vanish-
ed without a sound ; but far away
echoes a solemn chorus, " Have
pity on me, have pity on me, at
least you, my friends, for the hand
of the Lord hath touched me-''

ROMANCE AND REALITY OF THE DEATH OF FATHER
JAMES MARQUETTE, AND THE RECENT DISCOVERY
OF HIS REMAINS.

THE bold and energetic explora-
tion by the Canadian Louis Jolliet
and the French Jesuit James Mar-
quette, in which, embarking in a
frail canoe, they penetrated to the
Mississippi by the Wisconsin, and
followed the course of the great
river to the Arkansas, gives them
and their important achievement a
place in American history. It was
an expedition carried out by two
skilled hydrographers familiar with
the extent and limit of American
exploration, trained by education
and long observation to map and
describe the countries through

which they passed. Their great
object was to determine the extent
of the river, its chief affluents, and
the nature of the tribes upon it, as
well as to decide whether it emp-
tied into the Gulf of Mexico or
the Pacific.

In New Mexico, the advanced
outpost of the Spanish colonies,
some definite knowledge of the in-
terior structure of the continent
prevailed ; but to the rest of the
world the great watershed of the
Rocky Mountains, with the valley
of the Mississippi and Missouri to
the east and a series of rivers on

268

Death of Father Marquette.

the west, was utterly unknown.
Mat-queue and Jolliet lifted the
veil and gave the civilized world
clear and definite ideas. The two
learned explorers floated alone
down the mighty river, whose path
had not been traced for any dis-
tance since the shattered remnant
of De Solo's army stole down its
lower valley to the gulf.

Father Marquette was not a
mere scholar' or man of science.
If he sought new avenues for civil-
ized man to thread the very heart
of tiie continent, it was with him a
work of Christian love. It was to
open the way for the Gospel, that
the cross might enlighten new and
remote nations.

No missionary of that glorious
band of Jesuits who in the seven-
teenth century announced the faith
from the Hudson Bay to the Lower
Mississippi, who hallowed by their
labors and life-blood so many a
wild spot now occupied by the
busy hives of men — none of them
impresses us more, in his whole
life and career, with his piety,
sanctity, and absolute devotion to
God, than Father Marquette. In
life he seems to have been looked
up to with reverence by the wildest
savage, by the rude frontiersman,
and by the polished officers of gov-
ernment. When he had passed
away his name and his fame re-
mained in the great West, treasured
above that of his fellow-laborers,
Menard, Allouez, Nouvel, or Druil-
lettes. The traditipn of his life and
labors in a few generations, while it
lost none of its respect for his me-r
mory, gathered the moss of incor-
rectness.

Father Charlevoix, travelling
through the West in 1721, stopped
on Lake Michigan at the mouth of
a stream which already bore the
name of " River of Father Mar-

quette." From Canadian voyagers
and some missionary in the West
he learned the tradition which he
thus embodies in his journal :

"Two years after the discovery
(of the Mississippi), as he was going
from Chicagou, which is at the ex-
tremity of Lake Michigan, to Michi-
limackinac, lie entered the river in
question on the i8th of May, 1675,
its mouth being then at the extrem-
ity of the lowlands, which I have
noticed it leaves to the right as
you enter. There he erected his
altar and said Mass. Then he
withdrew a little distance to offer
his thanksgiving, and asked the
two men who paddled his canoe to
leave him alone for Tialf an hour.
At the expiration of that time they
returned for him, and were greatly
surprised to find him dead. They
remembered, nevertheless, that on
entering the river he had inadver-
tently remarked that he would end
his journey there.

" As it was too far from the spot
to Michilimackinac to convey his
body to that place, they buried him
near the bank of the river, which
since that time has gradually with-
drawn, as if through respect, to the
bluff, whose foot it now washes and
where it has opened a new passage.
The next year one of the two men
who had rendered the last tribute
to the servant of God returned to
the spot where they had buried
him, took up his remains, and
conveyed them to Michilimackinac.
I could not learn, or have forgotten,
the name this river bore previously,
but the Indians now give it no
name but ' River of the Black-
gown ' ; the French call it by the
name of Father Marquette, and
never fail to invoke him when they
are in any peril on Lake Michigan.
Many have declared that they be-
lieved themselves indebted to his

Death of Father Marquette.

269

intercession for having escaped
very great dangers."

Father Charlevoix's fame as a
historian gave *!iis account the
stamp of authority and it was gen-
erally adopted. Bancroft drew
from it the poetical and touching
account which he introduced into
the first editions of his History of
the United States.

Yet this was but romance. The
real, detailed account of the mis-
sionary's labors, the details which
let us enter the sanctuary of his
pious heart, were all the time lying
unused in Canada. They were in
the college of Quebec when Char-
levoix was teaching in that insti-
tution as a young scholastic ; but if
he then already projected his his-
tory of the colony, no one of the
old fathers seems to have opened
to him the writings of the early
founders of the mission. It was the
same when he returned to make the
tour through the country under the
auspices of the government and
with a view to its development.

The papers lay unnoticed, and
when Louis XV. 's neglect of his Ame-
rican empire neutralized all the gen-
ius of Montcalm and the gallantry of
his French and Canadian soldiery,
the mission of the Jesuit Fathers
was broken up. The precious ar-
chives were plundered ; but some
documents reached pious hands,
who laid them up with their own
convent archives, till the Society of
Jesus returned to the land where
it could boast of so glorious a ca-
reer.

Among these papers were ac-
counts of the last labors and death
of Father Marquette and of the
removal of his remains, prepared
for publication by Father Dablon ;
Marquette's journal of his great
expedition ; the very map he drew ;
?.nd a letter left unfinished when the

angel of death sheathed his sword
by the banks of the Michigan River.

Father Felix Martin, one of the
earliest to revive the old Canadian
mission, received these treasures
with joy, and has since gleaned far
and wide to add to our material for
the wonderful mission labors of the
Jesuit pioneers. He has published
many works, and aided in far more.
With a kindness not easy to repay
he permitted the writer to use the
documents relating to Marquette in
preparing a work on " The Disco-
very and Exploration of the Missis-
sippi Valley."

From these authentic contempo-
rary documents we learn the real
story of Father Marquette's last
labors. As he was returning from
his voyage down the Mississippi, he
promised the Kaskaskia Indians,
who then occupied towns in the
upper valley of the Illinois, that he
would return to teach them the
faith which he announced. His
health, broken by exposure and
mission labor on the St. Lawrence
and the Upper Lakes, was very
frail, but he had no idea of rest.
Devoted in an especial manner to
the great privilege of Mary — her
Immaculate Conception — he named
the great artery of our continent
The River of the Immaculate Con-
ception, and v\ his heart bestowed
the same name on the mission
which he hoped to found among
the Kaskaskias.

To enter upon that work, so dear
to his piety, he needed permission
from his distant superior. When
the permission came he took leave
of the Mackinac mission which he
had founded, and pushed off his
bark canoe into Lake Michigan.
The autumn was well advanced —
for it was the 251)1 of October,
1674 — and the reddening forests
swayed in the chill lake winds as

270

Death of Father Marquette.

he glided along the western shore.
Before he reached the southern
extremity winter was upon him
with its cold and snows, and the
disease which had been checked,
but not conquered, again claimed
the frail frame. It could not quench
his courage, for he kept on in his
open canoe on the wintry lake till
the 4th of December, when he
reached Chicago. There he had
hoped to ascend the river and by a
portage reach the Illinois. It was
too late. The ice had closed the
stream, and a winter march was
beyond his strength. His two men,
simple, faithful companions, erect-
ed a log hut, home and chapel, the
first dwelling and first church of
Chicago. Praying to Our Lady to
enable him to reach his destination,
offering the Holy Sacrifice whenever
his illness permitted, receiving de-
legations from his flock, the Kas-
kaskias, the winter waned away in
the pious foundation of the white
settlement at Chicago.

With the opening of spring Mar-
quette set out, and his last letter
notes his progress till the 6th of
April, 1675. Two days after he was
among the Kaskaskias, and, rearing
his altar on the prairie which lies
between the present town of Utica
and the Illinois river, he offered up
the Mass on Maundy Thursday, and
began the instruction of the willing
Indians who gathered around him.
A few days only were allotted to
him, when, after Easter, he was
again stricken down. If he would
die iu the arms of his brethren at
Mackinac, he saw that he must de-
part at once ; for he felt that the
days of his sojourning were rapidly
closing. Escorted by the Kaskas-
kias, who were deeply impressed
by the zeal that could so battle
with death, the missionary reached
Lake Michigan, on the eastern side.

Although that shore was as yet un-
known, his faithful men launched
his canoe. " His strength, however,
failed so much," says Father l)a-
blon, whose words we shall now
quote, " that his men despaired of
being able to convey him alive to
their journey's end; for, in fact, he
became so weak and so exhausted
that he could no longer help him-
self, nor even stir, and had to be
handled and carried like a child.
He nevertheless maintained in this
state an admirable resignation, joy,
and gentleness, consoling his be-
loved companions, and encouraging
them to suffer courageously all the
hardships of this voyage, assuring
them that our Lord would not for-
sake them when he was gone. It
was during this navigation that
he began to prepare more par-
ticularly for death, passing his
time in colloquies with our Lord,
with his holy Mother, with his
angel guardian, or with all hea-
ven. He was often heard pro-
nouncing these words : ' I believe
that my Redeemer liveth,' or
' Mary, Mother of grace, Mother
of God, remember rne.' Besides a
spiritual reading made for him every
day, he toward the close asked them
to read him his meditation on the
preparation for death, which he
carried about him ; he recited his
breviary every day; and although
he was so low that both sight and
strength had greatly failed, he did
not omit it till the last day of his
life, when his companions excited his
scruples. A week before his death
he had the precaution to bless some
holy water to serve him during the
rest of his illness, in his agony, and
at his burial, and he instructed his
companions how to use it.

" On the eve of his death, which
was a Friday, he told them, all ra-
diant with joy, that it would take

Death of Father Marquette.

271

place on the morrow. During the
whole day he conversed with them
about the manner of his burial, the
•way in which he should be laid out,
the place to be selected for his
interment ; how they should ar-
range his hands, feet, and face, and
how they should raise a cross over
his grave. He even went so far as
to enjoin them, only three hours
before he expired, to take his chap-
el-bell, as soon as he was dead, and
ring it while they carried him to
the grave. Of all this he spoke so
calmly and collectedly that you
would have thought he spoke of
the death and burial of another, and
not of his own.

" Thus did he speak to them as
he sailed along the lake, till, per-
ceiving the mouth of a river, with
an eminence on the bank which he
thought suited for his burial, he
told them that it was the place of
his last repose. They wished, how-
ever, to pass on, as the weather
permitted it and the day was not far
advanced ; but God raised a con-
trary wind, which obliged them to
return and enter the river which
the father had designated.

" They then carried him ashore,
kindled a little fire, and raised a
wretched bark cabin for his use,
laying him in it with as little dis-
comfort as they could ; but they
were so depressed by sadness that,
as they afterwards said, they did
not know what they were doing.

" The father being thus stretched
on the shore like St. Francis Xavier,
as he had always so ardently desired,
and left alone amid those forests —
for his companions were engaged
in unloading — he had leisure to re-
peat all the acts in which he had
employed himself during the pre-
ceding days.

" When his dear companions af-
terwards came up, all dejected,

he consoled them, and gave them
hopes that God would take care of
them after his death in those new
and unknown countries ; he gave
them his last instructions, thanked
them for all the charity they had
shown him during the voyage, beg-
ged their pardon for the trouble
he had given them, directed them
also to ask pardon in his name of
all our fathers and brothers in
the Ottawa country, and then dis-
posed them to receive the sacra-
ment of penance, which he admin-
istered to them for the last time.
He also gave them a paper on
which he had written all his faults
since his last confession, to be given
to his superior, to oblige him to pray
to God more earnestly for him. In
fine, he promised not to forget them
in heaven, and as he was very kind-
hearted, and knew them to be worn
out with the toil of the preceding
days, he bade them go and take a
little rest, assuring them that his
hour was not yet so near, but that
he would wake them when it was
time — as, in fact, he did two or
three hours after, calling them
when about to enter into his agony.
" When they came near he em-
braced them again for the last time,
while they melted in tears at his feet.
He then asked for the holy water
and his reliquary, and, taking off
his crucifix, which he always wore
hanging from his neck, he placed
it in the hands of one of his com-
panions, asking him to hold it con-
stantly opposite him, raised before
his eyes. Feeling that he had but
a little while to live, he made a last
effort, clasped his hands, and, with
his eyes fixed sweetly on his crucifix,
he pronounced aloud his profession
of faith, and thanked the divine
Majesty for the immense favor he
bestowed upon him in allowing him
to die in the Society of Jesus, to

272

Death of Father Marquette.

e in it as a missionary 'of Jesus
Christ, and above all to die in it,
as lie had always asked, in a wretch-
ed cabin, amid the forests, desti-
tute of all human aid.

" On this he became silent, con-
versing inwardly with God ; yet
from time to time words escaped
him : ' Sistinuit anima mea in verbo
tjitSy or ' Mater Dei, memento mei,'
which were the last words he utter-
ed before entering into his agony,
which was very calm and gentle.

" He had prayed his companions
to remind him, when they saw
him about to expire, to pronounce
frequently the names of Jesus and
Mary, if he did not do so himself;
they did not neglect this; and
when they thought him about to
pass away one cried aloud, 'Jesus !
Mary !' which he several times re-
peated distinctly, and then, as if at
those sacred names something had
appeared to him, he suddenly rais-
ed his eyes above his crucifix, fix-
ing them apparently upon some ob-
ject, which he seemed to regard
with pleasure; and thus, with a
countenance all radiant with smiles,
he expired without a struggle, and
so gently that it might be called a
quiet sleep.

" His two poor companions, after
shedding many tears over his body,
and having laid it out as he had di-
rected, carried it devoutly to the
grave, ringing the bell according to
his injunction, and raised a large
cross near it to serve as a mark
for all who passed. . . .

" God did not permit so precious
a deposit to remain unhonored and
forgotten amid the forests. The In-
dians, called Kiskakons,who have for
nearly ten years publicly professed
Christianity, in which they were
first instructed by Father Mar-
qnette when stationed at La Pointe
du St. Esprit, at the extremity of

Lake Superior, were hunting last
winter not far from Lake Illi-
nois (Michigan), and, as they were
returning early in the spring, they
resolved to pass by the tomb of
their good father, whom they ten-
derly loved; and God even gave
them the thought of taking his
bones and conveying them to our
church at the mission of St. Igna-
tius, at Missilimakinac, where they
reside.

" They accordingly repaired to
the spot and deliberated together,
resolving to act with their father
as they usually do with those whom
they respect. They accordingly
opened the grave, unrolled the
body, and, though the flesh and in-
testines were all dried up, they
found it entire, without the skin
being in any way injured. This
did not prevent their dissecting it
according to custom. They wash-
ed the bones and dried them in
the sun ; then, putting them neatly
in a box of birch bark, they set out
to bear them to our house of St.
Ignatius.

" The convoy consisted of nearly
thirty canoes in excellent order,
including even a good number of
Iroquois, who had joined our Al-
gonquins to honor the ceremony. As
they approached our house, Father
Nouvel, who is superior, went to meet
them with Father Pierson, accom-
panied by all the French and Indians
of the place, and, having caused the
convoy to stop, he made the ordi-
nary interrogations to verify the
fact that the body which they
bore was really Father Marquette's.
Then, before they landed, he in-
toned the De Profundis in sight of
the thirty canoes still on the water,
and of all the people on the shore.
After this the body was carried to
the church, observing all that the
ritual prescribes for such ceremo-

Death of leather Marquette.

273

nies. It remained exposed under his
catafalque all that day, which was
\Vliitsun Monday, the 8th of June;
and the next day, when all the fun-
eral honors had been paid it, it was
deposited in a little vault in the mid-
dle of the church, where he reposes
as the Guardian Angel of our Ot-
tawa missions. The Indians often
come to pray on his tomb."

We are not writing his life, and
will not enter upon the superna-
tural favors ascribed to his inter-
cession by French and Indians.
His grave was revered as a holy
spot, and many a pilgrimage was
made to it to invoke his interces-
sion.

The remains of the pious mis-
sionary lay in the chapel undoubt-
edly as long as it subsisted. This,
iiovvever, was not for many years.
A new French post was begun at
Detroit in 1701 by La Motte Ca-
dillac. The Hurons and Ottawas
at Michilimackinac immediately
emigrated and planted new vil-
lages near the rising town. Mich-
ilimackinac became deserted, ex-
cept by scattered bands of In-
dians or white bush-lopers, as sav-
age as the red men among whom
they lived. The missionaries were
in constant peril and unable to pro-
duce any fruit. They could not
follow their old flocks to Detroit,
as the commandant was strongly
opposed to them and had a Recol-
lect father as chaplain of the post.
There was no alternative except
to abandon Michilimackinac. The
missionaries, not wishing the church
to be profaned or become a resort
of the lawless, set fire to their house
and chapel in 1706 and returned to
Quebec. The mission ground be-
came once more a wilderness.

In this disheartening departure
what became of the remains of Fa-
ther Marquette ? If the mission-
VOL. xxvi. — 18

aries bore them to Quebec as a
precious deposit, some entry of
their reinterment would appear on
the Canadian registers, which are
extremely full and well preserved.
Father Nouvel and Father Pierson,
who received and interred them at
the mission, were both dead, and
their successors might not recall
the facts. The silence as to any
removal, in Charlevoix and other
writers, leads us to believe that
the bones remained interred be-
neath the ruined church. Char-
levoix, who notes, as we have seen,
their removal to Mackinac, and is
correct on this point, was at Que-
bec College in 1706 when the mis-
sionaries came down, and could
scarcely have forgotten the cere-
mony of reinterring the remains of
Father Marquette, had it taken
place at Quebec.

Taking this as a fact, that the
bones of the venerable missionary.,
buried in their bark box, were left
there, the next question is : Where
did the church stand?

A doubt at once arises. Three
spots have borne the name of Mi-
chilimackinac : the island in the
strait, Point St. Ignace on the
shore to the north, and the extre-
mity of the peninsula at the south.
The Jesuit Relations as printed at
the time, and those which remained
in manuscript till they were printed
in our time, Marquette's journal
and letter, do not speak in such,
positive terms that we can decide
whether it was on the island or the
northern shore. Arguments have
been deduced from them on either
side of the question. On the map-
annexed to the Relations of 1671
the words Mission de St. Ignace are
on the mainland above, not on the
island, and there is no cross or
mark at the island to make the
name refer to it. On Marquette's.

2/4

Death of Father Marquette.

own map the " St. Ignace " appears
to refer to the northern shore, so
that their testimony is in favor of
that position.

The next work that treats of
Michilimackinac is the Recollect
Father Hennepin's first volume,
Description de la Louisiane, publish-
ed in 1688. In this (p. 59) he dis-
tinctly says : " Missilimackinac is
.a point of land at the entrance and
north of the strait by which Lake
Dauphin [Michigan] empties into
that of Orleans " (Huron). He
mentions the Huron village with its
palisade on a great point of land
opposite Michilimackinac island, the
Ottawas, and a chapel where lie
said Mass August 26, 1678. The
-map in Le Clercq's Gaspesie, dated
'1691, shows the Jesuit mission on
the point north of the strait, and
Father Membre, in Le Clercq's
Etablissement, mentions it as in
that position. In Hennepin's la-
ter work, the Nouvel Ddcouverte,
Utrecht, 1697, he says (p. 134):
" There are Indian villages in these
t\vo places. Those who are es-
tablished at the point of land of
Missilimackinac are Hurons, and the
others, who are at five or six arpens
beyond, are named the Outtaouatz."
He then, as before, mentions saying
Mass in the chapel at the Ottawas.

The Jesuit Relation of 1673-9
(pp. 58, 59) mentions the "house
where we make our abode ordina-
rily, and where is the church of
St. Ignatius, which serves for the
Hurons," and mentions a small
bark chapel three-quarters of a
league distant and near the Otta-
was. This latter chapel was evi-
dently the one where Father Hen-
nepin officiated in 1678 or, as he
says elsewhere, 1679.

The relative positions of the
Indian villages and the church thus
indicated in Hennepin's account

are fortunately laid down still more
clearly on a small map of Michili-
mackinac found in the Noirccaux
Voyages de M. le Baron de La Hon-
tan, published at the Hague in
1703. Many of the statements in
this work are preposterously false,
and his map of his pretended Long
River a pure invention, exciting
caution as to any of his unsupport-
ed statements. But the map of the
country around Michilimackinac
agrees with the Jesuit Relation
and with Father Hennepin's ac-
count, and has all the appearance
of having been copied from the
work of some professed hydrogra-
pher, either one of the Jesuit
Fathers like Raffeix, whose maps
are known, or Jolliet, who was royal
hydrographer of the colony. The
whole map has a look of accuracy,
the various soundings from the
point to the island being carefully
given. On this the French village,
the house of the Jesuits, the Huron
village, that of the Ottawas, and the
cultivated fields of the Indians are
all laid down on the northern shore.
In the text, dated in 1688, he says :
" The Hurons and the Ottawas
have each a village, separated from
one another by a simple palisade. . . .
The Jesuits have a small house,
besides a kind of church, in an en-
closure of palisades which separates
them from the Huron village."

The publication a quarter of a
century ago of the contemporaneous
account of the death and burial of
Father Marquette, the humble dis-
coverer of a world, excited new in-
terest as to his final resting-place.
The West owed him a monument,
and, though America gave his name
to a city, and the Pope ennobled
it by making it a bishop's see, this
was not enough to satisfy the yearn-
ings of pious hearts, who grieved
that his remains should lie forgot-

ten and unknown. To some the
lack of maps laying down the fa-
mous spots in the early Catholic
missions has seemed strange: but
the difficulty was very great. Every
place required special study, and
the random guesses of some writers
have only created confusion, where
truth is to be attained by close
study of every ancient record and
personal exploration of the ground.
Michilimackinac is not the only one
that has led to long discussion and
investigation.*

Where was the chapel on the
point ? A structure of wood con-
sumed by fire a hundred and sev-
enty years ago could scarcely be
traced or identified. A forest had
grown up around the spots which
in Marquette's time were cleared
and busy with human life. Twenty
years ago this forest was in part
cleared away, but nothing appeared
to justify any hope of discovering
the burial-place of him who bore
the standard of Mary conceived
without sin down the Mississippi
valley. One pioneer kept up his
hope, renewed his prayers, and
pushed his inquiries. The Rev.
Edward Jacker, continuing in the
nineteenth century the labors of
Marquette — missionary to the Cath-
olic Indians and the pagan, a lov-
ing gatherer of all that related to the
early heralds of the faith, tracing
their footsteps, explaining much that
' was obscure, leading us to the very
spot where Menard labored and
died — was to be rewarded at last.

A local tradition pointed to one
spot as the site of an old church
and the grave of a great priest,
but nothing in the appearance
of the ground seemed to justify it.

* The site of the fort in New York attacked by
Champlain in 1615 has only recently been deter-
mined, although a number of leading historians
have_been discussing it for some years.

275

Yet, hidden in a growth of low
trees and bushes were preserved
proofs that Indian tradition coin-
cided with La Hontan's map and
the Jesuit records.

On the 5th day of May, 1877,016
clearing of a piece of rising ground
at a short distance from the beach,
at the head of the little bay on the
farm of Mr. David Murray, near the
main road running through the
town, laid bare the foundations of
a church, in size about thirty-two
by forty feet, and of two adjacent
buildings. The Rev. Mr. Jacker
was summoned to the spot. The
limestone foundation walls of the
building were evidently those of a
church, there being no chimney,
and it had been destroyed by
fire, evidences of which existed
on every side. The missionary's
heart bounded with pious joy.
Here was the spot where Father
Marquette had so often offered the
Holy Sacrifice ; here he offered to
Mary Immaculate his voyage to ex-
plore the river he named in her
honor ; here his remains were re-
ceived and, after a solemn requiem,
interred.

But Father Jacker was a cautious
antiquarian as well as a devoted
priest. He compared the site with
La Hontan's map. If these build-
ings were the Jesuit church and
house, the French village was at
the right; and there, in fact, could
be traced the old cellars and small
log-house foundations. On the
other side was the Huron village ;
the palisades can even now be
traced. Farther back the map
shows Indian fields. Strike into
the fields and small timber, and you
can even now see signs of rude In-
dian cultivation years ago, and
many a relic tells of their occu-
pancy.
„ .The report of the discovery

Death of Father Marquette.

spread and was noticed in the
papers. Many went to visit the
spot, and ideas of great treasures
n to prevail. The owner pos-
itively refused to allow any excava-
tion to be made ; so there for a time
the matter rested. All this gave
time for study, and the conviction
of scholars became positive that
the old chapel site was actually
found.

The next step towards the dis-
covery of the remains of the vener-
able Father Marquette cannot be
better told than by the Rev. Mr.
Jacker himself:

" Mr. David Murray, the owner of
the ground in question, had for some
time relented so far as to declare
that if the chief pastor of the dio-
cese, upon his arrival here, should
wish to have a search made, he
would object no longer. Last
Monday, then (September 3, 1877),
Bishop Mrak, upon our request,
dugout the first spadeful of ground.
On account of some apparent de-
pression near the centre of the an-
cient building, and mindful of Fa-
ther Dablon's words, ' II fiit mis
dans un petit caveau au milieu de fe"g-
Jise,' we there began our search ; but
being soon convinced that no dig-
ging had ever been done there be-
fore, we advanced towards the
nearest corner of the large, cellar-
like hollow to the left, throwing
out, all along, two to three feet of
ground. On that whole line no
trace of any former excavation
could be discovered, the alternate
layers of sand and gravel which
generally underlie the soil in this
neighborhood appearing undisturb-
ed. Close to the ancient cellar-like
excavation adecayed piece of a post,
planted deeply in the ground, came
to light. The bottom of that hol-
low itself furnished just the things
that you would expect to meet

with in the cellar of a building de-
stroyed by fire, such as powdered
charcoal mixed with the subsoil,*
spikes, nails, an iron hinge (per-
haps of a trap-door), pieces of tim-
ber— apparently of hewed planks
and joists — partly burned and very
much decayed. Nothing, however,
was found that would indicate the
former existence of a tomb, vaulted
or otherwise. Our hopes began to
sink (the good bishop had already
stolen away), when, at the foot of
the western slope of the ancient
excavation fragments of mortar
bearing the impress of wood and
partly blackened, and a small
piece of birch-bark, came to light.
This was followed by numerous
other, similar or larger, fragments
of the latter substance, most of
them more or less scorched or
crisped by the heat, not by the im-
mediate action of the fire ; a few
only were just blackened, and on
one side superficially burned. A
case or box of birch-bark (line
quaisse d'escorce de bouleaii), accord-
ing to the Relation, once enclosed
the remains of the great missionary.
No wonder our hopes revived at
the sight of that material. Next
appeared a small leaf of white pa-
per, which, being quite moist, al-
most dissolved in my hands. We
continued the search, more with
our hands than with the spade.
The sand in which those objects
were embedded was considerably
blackened — more so, in fact, than
what should be expected, unless
some digging was done here after
the fire, and the hollow thus pro-
duced filled up with the blacken-
ed ground from above. Here and
there we found small particles,

*A foot or more of soft black soil (humus) on
the bottom of the cellar refuted the suspicion en-
tertained by some that this excavation was of more
recent origin than the ancient buildings.

Death of Father Marquette.

277

generally globular, of a moist, fria-
ble substance, resembling pure
lime or plaster-of-paris. None of
the details of our search being un-
important, I should remark that
the first pieces of birch-bark were
met with at a depth of about three
and a half feet from the present
surface, and nearly on a level, I
should judge, with the floor of the
ancient excavation. For about a
foot deeper down more of it was
found, the pieces being scattered
at different heights over an area of
about two feet square or more.
Finally a larger and well-preserved'
piece appeared, which once evi-
dently formed part of«the bottom
of an Indian 'mawkawk' (wig-
wass-makak — birch-bark box), and
rested on clean white gravel and
sand. Some of our people, who
are experts in this matter, declared
that the bark was of unusual thick-
ness, and that the box, or at least
parts of it, had been double, such
as the Indians sometimes, for the
sake of greater durability, use for
interments. A further examina-
tion disclosed the fact that it had
been placed on three or four wood-
en sills, decayed parts of which
were extracted. All around the
space once occupied by the box
the ground seemed to be little dis-
turbed, and the bottom piece lay
considerably deeper than the other
objects (nails, fragments of timber,
a piece of a glass jar or large bot-
tle, a chisel, screws, etc.) discov-
ered on what I conceived to have
been the ancient bottom of the
cellar. From these two circum-
stances it seemed evident that the
birch- bark box had not (as would
have been the case with an ordina-
ry vessel containing corn, sugar,
or the like) been placed on the
floor, but sunk into the ground,
and perhaps covered with a layer

of mortar, many blackened frag-
ments of which were turned out
all around the space once occupied
by it. But it was equally evident
that this humble tomb — for such
we took it to have been — had been
disturbed, and the box broken in-
to and parts of it torn out, after the
material had been made brittle by
the action of the fire. This would
explain the absence of its former
contents, which — what else could
we think ? — were nothing less than
Father Marquette's bones. We,
indeed, found between the pieces
of bark two small fragments, one
black and hard, the other white
and brittle, but of such a form that
none of us could determine wheth-
er they were of the human frame.*
"The evening being far advanced,
we concluded that day's search,
pondering over what may have
become of the precious remains
which, we fondly believe, were
once deposited in that modest
tomb just in front of what, accord-
ing to custom, should have been
the Blessed Virgin's altar. Had I
been in Father Nouvel's place, it is
there I would have buried the de-
vout champion of Mary Immaculate.
It is the same part of the church
we chose nine years ago for Bish-
op Baraga's interment in the cathe-
dral of Marquette. The sugges-
tion of one of our half-breeds that
it would be a matter of wonder if
some pagan Indian had not, after
the departure of the missionaries,
opened the grave and carried off
the remains pour en faire tie la medi-
cine— that is, to use the great black-
gown's bones for superstitious pur-
poses f — this suggestion appeared

* Indians, some of whom are no mean anatomists,
have since pronounced one of them to be part of a
vertebra in all probability human.

t Even at this day our pagan Ojibwas make such
a use of human bones. They either carry them in
their "medicine bags" as "manitous" or grind

2/8

DeatJi of Father Marquette.

to me very probable. Hence, giv-
ing up the hope of finding anything
more valuable, and awaiting the ex-
amination by an expert of the two
doubtful fragments of bone, I car-
ried them home (together with nu-
merous fragments of the bark box)
with a mixed feeling of joy and
sadness. Shall this, then, be all
that is left us of the saintly mis-
sionary's mortal part ?

" I must not forget to mention
a touching little incident. It so
happened that while we people
of St. Ignace were at work, and
just before the first piece of bark
was brought to light, two young
American travellers — apparently
Protestants, and pilgrims, like hun-
dreds of others all through the
summer, to this memorable spot
— came on shore, and, having,
learned the object of the gathering
with joyful surprise, congratulated
themselves on having arrived at
such a propitious moment. They
took the liveliest interest in the
progress of the search, lending
their help, and being, in fact, to
outward appearances, the most
reverential of all present. 'Do
you realize,' would one address
the other with an air of religious
awe, 'where we are standing? This
is hallowed ground!' Their bear-
ing struck us all and greatly edified
our simple people. They begged
for, and joyfully carried off, some
little memorials. Isn't it a natu-
ral thing, that veneration of relics
we used to be so. much blamed
for?

" Some hundred and fifty or two
hundred of our people witnessed
the search, surrounding us in pic-
turesque groups — many of them,

them to powder, which they apply especially to
their puncturing instruments. In diseases of the
head the powder of the skull is used ; in the case
of a sore leg, that of the tibia oi/eviur^ etc.

though nearly white, being lineal
descendants of the very Ottawas
among whom Father Marquette la-
bored in La Pointe du St. Esprit,
and who witnessed his interment in
this place two hundred years ago.
The pure Indian element was rep-
resented only by one individual of
the Ojibwa tribe.

" On Tuesday our children were
confirmed, and in the afternoon I
had to escort the bishop over to
Mackinac Island. Upon my re-
turn, yesterday evening, a young
man of this place entered my room,
with some black dust and other
matters tied up in a handkerchief.
He had tak^n the liberty to search
our excavation for some little keep-
sake, taking out a few handfuls of
ground at a little distance from
where the box had lain, in the
direction of what I presume to
have been the Blessed Virgin's al-
tar, and at about the height of the
ancient cellar-floor. The result of
his search was of such a character
that he considered himself obliged
to put me in possession of it. What
was my astonishment when he dis-
played on my table a number of
small fragments of bones, in size
from an inch in length down to a
mere scale, being in all thirty-six,
and, to all appearances, human.
Being alone, after nightfall, I wash-
ed the bones. The scene of two
hundred years ago, when the Kis-
kakons, at the mouth of that dis-
tant river, were employed in the
same work, rose up before my ima-
gination ; and though the mists of
doubt were not entirely dispelled,
I felt very much humbled that no
more worthy hands should have to
perform this office. So long had I
wished — and, I candidly confess it,
even prayed — for the discovery of
Father Marquette's grave ; and now
that so many evidences concurred

DeatJi of Father Marqnettc.

279

to establish the fact of its having
been on the spot where \ve hoped
to find it, I felt reluctant to believe
it. The longer, however, I pon-
dered over every circumstance con-
nected with our search, the more I
became convinced that we have
found what we, and so many with
us, were desirous to discover. Let
me briefly resume the train of evi-
dence.

" The local tradition as to the site
of the grave, near the head of our
little bay; the size and relative po-
sition of the ancient buildings, both
in the ' French Village ' and the
Jesuits' establishment, plainly trace-
able by little elevated ridges, stone
foundations, cellars, chimneys, and
the traces of a stockade ; all this
exactly tallying with La Hontan's
plan and description of 1688 — so
many concurring circumstances
could hardly leave any doubt as to
the site of the chapel in which
Marquette's remains were depo-
sited.

" The unwillingness of the pro-
prietor to have the grave of a saint-
ly priest disturbed proved very op-
portune, not to say providential.
Within the three or four months
that elapsed since the first discov-
ery many hundreds of persons from
all parts of the country had the
opportunity to examine the grounds,
as yet untouched by the spade.
We had time to weigh every argu-
ment pro and con. Among those
visitors there were men of intelli-
gence and historical learning. I
will only mention Judge Walker, of
Detroit, who has made the early
history of our Northwest the sub-
ject of his particular study, and
who went over the grounds with
the English edition of La Hontan
in his hand. He, as well as every
one else whose judgment was worth
any tiling, pronounced in favor of

our opinion. The balance stood so
that the smallest additional weight
of evidence would make it incline
on the side of certainty as absolute
as can be expected in a case like
this.

" The text of the Relation, it is
true, would make us look for a
vault, or small cellar (un petit ca-
veau), in the middle (au milieu) of
the church. But if anything indi-
cating the existence of a tomb in
the hollow towards the left side
and the rear part of the chapel
were discovered, could we not
construe those words as meaning
''within the church'? Besides, it
must be remembered that Father
Dablon, who left us the account,
was not an eye-witness at the in-
terment ; nor did he visit the mis-
sion after that event, at least up to
the time of his writing.

" We know, then, that Marquette's
remains were brought to this place
in a birch-bark box; and there is
nothing to indicate that, previously
to being interred, they were trans-
ferred into any other kind of re-
ceptacle. In that box they re-
mained under the catafalco (sous sa
representation) from Monday, June
8, to Tuesday, 9 (1677), and in
it, undoubtedly, they were depo-
sited in a vault, or little cellar,
which may have previously been
dug out for other purposes. The
box was sunk into the ground on
that side of the excavation which
was nearest to the altar, or, at least,
the statue of the Blessed Virgin, the
most appropriate spot for the in-
terment of the champion of Mary
Immaculate. An inscription, on
paper, indicating whose bones were
contained in the box, might have
been placed within it ; of this the
piece of white paper we found
among the bark may be a fragment.
The poor casket rested, after the

2 SO

Death of Father Marqncttc.

Indian fashion, on wooden sup-
ports. It may have been covered
with mortar or white lime, or else
a little vault constructed of wood
and mortar may have been erected
over it. When the building was
fired, twenty-nine years after the
interment, the burning floor, to-
gether with pieces of timber from
above, fell on the tomb, broke the
frail vault or mortar cover of the
box, burned its top, and crisped
its sides. Some of the pagan or
apostate Indians remaining in that
neighborhood after the transmigra-
tion of the Hurons and Ottawas to
Detroit, though filled with venera-
tion for the departed missionary
(as their descendants remained
through four or five generations),
or rather for the very reason of
their high regard for his priestly
character and personal virtues, and
of his reputation as ^.thaumaturgus,
coveted his bones as a powerful
' medicine,' and carried them off.
In taking them out of the tomb
they tore the brittle bark and scat-
tered its fragments. The bones be-
ing first placed on the bottom of
the cellar, behind the tomb, some
small fragments became mixed up
with the sand, mortar, and lime,
and were left behind.

" Such seems to me the most na-
tural explanation of the circum-
stances of the discovery. Had the
missionaries themselves, before set-
ting fire to the church, removed
the remains of their saintly brother,
they would have been careful about
the least fragment; none of them,
at least, would have been found scat-
tered outside of the box. That rob-
bingof the grave by the Indians must
have taken place within a few years
after the departure of the mission-
aries; for had those precious re-
mains been there when the mis-
sion was renewed (about 1708?),

they would most certainly have
been transferred to the new church
in 'Old Mackinac'; and had this
been the case, Charlevoix, at his
sojourn there in 1721, could hard-
ly have failed to be taken to see the
tomb and to mention the fact of
the transfer in his journal or his-
tory.

" Our next object, if we were to
be disappointed in finding the en-
tire remains of the great missionary
traveller, was to ascertain the fact
of his having been interred on that
particular spot ; and in this, I think,
we have fully succeeded. Consi-
dering the high probability — a pri-
ori, so to say — of the Indians' tak-
ing possession of the' bones, the
finding of those few fragments un-
der the circumstances described
seems to me, if not as satisfactory
to our wishes, at least as good evi-
dence for the fact in question as
if we had found every bone that is
in the human body. Somebody —
an adult person — was buried under
the church ; buried before the
building was destroyed by fire ; and
buried under exceptional circum-
stances— the remains being placed
in a birch-bark box of much small-
er size than an ordinary coffin —
who else could it have been but
the one whose burial, with all its
details of time, place, and manner,
as recorded in most trustworthy
records, answers all the circum-
stances of our discovery ?

" Sept. Tth. — Went again to the
grave to-day, and, after searching a
little while near the spot where
that young man had found the
bones, I was rewarded with an-
other small fragment, apparently of
the skull, like two or three of those
already found. Two Indian visi-
tors who have called in since de-
clared others to be of the ribs, of the
hand, and of the thigh-bone. They

Neiv Publications.

281

also consider the robbing of the
grave by their pagan ancestors as
extremely probable. To prevent
profanation and the carrying off of
the loose ground in the empty
grave, we covered the excavation
with a temporary floor, awaiting
contributions from outside — we are
too poor ourselves — for the purpose
of erecting some kind of a tomb or
mortuary chapel in which to pre-
serve what remains of the perisha-
ble part of the ' Guardian Angel of
the Ottawa missions.'

" I shall not send you this letter
before having shown some of the
bones to a physician, for which
purpose I have to go outside.

" Shcboygan, Mich., Sept. n. — M.
Pommier, a good French surgeon,
declared the fragments of bones to
be undoubtedly human and bear-
ing the marks of fire."

The result is consoling, though
not unmixed with pain. It is sad
to think that the remains of so
saintly a priest, so devoted a mis-
sionary, so zealous an explorer
should have been so heathenislily
profaned by Indian medicine-men ;
but the explanation has every ap-
pearance of probability. Had the

Jesuit missionaries removed the
remains, they would have taken up
the birch box carefully, enclosing
it, if necessary, in a case of wood.
They would never have torn the
birch-bark box rudely open, or
taken the remains so carelessly as
to leave fragments. All the cir-
cumstances show the haste of pro-
fane robbery. The box was torn
asunder in haste, part of its con-
tents secured, and the excavation
hastily filled up.

The detailed account of the final
interment of Father Marquette, the
peculiarity of the bones being in a
bark box, evidently of small size
for convenient transportation, the
fact that no other priest died at
the mission who could have been
similarly interred, leads irresistibly
to the conclusion that Father
Jacker is justified in regarding the
remains found as portion of those
committed to the earth two centu-
ries ago.

It is now for the Catholics of the
United States to rear a monument
there to enclose what time has
spared us of the " Angel Guardian
of the Ottawa Missions."

JOHN GILMARY SHEA.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MISCELLANIES. By Henry Edward, Car-
dinal Archbishop of Westminster.
First American Edition. New York :
The Catholic Publication Society Co , 9
Barclay Street. 1877.
The various papers contained in this
assortment of miscellaneous articles from
the pen of Cardinal Manning consist of
addresses before several Academias or
other societies, contributions to the
Dublin Revie~iv, and short essays, most
of which, we believe, have been before
published in English magazines or news-
papers, or in the form of pamphlets.
They are on current topics of immediate
interest, well adapted to the times, and

written in a plain, popular style. One
general tone of defence and explanation
of the Catholic cause in respect to mat-
ters now of conflict and controversy be-
tween the Catholic Church and her op-
posers runs through them all, giving a real
unity of purpose and objective aim to
the collection, various and miscellaneous
as are its topics. The most important
and interesting papers, in which the force
of the whole volume, of all the cardinal's
principal works, of the efforts of his en*
tire career as a prelate in the church, is
concentrated and brought to bear upon
the central point of anti-Catholic revo-
lution, are the first and last. The first

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one is entitled " Roma Sterna : 'a Dis-
course before the Academia of the Qui-
riti in Rome on the 26isth anniversa-
ry of this city, April 21, 1863." The last
one is entitled " The Independence of
the Holy See," and we do not know
whether or not it was published before it
appeared in the present collection. It
has always been characteristic of the
cardinal's mind, and of the doctrinal
or polemic expositions of Catholic truth
put forth by him, to perceive and seize
the principle of unity. While he was
still an Anglican archdeacon he em-
braced and advocated general principles
of Catholic unity, so far as he then ap-
prehended them, with remarkable clear-
ness and precision. These principles
led him into the bosom of Catholic uni-
ty, and their complete and consequent
development in all their conclusions and
harmonious relations has been the one
great aim and effort of his luminous and
vigorous mind since lie became a Catho-
lic ecclesiastic, both as an orator and as a
writer. This clear, direct view of the
logical order and sequence of constitu-
tive, Catholic principles made him one
of the most thorough and firm advocates
of the spiritual supremacy of the Holy
See, before and during the sessions of the
Vatican Council. The Papacy, as the
very centre and foundation of Christian-
ity, and therefore the principal point of
attack and defence in the war between the
Christian kingdom and the anti-Christian
revolution, has been the dominant idea in
the mind of Cardinal Manning. The in-
dissoluble union of the papal supremacy
with the Roman episcopate, and there-
fore the dependence of Christendom on
the Roman Church as its centre, its
head, the great source of its life, is the
topic to which at present his attention is
more specially directed. The Roman
Church, and, by reason of its near and
close connection, the Italian Church, as
the permanent, immovable seat of the sov-
ereign pontificate, is identified with the
prosperity of Christendom. The head
and heart of the Catholic Church are there,
whereas other members of the great, uni-
versal society of Christians are only limbs,
however great and powerful they may be.
The logical and juridical mind of Cardi-
nal Manning grasps in its full import
the whole Roman and Italian question
of present conflict as the vital one for
all Christendom. And, as we have said,
the first and last papers in his volume

of Miscellanies are of 'permanent value
and importance, on account of his clear
and masterly exposition of this great
controversy. We will quote a few sali-
ent paragraphs in illustration and con-
firmation of our opinion on this head :

" It is no wonder to me that Italians
should believe in the primacy of Italy.
Italy has indeed a primacy, but not that
of which some have dreamed. The pri-
macy of Italy is the presence of Rome;
and the primacy of Rome is in its apos-
tleship to the whole human race, in the
science of God with which it has illumi-
nated mankind, in its supreme and
world-wide jurisdiction over souls, in
its high tribunal of appeal from all the
authorities on earth, in its inflexible ex-
position of the moral law, in its sacred
diplomacy, by which it binds the nations
of Christendom into a confederacy of or-
der and of justice — these ^are its true,
supreme, and, because God has so will-
ed, its inalienable and incommunicable pri-
ma y among the nations of the earth. . . .
The eternity of Rome, then, if it be not an
exact truth, is nevertheless no mere rhe-
torical exaggeration. It denotes the fact
that Rome has been chosen of God as
the centre of his kingdom, which is eter-
nal, as the depository of his eternal
truths, as the fountain of his graces
which lead men to a higher life, as the
witness and guardian of law and princi-
ples of which the sanctions and the fruit
are eternal. ... I shall say little if I say
that on you, under God, we depend for
the immutability not only of the faith in
all the radiance of its exposition and il-
lustration, and of the divine love in
all its breadth and purity and perfec-
tion ; you are also charged with
the custody of other truths which de-
scend from this great sphere of superna-
tural light, and with the application of
these truths to the turbulent and unsta-
ble elements of human society. .
You are the heirs of those who renewed
the face of the world and created the
Christian civilization of Europe. You
are the depositories of truths and princi-
ples which are indestructible in their vi-
tality. Though buried like the ear of
corn in the Pyramids of Egypt, they
strike root and spring into fruit when
their hour is come. Truths and princi-
ples are divine ; they govern the world ;
to suffer for them is the greatest glory
of man. ' Not death, but the cause of
death, makes the martyr." So long as

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283

Rome is grafted upon the Incarnation
it is the head of the world. If it were
possible to cut it out from its divine
root, it would fall from its primacy
among mankind. But this cannot be.
He who chose it for his own has kept
it to this hour. He who has kept it un-
til now will keep it unto the end. Be
worthy of your high destiny for His sake
who has called you to it ; for our sakes,
who look up to you as, under God, our
light and our strength " (" Rom. ^Etern.,"
pp. 3-23). These words were spoken
fourteen years ago, but they are reaffirm-
ed now by their new republication, and
the similar language of the closing pa-
per of the volume.

In this last paper, on " The Indepen-
dence of the Holy See," the cardinal
speaks more particularly and definitely
of the temporal sovereignty of the Holy
See. As the spiritual supremacy of the
Pope, in his office as Vicar of Christ and
successor of St. Peter, is closely bound
to his Roman episcopate, and the unity
of the church depends on the Roman
Church, the "mother and mistress of
churches," so the peaceful and uncon-
trolled exercise of the supremacy de-
pends on the freedom of the Pope in
Rome. This freedom is secured only
by complete independence, which re-
quires the possession of both personal
and political sovereignty as its condi-
tion. This citadel of all Catholic and
Christian interests being now the very
object of the most resolute and uncom-
promising attack and defence — the Plev-
na of the war between the Catholic re-
ligion and the anti-Christian revolution —
the cardinal, as a wise leader and strate-
gist, directs his principal efforts to sus-
tain and advocate the right and necessity
of the Pope's temporal sovereignty.
The spoliation of this temporal sover-
eignty has for its necessary effect, says
the cardinal, " the disintegration and
the downfall of the Christian world "
(p. 860). Consequently, as the cardinal
continually affirms, the redintegration
and reconstruction of the Christian
world require the restitution of that
same sovereignty. "There is one hope
for Italy. It is this : that Italy should
reconcile itself to the old traditions of
the faith of its fathers, and should return
once more to the only principle of unity
and authority which created it " (p. 848).
" If the Christian world is still to con-
tinue, what is happening now is but

one more of those manifold transient
perturbations which have come through
these thousand years, driving into exile
or imprisoning the pontiffs, or even
worse, and usurping the rightful sove-
reignty of Rome. And as they have
passed, so will this, unless the political
order of the Christian world itself has
passed away " (p. 804).

In these last words is presented an al-
ternative of the utmost consequence and
interest. Is the perturbation and disin-
tegration final or transient? If final, the
church goes back to the state of perse-
cution, the reign of Antichrist is at hand,
and the end of the world draws near.
When Rome falls, the wotld. If the Ro-
man and Italian people, as such, have
apostat;zed, or are about to apostatize,
then the Roman Church, the foundation,
sinking in the undermined and cav-
ing soil beneath it, will bring down the
whole crumbling fabric of Christendom
and of the universal world. If, therefore,
there is any ground to hope that this
evil day is not yet, but that there is a
triumphant epoch for the church to be
awaited, it is of the utmost consequence
not to exaggerate the present revolution
in Italy and Europe into a national and
international apostasy, but to show that
it is a revolution of a faction whose
power is but apparent and temporary.
This is the cardinal's conviction, and a
large part of his argumentation is direct-
ed to its proof and support. " Why,
then, is this gagging law necessary in
Italy? Because a minority is in power
who are conscious that they are opposed
by a great majority who disapprove their
acts. They know, and are afraid, that if
men speak openly with their neighbors
the public opinion of Catholic Italy
would become so strong and spread so
wide as to endanger their power. And
this is called disturbing the public con-
science. The public conscience of Italy
is not revolutionary, but Catholic ; the
true disturbers of the public conscience of
Italy are the authors of these Italian
Falck laws. ... I know of nothing
which has imposed upon the simplicity
and the good-will of the English people
more than to suppose that the present
state of Italy is the expression of the
will of the Italian people" (pp. 842-47).

We cannot exceed the limits of a no-
tice by adding more extracts or giving
the cardinal's proofs and reasons. We
trust our readers will seek for them in

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the book itself. As there is ho one
more intelligently and consistently Ca-
tholic and Roman in all his ideas than
the cardinal, so there is no one who can
so well explain and interpret the same
to the English-speaking world. He is
not only a prince of the Roman Church
bv his purple, but an intellectual and
moral legate of the Holy See, by his
wisdom, eloquence, and gentleness of
manner, to all men speaking the Eng-
lish language, a sure teacher and guide
to all Catholics, whose words they will
do well to read and ponder attentively.

Before closing we cannot omit indi-
cating one paper quite different from
anything we have before seen from the
cardinal's pen. It is the one on Kirk-
man's Philosophy -without Assumptions, in
which the eminent writer shows how
much he has studied and how acutely he
is able to discuss metaphysical questions.
We may remark that this volume has
been republished in a very handsome
style and form, and we cannot too em-
phatically recommend it to an extensive
circulation. The appendix, containing
in Latin and English the late splendid
allocution of Pius IX , whose thunder
has shaken Europe, adds much to its
value. This great document is one of
the most sublime utterances which has
ever proceeded from the Holy See. St.
Peter never had a more worthy successor
than Pius IX. He watches by the tomb
of the Prince of the Apostles, by God's
command, as the angels watched by the
sepulchre of Christ. What better gua-
rantee could we desire that the sover-
eignty and splendor of the Papacy will
come forth in glory from the tomb of St.
Peter when the long watch is ended ?

BlBLIOTHECA SYMBOLICA ECCLESI^E UNI-
VERSALIS. THE CREEDS OF CHRISTEN-
DOM. With a History and Critical
Notes. By Philip Schaff, D.D.,
LL.D., Professor of Biblical Literature
in the Union Theological Seminary,
New York. In three volumes. New
York: Harper & Brothers. 1877.

In -respect to the literary and typo-
graphical style of execution, this is a
work worthy of commendation. Its in-
trinsic value for students of theology is
chiefly to be found in the contents of the
second and third volumes, where the
author has collected the principal sym-
bolical documents of the Catholic
Church, both ancient and modern, of

the Orthodox Orientals, and of the Prot-
estant denominations classed under the
generic term "Evangelical." The ori-
ginal text is given, with English trans-
lations of documents from other lan-
guages. Among these documents, those
appertaining to the Eastern Christians
have a special interest and importance,
because more rare and not so easily ob-
tained as the others. As a book of re-
ference, therefore, the Bibliothcca Sym-
bolica deserves a place in every Catholic
theological library. The author is a
scholar of extensive erudition, and a
very painstaking, accurate compiler,
after the manner of the Germans, and he
has fulfilled a laborious and serviceable
task in gathering together and editing
with so much thoroughness and accura-
cy the collection of authentic documents
contained in these two bulky volumes,
so well arranged and clearly printed as
to make them most convenient and easy
for reading or reference.

The first volume is not without some
value as a historical account of the ori-
gin and formation of the symbolical
documents contained in the other parts
of the work, especially so far as relates
to those emanating from Orientals and
Protestants. One important service his
scholarly accuracy has rendered to the
cause of truth deserves to be particularly
noted — the distinct light in which he has
placed the agreement of the orthodox
confessions of the East with the doctrine
of the Catholic Church, cxceptis exdpicn-
dis, and their diversity from the specific
doctrines of Protestantism.

In his treatment of topics relating to
the Catholic Church the partisan polem-
ic appears, as we might expect. The
author professes to follow the maxim
that "honest and earnest controversy,
conducted in a Christian and catholic
spirit, promotes true and lasting union.
Polemics looks to irenics — the aim of
war is peace." He expresses the wish
to promote by his work " a better un-
derstanding among the churches of
Christ." He declares his opinion that
" the divisions of Christendom bring
to light the various aspects and phases of
revealed truth, and will be overruled at
last for a deeper and richer harmony of
which Christ is the key-note" (preface).
This sounds very well in general terms ;
yet when the author descends to particu-
lars and practical questions, it is evident
that whatever meaning his terms have is

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285

only equivalent to the truism that in-
crease of knowledge is favorable to the
cause of truth alone, and that the preva-
lence of truth over error through genuine
science, sincere conviction, and con-
scientious obedience to known truth pro-
duces peace, harmony, and charity by
uniting the minds of men in one faith.
" Irenics," in any proper sense, can refer
onlv to parties who agree in substantials,
but, through mutual or one-sided misun-
derstanding, are not aware of it, or to
those who are in controversy about mat-
ters which do not really break unity of
essential doctrine between the contend-
ing sides, but are carried on with too
little moderation and candor by vehe-
ment disputants. There is no " irenics"
in matters essential and obligatory be-
tween the right side and the wrong side,
except the irenics of combat, and no
peace except that which follows the vic-
tory of the one over the other. That an
advocate of the truth of Christ should
be honest and candid in his argumenta-
tion against error, and charitable toward
the persons whose errors he attacks, is
of course indisputable. Practically,
when Dr. Schaff finds himself in face of
the Roman Church, he is obliged to
recognize that this view of the case is
the only one possible. If the Catholic
hierarchy, and all the heads or repre-
sentatives of the different bodies of the
so-called orthodox Christians.would con-
sent to meet together and adopt a con-
fession in which all should agree as em-
bracing the essentials of Christianity,
with a law and order which all should
likewise consent to establish, a visionary
believer in progress and the church of
the future might with some plausibility
argue that the evolution of a higher form
of Christianity would be the result.
But Dr. SchafFs historical mind is too
much accustomed to look at facts to be
deluded by such a chimera. "The ex-
clusiveness and anti-Christian preten-
sions of the Papacy, especially since it
claims infallibility for its visible head,
make it impossible for any church to
live with it on terms of equality and sin-
cere friendship." We suppose that the
view of these pretensions which claims
for them a divine origin and sanction,
and that which considers them " anti-
Christian," can hardly be called " various
aspects and phases of revealed truth."
The " exclusiveness " of the claims is a
point in which we both take the same

view. The ecclesiastical friendship to
which the doctor alludes he justly re-
gards and proclaims an impossibility.
While the Roman Church, and any other
church not in her obedience, co-exist,
there must be polemics. Irenics can
succeed only when the Roman Church
abdicates her supremacy, or any other
church or churches, refusing submission
to it, yield to her claims. The practical
issue, therefore, is reduced to this : the
old and long-standing controversy be-
tween Rome and Protestantism. Dr.
Schaff comes forward as a champion of
Protestantism and an assailant of what
he is too wary to call by its legitimate
name of Catholicism, and therefore nick-
names after the manner of his predeces-
sors in past ages, calling it " Roman-
ism " and "Vatican Romanism."

We agree, then, on both sides, that
the polemics and controversy must be
carried on. Yet, on the part of Dr.
Schaft and those who fight with him, it
appears that a considerable part of the
ground we have been heretofore con-
tending for is evacuated and given up
to our possession. " And yet we should
never forget the difference between
Popery and Catholicism." The issues,
it appears, are a good deal narrowed,
and that will facilitate our coming to
close quarters and to decisive, polemical
discussion, which we desire above all
things. Dr. Schaff continues : " nor
between the system and its followers.
It becomes Protestantism, as the higher
form of Christianity, to be liberal and
tolerant even toward intolerant Roman-
ism " (p. 209). Probably the collective
terms in this clause are used distribu-
tively, as required to make it agree with
the preceding sentence. This is grace-
ful, and dignified in Dr. Schaff. Our
exclusiveness is indeed something hard
to bear ; we freely admit it. Our apolo-
gy for it is that we are acting under
orders from above and have no discre-
tionary powers. Our own personal and
human feelings would incline us to open
the doors of heaven to all mankind in-
discriminately, and give all those who
die in the state of sin a purgatory of in-
fallible efficacy to make them holy and
fit for everlasting beatitude. Yet as we
have not the keys of heaven, which were
given to St. Peter with strict orders to
shut as well as to open its gates, we can
do nothing for the salvation of our dear
friends and fellow-men, except to per-

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suade them to take the king's highway
to the gate of the celestial city, and not
follow the example of green-headed
Ignorance in the Pilgrims Progress, who
came by a by-road to the gate, and, on
being asked by the Shining Ones for his
certificate, "fumbled in his bosom and
found none."

We consider that we have not only
the higher but the only genuine form of
Christianity. Dr. Schaff thinks Protes-
tantism is the higher form simply, and,
therefore, that Protestants ought to be
tolerant of our intolerance. This is the
most dignified attitude he could assume.
On our part, we agree with Ozanam that,
in a certain sense, we ought to be toler-
ant of error — i.e., in the concrete, subjec-
tive sense, equivalent to tolerant of those
who are in error, charitable, and, to those
especially who are themselves honorable
and courteous in their warfare, respect-
ful.

Dr. Schaff himself evidently intends
to act upon his own principles. Toward
individuals whom he mentions he is
careful to observe the rules of courtesy.
In respect to his historical and polemi-
cal statements and arguments on Catho-
lic matters in his first volume, we pre-
sume he speaks according to his opinion
and belief; and if that were correct, his
strong expressions would be justifiable,
even though they might sometimes, on
the score of rhetoric and good taste, lie
open to criticism. To call the Papacy
" a colossal lie " is not very elegant or
even forcible, and is irreconcilable with
the author's own statements regarding
mediaeval Catholicism, as well as with
the views of history presented by such
men as Leo and other enlightened Pro-
testants. All the efforts of the Jesuits to
bring back schismatics to their former
obedience to the Holy See are called
" intrigues." The author relies a great
deal on strong language, vehement as-
sertion, and a vague style of deprecia-
tion of the mental and moral attitude of
Catholics, which is not 'sustained by rea-
soning, and, in our view, indicates the
presence of much prejudice, as well as a
want of adequate knowledge and consid-
eration. Men who have a great aptitude
for history and what may be called book-
knowledge, among whom Dr. Dollinger
is a notable instance, frequently fail sig-
n.dly in treating of matters where logic,
philosophy, and accurate theology are
required. Dr. Schaff seems out of his

proper line when he leaves his purely
literary work and begins to reason. His
polemical argument against infallibility
and the Immaculate Conception is a
pretty good risumlQi what has been said
by others on that side, and of what can
be said. It is all to be found in Catholic
theologies, under the head of objections,
and has all been answered many times
over. The author adds nothing to his
own cause by his own reasoning, and
requires no special confutation. On the
contrary, he weakens his cause and de-
tracts from its plausibility by the futility of
his assertions. We will cite one instance
of this as an example. Speaking of the
Immaculate Conception, he says : " This
extraordinary dogma lifts the Virgin
Mary out of the fallen and redeemed race
of Adam, and places her on a par with the
Saviour. For, if she is really free from all
hereditary as well as actual sin and
guilt, she is above the need of redemp-
tion. Repentance, forgiveness, regene-
ration, conversion, sanctification are as
inapplicable to her as to Christ himself"
(p. in). This is one of the most illogi-
cal sentences we have ever met with.
Let it be given, though not conceded as
true, that the dogma places the Virgin
Mary above the need of redemption.
The illusion that she is therefore placed
on a par with the Saviour is illogical and
false. Adam, before the fall, was above
the need of redemption, and the angels
are above it. Are they on a par with the
Saviour? He is God, they are creatures.
Whatever he possesses, even in his hu-
manity, he has by intrinsic, personal
right ; they possess nothing except by a
free gift. Moreover, it would not follow
that regeneration would be as inappli-
cable to her as to Christ himself. By
the hypostatic union the human nature
of Christ shares with the divine nature
the relation of strict and proper filiation
toward the Father, for he is the natural
and only-begotten Son of God. But an-
gels and men are only made sons by
adoption, and by a supernatural grace
which in men is properly called regen-
eration, because the human generation
precedes, which merely gives them hu-
man nature. The Virgin Mary received
only her human nature by her natural
generation, and therefore needed to be
born of God by spiritual grace to make
her a child of God, and a partaker with
Christ in that special relation to the Fa-
ther which belonged to him as man by

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287

virtue of his divine personality. More-
over, sanctification is not inapplicable
even to Christ, whose soul and body
were made holy by the indwelling Spirit,
and therefore, a fortioti, not to Mary, on
the hypothesis that she needed no re-
demption. Repentance, forgiveness,
conversion, are indeed inapplicable to
her. They are, likewise, inapplicable to
the angels, were so to Adam and Eve
before the fall, and would have been so
to their posterity, if the state of original
justice had continued, unless they sinned
personally and were capable of restora-
tion to grace.

The freedom from original sin does
not, however, imply that the Virgin
Mary was above the need of redemption.
The covenant of the first Adam was abol-
ished, and therefore no right to grace
could be transmitted from him to his de-
scendant, the Virgin Mary. The attain-
der by which he and all his descendants
were excluded from the privileges of
children and the inheritance of the
kingdom of heaven was reversed only
by the redemption. If Christ had not
redeemed mankind from the fall, the
kingdom of heaven could not have been
open to Mary. She owes, therefore, all
her privileges as a child of God and an
inheritor of the kingdom of heaven to
the redemption. Some of these are spe-
cial and peculiar to herself, and one of
these special privileges is that she was
prevented from incurring the guilt of
original sin by receiving sanctifying
grace simultaneously with her concep-
tion and the creation of her soul. She
was, therefore, redeemed in a more sub-
lime mode than others, and is more in-
debted to the cross and Passion of Christ
and the free grace of God than any other
human being, and not at all on a par
with Christ, who is indebted to no one
but himself. Let this suffice in respect
to the polemics of Dr. SchafFs work.
The reunion of all who profess Chris-
tianity on a new basis is as far off as
ever — as remote as the discovery of a
way of transit to the fixed stars. The
learned doctor has prepared a valuable
collection of documents useful to the
student, but he has not proposed any
substitute for the faith and law of the
Catholic Church which is likely to sup-
plant them, or even to prove acceptable
to any large number of Christians under
any name. Nevertheless, we regard ami-
cably both himself and his work, and we

are confident that it will have the good
effect of promoting a wider and more
catholic range of investigation among
Protestant students of theology.

THE STANDARD ARITHMETIC, FOR SCHOOLS
OF ALL GRADES AND FOR BUSINESS PUR-
POSES. No. i. By James E. Ryan.
New York: Trje Catholic Publication
Society Co.

Important changes have been made in
arithmetical text-books within the last
twenty years. Each new series of books
presented a special claim for patronage.
One contained several chapters previ-
ously omitted ; another divided the sub-
ject into mental and written arithmetic ;
others followed the inductive to the ex-
clusion of the analytic method. Each
series may have been an improvement in
some respects ; but the gain has been
theoretic and artistic rather than practi-
cal. The result has 'been to separate
oral from written arithmetic ; to increase
the average number of books in a series
to five ; and to load the elementary works
with intricate detail and useless puzzles.

As a rule, a child spends an hour a
day of school-life in the study of arith-
metic. This amount of time should suf-
fice to teach the arithmetical processes
necessary in ordinary business. Yet the
majority of pupils never advance beyond
the ground rules. This results from
making the text-book the guide. So
general is this custom that few teachers
desire to run the risk of changing it, and
the pupil is compelled to leave school
before fractions have been reached. He
carries with him the belief that there are
two kinds of arithmetic, one mental, the
other written ; and while he may be able
to explain an oral example, he can sim-
ply tell how the written example is done.
The small number of pupils who reach
the higher branches suffer from an over-
dose of commercial economy which can
only be mastered when they come face
to face with business affairs.

The text-books prepared by Mr. James
E. Ryan afford a remedy for most of
these defects. The elementary course
contains all that can be taught to the
mass of pupils. It includes the funda-
mental rules, fractions, decimals, deno-
minate numbers, and percentage. Each
division contains oral and written work,
the same analysis being used in both
cases. The mode of treatment is excel-
lent. The book includes no more prac-

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tice work than is absolutely necessary
to secure facility and accuracy in calcu-
lation, while the analysis of each step is
so clear that any pupil can easily com-
prehend it.

The chapters treating of fractions are
cleared of obscure subdivisions, thereby
dispensing with a mass of unnecessary
rules for special cases! In addition to
this improvement the rules for common
and decimal fractions are made to corre-
spond. Denominate numbers are treat-
ed with marked ability. Obsolete weights
and measures are excluded. The vari-
ous tables of the metric system are in-
troduced in connection with the English
standards.

A close examination of Mr. Ryan's
treatise will convince the most exacting
teacher that it is an excellent arithmetic.

THE STANDARD ARITHMETIC, FOR SCHOOLS
OF ALL GRADES AND FOR BUSINESS PUR-
POSES. No. 2. By James E. Ryan.
New York : The Catholic Publication
Society Co., 9 Barclay St.

This volume begins with simple num-
bers and carries the pupil through the
commercial rules. The amount of arith-
metical knowledge requisite for business
purposes has grown with the enormous
growth of insurance, annuities, etc., so
that it has become necessary to define
the limits of school instruction. The
author includes percentage, interest, dis-
count, partial payments, exchange, profit
and loss, commission or brokerage, in-
surance, duties, taxes, equation of pay-
ments, proportion, involution, evolution,
mensuration, and progression in the
regular course. The discussion of the
equation, mechanics, specific gravity,
builders' measurements, gauging, alliga-
tion, life insurance, annuities, stocks
and bonds, freights and storage, etc., is
reserved for the appendix.

In the advanced portions of the work
analysis and synthesis, or induction, as
it is now called, are' combined. The
treatment of each subdivision is so unique
that it is hardly fair to single out one for
special praise. Equation of payments,
however, is made somewhat conspicuous
by the amount of condensation it has un-
dergone. In six pages we obtain the in-
formation which is usually spread over

twenty. It is safe to say that the best
scholars leave school without a clear
comprehension of this subject, partly be-
cause of the senseless rules laid down,
but chiefly because of the number of
them. The chapter on mensuration is
remarkable. By it the author proves
that a student may obtain all the know-
ledge of mensuration requisite for sur-
veying without studying geometry.

Oral and written exercises are given
under even- rule, and the examples are
so shaped as to test the pupil's know-
ledge of principles. The appendix con-
tains a mass of important work of the
highest value to students qualifying
themselves for active business. For this
reason the volume is well adapted to the
wants of high-schools and academies.

RECUEIL DE LECTURES, A L'USAGE DES
ECOLES. Par une Sceur de St. Joseph.
New York : The Catholic Publication
Society Co. 1877.

This is a very useful addition to the
Catholic Publication Society's excellent
series of school literature. There is pro-
bably no living language from which so
much pleasure and profit can be derived
as the French. Even if a person does
not speak it with ease and fluency, it re-
quires no vast amount of study to be able
to read it as readily as one's native
tongue. The first requisite towards a
knowledge of French is a good text-
book and grammar. The little volume
before us answers admirably the first of
these requirements. It is interesting,
clear, and constructed on an intelligent
plan. The instructions for pronuncia-
tion at the beginning are short but ex-
cellent, and likely to rest in the memory.
The exercises begin in a very simple man-
ner. They are always sensible, and do not
confuse words and phrases, and jumble
them together after the Ollendorff plan,
although they effect the same end, so far
as the interchange of words, phrases, and
ideas goes. As the lessons proceed,
they gradually increase in difficulty, as
they do in interest, the simpler exercises
giving place to extracts from the best
French authors.

' We think the book in every way well
adapted for youthful students of French
who have a teacher.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVL, No. 153.— DECEMBER, 1877.

MR. FROUDE ON THE "REVIVAL OF ROMANISM."*

' Why is Protestantism standing still
while Rome is advancing? Why does
Rome count her converts from among
the evangelicals by tens, while she loses
to them, but here and there, an exception-
al and unimportant unit?" (" Revival of
Romanism," sect. i. p. 95).

THESE questions, asked by Mr.
Froude in his latest-published vol-
ume, are not new. They have
been asked by many any time with-
in the last quarter of a century.
They are being asked with more
urgency, if not more alarm, every
day. They are questions worthy
of an answer, if an answer can be
given to them ; worthy, certainly, of
all consideration from serious-mind-
ed men. For, if founded in fact,
they point towards a reversal of
the three centuries of Protestant
history; to the failure of Protes-
tantism as a satisfactory system of
belief; and, if not to a general re-
turn of Protestant nations to the
Catholic Church, at least to the
speedy and final approach to what
keen writers and observers have
long seen coming — to wit, the gen-

* Short Studies on Great Subjects. By James
Anthony Froude, M.A. New York : Scribner,
Armstrong & Co. 1877.

eral recognition that between Ca-
tholicity and infidelity there stands-
no debatable ground for Christian
men.

The suspicion has been gradual-
ly growing up in the Protestant
thinking world — a suspicion that
is fast hardening into a certainty —
that Catholicity is advancing with
giant strides, while Protestantism is
surely, if sullenly, receding ; worse
still, that in spite of all Protestant-
ism can do, in the pulpit, in the
press, in the government, in the
world at large, Catholicity is bound
to advance, and the process of
damming it up and shutting it off"
seems hopeless. " How to com-
pete with the aggressions of Ro-
manism" was, in various forms, one
of the chief subjects of debate be-
fore the Evangelical Alliance as-
sembled a few years back in this
city. A similar subject excited the
recent Pan- Presbyterian assembly
at Glasgow. Indeed, it is safe to
say that, wherever a Protestant as-
sembly of any kind meets for ami-
cable consultation and discussion,
that everlasting skeleton in the
closet, '' Romanism," will be ex-

290

Mr. Fronde on the "-Revival of Romanism."

posed to view to remind the" plea-
sant gentlemen assembled that they
are doomed to die.

This is only a sign of the times.
The times were, half a century
ago, when such a sign was not visi-
ble ; when Catholicity, as a real, liv-
ing, active power, was, so far as
Protestant countries were concern-
ed, dead and damned beyond hope
of redemption. There, was a hor-
ror at the very mention of the
name of Rome ; a universal Prot-
estant shudder at the thought of
the pope ; but Rome and the pope
were things exploded with the Gun-
powder Plot and other dark hor-
rors of a by-gone day. In England
the chief vestige of Catholicity and
Catholic memories left showed it-
self in the annual celebration of
Guy Fawkes' day and the loyal
burning of the pope in effigy.

To-day how changed is the posi-
tion of Catholicity, not in England
•only, but in all English-speaking
peoples ; not in all English-speak-
ing peoples only, but throughout
the civilized world ! Catholicity
has experienced a vast " revival,"
to use Mr. Fronde's expression;
and to any one who has read Mr.
Froude it will be easy to imagine
.how that writer would handle such
.a theme. Mr. Froude dislikes
many things in this world, but of
.all things he dislikes Catholicity.
It is hard for him to write calmly
on any subject ; on this particular
subject he raves, even if he raves
eloquently. His admirers, among
whom for many things — particular-
ly for the good service his pecu-
liarly violent temper has done the
Catholic cause — we beg to be num-
bered, will scarcely accuse him of
:that passionless tone that is sup-
posed to belong to blindfolded and
even-balanced justice. It is not
.passing beyond the bounds of fair

criticism, but simply stating what
ought now to be a sufficiently-es-
tablished fact, to say that whenever
Catholicity or anything belonging
to it crosses Mr. Fronde's vision
that vision is seared ; the man is at
once attacked by a species of liter-
ary insanity — a Popomania, so to
say — that renders him incapable of
cool judgment, and leads him to
play havoc with all the instincts of
good sense, the laws of logic, the
impulses of good nature, and, we
are sorry to add, the rules of hon-
esty. Indeed, no man better than
he affords an example of the re-
mark of a keen French writer that
'' it is the happiness and the glory
of Catholicity to be always served
by its adversaries ; by those who
do not believe in it ; ay, by those
who pursue it with the bitterest
animosity."*

These, however, are only so many
assertions on our part. Mr. Froude
will afford us ample opportunity of
justifying them.

We have no desire to be unjust
to Mr. Froude. Indeed, he is so
unjust to himself that an avowed
enemy could wish for no better
weapons of attack than those sup-
plied by Mr. Froude against him-
self. It is singularly true that Mr.
Froude is generally the best refuta-
tion of Mr. Froude. Still, to a man
of his way of thinking, the ques-
tions set at the head of this article,
which he so boldly puts and hon-
estly attempts to face, must be in
the last degree not only exasperat-
ing but seriously alarming. To a
man who can see nothing more fa-
tal in this world than Catholicity,
the confessed advance of Catholi-
city, in face of, in spite of, and over
all obstacles, must seem like the

* Alexandra de Saint-Cheron. Introduction to
Haiber's translation of Ranke's History of the Pa-
pacy. Second edition. Paris. 1848.

J/r. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism.'"

291

spread of a pestilence of the dead-
liest kind — a mental and moral
pestilence: a darkness of the un-
derstanding, a deadening of the
heart, a numbing of all man's fine,
free, and ennobling qualities, a wil-
ful renouncing of

" The mighty thoughts that make us men."

Of course \ve laugh at so prepos-
terous an idea; but Mr. Froude
has persuaded himself that Catho-
licity is all this, and we are trying
our best to regard him honestly
and as being honest. Nor does
he stand alone in his persuasion.
There are many who go with him
in his estimate of Catholicity, and we
have them in view quite as much as
he in whatever we may have to
say. And the first thing we have
to say is this : Is there really a
"revival of Romanism "? In what
and where is it reviving? Of course
we reject the term Romanism, as
applied to Catholicity. Still, a wil-
ful man may as well have his way,
especially where his wilftilness
costs nothing. We have a more
important controversy with Mr.
Froude than a quarrel over names
and a haggling over words. If
Romanists we must be from his
point of view, why Romanists, in
the name of peace, let us be, to the
extent at least of an article. Some
statisticians estimate us at 200,000,-
ooo. We can afford to be called
names once in a while.

Surely Mr. Froude is mistaken.
If it be true, as a very high author-
ity * assured us a lew years ago,
that "in the kingdom of this world
the state has dominion and prece-
dence," Catholicity, as a whole,
fares very badly in the kingdom
of this world, however high it
may rank in the next. And strange
as it may appear to Mr. Froude

* Prince Bismarck.

and to Prince Bismarck, Catholics
have a singular liking for their
own place in this world ; they lay
claim to at least as lawful a share
of the things of this world as
do Protestants ; and they utterly
and stubbornly refuse to live on
sufferance. The attempt to make
Catholics exist on sufferance, go a-
begging for their lives, so to say,
and eat and drink, and" work and
sleep, and play and pray by the
gracious favor of certain princes of
this world, occasions all the trouble
between Catholics and the states
governed by such princes. So
when a "revival of Romanism" is
talked about we naturally look to
see how Catholics stand in the
world ; and the look is not encour-
aging.

The " kingdoms of this world "
are all, or mostly all, dead-set
against Catholicity. The Catholic
Church is proscribed in Germany;
proscribed in Russia; tied down
in Austria and Italy ; hounded in
Switzerland ; vexed and tormented
in Spain and the states of South
America. Looked at with the
eyes of ordinary common sense,
and from a merely worldly stand-
point, the Catholic 'Church, under
these governments, which are so
strong and powerful, and play so
large and important a part in the
world, is in about as bad a condi-
tion as its worst wisher could de-
sire. By the governments mention-
ed, with some inequality in the de-
gree of severity, Catholicity is re-
garded and treated as at once a se-
cret and an open foe, whom it re-
quires every device and strain
of the law and the resources of
government to put down. What
Emerson, in one of his latest and
best utterances, has said of the as-
sertion of "moral sentiment "is here
exactly true of Catholicity : " Cities

292

Mr. Fronde on tJic "Revival of Romanism'

go against it ; the coljf ge goes
against it ; the courts snatch at any
precedent, at any vicious forms of
law to rule it out; legislatures lis-
ten with appetite to declamations
against it, and vote it down. Eve-
ry new assertion of the right sur-
prises us, like a man joining the
church, and we hardly dare believe
he is in earnest." *

The press is not only against it
of its own accord, but is suborned
to be against it. Its supreme Pas-
tor has literally scarcely a roof to
cover him in the states that through
almost all the centuries of the
Christian era belonged to the
church, and such a roof as he has
hangs on the word of a royal f rob-
ber, who, in turn, holds what he
has and what he has so ill-gotten
by the slenderest of tenures — the
breath of a mob. The city that
witnessed the divinization of pagan-
ism, its awful and just overthrow,
the long agony of the Catacombs,
the building up of Christendom
on the pagan ruins, the glories
of the "ages of faith," is to-day
one of the chief centres of the
new paganism, which has for its
deity nihilism. In all the world
to-day no royal crusader is to
be found to draw his sword for
Christ and Christ's cross. The
race of Charles Martel, of Pepin, of
Charlemagne, of Pelayo, of God-
frey de Bouillon, of St. Louis of
France, of Scanderbeg, of Sobieski,
of Don Juan of Austria, the race of
heroes whose swords wrought mira-
cles at Poitiers, at Jerusalem, at
Acre, at Rhodes, at Malta, at
Vienna, at Lepanto, seems to have
died out, tl:ough a foe as terri-
ble to Christianity as was ever

* North American Rn'tttv, Sipt.-Oct., 1877,
art. on " Perpetual Forces."

t The word '' royal" has so degenerated in these
days that we feel no scruple in applying it to Victor
Emanuel.

the old pagan North and the Mos-
lem South and East besieges and
threatens now the citadel of the
city of God. It is, perhaps, char-
acteristic of the age that the only
one to assume the title of royal
champion of the cross should be
the present Russian emperor. It
is, perhaps, equally characteristic
of the wicked assumption that it
should have met with so fearful
and unexpected a response at the
hands of the wretched remnant
of a power that true Christianity
had crippled, and would have smote
to the dust had not the division of
Christendom lent allies from within
the camp to the ancient foe. Does
it not look like a just retribution ?

The Catholic Church stands be-
tween two revolutions — the revolu-
tion from above and the revolution
from below. Both alike have de-
creed its death. The Herods, the
Pilates, and the rabble, foes in all
else, are friends in this. Delenda
est Roma Catholica !

This is no fancy picture. We
are not speaking now of the church
in herself — that consideration will
come later — but of the church as
she stands towards governments, or
ra'.her as they stand towards her.
Even where some comparative free-
dom is allowed her it is doled out
gingerly and grudgingly, or given
under silent or open protest. The
erection of a free Catholic universi-
ty in France — that is, a university
independent of the government : a
government accused, too, of " cleri-
calism"— is the signal for the French
" republicans," as writers on this side
of the water insist on calling them, to
be up in arms. Men laugh to-day
at the English Ecclesiastical Titles
Act and the turmoil created by it.
Yet it moved liberal England in
1850 till the country rocked with
the tumult of it. Its author was a

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism"

293

liberal leader. He is still living,
we believe, though it is hard to
think of Earl Russell living and
not using his well-remembered
voice. At all events he was living
a few years ago, and we heard him
then — liberal as ever. He had
promised to preside at a meeting
at Exeter Hall, London, to express
sympathy with Prince Bismarck and
the German government in their
contest with the Catholic Church — a
contest that we shall have occasion
to refer to in another place. At
the last moment Earl Russell
"caught a bad cold" and could not
appear, but his place as chief
speaker was nobly taken — by
whom? By a free American citi-
zen, the Rev. Joseph P. Thompson,
D.D., formerly of the Church of the
Tabernacle in this city; and his
closing advice to Prince Bismarck —
an advice thrice repeated — was to
" stamp out " Catholicity.

These individual instances are
only straws, but straws that betoken
a great deal of wind somewhere.
Such liberty as the Catholic Church
has is only conceded to it when
and where the very character and
stability of the governments neces-
sitate its concession. Under such
circumstances, then, does it not
sound strange and startling to be
alarmed at a " revival of Roman-
ism " ?

So much for the dark side of the
picture; and there is no denying
that it is dark indeed. There is
light, however, and the light is very
strong and lovely. If the race of
royal men and heroes whose swords
were ever ready to be drawn in
the cause of Christ seems to have
quite died out, the race of true
Catholics has not died with them.
Royalty, at its best even, was gen-
erally and almost necessarily a
treacherous ally to the church.

The kings have gone from the
church, but the people remain. In
face of this universal, protracted,
bitter, and resolute opposition to
Catholicity on the part of so many
great states, we find the church, as
in the days of the apostles, adding
daily to her number " those that
should be saved." Here, too, we
find, as in all Christian history, the
greatest and sharpest contrasts —
those contrasts that it baffles hu-
man ingenuity to explain. The
Catholic Church is to-day strong-
est where, according to human cal-
culation, she ought to be weakest,
and weakest where she ought to
be strongest. She flourishes best
in what three centuries of almost
total estrangement have made to
her foreign soil. This it is that so
puzzles Mr. Froude.

" The proverb which says that nothing
is certain but the unforeseen was never
better verified than in the resurrection,
as it were out of the grave, during the
last forty years of the Roman Catholic
religion. In my own boyhood it hung
about some few ancient English families
like a ghost of the past. They preserved
'their creed as an heirloom which tradi-
tion rather than conviction made sacred
to them. A convert from Protestantism
to Popery would have been as great a
monster as a convert to Buddhism or
Odin worship. ' Believe in the Pope !'
said Dr. Arnold. ' I should as soon be-
lieve in Jupiter ' " (p. 93).

This is undoubtedly, in the main,
a true picture of the result of three
centuries of apostasy in England.
As for Dr. Arnold, that learned
gentleman probably understated his
belief. He would, if anything, much
sooner have believed in Jupiter
than in the Pope. It would be in-
teresting to know what he thought
of, say, George IV., as the supreme
head of the church of which Dr.
Arnold was so distinguished an or-
nament, or of Queen Victoria. He

-94

Jlfr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism'

is as good an example as any of
modern refined and intellectual pa-
-\mism, and his distinguished son
is but the natural outcome of the
influence of such a man's charac-
ter and teachings, as in another
way was John Stuart Mill of his
father.

" The singular change which we
have witnessed and are still witness-
ing," pursues Mr. Froude, " is not
due to freshly-discovered evidence
of the truth of what had been
abandoned as superstition " (p. 93).
In this, of course, we quite agree
with Mr. Froude, though, perhaps,
not exactly in the manner he would
wish. The truth is the same to-
day as it ever was. Superstition is
the same to-day as it ever was.
Without going into the matter very
deeply just here, we merely hint
that Mr. Fronde's " singular
change " may not be quite so sin-
gular as he imagines. The change
to which he alludes is the return of
a great body of the English-speak-
ing people to or towards what for
three centuries England and Eng-
land's colonies had been educated
to consider superstition, darkness,
idolatry even. Certainly Rome
has not changed within this period,
as it will be seen Mr. Froude, with
passionate vehemence, insists. We
only throw out the hint, then, that
possibly what was abandoned as
superstition turns out on closer in-
spection not to have been supersti-
tion at all. Truth may be slow in
coming, but once come it is very
hard to close one's eyes to it. For
men who have eyes there is. no
exercise so healthy and manful as
honestly to face a great difficulty.
The modern keen spirit of investi-
gation we are far from considering
an unmixed evil, if, indeed, it be an
evil at all. The closest inquiry is
compatible with the firmest and

most whole-hearted faith. The ob-
jections of sceptics to the doc-
trines of the church are, when not
borrowed from the objections of
the doctors of the church, puny in
comparison with them. On men,
however, who do not believe at all,
the spirit of inquiry, when united
to earnestness of purpose, is work-
ing good. Many nowadays, who
have every whit as profound a dis-
trust of Catholicity as Mr. Froude,
are not content with taking for
granted all that they have been
taught to believe of Catholics and
Catholicity. They go to Rome ;
walk about in it, read it, study it,
much as they would enter upon
the investigation of a* disputed
question in science; and, having
examined to their hearts' content,
many of them stay in Rome, while
most come back with at least re-
spect for what they formerly detest-
ed and abhorred.

It is impossible even to mention
a few of the names of distinguished
Catholics within the century, many
of them converts, and not be struck
by their mental and moral emi-
nence. The world cannot afford to
sneer at men like Gorres, Count von
Stolberg, Frederic Schlegel, Hiir-
ter, Ozanam, Lacordaire, Mon-
talembert, Louis Veuillot, Balmez,
O'Connell, Brownson, Ives, Ander-
son, Bayley, Wiseman, Newman,
Manning, Faber, Ward, Marshall,
Allies, Mivart, and a host of others
almost equally eminent, who were
born leaders of men or of thought,
who came from many lands, who
filled every kind of position, and
who, led by many different lights,
traversing many stormy and dark
and difficult ways, came at last to
Rome, to rest there to the end as
loyal and faithful children of the
church. It is men like these who
ennoble the human race and who

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism''1

295

leave a rich legacy of thought and
act to all peoples and to all
time. To say that such men, most
of whom came from without, went
deliberately over to the old "su-
perstition" because it was supersti-
tion . will not do. They found
what they had esteemed dark-
ness to be light.

This modern spirit of investiga-
tion has done and is doing another
great service to the Catholic cause :
it is helping to unravel the tangled
skein of history, to explore dark
places and drag buried truth to
light. Lingard's History of Eng-
land, for instance, really worked, or
more properly began, a revolution
in English thought — a revolution
which, unconsciously, Scott's no-
vels and poems helped greatly to
popularize. The work set on foot
by Lingard and the method adopt-
ed have been well followed up by
others, and by non-Catholics. Men
came to try and look at things dis-
passionately and fairly. The re-
sult was that certain rooted Eng-
lish opinions and prejudices began
slowly to give way. The " glorious
Reformation," for instance, and the
" great Reformers " in England ap-
peared on closer inspection to be
neither quite so " glorious " nor
quite so "great " as before. It re-
quires very exceptional mental, not
to say moral, courage nowadays to
present Henry VIII. as a reformer
of religion, or " good Queen Bess "
as really good, or as one whose
"lordly nature was the pride of all
true-hearted Englishmen."* And
like in character to the leaders
were those who went with them in
their measures of reform. The
Reformation itself has come to be
regarded by all intelligent minds,
whatever be their estimate of Ca-

* Froude's History of England^ vol. ii. p. 447.
Scribner & Co. 1870.

tholicity, as at least not an unmix-
ed good. " The religious reform,"
says Guizot,* " which was the revo-
lution of the sixteenth century has
already been submitted to the test
of time, and of great social and in-
tellectual perils. It brought with
it much suffering to the human race,
it gave rise to great errors and great
crimes, and was developed amidst
cruel wars and the most deplorable
troubles and disturbances. These
facts, which we learn both from its
partisans and opponents, cannot
be contested, and they form the
account which history lays to the
charge of the event." The con-
stant revelations coming to light
through the publication of secret
papers and such like make it per-
fectly plain that reform, to have
been at all effectual, should have
begun with the " Reformers " them-
selves. As an evidence of how
thoroughly the sham and rotten-
ness of the Reformation have been
exposed, we find Sanders' much-
derided Rise and Growth of the An-
glican Schism now accented on all
sides as only too true.

Certain it is that a great idol
of English Protestantism, if not
quite overthrown, has been very
much battered and bruised of late
by iconoclasts who in other days
would have knelt and worship-
ped before it. Protestant Eng-
land is built on the Protestant Re-
formation ; but if that turns out to
have been on its religious side so
very bad an affair, what becomes of
those who pinned their faith to it?
That is a thought that is working
in men's minds, and working good.
That reform was needed in the
church and kingdom of England
prior to the Reformation no man
will dispute. But real reformation

* Sl. Louis and Calvin, p. 149. Macmillan &Co.

296

Mr. Froude on the "Revival of Romanism"

should not be a sweeping out of
one devil to introduce seven more
unclean.

"While the truth of history was
thus slowly forcing its way out,
there came a sudden shock to the
mind of the English people — a shock
so severe and stunning in its first
effects as almost to lead to a reaction
and a turning again into the old
ruts. This was the deliberate de-
sertion of all pretensions to alliance
with the early church by some
of the leaders — " the ablest " Mr.
Froude styles them — of the Trac-
tarian movement. These became
converts to the Catholic faith, and,
in the slang of the day, " went over
to Rome."

The falling away of these men
from the Anglican Church can
only be likened to a revolution, a
yielding of some buttress of the
British Constitution, which was
thought to be as impregnable, as
solid, as lasting as England itself.
And yet "the intellect which saw
the falsehood of the papal preten-
sions in the sixteenth century sees
it only more clearly in the nine-
teenth," says Mr. Froude. Possi-
bly enough ; a distinction, however,
is to be drawn at "intellect."

" More than ever the assump-
tions of the Holy See are perceived
to rest on error or on fraud. The
doctrines of the Catholic Church
have gained only increased impro-
bability from the advance of know-
ledge. Her history, in the light
of critical science, is a tissue of le-
gend woven by the devout imagi-
nation."

We have thus far only quoted
from the first of fifty-four pages,
and already we pause to take
breath. Mr. Froude has a pecu-
liar manner of putting things.
Such wholesale and sweeping asser-
tions are only to be answered in a

volume or by a simple denial. Of
course, if the Catholic Church is
all that Mr. Froude unhesitatingly
sets her down to be, there is an
end of the whole question. In
that case the " revival of Roman-
ism " is really a grave danger to
the world ; nay, the very existence
of " Romanism " — i.e., of Catholi-
city— is a menace to human society.
If the " papal pretensions " are
" falsehood "; if " the assumptions
of the Holy See " " rest on error
and fraud "; if " the doctrines of
the Catholic Church have gained
only increased improbability from
the advance of knowledge " ; and
if " her history is a tissue of le-
gend," men who commit them-
selves to the defence of such a
monstrosity set themselves at once
beyond the pale of civilization. Were
Mr. Froude writing of the Turks
or of the Mormons he could scarce-
ly use language more strongly con-
demnatory. It is probable that,
with his generous impulses, he
would find " extenuating circum-
stances," did he think any needed,
for Mormon or Turk, which he
could not concede to a Catholic.

When Mr. Froude visited this
country recently on his ill-judged
and, to him, disastrous mission —
for a mission he called it — a critic
(in the New York World, we be-
lieve) described his style, very
happily it seemed to us. as femi-
nine. Women are not supposed to
sit down to serious questions of
wide and general import as calm-
ly and judiciously as men. They
argue from the heart rather than
the head. They like or they dis-
like, and woe betide the person or
the cause that they dislike ! Ar-
gument is thrown away on them.
They make the most astounding
statements with the easiest confi-
dence ; they have a happy faculty

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism"

297

of inventing facts ; they contradict
themselves with placid uncon-
sciousness, and everybody else with
scornful vigor ; for logic they have
not so much a disregard as a pro-
found contempt, and take refuge
from its assaults in thin-edged sa-
tire. This, of course, is only true
of them when they are out of their
sphere and dealing with matters
for which they have a constitutional
incapacity.

Mr. Froude, however, is just
this. Take any one sentence of
those last quoted ; look at it calm-
ly ; weigh it in the balance, and
what do we find ? Take this one :
" The doctrines of the Catholic
Church have gained only increased
improbability from the advance of
knowledge." With this confident
statement he leaves the matter.
There is no doubt, no hesitation,
no reservation at all on his part.
A reasonable man will ask himself,
however : " Is this stupendous
statement true?" "The doctrines
of the Catholic Church! What! all
of them?" Apparently so; Mr.
Froude, at least, makes no excep-
tion. " I believe in God, the Fath-
er Almighty, Creator of heaven and
earth," is the primary article of the
Catholic Creed. Has that only
"gained increased improbability
from the advance of knowledge "?
Mr. Froude would hardly say so ;
indeed, in more places than one
he takes occasion to sneer at the
modern scientific gospel. Even
if Mr. Froude himself said so,
his Protestant readers who make
any pretensions to Christian faith
would scarcely agree with him.
Belief in the Trinity of God is an-
other doctrine of the Catholic
Church ; in Jesus Christ the God-
Man, the Redeemer of the world ;
in the Holy Ghost; in the resur-
rection of the body and life ever-

lasting. All these are doctrines of
the Catholic Church. Does Mr.
Froude pretend to say that they
have all been swept away by " the
advance of knowledge "? If he did
not mean to say this — as, indeed, we
believe he did not — why did he say
it? What are we to think of him ?
Is this sober writing and a right
manner of approaching a serious
question ? In p. 93 he tells us that
" the doctrines of the Catholic
Church have gained only increas-
ed improbability from the advance
of knowledge." In p. 95 he has
already forgotten himself, and tells
us that " the Protestant churches
are no less witnesses to the immor-
tal nature of the soul, and the aw-
ful future which lies before it, than
the Catholic Church" which is the
strongest kind of concession of
what he had just before denied ;
and forgetting himself again, he
tells us in a third place (p. 141)
that the Protestant ministers "are
at present the sole surviving repre-
sentatives of true religion in the
world." This is only one of a
multitude of instances in which Mr.
Froude allows himself to run away
with himself. Passion and preju-
dice narrow his mental vision, until
at times it becomes so diseased as
to result in moral as well as men-
tal obliquity.

The same thing is observable in
the sentence immediately following
the passage last quoted : " Liberty,
spiritual and political, has thriven
in spite of her [the Catholic
Church's] most desperate opposi-
tion, till it has invaded every gov-
ernment in the world, and has
penetrated at last even the territo-
ries of the popes themselves" (p.

94).

Even Mr. Froude cannot abso-
lutely blind himself to facts; at
least, he cannot alter them. He

298

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism'

may hate the Catholic Church as
much as he pleases — and it pleases
him to hate her very much — but the
fact of his hatred cannot convert the
persecution of herchildren into "lib-
erty, spiritual and political." Nor
are we at all begging the question in
giving the name of persecution to the
treatment that Catholics are receiv-
ing at the hands, if not of " every
government of the world," at least
of those previously enumerated. It
is the word, as we shall show, ap-
plied to the anti-Catholic legisla-
tion in Germany by candid Protes-
tants, countrymen of Mr. Froude,
too, who hate the church and the
Pope just as resolutely as he, but
with more apparent show of reason.
It is too late in the day to argue
about this matter. There is no
longer question to an honest mind
as to whether the Catholics in Ger-
many are or are not persecuted.
There may still be question as to
whether or not the persecution be
necessary, but there is no dispute
as to the fact. To talk of the
"spiritual liberty" of Catholics in
Germany to-day is simply to talk
nonsense. But, lest there should
be any possible doubt regarding
the matter, it may be as well to
freshen men's memories a little on
a point that is intimately connect-
ed with our whole subject ; for what
covers Germany covers every land
where the struggle between the
Catholic Church and the state is
being waged.

The organs of English opinion
have been very faithful in their al-
legiance to Prince Bismarck, who
is such an experienced cultivator
of public opinion. They are the
bitter foes of the Papacy and the
Catholic Church. Nevertheless,
they have some pretensions to prin-
ciple, and, when there is no escape
out of the difficulty, call white

white, and black black. At all
events they do not always call black
white. In Germany, then, accord-
ing to Mr. Froude, "liberty, spirit-
ual and political, has thriven in
spite of the Catholic Church's most
desperate opposition." While the
struggle of the German government
with the Catholics had as yet not
much more than half begun the
English Pall Mall Gazette discov-
ered that

" There is no parallel in history to the
experiment which the German statesmen
are resolutely bent on trying, except the
memorable achievement of Englishmen
under the guidance of Henry VIII. . . .
Like all these measures, the new law
concerning the education of ecclesias-
tical functionaries, which is the most
striking of the number, will apply to all
sects indifferently, but, in its applica-
tion to the Roman Catholic priesthood,
it almost takes one's breath away."

It may be only natural to find
the apologist of Henry VIII. and
Elizabeth describing the revival in
modern times of " the memorable
achievement of Englishmen " un-
der Henry VIII. as " liberty, spiri-
tual and political." Yet the same
" experiment " takes away the
breath, not only of so cool a jour-
nal as the Pall Mall Gazette, but
of a much cooler and more influen-
tial journal still.

" The measures now in the German
Parliament, and likely to become law,"
says the London Times, "amount to a
secular organization so complete as not
to leave the Pope a soul, a place, an
hour, that he can call entirely his own.
Germany asserts for the civil power the
control of all education, the imposition
of its own conditions on entrance to
either civil or ecclesiastical office, the
administration of all discipline, and at
every point the right to confine religious
teachers and preachers to purely doc-
trinal and moral topics. Henceforth
there is to be neither priest, nor bishop,
nor cardinal, nor teacher, nor preacher,
nor proclamation, nor public act, nor

Mr. Fronde on tJie "Revival of Romanism"

299

penalty, nor anything that man can hear,
do, or say for the soul's good of man in
Germany, without the proper authoriza-
tion, mark, and livery of the emperor."

Mr. Fronde is perfectly correct
in saying that such measures have
been carried " in spite of the
church's most desperate opposi-
tion," but whether he is equally
correct in styling the same thing
" liberty," spiritual or political, \ve
leave to the judgment of honest
readers. The London Spectator,
writing at the same period, was in
sore trouble as to the event.

" Is an age of the world." it asks, " in
which few men know what is truth or
whether there be truth, one in which
you would ask statesmen 10 determine
its limits? We suspect that a race of
statesmen armed with such powers as
Prussia is now giving to her officials
would soon cease to show their present
temperance and sobriety, and grow into
a caste of civilian ecclesiastics of harder,
drier, and lower mould than any of the
ecclesiastics they had to put down. . . .
To our minds the absolutism of the Va-
tican Council is a trifling danger com-
pared with the growing absolutism of
the democratic temper which is now be-
ing pushed into almost every depart-
ment of human conduct."

We shall have occasion to show
the results of the work of these
" civilian ecclesiastics " on the Pro-
testant Church in Germany, parti-
cularly in Prussia. Even at this
early stage of the struggle the Lon-
don Times confessed :

" We do not anticipate any retrogres-
sion in the development of Prussia, but
it seems inevitable that there should be
some check in the progress of change,
some slackening in the audacity of le-
gislation, some disposition to rest and
be thankful."

Of the same measure the Prus-
sian correspondent of the London
Times wrote :

" The Catholic dignitaries are not the
only ecclesiastics opposed to the bill.

The new measures applying not only to
the Catholic Church, but to all religious
communities recognized by the state,
the Ober-Kirchenrath, or Supreme Con-
sistory of the Protestant Church in the
old provinces, has also thought fit to
caution the crown against the enactment
of these sweeping innovations."

" The official papers openly accuse the
Protestant clergy of becoming the allies
of the Ultramontanes," says the Pall
Mall Gazette (Apiil 12, 1873^. " Herr
Von Gerlach no longer stands alone as
a Protestant opponent of the chancel-
lor's policy."

" This rough-and ready method of ex-
pelling Ultramontane influences 'by a
fork ' can hardly fail to suggest to a
looker-on the probability that, like simi-
lar methods of expelling nature, it may
lead to a reaction. Downright persecu-
tion of this sort (we are speaking now
simply of the Jesuit law), unless it is
very thorough indeed — more thorough
than is well possible in the n neteenth
century — usually defeats itself," says the
Saturday Review.

But why multiply quotations ?
Surely those given are enough to
show that the leading organs of
English opinion, representing every
stripe of thought, are quite agreed
as to what name should be given to
what Mr. Froude calls the " liberty,
spiritual and political," in Ger-
many. We leave the case confi-
dently in their hands; and Mr.
Froude apparently thinks the ver-
dict has gone against him. He de-
plores the fact that " free England
and free America . . . affect to
think that the Jesuits are an injur-
ed body, and clamor against Prince
Bismarck's tyranny. Truly, we are
an enlightened generation "(p. 136).

What is here true of Germany is
true also of Russia, Austria (in
great measure), Italy, Switzerland,
and other lands. So that if Ca-
tholicity is really reviving, as Mr.
Froude alleges, it is reviving under
the very shadow of death, and in
face of the combined opposition of
the most powerful governments.

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism''

A revival under such circumstances
on "lit to extort the admiration of

Mr. Fronde, who is as true a he-
ro-worshipper as Carlyle, even if
he be about equally happy in his
selection of heroes. In the " Pre-
liminary" to The English in Ireland
Mr. Froude propounds his theories
of might and right :

" A natural right to liberty, irrespec-
tive of the ability to defend it, exists in
nations as much as, and no more than,
it exists in individuals. ... In a world
in which we are made to depend so large-
ly for our well-being on the conduct of
our neighbors, and yet are created in-
finitely unequal in ability and worthi-
ness of character, the superior part has a
natural right to govern; the in fei tor part
has a natural right to be governed ; and a
rude but adequate test of superiority and
inferiority is provided in the relative
strength of ihe different orders of human
beings. Among wild beasts and sava-
ges might constitutes right. Among rea-
sonable beings right is for ever tending
to create might" (vol. i. pp. i, 2).

As we are not now examining
Mr. Fronde's theories on govern-
ment, we only call attention to the
very hazy nature of the views
here expressed on a subject which
of all things should be clear and
definite. He uses the word right
without telling us what he means
by it, whether or not it has an ab-
solute meaning and force. He
speaks of " the superior part " and
" the inferior part " without in-
forming us in what sense the terms
are ustd. Superior in what ? In-
ferior in what? To any rational
mind it is plain that, just because
of the inequality of human beings
"in ability and worthiness of char-
acter," there must, under a divine
dispensation, which Mr. Froude
does not deny, be absolute rules of
right and wrong for all alike, a
moral code which shall extend to
and determine all rights, natural
or acquired- If not this, right and

wrong become convertible terms,
and right and might of course fol-
low suit, which is really the out-
come of Mr. Fronde's theory — j,
doctrine that impregnates and in-
spires all his writings.

"There neither is nor can be an inher-
ent pri\-ilege in any person or set of per-
sons to live unworthily at their own
wills, when they can be led or driven into
more honorable courses ; and the rights of
man — if such rights there be — are not to
liberty, but to wise direction and con-
trol " (p. 2).

A very plausible-looking doc-
trine, but a very dangerous one as
here laid down. An example will
serve to show the mischievous and
vicious nature of it. According to
Mr. Froude, to be a Catholic is " to
live unworthily." The comment
suggests itself.

" Individuals cannot be inde-
pendent, or society cannot exist.
. . . The individual has to sacrifice
his independence to his family, the
family to the tribe," etc. Why so ?
Would it not be truer as well as
nobler to say that the individual
uses his independence for his fauii-
ly?

"Necessity and common danger drive
families into alliance for self-defence ;
the smaller circles of independence
lose themselves in ampler areas ; and
those who refuse to conform to the
new authority are either required to take
themselves elsewhere, or, if they remain
and persist in disobedience, may be
treated as criminals "(p. 4)-

Quite independent of the nature
and claims of the" new authority,"
so far as Mr. Froude enlightens us.

" On the whole, and as a rule, superi-
or strength is the equivalent of superior
merit. . . . As a broad principle it may
be said that, as nature has so constituted
us that we must be ruled in some way. and
as at any given time the rule inevitably
will be in the hands of those who are then
the strongest, so nature also lias allot-

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism''1

301

ted superiority of strength to superiority
of intellect and character ; and in decid-
ing that the weaker shall obey the more
powerful, ihe is in reality saving them
Irom themselves, and then most confers
true liberty when she seems most to be
taking it away" (pp. 4, 5).

We hold that ''superiority of
strength " belongs to " superiority
of intellect and character," but not
in Mr. Fronde's sense. This sense
is obviously that expounded by the
third Napoleon in the preface to
his Julius Cczsar — viz., that once
Caesar is established, it is a crime .
to go against him under any cir-
cumstances; which is equivalent to
saying that whatever is, is right.
It is forgotten by, or not known to,
these writers that man is prone to
evil from childhood; that the good
has always a hard battle to fight ;
that it does conquer by force of
'; superiority of intellect and charac-
ter," but that it is often, and for a
long time, borne down by the phy-
sical superiority of brute strength.
The history of Christianity is
the strongest instance we can of-
fer of the truth of our position.
Christianity has been struggling
upwards for nineteen centuries ; to
human eyes it was often at the point
of death; on those whom it subdued
it conferred superiority of intellect
and of character — a superiority
which they sometimes turned against
itself— and to-day it is struggling
as fiercely as ever.

However, let us gauge Mr.
Fronde by his own standard : that
superiority of strength goes with
superiority of intellect and of cha-
racter. It is a very convenient
theory as so stated ; but it is apt to
work t\vo ways. So long as it
works for Mr. Froude it is very
natural and explicable. As soon,
however, as it turns to the opposite
side it is to Mr. Froude a " phe-

nomenon." We are as little inclin-
ed to underrate as to overrate suc-
cess, though very far from accept-
ing it as the standard of right.
One thing, however, will be con-
ceded by all men : what succeeds
in face of the most strenuous, long-
sustained, and powerful opposition ;
in face of wealth, position, posses-
sion, numbers, resources, education,
tradition — in a word, of all that
goes to form and mould and fix
peoples and their character, their
history, their mode of thought, their
national bent — what, we say, suc-
ceeds in face of all this must have
something in it very much resem-
bling Mr. Fronde's "superiority of
intellect and of character." It
must have an immense vital force
and strength and reality within it.
It is hard for any man not to ac-
knowledge that under such circum-
stances success approves itself;
that it came because it deserved to
come.

But this is just Mr. Fronde's
"revival" of Catholicity — a fact
which for him has no adequate ex-
planation.

" The tide of knowledge and the tide
of outward events," he says, "have set
with equal force in the direction oppo-
site to Romanism ; yet in spite of it, per-
haps by means of it, as a kite rises
against the wind, the Roman Church has
once more shot up into visible and prac-
tical consequence. While she loses
ground in Spain and Italy, which had
been so long exclusively her own, she is
gaining in the modern energetic races,
which had been the stronghold of Pro-
testantism. Her numbers increase, her
organization gathers vigor. Her clergy
are energetic, bold, and aggressive.
Sees long prostrate are re-established ;
cathedrals rise, and churches, with
schools, and colleges, and convents, and
monasteries. She has taken into her
service her old enemy, the press, and
has established a popular literature.
Her hierarchy in England and America
have already compelled the state to con-

302

Mr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism."

suit their opinions and respect their
pleasure ; while each step that is gained
is used as a vantage-ground from which
to present fresh demands. Hildebrand,
in the plenitude of his power, was not
more arrogant in his claim of universal
sovereignty than the present wearer of
the tiara."

This glowing passage suggests a
variety of comments. In the first
place, taking it as a statement of
facts, it is, coming from Mr. Fronde,
a most marvellous testimony, to the
power and growth of the Catholic
Church within the present century.
Let us venture to paraphrase his
outburst, and see how it runs :

Here are you whom we thought
dead and buried under your weight
of superstition, idolatry, absurdity,
and fraud, an old fossil of mediaeval
times, deserted, neglected, despised,
and contemned by the intelligence,
wealth, and worth of the age, sud-
denly leaping into new life, and by
a single miraculous stride coming
right abreast of, if not ahead of,
your foes. What have we that you
have not ? Energy is ours, yet you
surpass us. Numbers are ours;
you are stealing them from us.
Knowledge and learning are ours ;
your teachers put ours to shame.
We stole your sees, your cathedrals,
your monasteries, your convents,
your schools, your universities — all
that you had of beautiful, and holy,
and intellectual. You ask them
not back, but set to work to build
them anew. Ours is stolen pro-
perty ; yours is built on the free
offerings of the poor. We invaded
the domain of English literature ;
it was all ours ; we poisoned its
wells to you ; we invented the
newspaper to perpetuate the false-
hoods that we wove about you.
You have found an antidote to the
poison; you win over our brightest
intellects; you make a literature

of your own which we are compel-
led to admire and read. You face
us at every turn, and we may as
well confess that you beat us at
many.

This is really Mr. Fronde's pic-
ture, not ours. His words mean
this or nothing. Will it not occur
to anybody that for a church built
on "superstition," "falsehood,"
"fraud," "error," "a tissue of le-
gend," etc., etc., Mr. Fronde's is
indeed a strange showing — so
strange that if the church were the
direct opposite of all that he as-
serts it to be, it could hardly hope
for more signal or deserved sue- <
cess ? Does it ever occur to Mr.
Froude that he mayby some re-
mote possibility be mistaken in his
estimate of the Catholic Church?
that it, if not right altogether, may
at least be righter than he thinks?

To some minds, to many and to
greater and broader minds than
Mr. Froude's, the doubt has sug-
gested itself. Some, like Macau-
lay, face it, acknowledge the won-
der of it, make no attempt to ex-
plain the wonder, and stand with-
out for ever, still wondering. Others
draw nearer and examine more
closely, and finally enter in. Here
is how Mr. Froude views it :

" What is the meaning of so strange a
phenomenon? Is the progress of which
we hear so much less real than we
thought ? Does knowledge grow more
shallow as the surface widens? Is it
that science is creeping like the snake
upon the ground, eating dust and bring-
ing forth materialism? that the Catholic
Church, in spite of her errors, keeps
alive the consciousness of our spiritual
being and the hope and expectation of
immortality? The Protestant churches
are no less witnesses to the immortal
nature of the soul, and the awful future
which lies before it, than the Catholic
Church. Why is Protestantism standing
still while Rome is advancing? Why
does Rome count her converts from

Mr. Fronde on the

of Romanism"

303

among the evangelicals by tens, while
she loses to them, but here and there,
an exceptional and unimportant unit?"
(P- 95)-

Mr. Froude has put questions
here each of which would take a
volume to answer. We leave them
to be pondered over by those for
whom they are chiefly intended,
and of whose conscientious consi-
deration they are well worthy. For
ourselves, we can have no doubt as
to the answer to be given to each,
but we are more concerned at pre-
sent with Mr. Froude's reply.

First among the causes which he
assigns as having " united to bring
about such a state of things " is the
Tractarian movement in the An-
glican Church, resulting from the
" latitudinarianism of the then
(1832) popular Whig philosophy."

"The Whigs believed that Catholics
had changed their nature and had grown
liberal, and had insisted on emancipat-
ing them. The Tractarians looked on
emancipation as the fruit of a spirit
which \vas destroying Christianity, and
would terminate at last in atheism. They
imagined that, by reasserting the autho-
rity of the Anglican Church, they could
at once stem the encroachments of po-
pery and arrest the progress of infi-
delity. Both Whigs and Tractarians
were deceiving themselves. The Ca-
tholic Church is unchanging as the
Ethiopian's skin, and remains, for good
and evil, the same to-day as yesterday."

Yes ; " the same yesterday, to-
day, and for ever " is the church
of God. It cannot be the church
of God and be otherwise. If there
was any deception Mr. Froude lays
it at the right door. These men
were " deceiving themselves. " The
church gave no intimation of change,
made no promises, held out no con-
cessions, thought of no compromise
in matter of teaching. She cannot
do so; it is not in her power to
do so.

It was the liberal philosophy that
was chiefly instrumental in bring-
ing the change about. Men had
to choose between the fixed doc-
trines of the Catholic Church and
the shifting doctrines and intolera-
ble pretensions of the Anglican
Church. They rejected both; they
rejected revelation ; they looked at
man himself, and attached to him
certain natural rights which are as
well expressed in our Declaration
of Independence as anywhere.
They would, if they could, strike
out the Catholics, as was attempted
here. But it was impossible. They
could not do it and be true to
themselves and their principles. If
liberty of thought, freedom of con-
science, and the right to worship
or not to worship God in your own
way be natural rights of man, they
necessarily attach to all, whether a
man call himself Catholic, Protes-
tant, Jew, or Nihilist. It is a poli-
tical and practical impossibility in
these days of divided and clashing
beliefs to profess liberty, yet seal
the door to any special form of
worship ; and Catholicity of all be-
liefs is dreaded, because, when free
and untrammelled, it has the ten-
dency and the force to assimilate
and receive all into its bosom. The
result of this partial concession of
freedom to Catholicity in England
is thus pictured by Mr. Froude :

" The Tractarians' principles led the
ablest of them into that very fold against
which they had imagined themselves the
most efficient of barriers. From the day
in which they established their party
in the Anglican communion a steady
stream of converts has passed through
it into the Catholic ranks ; while the
Wh:g3, in carrying emancipation, gave the
Catholics political power, and with pow-
er the respect and weight in the outer
world which in free countries always
attends it."

It is the attainment of this pow-

304

Jlfr. Fronde on the "Revival of Romanism.'"

er by Catholics that Mr. Frbude so
bitterly resents. It would be more
satisfactory if he told us plainly
what he would have done to Catho-
lics. Would he deny them votes ?
To deny them votes is to deny
them political life. And would he
deny votes to Catholics only ? Or
would he grant votes, but compel
them to use them in one way, and,
if in one way, in which way? In a
word, would he allow Catholics to
exist at all as Catholics, would he
force them into the old state of
political slavery, or would he open-
ly force them into Protestantism
under the persuasion that Protest-
antism, no matter of what stripe,
was better for them ? Though he
shrinks from saying so himself, the
latter seems to be the only fair
practical conclusion to be drawn
from his words, and in passages al-
ready quoted he has given us the
grounds on which he would act,
and feel justified in acting: "The
superior part has a natural right to
govern the inferior part." It is
plain as between Protestantism and
Catholicity which Mr. Froude con-
siders "the superior part." "The
inferior part has a natural right to
be governed." " There neither is
nor can be an inherent privilege in
any person or set of persons to live
unworthily at their own wills, when
they can be led or driven into more
honorable courses"

We must interpret Mr. Froude
by himself, and, judging him by his
own words, we are led irresistibly
to the conclusion that had he the
power he would do all that has
been done in the past, and even go
beyond it — for all measures have
thus far proved ineffectual — to de-
stroy Catholicity from the face of
the earth.

And here we come to our final
consideration in the present article.

Mr. Froude's observations amount
practically to this : Set Catholicity
and Protestantism side by side ;
give them each perfect freedom ;
Catholicity will infallibly gain,
Protestantism will as infallibly lose.
"The phenomenon," he says plain-
tively, "is not confined to Eng-
land. ... In America, in Holland,
in Switzerland, in France, wherever
there is most political freedom, the
power of Catholics is increasing."

Well, what of it? The fault,
still following Mr. Froude, if fault
there be, must rest either with Ca-
tholicity, or with Protestantism, or
with political freedom. If with Ca-
tholicity, it is its fault that " wher-
ever there is most political free-
dom " its " power is increasing."

If with Protestantism, it is its
fault that, where Catholicity is
placed on an equal political footing
with it, its power decreases, while
the power of Catholicity propor-
tionately increases ; and it is to
be borne in mind that the power
of numbers in the distinctively
Protestant countries is altogether
against the Catholics.

If the fault lie with political free-
dom itself, that with it the power
of Catholics increases, what are we
to say or do ? That political free-
dom and Catholicity go hand in
hand is the obvious comment, and
that it is impossible to check the
advance of Catholicity without at
the same time contracting political
freedom. We submit that this is
the plain and logical deduction to
be drawn from Mr. Froude's words.
It is no trick of verbiage. The
fact is to himself a "phenomenon."
We are giving now no opinion of
our own, but simply translating Mr.
Froude, when we say that by his
concession -Protestantism cannot
stand by the side of Catholicity in
a free air. It must go to the wall.

To F. W. Faber. 305

This we have to reconcile with his can strangle it. But we shall show

other statement that " liberty, that even there it is the only reli-

spiritual and political, has thriven gion with any vitality in it, and

in spite of her [the Catholic that all forms of religion which

Church's] most desperate opposi- claim the name of Christian suffer

tion, till it has invaded every gov- with the Catholic Church and lose

eminent in the world." Where it by her losses. We have thus far

has really invaded governments, by only treated the " revival " in a

his own confession, " the power of general way. In a future article

Catholics is increasing." Where it we shall, in company with Mr.

is cut off, there is Catholicity Froude, examine the specific causes

strangled, so far as human power which he assigns for the " revival."

TO F. W. FABER.

Amico, io vivendo cercava conforto

Nel monte Parnasso ;
Tu, meglio consigliato, cercalo

Nel Calvario.
-Chiabrera's epitaph at Savona. From the title-page of Father Faber's Pae»itr

TRUE poet of all mountain sight and sound,
Of barren glen where mighty echoes wake,
Of eagle-haunted, crag-o'ershadowed lake
Where loneliness in silent state sits crowned
And shares her kingdom with no shallow heart :
True lover of all nature's solemn ways,
The columned forest's wind-waked song of praise —
Sad chords wherein all deepest joy hath part —
True reader of the primrose' golden tale,
Finding its glow but shadow of a light
Wherein who seeks may find the Infinite,
That doth its mystery so in least things veil —
A seer thou seem'st in thy high mountain place,
E'er with all holiest visions face to face.

Yet wandering content in lowlier ways,

By brambly lane and lawn-embroidered mere,

By quiet river in whose waters clear
The clustering willows and tall towers gaze
Of minster-town whose ancient bells ring out

And trail their music through thy thoughtful rhyme

Like far-off echoes of an older time
When trembled in their peal no note of doubt.
VOL. xxvi. — 20

306 To F. W. Fabcr.

Landless, yet holder of a royal fief

In all the beauty by rich nature wrought —

Each blossoming hedge-row with an earldom fraught,

Wide duchies bound in every golden sheaf —

Thine the unchallenged tenure of the whole,

By right divine of unstained poet-soul !

in.

Still hearkening ever to that low heart-beat

Of sorrowing earth, whose flowers fade in death,
Whose silver-threaded rills grow faint for breath,

Whose wounded birds cry out beneath thy feet.

Not deaf thy human ear to any plaint

Of our sad mother whom her sons make weep —
Breaking with cries of hate her quiet sleep,

Crowding in sunless ways their brothers faint.

Nor dumb thy poet-voice to speak her woe —

She that hath shivered when mankind stood mute
Or flung harsh words of evilest repute,

Veiling her face her Maker's cross below.

With filial love thy heart 'gainst hers is laid

Who rears the hills, in keeping holds the dead.

IV.

Like cleansing waters touched with heavenly grace
Thy mountain-consecrated words are shed,
Lifting our souls to light unshadowed,

Guiding our footsteps in the holy trace

Of Him who yet shall make the hills a way —
Exalted paths trod by the clean of heart,
Shrines for the holy-minded set apart •

Wherein profaner feet unheeding stray.

All nature wins true loving from thy song —
Fair not alone with her e'er-changing grace,
But, lighting each dear feature of her face

The thought of love enduring, pure and strong —

True poet, in Parnassus' shadow still

Feeling the loadstone of blessed Calvary's hill.

To that sad mount how eloquent a guide !
Not Hybla's blossoms could so fair beguile
The wandering bees as thy entreating wile

Faint souls to climb that seeming arid side.

To F. W. Fabcr. 307

With strength them lead'st from seraph-haunted cave
Where Infinite Might with infinite loving smiled
From frail, sweet lips of Holy Mary's Child ;

Anon where pitying palm-trees shadow gave

To ease the weary exile of their Lord ;

On through the humble toil of patient years —
Till, mingling with the Magdalen our tears,

Our heart's poor vase of precious ointment poured —

We stand, God's Mother near, with woe beside

The love-pierced feet of Jesus Crucified.

VI.

The sweetest refuge any soul can know !

Where all complaining stills its idle voice,

And trembling joy bids sorrow soft rejoice
Finding the living wand, whose staff below
The living waters lie like mountain spring

Defiled not in its source, whose shining face

Gives to e'en homely herbs a resting-place,
With heaven's blue for their bright shadowing.
Pure, living source ! wherein who drinks shall thirst

Not any more. Blest cup of Love Divine !

About whose stem the thorny wreath doth twine,
Grown soft for us since He hath borne it first.
Cool draught ! wherein no hidden drop of gall
Makes heaven bitter, and earth's promise all.

VII.

Shall poets change for bay the crown divine

Wreathing the head of Him about whom throng
Life's tenderest flowers, who holds art's perfect song

In his pierced hands ? — pure gift in holiest shrine ! —

From whose rent side the consecrating flood

Doth cleanse the poet's thought from earthly stain,
Him king anointed o'er a grand domain

By true inheritance of royal blood ;

In whose wide heart, broken for very love,
Lies master-key to all true harmonies,
So tuned, no base, discordant melodies

Shall jar earth's music saints shall sing above ;

So tuned, may wake in sweetness weakest string,

Immortal anthems loyal echoing.

VIII.

So keyed thy sacred song, O poet true !

With holy joy its very sorrow light,

So glorified with that love infinite
That shines as stars in heaven's darkest blue :

3o8 To F. W. Fabcr.

Waslied clean thy earth-born lays in that pure flood
Thy cloudy mountains hide no fear save one
Of loving awe ; though in dark gorge the sun

Falls not, e'en there the Eternal Dove doth brood.

Thy mountain springs are pure, wherein we dare
Drink as \ve will, not fearing, so bent down,
We shall lose sight of heaven's fairer crown

And find but our own likeness resting there.

Fresh with a dew bearing no stain of earth,

Thy hill-paths lead unto our Father's hearth.

IX.

With thee, my poet, lie our souls at rest
In the soft glory of our Mother's smile —
The Maid Immaculate, who could beguile

Her God to be a child on her pure breast.

With thee we labor that our little life

Shall learn to lose itself, that it be found
In that far, other life eternal crowned

'Mid hero-saints whose prayers were ours in strife ;

Humbly with thee, our dearest Lord before,
Veiled in the little, pale, and helpless round
Wherewith on earth he chooseth to be crowned,

We bend with love that yearneth to love more.

Fond children, at the Father's feet we kneel,

Finding the love his Spirit doth reveal.

O poet! more than Crashaw, saint ! forgive,
If break my singing in unworthy praise;
Pardon, if uncouth love in stammering lays,

Seeking to thank, but give thee cause to grieve.

Unspoken gratitude is burden sore

When debt so passing strong of love is owed ;
Unworthy speaking but augments the load,

Forgivene'ss making so love's burden more.

So much to thee I owe ! Along my life

Thy words like patient, winged seeds are sown,
So long amid the dark and brambles grown,

Yet winning bloom at last despite the strife.

As once for him of Ars thy heart was shrine,

So mine holds thee, O blessed of Love Divine !

Among the Translators.

309

AMONG THE TRANSLATORS.

VIRGIL AND HORACE — II.

"TRADUIRE Horace, et surtout
le traduire en vers, est meme de-
venu, depuis soixante ou quatre-
vingts ans, et chez nous et en d'au-
tres pays, une sorte de legere in-
firmite morale, et de douce maladie
qui prend regulierement un cer-
tain nombre d'liommes instruits
an retour d'age ; c'est une envie de
redevenir enfant, adolescent, de se
reporter au temps des etudes qui
nous etaient cheres." To translate
Horace, says Sainte-Beuve, above all
to translate him in verse, has become
within the last sixty or eighty years,
both in France and abroad, a kind
of venial moral infirmity, a sort of
mild fever, which periodically seizes
a certain number of educated men
as they find themselves growing old ;
and it has its source in the long-%
ing to renew our youth, to live over
again the time of studies we were
fond of.

Like all the sayings of that most
delicate and spirituel of critics, this
is so far true that most translations
of Horace will be found, we think,
to be the work of men advancing
in life, and, in the majority of ca-
ses, to have grown up insensibly
through a number of years. One
does not sit down to a version of
the Odes as to a version of the
sEneid, beginning at the first line
and going religiously through in
order to the end. No ; but we pick
out an ode here and there, as the
mood takes us and that fits the
mood — some gay Ad Amphoram or
Ad Asierien when we are young and
sprightly, calidus juventd ; a nobler
Ad Augustum or Ad Calliopen when
we are older and graver, in the

time of whitening locks — riding in
the cars, it may be, walking in the
street, smoking the after-dinner
cigar; everywhere, in fact, that
solitude gives us a chance to en-
tertain the best of all good com-
pany. We turn it into such Eng-
lish as we can muster, and print it
perhaps, or, better still, put it away
in our portfolio ; Horace must have
had a prophetic eye on his coming
translator when he gave that sound-
est of poetic counsels — unless
Punch's " Don't " be sounder still :

" Nonumque prematur in annum
Membranis intus positis" — *

we put it away to be taken up again
and again, lingered over fondly,
touched up and polished, until the
exact word is found for every elu-
sive epithet, the precise equivalent
for every tantalizing phrase, and
the entire ode lies before us, its
foreign garb bagging, indeed, a little
here and there, but fitting as snugly
as our art can make it, and we are
content. That is a moment of
such supreme satisfaction, of such
tranquil triumph, as life but rarely
yields. Less than any other that
dabbles in ink has your true Hora-
tian the fever of the type. His
virtue is really — what virtue, alas !
so seldom is in this perverse world
— its own reward. Like Joubert, /'/
finqui'ete de perfection bien plus que
de gloire ; to have hit upori what
he feels to be a happy rendering is
glory enough ; enough that he and
Horace should share his exultation ;
a felicitous adjective will put him

• " Let them not come forth
Till the ninth ripening year mature their worth.'
— Horat. Ars Poet., 388, Francis' trans.

3io

Among the Translators

in good-humor for a week. 'And
so, before he well knows it, his
portfolio is nearly full, and the
notion first dawns upon him — the
duty it almost seems — of sharing
his good fortune with his fellows.
"Rather would I have written the
Quern tu Melpomene semel or the
Donee gratus eratntibi" cried Scali-
ger, " than to be king of Aragon."
Rather would I make a perfect
translation of these or any other of
the Odes, cries our Horatian, than
to be king of all Spain, with all
Cuba libre to boot —

" Quam si Libyam remotis
Gadibus jungas et uterque Poenus
Serviat uni." *

Somewhat in this wise, we fancy,
have most versions of Horace come
to be and to be printed ; certainly,
we incline to think, all the best
versions. Thus, too, partly for the
reason M. Sainte-Beuve gives, part-
ly from the poet's universality and
the charm which lies in the very
difficulty of the task — an impossi-
bility Johnson called it, but it is one
of those " sweet impossibilities "
which ennoble failure — do we count
so many renderings of single odes by
famous men. There are few names
eminent in English letters or states-
manship that are not thus allied
to the genial Venusian — names, too,
of the most diverse order. Not
only poets like Cowper and Mont-

* "Than if far Cadiz, Libya's plain,
And either Carthage owned your sway."
— Horat. Carm. ii. 2.

which begins

t^ it may be said that this stanza,

" Latius regnes, avidum domando
Spiritum quam si," etc.,

furnishes a curious parallel to the words of Holy
Writ, Prov. xvi. 32 : " He that ruleth his spirit
[is better] than he that taketh cities/' It is far
from being the only passage in Horace which in
spirit, if not in letter, suggests the inspired writers
so strongly as to tempt one to believe that he must
have had some acquaintance with them. Cf. Vir-
gil's Pollio.

gomery, Chatterton and Byron,*
essayists like Addison, or drama-
tists like Congreve, Rowe, and Ot-
way, but grave historians such as
Mitford and Merivale, judges like
Lord Thurlow and Sir Jeffrey Gil-
bert, philosophers like Atterbury and
Sir William Temple, bitter satirists
like Swift, tender sentimentalists
like " Namby Pamby" Phillips, pro-
fessors and prime ministers, doc-
tors and divines, lords and lawyers,
archdeacons and archtraitors, have
joined in paying court to the freed-
man's son. In his ante-room, or
atrium, prim John Evelyn is jostled
by tipsy Porson humming somewhat
huskily one of the bacchanalian
lyrics to a tune of his town (per-
haps the Ad Sodales, i. 27, which
that learned Theban has rendered
with true Porsonian zest — a little
too much so to quote) ; Warren
Hastings there meets Edmund Burke
in friendlier contest than at the bar
of the House of Commons ; Dr.
^Bentley takes issue with Archdeacon
Wrangham over a doubtful reading ;
Mr. Gladstone leads a poetic oppo-
sition to Lord Derby in Englishing
the Carmen Amabceum. In that
modest ccenacnlum we can greet
these great men all on a familiar
and equal footing, made one of
them for the nonce by the fellow-
ship of a common taste — nay, may
even flatter ourselves that here, at
least, we are at their level ; that
our poet's door may even be open-
ed to us sooner than to the tallest
and wisest among them. It is true
greatness has no prerogative in
Horace; the meanest may win to
his intimacy, be admitted to his

* Byron, however, if we are to take literally the
well-known lines in Ckildi Harold, can scarcely
rank with true lovers of our Horace :

" Then farewell, Horace, whom I hated so,
Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse
To understand, not feel, thy lyric flow,
To comprehend but never love thy verse."

Among the Translators.

penetralia, sooner than the mightiest.
Of all the distinguished names we
have quoted, few would have had
much distinction as translators
alone, though Bishop Atterbury's
versions, especially that of the Ail
Melpotnencn, iv. 2, are deservedly
famous. Hastings' translation of
the Ad Grosphum, written dur-
ing his passage from Bengal to Eng-
land in 1785 (he was going home
to the famous trial), merits notice
for its curious adaptation to his In-
dian experiences :

" For ease the slow Mahratta spoils
And hardier Sikh erratic toils,
While both their ease forego. . . .

" To ripened age Clive lived renowned,
With lacs enriched, with honors crowned,

His valor's well-earned meed.
Too long, alas ! he lived, to hate
His envied lot. and died too late

From life's oppression freed."

Another verse had perhaps a still
more personal application ; there
is but a trace of it in the Latin :

" No fears his peace of mind annoy
Lest printed lies his fame destroy

Which labor'd years have won ;
Nor pack'd committees break his rest,
Nor avarice sends him forth in quest
Of climes beneath the sun."

The fashion of fitting Horace
to contemporary persons and events
was much in vogue in Hastings'
time and earlier. Creech tells us
in his preface that he was advised
"to turn the Satyrs to his own
times." It was carried out to the
fullest extent in the well-known
Horace in London of Horace and
James Smith.

Within the past twenty-five or
thirty years many complete versions
of the Odes have been put forth, in-
cluding those of H. G. Robinson,
the Rev. W. Sewell (printed in
Bohn's Library), Lord Ravensworth,
Mr. Whyte Melville, Mr. Theo-
dore Martin, the late Prof. Coning-
ton, and the late Lord Lytton. Of
these, Mr. Martin's, which we should

feel inclined to pronounce upon the
whole the best, and the most no-
table Lord Lytton's, have alone
been reprinted here. In giving
this pre-eminence to Mr. Martin's
work we are perhaps influenced by a
strong individual liking, amounting
even to a prepossession, in its favor,
dating from that very potent time
Sainte-Beuve speaks of — " le temps
des Etudes qui nous e" talent chores"
When it first fell into our hands it
was the only version we had yet
seen which at all reproduced, even
to a limited degree, for us its origi-
nal's charm. By many Prof. Con-
ington's translation, easy, fluent, and
in the main faithful — just what, from
his ^£neid, one might expect it to
be — will be preferred to Mr. Mar-
tin's, which it certainly surpasses in
single odes. As to the worst there
need be no such doubt. The Rev.
Mr. Sewell's is not, perhaps, the
worst possible version of the Odes,
as one is half tempted to believe
who remembers how it was recom-
mended to the readers of the Dublin
University Magazine long ago —
how we relished that literary execu-
tion with all boyhood's artless de-
light in slaughter ! Time, alas ! soon
sobers that youthful vivacity of
temper, and, better than yEsop,
teaches us to respect the frogs
whom it loves to revenge in kind.
No ; the possibilities and varieties
of badness in this direction are un-
happily too great for that ; but it is
as bad as need be — as need be, let
us say, for admission to Bohn's Li-
brary.* Great indulgence is cer-
tainly to be extended to translators
of Horace ; much is to be forgiven
them ; but one must finally draw

» "Why is all the journeyman-work of literature,
as I may call it, so much worse done here than it is
in France ? . . . Think of the difference between the
translations of the classics turned out for Mr.
Bohn's library and those turned out for M. Nisard's
collection !"— M. Arnold, Essay sin Criticism ', Am.
ed.,p. SL

312

Among the

Translators.

the line, and probably most Hora-
tiuns would feel like drawing the
line at the Rev. Mr. Sewell.

It was in the process of pointing
out this fact to that gentleman, in a
review of his book in the magazine
mentioned, that Mr. Martin some
twenty years ago put forth, we be-
lieve, the first specimens of his own
translation, which was completed
and published some years later.
Its success was immediate and de-
served ; for its positive no less than
its comparative merits were great.
Mr. Martin was one of the first to
discern, or at least to put in accept-
able practice, the true theory of
translating the lighter odes — " a
point of great difficulty," as he
truly says. " They are," he adds,
" mere vers de soritie in vested by the
language, for us, with a certain state-
liness, but which were probably re-
garded with a very different feeling
by the small contemporary circle to
whom they were addressed. To
catch the tone of these, to be light
without being flippant, to be play-
ful without being vulgar, demands
a delicacy of touch which it is given
to few to acquire, even in original
composition, and which in transla-
tion is all but unattainable." The
graver odes have their own dif-
ficulties; but the skilful transla-
tor handles them more easily, we
fancy, than the gay fluttering
swarm of laughing Lydias and
Neaeras that flash athwart their
statelier pomp like golden butter-
flies through the Gothic glooms of
summer woods — butterflies whose
glossy wings, alas ! lose something
of their down and brilliance at
every, even the lightest and most
loving, touch. The thought of a
poem is always easier to transplant
into other speech than its form.
Ideas are essentially the same,
whatever tongue interprets them —

Homer's Greek or Shakspere's
English ; but the infinite delicate
shades of beauty or significance
added to them by the subtle differ-
ences of words, by that beauty of
their own and intrinsic value which,
as Theophile Gautier puts it — him-
self a master of language — words
have in the poet's eyes apart from
their meaning, like uncut and unset
jewels, the deftest, most patient art
of the translator toils in vain to
catch. They vanish in his grasp
like the bubble whose frail glories
dazzle the eyes and mock the long-
ing, chubby fingers of babyhood ;
to render them is like trying to
paint the perfume. of a flower.

Now, it is true enough, what-
ever iconoclasts like Stendhal may
pretend, that in poetry thought
cannot be divorced from form ; it
is the indissoluble union of both
that makes the poem. Try to
fancy any really great passage of
verse expressed in other words,
even of the same speech, and you
see at once how important form
is. Take once more Shakspere's

" Daffodils

That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty,"

and try to change or misplace a
single word. One feels instantly
that any change would be fatal ; it
almost seems, with such passages,
as though noble thought and per-
fect word had been waiting for each
other from all time until the high-
priest of Apollo should come to wed
them. To quote Sainte-Beuve
again — the critic who wishes to
instruct his readers can scarcely
quote him too often : " Je concois
qu'on ne mette pas toute la poesie
dans le metier, mais je ne con£ois
pas du tout que quand il s'agit
d'un art on ne tienne mil compte
de 1'art lui-meme et qu'on deprecie
les parfaits ouvriers qui y excel-

Among tJie Translators.

313

lent."* Yet it is none the less true
that a poem in which the idea is
paramount is more susceptible of
translation than one whose form is
the chief element of its charm.
One can imagine Wordsworth's fine
sonnet on Milton, " Milton, thou
shouldst be with us at this hour,"
being turned into Latin with com-
paratively little loss; indeed it has
been so turned by one of the most
accomplished of English scholars
— Dr. Kennedy — into Alcaics of
which the purity and finish make a
fitting casket for that gem of poet-
ry ; though even here one feels the
wide difference between the origin-
al of that immortal line,

" Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart, "

and the Latin

" Mens tua lumine
Fulgebat, ut sidus, remote,"

missing, as we do, the "lovely mar-
riage of pure words," that in the
English is itself a poem. But take
such a bit of verbal daintiness as
George Barley's " Sweet in her
green dell the flower of beauty
slumbers," with its peculiar and
saisissant rhythm, the perfection
of verbal music; or Tennyson's
"Break, break, break," where the
poetry — and undeniable poetry it
is — lies in a certain faint aroma of
suggestion that seems to breathe
from the very words, and try to re-
produce the effect of them in other
speech. As well try with earth-
ly tools to rebuild Titania's palace
of leaf shadows and the gossamer,
to weave her mantle on any mortal
loom out of moonbeams and the
mist.

Much the same is it to attempt
to transfer to an English transla-

" I can understand that we must not make form
everything in poetry. But why, in dealing with an
art, we should take no account of the technique of
that art, should make light of those who excel in
its tec/iniyue, I do not understand at all."

tion aught of the peculiar grace
which invests Horace's lightest
lyrics with a charm we feel but
cannot analyze, which resides in
the choice of epithets, the arrange-
ment of words, the cadence of the
rhythm, the metrical form, and
which yet is something more than
any or all of these. The noble
thought which lies embodied in the
Justum et tenacem propositi virum we
may not despair of rehabilitating,
with somewhat of its proper maj-
esty, in our own vernacular; but
the shy, fugitive loveliness of that
wildwood picnic to which the poet
bids us, to forget the cares of life,

" Quo pinus et ingens albaque populus
Umbram hospitalem consociare amant
Ramis, et obliquo laborat
Lympha fugax trepidiire rivo,

— what art can coax away from its
native soil ? Do we find it in
Francis ? —

" Where the pale poplar and the pine

Expel the sun's intemperate beam ;
In hospitable shades their branches twine,

And winds with toil, though swift, the tremulous
stream" ;

or in Creech — though Creech is
here luckier than usual ? —

" Where near a purling Spring doth glide

In winding Streams, and softly chide
The interrupting Pebble as it flows " ;

or in Prout ? —

" While onward runs the crooked rill.
Brisk fugitive, with murmur shrill " ;

or in Lord Lytton ? —

" Wherefore struggles and murmurs the rill
Stayed from flight by a curve in the shore."

Even Mr. Martin gives it up, and
presents us, instead of a translation,
with a couplet which is very pretty
English verse, but about as far from
Horace as can be :

" Where runs the wimpling brook, its slumb'rous

tune
Still murmuring as it runs to the hush'd ear of

noon."

It is passages such as this especial-

Among the Translators.

ly which have caused Horace to be
called the untranslatable.

To come from theory to practice,
it is in the lighter odes, and in
those parts of all the odes the
beauty of which in the original lies
chiefly in expression, that all Hor-
ace's translators have most con-
spicuously failed. Take Milton's
Ad Pyrrham, for example (Ode v.)
The Ad Pyrrham is not only one
of the most charming but also one
of the most difficult of the minor
odes, and for that reason among the
oftenest translated. It is one of
the many w/'//«z-pieces wherein
the inconstant bard seems to have
taken a somewhat ostentatious de-
light in celebrating the numerous
snubbings he had to put up with
from the no less inconstant fair
who were the objects of his brief
and fitful homage. In it, as in the
Ad Neceram (Epod- xv.) and the
Ad Earinen (Carm. ii. 8), reproach-
es to the lady for her perfidy are
mingled with self-gratulations on
the poet's own lucky escape and
sinister warnings to his rival — the
time-old strategy and solace of the
discarded lover the world over.
He has been shipwrecked, he says,
on that treacherous sea of love ; but
having, the gods be praised ! made
shift to scramble ashore insafety, and
got on some dry duds, sits in gleeful
expectation of seeing his successor
get a like ducking. The poem is
simply a piece of mock heroics, for
the counterpart of which we must
look to such minglings of cynicism
and sentiment as we find in the
poetry of Praed and Thackeray and
Locker, or, to a less degree, in many
of Beranger's lighter songs. The
difference between the modern
poets and the ancient is that in the
former the sentiment is real, veiled
under an affectation of cynicism :
in the latter it is precisely the re-

verse. But, bearing that difference
in mind, the translator may find in
the methods of the poets named
some hints for the handling of such
odes as the Ad Pyrrham.

But how do the translators treat
it ? Take Milton's famous version,
which everybody knows :

"What slender youth bedewed with liquid odors
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bmd'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair ?

" Plain in thy neatness," etc.

— 'tis as solemn as a Quaker con-
venticle. Nor, with reverence be it
said en passant, is it altogether free
from graver faults ; undeniably ele-
gant as it is, this translation has
had quite as much praise as it de-
served. It is full of those Latin
constructions Milton loved — " on
faith and changed gods complain "
for fidem mutatosqite decs flebit, " al-
ways vacant " for semper vacuam,
" unwonted shall admire " for emi-
rabitur insolens, etc. — which are no-
where more out of place than in a
translation from the Latin. Some,
indeed, claim that they carry with
them and impart a certain flavor of
the original to those unacquainted
with it ; but this seems to us a view
at once fallacious and superficial.
The office of translation into any
language is surely to reproduce the
original in the idiom of that lan-
guage as nearly as may be ; and
though the theory, like all theories,
may be pressed to an excess — as we
think Mr. Morris has pressed it, for
example, in his translation of the
jEneid — better that than such de-
formities as

" Always vacant, always amiable
Hopes thee."

It is the suggestion not of Hor-
ace but of Milton here that is plea-
sant; it is because Milton's natural
English style is a highly Latinized

Among the Translators.

315

and involved style that these oddities
of his translation strike us less than
in another. Sometimes, too, oddly
enough for so good a scholar, he
falls short of the full sense of his
original. Potenti marts deo, the com-
mentators tell us, means, not "the
stern god of sea," but " the god
potent over the sea "; and " plain in
thy neatness " for simplex mundi-
tiis misses the entire significance of
the latter word, which implies some-
thing of grace and beauty. " Plain
in thy neatness " suggests rather
" Priscillathe Puritan maiden " than
Pyrrha of the dull-gold hair. Ben
Jonson's

" Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace,1'

hits Horace's meaning exactly, and
certainly far more poetically. In-
deed, we often find in original Eng-
lish poetry much apter renderings
than the translators give us. Prof.
Con in gt on knew this when he went
to Shakspere for " fancy free " as
an equivalent for this very word
vacuum we have been talking of — a
perfect equivalent of its association
did not make it a little un-Horatian
— and to Matthew Arnold's " salt,
unplumbed, estranging sea" for the
very best version we have seen of
that most puzzling phrase (i. 3),
" oceano dissociabili."

This is, perhaps, a digression ;
but as we set out for a ramble, we
have no apologies to make. Con-
ington's version, in the same metre
as Milton's, only rhyming the alter-
nate lines, is not all so good as
" fancy free," though it gains from
its rhyme a certain lightness lack-
ing in that of Milton's:

" What slender youth besprinkled with perfume
Courts you on roses in some grotto's shade,
Fair Pyrrha ? Say for whom
Your yellow hair you braid.

" So true, so simple ! Ah ! how oft shall he
Lament that faith can fail, that gods can change,
Viewing the rough black sea

With eyes to tempests strange," etc.

So true, so simple ! We are not
much nearer to simplex munditiis
than before. Martin is not here at
his best, and Francis is unusually
successful : " dress'd with careless
art " and "consecrate the pictured
storm" are felicities he does not
always attain. Prout is chiefly
noticeable for yielding to the al-
most irresistible temptation of a
false beacon in intentata nites :

" I the false light forswear,
A shipwreck'd mariner " ;

and Leigh Hunt's, though but a
paraphrase, is surely a very happy
one :

" For whom are bound thy tresses bright
With unconcern so exquisite ?"

and

" Though now the sunshine hour beguiles
His bark along thy golden smiles,
Trusting to see thee for his play
For ever keep smooth holiday,"

admirably elude, if they do not
meet, the difficulties of the Latin.
But in none of these, nor in any
other rendering we have seen, is
there any trace of that nua?ice of
sarcasm or polite banter we seem
to taste in the original. The
only American version we remem-
ber to have met with is not in this
respect more successful :

" In thy grotto's cool recesses,

Dripping perfumes, lapped in roses,
Say what lissome youth reposes,
Pyrrha, wooing thy embrace ?
Braid'st for whom those tawny tresses,
Simple in thy grace ?

" Ah ! how oft averted heaven

Will he weep, and thy dissembling.
And, poor novice, view with trembling

O'er the erewhile tranquil deep,
By the angry tempest driven,
Billowy tumult sweep ;

" Now who in thy smile endearing

Basks, with foolish fondness hoping,
To his love thou'lt e'er be open,

To his wooing ever kind,
Knowing not the fitful veering
Of the faithless wind ?

316

Ainonsr the Translators.

Hapless they rash troth who plight thee !
On the sacred wall my votive
Picture, set with pious motive.

Shows I hung in Neptune's fane
My wet garments to the mighty
Monarch of the main."

It may be said that tins sly spirit
of badinage which lurks, or to us, at
least, seems to lurk, in the shadows
of the lighter odes, like some tricksy
Faun peering and disappearing
through the thickets of Lucretilis,
it is impossible to seize; that when
we try it "the stateliness of the
language " interposes itself like a
wall, and we find ourselves becom-
ing vulgar where Horace is play-
ful, flippant where Horace is light.
Doubtless this is so; what then?
Because it is an impossibility, shall
any loyal Horatian balk at it ? It
is just because of these impossibili-
ties that translations are always in
order, and will, to a certain extent,
always be in demand. Translations
of other poets pall ; it is conceiv-
able that a version of Virgil might
be produced which human skill
could not better. But no such
thing being conceivable of Horace,
every fresh version is a whet to cu-
riosity and emulation ; each sepa-
rate ode hides its own agreeable
secret, every epithet has its own in-
dividual surprise. Let there be no
talk, then, of impossibilities ; for our
own part, to paraphrase what Hal-
lam says of Lycidas, we look upon
the ability to translate such odes
as the Ad Pyrrhath, so as to de-
monstrate their impossibility, a good
test of a man's capacity to trans-
late Horace at all.

Another nice consideration for
the translator of Horace is in re-
spect of metre. Undoubtedly the
translator who can retain the met-
rical movement of his original has
gained so much towards reproduc-
ing his general effect. But with
Horace this attempt may as well

be abandoned at once. The Alcaic
and the Sapphic stanza, much less
the Asclepiad or the Archilochian,
have never yet been, and for obvi-
ous reasons never will be, natural-
ized in our English verse, though
poor Percival thought differently,
and added one more to a life of
failures. Tennyson, in his ode to
Milton,

" Whose guardian-angels, Muriel, Abdiel,
Starred from Jehovah's gorgeous armory,
Tow'r, as the deep-domed empyrean
Rings to the roar of an angel onset,'1

gives us, perhaps, as good Al-
caics as we have any right to look
for in English (though " gorgeous "
is not a very gorgeous dactyl) ; yet
how different from the Horalian ca-
dence :

"jEquam memento rebus in arduis
Servare mentem, non secus in bonis
Ab insolenti temperatam
Laetitia, moriture Delh." *

As for Sapphics, whether we take
Canning's Knife Grinder for our
model or Mr. Swinburne's

"All the night sleep came not upon my eyelids.
Shed not dew, nor shook nor unclosed a feather,
Yet with lips shut close, and with eyes of iron,
Stood and beheld me,"

we are not much nearer to Hor-
ace's melody :

" Scandit seratas vitiosa naves
Cura, nee turmas equitum relinquit
Ocior cervis, et agente nimbos
Ocior Euro." t

But, at least, following that rule
of compensation with which all
good translators are familiar, some
attempt may be made to suggest
the metrical variety and richness of

* " With a mind undisturbed take life's good and

life's evil,

Temper grief from despair, temper joy from vain-
glory ;

For, through each mortal change, equal mind ,
O my Dellius, befits mortal born."

— Horat. Car in. ii. 3, Lord Lytton's trans.

t " Fell Care climbs brazen galley's sides ;
Nor troops of horse can fly
Her foot, which than the stag's is swifter — ay,
Swifter than Eurus when he madly rides
The clouds along the sky."

— Carm, ii. 16, Martin's translation.

Among the

Translators.

317

the Odes by a corresponding vari-
ety and grace in the English meas-
ures of the translation. It is here
that the modern translators excel;
indeed, it may be said that only
within the last hundred years have
translators had this adjunct at their
command, for it is only during that
period that English poets have be-
gun to comprehend and master ful-
ly the resources and possibilities
of English metre. Not that the
earlier poets were at all deficient
in the metrical sense; that their
ears were not quick to catch the
finest delicacies of verbal harmo-
ny. Not to mention a host of mi-
nor bards who knew how to marry
"perfect music unto noble words,"
Milton's lyrics are melody itself.
There is scarcely a more tunable
couplet in the language than his

" Sweetest Shakspere, fancy's child,
Warbles his native woodnotes wild."

The open vowels and liquid con-
sonants fairly sing themselves. Nor
was it for lack of experiment
that they failed of

" Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony "

in words, as Shelley and Tennyson
and Swinburne learned to do later.
The attempt to naturalize the classi-
cal metres, for example, began at a
very early period of our literary
history, and many learned treatises
were written to prove them your
only proper vehicle for English
poetry. Perhaps it was the ill-suc-
cess of these efforts that made our
poets so long shy of wandering in
their metres away from the beaten
track and the simplest forms. Up
to the time of Campbell we may
say that the iambus and the tro-
chee reigned supreme in English
verse; the anapest and the dactyl,
of which such effective use has
been made by the later poets, were
either unknown or contemned.

Suckling's Session of the Poets, the
metrical intention of which appears
to be anapestic. shows what desper-
ate work even the best lyrists could
make when they strayed after
strange metrical gods.*

It may be said, then, that until
within a comparatively recent pe-
riod Horace could not be properly
translated into English verse at all.
English verse was not yet ready to
receive so noble a guest. Compare
Martin's or Conington's versions
with one of the earlier translations,
and the truth of this, we think, will
be apparent at once. Creech, in-
deed, seems to have had a dim
notion of the truth, and his version
shows a perceptible striving for
metrical effect, at least in the ar-
rangement of his stanza ; but
Creech had too little of the poeti-
cal faculty to make the effort with
taste or success. Francis for the
most part is content with the ortho-
dox measures, and Father Prout was
perhaps first to bring to the work
this essential accomplishment of
the Horatian translator. Front's
metrical inventions are bold, and
often elegant ; and his versions,
though free, are always spirited,
and often singularly felicitous.
Among the most striking of his
metres is the one he employs for
the Solvitur acris hiems (Carm. i. iv.):

" Now Venus loves to group
Her merry troop

Of maidens,

Who, while the moon peeps out,
Dance with the Graces round about

Their queen in cadence ;
While far 'mid fire and noise
Vulcan his forge employs,

Where Cyclops grim aloft their ponderous sledges
poise."

*We do not here forget such songs as Shakspere's
" Come away, come away, Death," or Ben Jon-
son's ''See the chariot at hand here of Love," or
the anapests and dactyls in the madrigals. But
we think it cannot be gainsaid that the general
tendency of the earlier poets was to simple rhythms,
and that the intricate arrangements of rhyme and
novelties of metre in which modern poets delight
were little known to them, or, if known, little
relished.

313

Among tJie Translators.

A paraphrase that, not a transla-
tion ; but not even Horace could
find it in his heart to gainsay so
graceful a paraphrase. Another ef-
fective metrical arrangement which
shows off well Front's astonishing
copiousness of rhyme is that of the
Quum tu Lydia (i. 13) :

" But where meet (thrice fortunate !)

Kindred hearts and suitable,
Strife comes ne'er importunate,

Love remains immutable ;
On to the close they glide 'mid scenes Elysian,
Through life's delightful vision."

Mr. Martin is here somewhat
closer and not less skilful in hand-
ling his metre :

'• Oh ! trebly blest, and blest for ever.
Are they whom true affection binds,

In whom no doubts or janglings sever
The union of their constant minds ;

But life in blended current flows

Serene and sunny to the close."

Compare with these Francis, who
is scarcely more literal than Prout,
and not so literal as Martin :

" Thrice happy they whom love unites
In equal rapture and sincere delights.
Unbroken by complaints or strife
Even to the latest hours of life."

Is not the advantage in point of
poetry altogether on the side of the
modems, and is it not largely due
to their superior mastery of rhythm ?
The passage, it may be said, has
been paraphrased by Moore in the
lines,

" There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has

told,

When two that are linked in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they
die."

Both Mr. Martin and Prof. Con-
ington have given close and suc-
cessful attention to this part of
their task. But it was left for Lord
Lytton to attempt something like a
systematic imitation of the Hora-
tian metres. His plan, as set forth
in his preface, "was in the first in-
stance to attempt a close imitation
of the ancient measure — the scan-
sion being, of course (as in English

or German hexameters and pen-
tameters), by accent, not quantity —
and then to make such modifica-
tions of flow and cadence as seem-
ed to me best to harmonize the
rhythm to the English ear, while
preserving as much as possible that
which has been called the type of
the original." Something of this
kind, no doubt, Milton had in view
in the measure he took for his Ad
Pyrrham, and which the Wartons
and Professor Conington adapted
to the same purpose after him, the
latter, however, adding the embel-
lishment or, as Milton himself had
called it, the " barbarous jingle " of
rhyme. Milton's measure (well
known as that of Collins' " Ode to
Evening"), which consists of two un-
rhymed iambic pentameters, follow-
ed by two unrhymed iambic trime-
ters— or, to be " more English and
less nice," of two ordinary blank
verses followed by two three-foot
verses — resembles Horace's metre,
which the grammarians would tell
us is the third Asclepiadian strophe,
" rather," says Prof. Conington," in
the length of the respective lines
than in any similarity of the ca-
dences." Lord Lytton. attempted
something more, and with only par-
tial success, though the task, it
must be owned, was not an easy one.
Horace, in the Odes and Epodes,
uses eighteen different varieties of
metre, ranging from the grave sad-
ness of what is called the first Ar-
chilochian strophe, the lovely mea-
sure in which one of the loveliest of
all the Odes is written (iv. 7) —

" Diffugere nives ; redeunt jam gramina campis
Arboribusque comz," *

to the quick sharpness of the first
iambic strophe in which the poet
mauls the unsavory Masvius. And

*" Fled are the snows ; and the green, reappearing.
Shoots in the meadow and shines on the tree."

Among the Translators.

319

not only this, but each of these
metres is used by Horace to express
widely differing moods of feeling.
Thus, the same measure which in
the beautiful lament for Quinctilius
breathes the tenderest spirit of grief
and resignation, serves equally well
to guy Tibullus on his luckless
loves, to sound " stern alarums " to
the absent Caesar, or to bid Virgil
or Varius to " delightful meetings."
The Sapphic rises to the lofty height
of the Carmen Seculare or stoops to
chide a serving-boy for his super-
serviceable zeal ; is equally at home
with an invocation to the gods or
an invitation to dinner ; while the
Alcaic — what subject is there that
in Horace's hands the Alcaic can-
not be made to sing ?

This flexibility of the Latin
metres Lord Lytton has recognized,
and sought to meet by a corre-
sponding variation of his own, " ac-
cording as the prevalent spirit of
the ode demanded lively and spor-
tive or serious and dignified ex-
pression." Thus, for the Alcaic
stanza he employs " two different
forms of rhythm " ; one as in i. 9 :

" See how white in the deep fallen snow stands

Soracte ;

Laboring forests no longer can bear up their burden ;
And the rush of the rivers is locked,
Halting mute in the gripe of the frost ";

the other as in i. 34 :

" Worshipper rare and niggard of the gods,
While led astray, in the Fool's wisdom versed,
Now back I shift the sail,

Forced in the courses left behind to steer,"

or, with a slight modification, as in
i- 35 :

" Goddess who o'er thine own loved Antium reign-

cst.

Present to lift Man, weighted with his sorrows
Down to life's last degree,

Or change his haughtiest triumphs into
graves."

For the Sapphic, likewise, he has
two varieties; for the statelier odes
three lines of blank verse and what
may be called an English Adonic ;

for " the lighter odes a more sport-
ive and tripping measure." Thus,
for iv. 2 he gives us :

" Julus, he who would with Pindar vie

Soars, with Daedalian art, on waxen wings,
And, falling, gives his name unto the bright
Deeps of an ocean " ;

for iii. 14 a nearer approach to the
Knife Grinder jingle :

" Nothing cools fiery spirits like a gray hair ;
In every quarrel 'tisyour sure peacemaker :
In my hot youth, when Plancus was the consul,
I was less patient."

Lord Lytton's experiment is full
of interest to Horatians — as, indeed,
what translation is not ? — even the
worst, even the Rev. Mr. Sewell's,
maybe of use in teaching the trans-
lator how not to do it — and his
failures, which are many, are
scarcely less instructive than his
successes, which seem to us fewer
than for so bold an essay could be
wished ; but both alike are sugges-
tive of many possibilities. It is in
the lighter odes that he is least sat-
isfactory, and we doubt if these can
be done full justice to without the
aid of rhyme. Horace's grace of
form in these is so delicate and ex-
quisite that it taxes all the resour-
ces and embellishments of our Eng-
lish verse to give any adequate idea
of it. Take, as an illustration of Lord
Lytton's method, and as giving, per-
haps, the measure of his success, his
version of that delicious little land-
scape, Ad Fonteni Blandusia (iii.

li Fount of Blandusia, more lucid than crystal,
Worthy of honeyed wine, not without flowers,
I will give thee to-morrow a kid
Whose front, with the budded horn swelling,

" Predicts to his future life Venus and battles ;
Vainly ! The lymph of thy cold running waters
He shall tinge with the red of his blood,
Fated child of the frolicsome people !

" The scorch of the Dogstar's fell season forbears

thee ;
Ever friendly to grant the sweet boon of thy cool-

ness

To the wild flocks that wander around,
And the oxen that reck from the harrow.

Among tlie Translators.

'• 1 will give thee high rank and renown among

fountains,

When I sing of the ilex o'erspreading the hollows,
Of rocks whence in musical fall
Leap thy garrulous silvery waters."

This is better because more literal
than Joseph Warton's unrhymed
version in the Miltonian stanza,
with which it may be compared :

" Ye waves that gushing fall with purest streams,
Elandusian fount ! to whom the products sweet

Of richest wines belong,

And fairest flowers of spring,
To thee a chosen victim will I slay —
A kid who, glowing in lascivious youth,

Just blooms with budding horn,

And, with vain thought elate,
Yet destines future war ; but, ah ! too soon
His reeking blood with crimson shall enrich

Thy pure, translucent flood

And tinge thy crystal clear.
Thy sweet recess the sun in midday hour
Can ne'er invade ; thy streams the labor'd ox

Refresh with cooling draughts

And glad the wand'ring herds.
Thy name shall shine, with endless honors grac-
ed,
While in my shell I sing the nodding oak

That o'er thy cavern deep

Waves his embowering head."

It would almost seem as if the au-
thor of this version had taken pains
to rub out every Horatian charac-
teristic. The pretty touch of the
loquaccs lymphce is thus omitted,
unless the first line be meant to do
duty for it, while by such padding as
" chosen victim " and " endless hon-
ors " Horace's sixteen lines are di-
luted into twenty — a danger to
which the unrhymed translator,
constantly seeking by inversions
and paraphrases to cover the bald-
ness of his medium, is peculiarly li-
able. Whatever may be said to the
contrary, rhyme compels concise-
ness, and helps to point quite as often
as it entices to expansion. Prof.
Conington's version, in the same
metre as Warton's, but rhymed in al-
ternate lines, will be found greatly
superior to it, and is perhaps, on the
whole, the best we have seen — better
even than Mr. Martin's, who cannot
get his Latin into less than twenty-
four octosyllabic lines. Instead of
-iving either, let us see if all that is

essential in Horace cannot be giv-
en in the same number of lines of
what is known as the Tennysonian
stanza, which is somewhat less ca-
pacious than the Alcaics of the ori-
ginal, though, by a certain pensive
grace, peculiarly fitted to render the
sentiment of this delightful ode:

" Blandusian fount, as crystal clear,
Of garlands worthy and of wine,
A kid to-morrow shall be thine,
Whose swelling brows, just budding, bear

" The horns that presage love and strife ;
How vainly ! For his crimson blood
Shall stain the silver of thy flood
With all the herd's most wanton life.

" The burning Dogstar's noontide beam

Knows not thy secret nook ; the ox
Parched from the plough, the fielding flocks,
Lap grateful coolness from thy stream.

" Thee, too, 'mid storied founts ray lay

Shall shrine : thy bending holm I'll sing,
Shading the grottoed rocks whence spring
Thy laughing waters far away."

Though terseness and fidelity are
two of the chief merits claimed by
the advocates of the unrhymed
measures, it is just here that they
oftenest fail ; and Lord Lytton is
no exception. Space permits us
to give but few instances. " Trodden
by all, and only trodden once," is
Lord Lytton's version of calcanda
semel, i. 28 — seven English words
for two Latin, and the sense then
but vaguely given at best. Fe-
riuntque summos Fulgura monies is
in like manner diluted into

" The spots on earth most stricken by the light-
ning
Are its high places."

Awkwardness of style, too, is a
much more frequent characteristic of
Lord Lytton's renderings than we
should look for either from his own
command of style or the freedom
which disuse of rhyme is claimed
to ensure. For instance, in ii. 2 :

" Him shall uplift, and on no waxen pinions,
Fame, the survivor,"

might surely have been bettered ;
and in the same ode a line in the

Among the Translators.

321

stanza already quoted above, La-
tins regnes aviduin doinando Spiritum,
is translated, " Wider thy realm a
greedy soul subjected," which would
be scarcely intelligible without the
Latin. " Bosom more seen through
than glass" is by no means the
neatest possible equivalent for per
lucidior vitro, and such expressions
as " closed gates of Janus vacant of
a war," " lest thou owe a mock,"
"but me more have stricken with
rapture," are scarcely English.

Nevertheless, with all its faults
and shortcomings, Lord Lytton's
essay is in some respects the most
interesting translation of Horace
that has yet appeared, and may
pioneer the way to more fortunate
results in the same direction. It
has, at least, the raison d'etre which
Mr. Matthew Arnold denies to such
translations as Wright's and Sothe-
by's Homer ; it has a distinct and
novel method of its own, and does
not simply repeat the method and
renew the faults and virtues of any
predecessor. The American edi-
tion, it is worthy of remark, is
printed in the old-fashioned way,
with the Latin text to face the En-
glish— an innovation, or, more pro-
perly, a renovation, which will no
doubt be welcome to lovers of the
Venusian, whose love has outlived
their memory, and who, though loyal
to the spirit of our poet, are no
longer so familiar with his letter
as in the days, the far-off sunny
days, when Horace was the hea-
viest task that life had yet laid
upon us.

VOL. XXVI. — 21

We have dwelt upon this subject
at somewhat greater length than we
intended ; for to us it is full of a
fascination we should be glad to
hope we had made our readers in
some sort share. But it has also a
practical side which the most fana-
tical opponent of the classics, the
most zealous upholder of utilitarian
education, must recognize and ad-
mit. As a means of training in
English composition, as an aid to
discover the resources of our own
tongue, there is no better practice
than translating Horace into En-
glish verse, with due attention to
his epithets. That, perhaps, may
serve in some degree to reconcile
the practical mind to his retention
in the modern curriculum, even
though Homer be kicked out of
doors and Virgil sent flying through
the window ; for a practical man is
none the worse equipped for busi-
ness in being able to say what he
means in " good set phrase." To
be sure it does not ask the pen of
an Addison to write an order for a
" hnd. trees, lard," but we dare say
if Mr. Richard Grant White were
called upon to make out a bill of lad-
ing, he would do it none the worse
for knowing all about the English
language that is worth knowing, if
not more than is worth telling.
There are mysteries in our English
speech that the Complete Letter-
Writer, or even the " editorials" of
the daily newspaper, do not quite
explore, and some of these our old
friend Horace may help us to find
out. Fas est ab hoste doceri.

322

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN.

CONCLUSION.

FATHER MAURICE sped upon his
journey to Moynalty Castle. The
dinner hour was eight o'clock, but
he had delayed so long with his
guest that it took the little pony
her " level best " to do the seven
miles within the necessary time.

" Av we wor wanst beyant the
Mouladharb berrin' groun' I wud-
n't care a thraneen ; but sorra a
step the little pony '11 pass it afther
dark," observed Murty Mulligan,
bestowing a liberal supply of whip
upon the astonished nag, whose habit
it was to proceed upon her travels at
her own sweet will, innocent of lash,
spur, or admonition.

" Tut, tut ! Nonsense, Murty !
Push on."

"It's thruth I'm tellin' yer river-
ince. We're at it. See that, now —
curse of Crummell on her ! she
won't put wan foot afore the other,"
adding, in a whisper full of conster-
nation : "Mebbe she sees ould Ca-
sey, that was berried a Munda.
He was a terrible naygur — "

"Jump down and take her head,"
said the priest.

" Be the powers ! I'll have for to
carry her, av we want to raich the
castle to-night."

Father Maurice dismounted, as
did Murty, and, by coaxing and
blandishment of every description,
endeavored to induce the pony to
proceed ; but the animal, with its
ears cocked, and trembling in
every limb, refused to budge an
inch.

" Och, wirra, wirra! we're bet
intirely. It's Missis Delaney he
sees, that died av the horrors this
day month," growled Mulligan.

"Silence, you jackass!" cried
Father Maurice, " and help me to
blindfold the pony."

This ruse eventually succeeded,
and they spun merrily along the
road, the terrified animal clattering
onwards at racing speed.

" This pace is dangerous, Murty,"
said the priest.

"Sorra a lie in it, yer river-
ince."

" Pull in."

"I can't hould her.' She's me
hands cut aff, bad cess to her !"
" Is the road straight ?"
" Barrin' a few turns, it's straight
enough, sir."

The words had hardly escaped
his lips when the wheel attached
to the side of the car upon which
the priest was sitting came into
contact with a pile of stones, the
car was tilted upwards and over.
Father Maurice shot into a thorn
hedge, and Murty Mulligan landed
up to his neck in a ditch full of
foul and muddy water, while the
pony, suddenly freed from its
load, and after biting the dust,
quietly turned round to gaze at the
havoc it had made.

" Are ye kilt, yer riverince ? For
I'm murdhered intirely, an' me illi-
gant Sunda' shuit ruined complately.
Och, wirra, wirra ! how can I face
the castle wud me duds consaled
in mud ? How can I uphould
Monamullin, an' me worse nor a
scarecrow ? Glory be to God ! we're
safe anyhow, an' no bones bruck'.
O ye varmint !" shaking his fist
at the unconscious cause of this
disaster, " its meself that'll sarve
ye out for this. Won't I wallop ye,

The Little Chapel at Monamnllin.

323

ye murdherin' thief, whin I catch
a hould of ye !"

" Hold your nonsense, Murty.
How near are we to the castle ?"

" Sorra a know 1 know, yer riv-
erince ; the knowledgeableness is
shuk out o' me intirely."

"The shafts are broken."

" Av course th' are."

" Here, help me to shove the car
over to the ditch and pile the cush-
ions under this hedge. God be
praised ! neither of us is even
scratched."

A carriage with blazing lamps
came along.

"Hi! hi! hi!" roared Murty,
" we're wracked here. Lind us a
hand! We're desthroyedbe a villain
av a pony that seen a ghost, an'
we goin' to dine at Moynalty Cas-
tie.''

The carriage belonged to Mr.
Bodkin, the senior" member for the
county, who was only too delighted
to act the Good Samaritan ; and as
he, with his wife and daughter, was
bound for^the castle, which still lay
two miles distant, the meeting
proved in every respect a fortunate
one.

The worthy priest was received
by his host and hostess with the
most flattering courtesy, and by
Miss Julia Jyvecote as though he
formed part and parcel of her per-
sonal property. He took Mrs.
Jyvecote into dinner, and said grace
both before and after.

Father Maurice was posi lively
startled with the splendor and ex-
quisite taste of the surroundings.
The room in which they dined —
not the dinner-room, but a delight-
ful little snuggery, where the an-
ecdote was the property of the
table, and the mot did not require
to be handed from plate to plate
like an entn'e — was richly decorat-
ed in the Pompeiian style, with walls

of a pale gray, while the hangings
were of a soft amber relieved by
red brown. The dinner was sim-
ply perfect, the entourages in the
shape of cut glass, flowers, and
fruit — veritable poems — while the
quiet simplicity and easy elegance
lent an indescribable charm which
fell upon the simple priest like a
potent spell.

Every effort that good breeding
combined with generous hospitality
could make was called into requi-
sition in order to render the timid,
blushing clergyman perfectly at
home ; and so happily did this
action on the part of his entertain-
ers succeed that before the lapse
of a few moments he felt as though
he had lived amongst them for
years.

Mrs. Jyvecote promised to send
him flowers for the altar, and Julia
to work an altar-cloth for him.

" I must go over and pay you a
visit, father," she said. " I am one
of your parishioners, although I go
to Mass at Thonelagheera."

" I wish you would, my dear
child ; but I have no inducements
to offer you, although at present
perhaps I have." And lie narrated
the arrival of the guest to whom
Mrs. Clancy was playing the rfile
of chatelaine during his absence.

" Why, this is quite a romance,
Father Maurice. I must see your
artist coute que coute, and shall drive
over next week."

But fate determined that she
should drive over the next day.

When, upon the following morn-
ing, Father Maurice came to exam-
ine the condition of his pony, he
found both the knees barked and
the luckless animal unfit to travel.

" We couldn't walk her home,
Murty, could we ?" he asked of his
factotum.

" Och, the poor crayture could-

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326

The Little Chapel at Monamulliu.

Our flo\vers, too, are worth coming
to .see — that is, they are wonderful
for Connemara. Father Maurice,
you must ask Mr. Brown to come
over with you on Monday."

" Of course, my dear child, of
course. He'll be enchanted with
the castle. You'll come, of course,
Mr. Brown?" turning to our hero,
who, however, remained silent, al-
though brimming over with words
he dared not speak.

" Then it's au revoir, messieurs T
gaily exclaimed Miss Jyvecote, as
she whirled rapidly away.

It would have surprised some of
the artist's London friends could
they have peeped behind the scenes
of his thoughts and gazed at them
as naturalists do at working bees.
It would have astonished them to
hear him mutter as he watched the
receding vehicle : " This is just the
one fresh, fair, unspotted, and per-
fect girl it has been my lot to meet.
Such a girl as this would cause the
worst of us to turn virtuous and
eschew cakes and ale."

Mr. Brown had confided in one
man ere dropping out of Vanity
Fair. To this individual he now
addressed himself, requesting of
him to " drop down to O'Connor's,
the swell ecclesiastical stained-glass
man in Berners Street, Oxford
Street, and order a set of Stations
of the Cross. You don't know what
they mean, old fellow, but the
O'Connors will understand you.
Let them be first class and glowing
in the reds, yellows, blues, and
greens of the new French school
of colors. I don't mind the price.
Above all things let them have es-
pecially handsome frames of the Via
Dolorosa pattern." The letter went
on to tell Mr. Dudley Poynter of
his doings and the calm throb of
the heart of his daily life. "There

is not much champagne in it, Dud-
ley, but there is a body that ne'er
was dreamed of in your philosophy,
or in that of the wild, mad wags of
the smoking-room clique."

Mr. Brown completed his copy
of the Liberator, to the intense ad-
miration of Father Maurice and the
ecstasy of Mrs. Clancy. The worthy
priest would not permit its being
hung in the kitchen, though, but
gave it the place of honor in the snug
little sitting-room. It is needless
to say that the entire population of
Monamullin, including the cabin
curs — who were now on terms of
the closest intimacy with the artist
— turned in after last Mass to have
a look at the " picther 6' Dan."

" Be me conscience ! but it's Dan
himself — sorra a wan else," cried
one.

" I was at Tara, an' it's just as if
he was givin' Drizzlyeye [Disraeli]
that welt about his notorious an-
cesthor, the impinitent thief on
the crass," observed another.

" Faix, it's alive, it is. Look at the
mouth, reddy for to say ' Repale.' "

" There's an eye !"

" Thrue for ye ; there's more fire
in it than in ould Finnegan's chim-
bly this minit."

" Troth, it's as dhroll as a pet
pup's."

" Stan' out o' that, Mr. OLeary,
or ye'll get a crack av his fist."

" Three cheers for the painther,
boys !"

These and kindred comments
flung a radiated pleasure into the
inner heart of the artist — that sanc-
tum which as yet was green and
fresh and limpid — while the eulo-
gies, however quaintly and coarsely
served up, bore the delicious fra-
grance which praise ever carries
with it like a subtle perfume.

" The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,
Reigns more or less, and glows in every heart. "

The Little Chapel at Monainullin.

327

Mr. Brown was enamored of his
new existence — possibly with the
child passion for toyland ; but the
passion endured, nevertheless,
strengthening with each successive
sunrise and maturing with every
gloaming. An invitation, accom-
panied by a card, had arrived by
special messenger for the artist, re-
questing the favor of his company,
et ctetera, et ccetera, to which that
gentleman responded in a polite
negative, assigning no particular
reason, but indulging in vague gen-
eralities. He had thought a good
deal of Miss Jyvecote, and sat
dreaming about her by the sea,
his hands clasped around his knees
and his beloved meerschaum stuck
in his mouth — sat dreaming, and
fighting against his dreams — fights
in which fancy ever got the upper-
most of the rude and real. A long-
ing crept up out of the depths of
his heart to see her once again,
and to travel in the sunlighted
path of her thoughts. One thing
he was firmly resolved upon — not
to leave Monamullin without an-
other interview ; though how this
was to be brought about he did
not very well see. Yes, he would
see her just once more, and then
stamp the whole thing out of his
mind. He had been hit before, and
had come smilingly out of the valley
of desolation, and so he should
again, although this was so utterly
unlike his former experiences.

Father Maurice was charmed
with his guest. He had never en-
countered anything like him — so
bright, so genial, so cultured, so
humble and submissive, and so
anxious to oblige.

" Imagine," said he in cataloguing
his virtues to Larry Muldoon —
" imagine his asking me to let him
ring the bell for five o'clock Mass,
and he a Protestant !"

The priest and his guest had
long talks together, the latter
drawing out his host — digging for
the golden ore of a charming eru-
dition, which lay so deep, but
which "was all there." Night
after night did Father Maurice un-
fold from germ to bud, from bud
to flower, from flower to fruit the
grand truths of the unerring faith
in which he was a day-laborer, the
young artist drinking in the sub-
lime teachings with that supreme
attention which descends like an
aureole. Father Maurice was, as
it were, but engaged in thinking
aloud, yet his thoughts fell like
rain-drops, refreshing, grateful, and
abiding.

The good priest, although burn-
ing with curiosity with regard to
the antecedents of his guest, was
too thorough a gentleman, had too
great respect for the laws of broken
bread and tasted salt, to ask so
much as a single question. A
waif from the great ocean of hu-
manity had drifted into this little
haven, and it should be protected
until the ruthless current would
again seize it to whirl it outwards
and onwards. Miss Jyvecote be-
trayed her disappointment in
various artless ways when Father
Maurice arrived at the castle with-
out the artist. " I'm sorry you
didn't fetch him along bon grd mal
gr^ father," said Mrs. Jyvecote,
" as papa goes to Yorkshire next
week, and Juey can talk of no per-
son but Mr. Brown."

Miss Jyvecote blushed rosy red
as she exclaimed : " What non-
sense, mamma! You have been
speaking a good deal more about
him than I have. You rave over
his sketch."

" I think it immense." Mrs.
Jyvecote affected art, and talked
from the pages of the Art Journal

328

Tlie Little CJiapd at Monamullin.

by the yard. " His aerial perspec-
tive is full of filmy tone, and his
near foreground is admirably run
in, while his sense of color would
appear to me to be supreme."

"Come, until I show you where
I have hung it," exclaimed Miss
Juey, leading the priest up a wind-
ing stair into a turret chamber fitted
up with that exquisite taste which a
refined girl evolves like an atmos-
phere.

" You have really hung my guest
most artistically. And such a
frame ! Where on earth did you
get it ?"

" I — I sent to Dublin for it — to
Lesage's, in Sackville Street."

" I have no patience with the fel-
low for not coming over to see this
joyous place," said the priest, " and
I really can't understand his refu-
sal."

Miss Juey couldn't understand
it either, but held her peace.

According to Murty Mulligan's
veterinary opinion, the pony was
still unfit to travel.

" It's meself that's watchin' her
like a magpie forninst a marrabone ;
but she is dawny still, the crayture !
an' it wud be a sin for to ax her to
thravel for a cupple o' days more,
anyhow, your riverince."

" Why, her knees are quite well,
Murty."

" But she's wake, sir — as wake as
Mrs. Clancy's tay on the third
wettin' — an' I'm afeard for to
thrust her ; more betoken, yer
riverince" — in a low, confidential
tone — "she's gettin' a bellyful av
the finest oats in the barony, that
will stand to her bravely while she's
raisin' her winther coat."

Mr. Brown asked Father Mau-
rice . a considerable number of
questions anent his visit, and was
particularly anxious in reference to
the departure of Mr. Jyvecote.

" He told me himself that he
would leave Westport to-morrow by
the night train for Dublin, in order
to catch the early boat that leaves
Kingston for Holyhead."

Upon the following morning the
artist, slinging his knapsack across
his back, started in the direction
of the Glendhanarrahsheen valley.

" I want to make a few sketches
of the coast scenery about May-
Point," he observed.

" There is better scenery in the
Foil Dhuv, about two miles farther
on ; and, bless my heart ! you'll be
quite close to Moynalty Castle, and
why not go in and see their pictures,
your own especially, in such a
grand gilt Dublin frame ?"

Simple priest ! Artful artist !

It was a delightful morning that
was shining over Monamullin as
the artist quitted it en route to —
May Point, of course. The sea,
like a great sleeping monster, lay
winking at the sun, and but one
solitary ship was visible away in
the waste — a brown speck in a
flood of golden haze. If young
gentlemen would only put the single
" why ? " to themselves in starting
upon such expeditions, it might
save them many a heartache ; but
they will not. Any other query
but this one. What a talisman
that small word in every effort of
our lives !

Brown felt unaccountably joyous
and brave, charmed with the pre-
sent, and metaphorically snapping
his fingers at the future. A morn-
ing walk by the deep and dark blue
ocean summons forth this sensation*
You bound upon air; champagne
fills your veins ; all the ills the flesh
is heir to are forgotten, all the phan-
toms of care and sorrow are laid
"a full fifty fathom by the lead."

It is a glorious seed-time, when
every thought bears luscious fruit.

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

329

He travels merrily onward, now
humming a barcarolle, now whist-
ling a fragment of a bouffe, until he
reaches the gloomy defile known as
the Valley of Glendhanarrahsheen.
A turn of the sylvan sanded road
brings him in sight of the lordly
turrets of Moynalty ; another turn,
and lo ! he comes upon no less a
personage than Miss Jyvecote, who,
with her married sister, a Mrs.
Travers, are driving in the direc-
tion whence he had come. Juey
was Jehu, and almost pulled the
ponies upon their haunches on per-
ceiving our hero.

" This is a condescension, Mr.
Brown," she said, presenting him to
her sister. " Will you take a seat ?"

" Thanks, no ; I am about to as-
cend that mountain yonder," point-
ing vaguely in the direction of the
range known as the Twelve Pins.

" Then we shall expect you to
luncheon at two o'clock."

" I'm afraid not. I purpose re-
turning by the other road."

" What road ? There is no other
road."

" Across country."

" Then you do not intend honor-
ing us with a visit ?" Her tone
was vexed, if not haughty.

Now, he had quitted Monamullin
with no other intention than that
of proceeding straight to the castle,
and yet he replies in the negative.
Let those better versed in the mys-
teries of the human heart than I am
analyze his motives. I shall not en-
deavor to do so.

" Don't you think you are acting
rather shabbily?"she said, preparing
to resume her drive.

He laughed.

" Au plaisir, then !" And with a
stately salutation, courteous enough
but nothing more, she swept on-
wards.

He watched the phaeton go

whirling along the white road and
disappear round a huge fern-cover-
ed boulder, and his vexation with
himself grew intolerable.

"What an ass, what a brute I
have been ! What could I have been
thinking about ? Was I asleep or
mad? Invited to the house, I actual-
ly refuse to pay the stereotyped visit.
Why a counter-jumper would know
better. How charming she looked !
And that delicious blush when she
met me! She seemed really pleased,
too. What can she think of me ?
My chance is gone."

He seated himself on the stump
of a felled tree in his favorite atti-
tude, having lighted his pipe.

" Might I thrubble yer honner
for a thrifle o' light or a bit of a
match ?" asked a passing peasant.

" With pleasure ; take a dozen !"

The man looked puzzled ; he had
never seen wax vestas till now.

" They look mighty dawny, yer
honner."

" Do you belong to the castle?"
asked our hero. Somehow or
other the castle and its inmates
were ever uppermost in his thoughts
now.

"Yis, sir."

" Is Mr. Jyvecote at home ?"

" No, yer honner. I met him this
mornin' at Billy's Bridge, makin'
hard for Westport."

The cards all in his favor, and he
wouldn't play his hand ! What did
it mean ? Would he go up to the
castle, and, announcing himself to
the chdtelaine, pay that visit which
conventionality demanded ? No ;
he had swung into another current,
and he would not alter his course.
It was better as it was — ay, far bet-
ter. And there came a sort of de-
solate feeling upon him, smiting
him drearily like a dull ache.
Had he seen the last of her ? Was
his life henceforth to be unlighted

The Little Chapel at Monainnllin.

by the radiance of her presence ?
Here, in the mystic silence of Glend-
hanarrahsheen, came the revelation.
Here did his own secret surprise
him. He had allowed the image of
this fair young girl to twine itself
around his heart, till he now felt
as if he could fling aside pride,
reserve, past and futuie, just to
hear her voice once more, to feel
the tender pressure of her tiny
hand.

And so he sat there dreaming, and
fighting with his dreams, until his
tobacco "gave out," and until,
shaking himself together, he sum-
moned a supreme effort to help
him on his road.

" It won't do to be caught skulk-
ing here," he thought.

The soft white shingle drawn from
the brown-black waters of the lake
muffle the sound of approaching
wheels, and, ere he can return to
a coign of vantage, the phaeton
flashes past.

I have already stated that my
hero was a young gentleman of
warm temper, great energy, and
prone to sudden impulses and un-
considered actions, and on this oc-
casion he was true to his nature,
for he shouted " Stop !" with the au-
thoritative tone of a post-captain
on a quarter-deck.

Miss Jyvecote pulled up.

The artist, glowing with a fierce
excitement, plunged down the road
and came up to the vehicle.

" Miss Jyvecote," he pants, his
handsome face flushed, his eyes
flashing, " I don't want you to think
me a brute. I do not know why I
acted so rudely this morning. I
left Monamullin on purpose to
come and visit you. Father Maurice
says that open confession is good
for the soul. You have it now. Do,
please do forgive me."

" Hand and glove," she exclaims,

holding out her coquettishly-gloved
hand.

He jumped into the back seat,
and, in a flutter of joyous commo-
tion, was whirled to the grand en-
trance of the castle.

" You must first come and see
my picture, Mr. Brown," exclaimed
Miss Jyvecote, leading the way to
the turret chamber.

There was a courteous flattery in
this that caused the heart of the
artist to swell in admiring grati-
tude.

Later on they visited the gar-
dens and the conservatories, tast-
ing green figs and toying with lus-
cious bunches of bursting grapes ;
and by and by came the presenta-
tion to Mrs. Jyvecote, who compli-
mented him in pre-Raphaelite terms
upon his greens, grays, opals, and
blues.

" We want some one to continue
the fascinating pages of Hook,"
she said, " and I feel assured, Mr.
Brown, that next year's Academy
will see you ' on the line.' "

After luncheon they repaired to
the drawing-room, where Mrs. Tra-
vers indulged in chromatic fireworks
upon a superb Erard piano ; and
when she had risen the artist seat-
ed himself unasked, and sang a lit-
tle love-song of Shelley's in a bari-
tone that would have pushed Mr.
Santleya foutrance. Song was one
of Mr. Brown's gifts, and his voice
was cultivated to perfection. A
deep, rich voice, sweet, sad words,
with perfect enunciation of every
syllable — mafoi, there are moments,
and there are moments, and this
was one of the latter in the life of
Julia Jyvecote.

He sang Gounod's Ave Maria as
that sublime hymn has been rarely
sung in a drawing-room — sang it
with a religious fervor, and with a
simple intensity of feeling that

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

331

wrought its own magic. He/V/V his
success, and smiled gravely to him-
self as he bent over the instrument,
playing the closing chords ever so
softly, until note after note fainted
in sheer melody.

He was asked for Annabel Lee
— for "that love that was more
than love " — but refused. He pos-
sessed Tom Moore's secret, and, hav-
ing produced the desired effect, fad-
ed out like his own last notes. Mrs.
Jy vecote tackled him upon art, Mrs.
Travers upon music, and Miss Jyve-
cote was silent. Somehow or other
in talking to her he was stupid and
confused, while in conversing with
the others he was at his best.

Pressed on all sides to stop for
dinner and remain the night, he
could scarcely refuse, although
pleading dress and the probable
anxiety of his host. The first point
was settled by a declaration upon
the part of his entertainers that it
would be a treat to sit down in
morning toilettes ; the second by
the despatching of a boy to Mo-
namullin. Mr. Brown resigned
himself to his fate and went with
the stream.

How beautiful Miss Jyvecote
looked in the mild radiance of the
wax-lights which lit up the rooms
at night — wax-lights every where — in
the hands of Ninive dancing-girls,
Dresden shepherdesses, oxidized sil-
ver sconces, and girandoles of quaint
and cunning design. What rapture
in being seated beside her, engaged
in turning over the pages of a su-
perb photographic album too heavy
for her dainty lap, and resting upon
his knees !

Why does he start and turn pale ?

Why does Miss Jyvecote gaze at
him, and with a merry laugh ex-
claim :

" Why, Mr. Brown, this photo is
the very image of you."

Beneath the photograph were the
words :

" To Jasper Jyvecote from Er-
nest Noel."

" Three days away from me ! Why,
it appeared three weeks," exclaim-
ed Father Maurice, as the artist re-
turned to the cosy cottage of the
amber thatch and snow-white walls.
" I knew you would appreciate the
Jyvecotes, and I felt that they
would appreciate you. Have you
taken any sketches?"

" One, the lake of Glendhanar-
rah sheen, which I mean to finish ;
and then,/#</r<?, I must say adios to
Monamullin for many a long day."

" Tut, tut, tut, man ! we can't do
without you," said the priest; "and
mind you, Mr. Brown, I'm sure the
ladies at Moynalty would have
their likenesses done, and give you
a good deal of money for them, too
— probably as much as five pounds
apiece."

" Five pounds apiece," thought
the artist, " and Millais getting two
thousand guineas for a single por-
trait !"

"And I'm delighted to tell you,
rny dear friend, that your O'Connell
has already got you a job. Mr.
Muldoon — you might have noticed
his shop nearly opposite the chapel,
a most flourishing concern — is anx-
ious to have his likeness done, and
will have his wife and mother paint-
ed also, as well as his five children
and his collie ; and if his maiden
aunt comes over from Castlebar
he'll throw her in, provided you can
draw her chaise. So I think,"
added Father Maurice triumphant-
ly, " I have been doing good busi-
ness for you in your absence."

" Splendid, my valued host ! But
before I can touch these commis-
sions I must finish the lake."

" Of course, of course ; there's no

332

The Lit fie Chafcl at Monamnllin,

hurry. But, mind you, Muldoon is
ready money, and all you young
fellows in the world require a little
of that — not that you want it here,"
he cried hastily, lest his guest
might suppose that anything was
required of him ; " but when you
take a day in Westport, or per-
haps as far as Sligo, you'll want
many little things that couldn't be
had here for all the gold in the
Bank of Ireland."

The three days Mr. Brown had
spent at Moynalty completely riv-
eted the fetters which might have
been easily burst ere the iron had
grown cold. He endeavored to
persuade himself that this visit was
a mere romantic episode in the
career of an artist — a thing to be
talked of in the sweet by-and-by,
and to be remembered as a delight-
ful halting-place in the onward
journey. He tried to fling dust in
his mind's eye, and but succeeded
in closing the eye to everything save
the glorious inviting present. He
floated on from day to day in a sort
of temporary elysium — why call it a
fool's paradise? — so tranquil that it
was impossible pain or sorrow could
be its outcome. An intimacy sprang
up in this wild, stranget isolated place
that a decade of London seasons
could never have brought to ripe-
ness, and he felt in the entourages
of the palatial dwelling as though
he was in his own old home. He
rode, walked, boated, drew, and
sang with Julia Jyvecote. She, too,
would seem to live in the present,
in the subtle, delicious conscious-
ness of being appreciated — ay, and
liked. The small chance of ever
enjoying a repetition of his visit
lent a peculiar charm to every cir-
cumstance, and forbade those ques-
tionings as to who's who with which
the favored ones of fortune probe
the antecedents of the slanders at

the gates which enclose the upper
ten thousand.

From the accident of the photo-
graph he was playfully christened
Sir Everard, and it became a mat-
ter of amused astonishment how
readily he accepted the title and
how unvaryingly he responded to
a call upon the name.

He quitted Moynalty in a strange
whirl of conflicting thought.

" May we not hope to see you in
London, Mr. Brown?" said Mrs.
Jyvecote, graciously coming upon
the terrace to bid him adieu. " We
go over in April, and our address
is 91 Bruton Street, Mayfair. I
know how sorry Mr. Jyvecote will
be to have missed you*, especially
as he arrives here to-morrow ; and I
am also confident that he would be
anxious to serve you — although," she
added, with a caressing courtesy,
"a gentleman of Mr. Brown's gifts
requires no poor service such as we
could render him."

" How long do you remain in
Monamullin, Mr. Brown ?" asked
Mrs. Travers.

" Until I finish a sketch of the
lake here which Miss Jyvecote in-
tends to honor me by accepting."

" Oh ! then we shall see much
more of you."

" I am compelled to raise the
drawbridge and drop the portcullis
upon the hope, Mrs. Travers. My
working-drawing is here, and — "

" Then if Mohammed will not
come to the mountain, the moun-
tain must come to Mohammed.
I'll drive my sister over to ser-
vice next Sunday, and see how the
priest, the painter, and the picture
are getting on."

It was a great wrencli to the artist
to tear himself away, and the sans
adieux that fluttered after him on
the evening breeze seemed sad and
mournful. Was the barrier be-

The Little Chapel at Monaunillin.

333

tween Mr. Jyvecote and himself
utterly impassable ? Could it not
be bridged over? He could not
assume the initiative. He would
see Jyvecote and his whole race in
— Yokohama first ; and yet what
would he not do to gain the love of
the youngest daughter of the house !
Anything, everything. Pshaw ! any
chance of wooing and winning
such a girl should be through the
medium of his title, his position,
and by passing beneath the yoke
of society. What sheer folly to
think of her from the stand-point
upon which he had been admitted
to her father's house ! As the artist
he was patronized, as the baronet
he could be placed ; and yet to win
her as the artist would just be one
of those triumphs which lay within
the chances occasionally vouchsafed
by the rosy archer. She had been
silent, reserved, and had seemed
shy of him. She spoke much of
a man in the Guards, a chum of
her brother Jasper ; possibly this
Guardsman was the man.

In musings such as these did Mr.
Brown pursue his work, and the pic-
ture came to life beneath his glow-
ing hands. The canvas, with all the
necessary ttcceteras, had arrived from
Dublin, the good priest marvelling
considerably at the pecuniary re-
sources of his guest. " His little
all," he thought, " and he's going
to make it a present to my sweet
parishioner."

But a great surprise was in store
for Father Maurice.

Mr. Brown had issued instruc-
tions to his London friend to for-
ward the Stations of the Cross, free
of all carriage, to the Rev. Maurice
O'Donnell, P.P., Monamullin, Bal-
lynaveogin, County Mayo.

This order was promptly com-
plied with, and a lovely autumnal
evening beheld the whole village,

curs and all, turn out to speculate
upon the nature of the contents of
four gigantic wooden cases which
were deposited in the little garden
attached to the priest's cottage. It
were utterly useless to endeavor to
describe the/#;w<? occasioned by the
opening the boxes; the excitement
rose to a pitch never realized in Mon-
amullin since the occasion of the visit
of the Archbishop of Tuam — the
Lion of the Fold of Juda. Father
Maurice fairly wept for joy ; Mrs.
Clancy insisted upon doing the Sta-
tions there and then ; and as each
picture was brought to light, from
the folds of wrappers as numerous
as those surrounding the body of
an Egyptian mummy, a hum of
admiration was raised by the as-
sembled and reverential multitude.
The good priest, never guessing the
source from whence the splendid
gift had emanated, endeavored to
trace it to Miss Jyvecote — a belief
which Mr. Brown sedulously sus-
tained— and Father Morris, full of
the idea, chanted whole litanies in
her praises, scarcely ever ceasing
mention of her.

" I'll drive over to-morrow and
tender her my most devoted grati-
tude. I'll offer up Masses for her.
I'll—'

" She will be here to-morrow, fa-
ther. Mrs. Travers is to drive her
over. Don't you think we ought
to see about hanging the Stations ?
It will please her immensely to see
them in their places in the church."

A hanging committee was ap-
pointed and the work of suspend-
ing the pictures carried into instant
execution. The mouldy little edi-
fice was soon ablaze with gilding
and glorious coloring, which, alas !
but seemed to display its general
dinginess more glaringly.

" My poor little altar may hide
its diminished head," said Father

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

334

Maurice mournfully, brightening up,
however, as he added : " But, sure,
I'll soon have Miss Jyvecote's beau-
tiful altar-cloth."

The " castle people" arrived upon
the following morning and were es-
corted by the artist to the church.

" You have come over upon an
interesting occasion, Miss Jyve-
cote," he said; "Father Maurice
has received an anonymous gift
of a set of Stations of the Cross, and
he thinks that you can tell him
something about them."

Great was the astonishment of
the simple priest when Miss Jyve-
cote disclaimed all knowledge of
the presentation.

" Why, father, you must think me
as rich as Miss Burdett-Coutts,"
she cried. " These beautiful works
of art have cost hundreds of pounds.
Mr. Brown here will tell you how
much they cost," turning to that
gentleman. How often a stray
shot hits home! Mr. Brown had
the receipted bill in his pocket at
that particular moment.

" They are French," he said,
evading the question.

" Consequently more expensive,
nest ce pas ?"

" They are not badly done."

" They are on the1 borderland of
high art, Mr. Brown. Why do you
pooh-pooh them ?"

Poor Father Maurice was fairly
nonplussed. All his guesses anent
the donor fell short, while his sur-
mises died from sheer inanition.
It could not be the cardinal.
Might it be little Micky O'Brien,
that ran away to sea and was now
coming home a rich man ? or Pau-
dheen Rafferty, who was a thriving
grocer in Dublin ? For the first
time in his life the parish priest of
Monamullin felt uneasy, if not un-
happy. What did it portend ? Who
could possibly take so serious an

interest in the affairs of his little
parish ? Mr. Malachi Bodkin might
have done so in the olden time, but
the famine of '48 left him barely
able to keep up Corriebawn. Sir
Marmaduke Blake was a scamp
who racked his tenants and spent
his money in debauchery.

" I suppose I shall learn some
day," sighed the priest. " I must
be patient, but I wish it was to-
day."

After luncheon — Father Mau-
rice's breakfast — the artist and Miss
Jyvecote strolled along the shore.
The sun seemed to shine with a
certain sadness, the gray ocean to-
moan as if in pain, and the shadow
of the " we shall not meet again "
to hang over Julia and her compan-
ion as they seated themselves in a
secluded nook surrounded by huge
rocks — a spot in which the world
seemed to cease suddenly.

"And so you think of leaving?"
she said after a long silence, dur-
ing which she drew eccentric cir-
cles in the sand with the tip of her
parasol.

" My^wwi?/says 'yes,' Miss Jyve-
cote."

" Does your kismet say whith-
er ? "

" It points to that little village
on the Thames called London."

" We go to London next month,
en route to Egypt. My sister Gus-
sie — you never met her — who has
been in Italy with my uncle, is re-
commended Egypt for her chest.
Papa received letters yesterday."

" How long do you think you
will remain in London ?"

" Only a day or two."

" Might I hope to see you ?"

"Why not? Our address is 91
Bruton Street, Mayfair."

"Is — is Mr. Delmege, of the
Guards, going to Egypt ?"

She looked gravely at him, full

The Little Chapel at Monamullin.

335

into his eyes, as she replied, some-
what coldly:

" Not that I am aware of."

His heart gave one great bound,
as though a dull, dead weight had
been suddenly removed.

" I hope to see your handicraft
on the walls of the Academy when
we return."

" Sabe Dios /" he said, clasping
his knees with his hands, and gaz-
ing out across the moaning sea.

" If you try you will succeed."

" I have a very poor opinion of
my own power of success in any-
thing. I am colorless, purposeless."

" Neitheronenor the other. You
have a noble profession, a glorious
talent, and Father Maurice says
you have a good heart. With three
such friends as companions life is
a garden of flowers."

" And yet till within the last few
days I have found it but a desert."

Then silence fell upon both.

" Father Maurice will miss you
dreadfully," she murmured. She
was very pale, and her dark eyes
turned upon him with mournful
earnestness. " He has become so
much attached to you ; and the
poor little altar will miss your ar-
tistic grouping of the flowers. Do
you know," she added, " I shall
say an Ave Maria when I visit the
little church, and for your conver-
sion ? "

" Is that a promise, Miss Jyve-
cote ?"

"It is."

"Will you also" — he stopped
suddenly short, and dug his heel in-
to the sand.

" The shay is waitin' for ye, Miss
Jewel, and Missis Thravers isroarin'
murdher," cried Murty Mulligan,
thrusting his shock head between a
cleft in the rocks.

Brown sprang to his feet and
offered Miss Jyvecote his arm.

Neither spoke during the walk to
the cottage. " If you should hear
of me through your brother, do not
think ill of me," he whispered, as
he handed her into the phaeton.

"What do you mean ?" she ask-
ed in as low a tone.

" Promise me that you will not
forget Brown, the poor artist."

" It is scarcely necessary," she
murmured, as she gave him her
hand.

There was a blank at the priest's
home when the artist left. Father
Maurice missed him sadly — missed
his hit at backgammon, his gay
gossip, and his cheery company.

" He was a rale gintleman," said
Mrs. Clancy; " he wanted for to give
me a goolden soverin — mebbe
th' only wan he had — but I tuk a
crukked ha'penny for luck, an' it's
luck I wish him wherever lie goes."

" He was the nicest man, an" the
nicest-mannered man, I ever seen,"
chimed in Murty ; " an'I'miridhread
that I spoke too rough whin he of-
fered me menumeration."

" He promised to come here next
summer, and he will keep his prom-
ise," said the priest.

Mr. Jocelyn Jyvecote was seat-
ed in the study at 91 Bruton
Street, engaged in perusing the
columns of the Times. He had
slept well, breakfasted well, and
was thoroughly refreshed after his
journey, as he had arrived in town
from the East upon the previous
day.

A servant entered with a card
upon a silver salver.

Mr. Jyvecote adjusted his eye-
glass and leisurely lifted the tiny
bit of pasteboard. " What does this
mean ?" he cried, letting it fall again.
"Is the gentleman waiting?"

" In the 'all, sir."

" Show him in."

336

The Little Cliapel at Monamullin.

A tall, high-bred-looking young
man entered. His face was pale
and he somewhat nervously stroked
a Henri Qitatre beard.

" May I ask to what I am indebt-
ed for this visit from Sir Everard
Noel ?" demanded Mr. Jyvecote
haughtily.

" I shall explain the purport of
my visit in a few words."
" Pray be seated."
" Thanks ! Mr. Jyvecote, there
was bad blood and bitter feud be-
tween you and my poor father
about the Ottley Farm."

" You need scarcely remind me
of that, Sir Everard."

" There is bad blood between us,
Mr. Jyvecote. You claimed it in
right of an old lease that could not
be discovered when the case came
before the court, and I retain pos-
session of it by law. The last time
that we met we met in hot anger,
and — and I used expressions for
which I am very seriously sorry.
So long as that farm is in possession
of either of us it will lead to bad
feeling, and I came here to-day to
tell you what I mean to do about it."
A somewhat less stern frown ap-
peared upon Mr. Jyvecote's features
as he listened.

" Last autumn accident threw
me into the wildest portion of the
west of Ireland, a place not un-
known to you — Monamullin."

" It is within seven miles of
Moynalty Castle."

" I am aware of that. I was the
guest of one of the purest men that
God Almighty ever made — Father
Maurice O'Donnell."

" Your estimate is just, Sir Eve-
rard."

" His soul is in his work, and his
simple heart is fragmentary divi-
ded amongst his little flock. I
found his church dingy, dilapidat-
ed, falling. He is worthy of a bet-

ter building ; he is worthy of any-
thing," cried the young man enthu-
siastically.

Mr. Jyvecote bowed assent.
" Well, sir, I purpose selling Ott-
ley Farm, and devoting the proceeds
towards building a new church for
Father Maurice O'Donnell. I have
an offer of three thousand pounds
for the farm, and here are the plans,
prepared by Mr. Pugin — pure
Gothic," extracting a roll of papers
from his pocket and eagerly thrust-
ing them into the hands of the
other.

Mr. Jyvecote leisurely surveyed
them, while the young man regard-
ed him with the most eager scruti-
ny. Suddenly flinging 'them upon
the table, Mr. Jyvecote rose, and,
taking Sir Everard Noel's hand,
shook it warmly.

" Noel, you are a fine-hearted
fellow, and a chivalrous one. There
are not ten — pshaw ! there are not
two men in London who would
patch. up a feud as you are doing
to-day. I am better pleased to see
you in this fine form than the ac-
quisition of ten farms. Give the
dear old priest his church, and for
my daughter's sake — I am as stanch
a Protestant as yourself — I'll put up
an altar. Come up-stairs now, and
I'll present you to her."

At this particular moment Miss
Jyvecote entered the study. Upon
perceiving our hero she grew dead-
ly pale and then flushed up to the
roots of her hair.

" Mr. Brown," she said holding out
her hand.

" You are mistaken, Juey ; this is
an old enemy and a new friend — Sir
Everard Noel."

The church was erected at Mon-
amullin and is a perfect gem in its
way, the talent of " all the Pugins"
being thrown into the design. At

Recent Polemics and Ircnics in Scholastic Philosophy. 337

its altar Everard Noel received his
First Communion, and at its altar
he was united to Julia Jyvecote by
the proud, happy, and affectionate
Father Maurice O'Donnell.

"An" only for to think o' me
axin' a rale live baronet for to paint
the back doore," is the constant
exclamation of the worthy Mrs-
Clancy.

RECENT POLEMICS AND IRENICS IN SCHOLASTIC PHI-
LOSOPHY.

IT is not always easy to draw the
line, either in theology or philoso-
phy, that divides the part which
has been dogmatically or scientifi-
cally defined from that which re-
mains open ground of discussion in
the Catholic schools. Occasional-
ly we are aided and favored by a
new definition, made with supreme
and final authority by the Holy See,
which adds something, not to the
immutability of truth itself, which is
eternally incapable of the slightest
alteration, but to the quantity of
science as fixed and immutable in
the conceptions of the understand-
ing intellect. The authority of
reason may also suffice to add to
the quantity of certain science by
inductions from facts made evident
by experience, which have the force
of demonstration. But the dogmatic
definitions are not so numerous
and frequent as some minds, impa-
tient of discussion and difference
of opinion, may desire. Rational
demonstration, though fully suffi-
cient to define scientific truth and
terminate doubt in the understand-
ing of those who clearly and dis-
tinctly apprehend it, is not al-
ways understood sufficiently for
this purpose even by all intelligent,
educated minds, at least for a con-
siderable period. Discussion on
important points is not, therefore,
terminated between different Ca-
VOL. xxvi. — 22

tholic schools, and agreement ii>
doctrine established, as completely
and speedily as might be desired
by those who have a strong sense
of the importance of unity in theo-
logical and philosophical doctrine.
Some, who are animated by a po-
lemical spirit, are disposed to claim
for the doctrines of their own par-
ticular school a greater amount of
dogmatic or scientific authority
than that which is generally con-
ceded to them. They are dispos-
ed to amplify the import of deci-
sions or declarations made by the
authority of the church, to magnify
the authority of great doctors and
masters in Catholic science, and to
extend as far as possible the claim
of metaphysical or moral certi-
tude for the doctrines which they
advocate. Others are animated by
a more irenical spirit. They de-
sire to moderate polemical ardor ;
to control the zeal for the triumph
of particular systems, and the ex-
altation of individual masters in
wisdom, within reasonable bounds ;
to harmonize all branches of science
with each other ; to observe the just
limitations of dogmatic or scienti-
fic certainty; to extend the range
of rational science by calm discus-
sion which has only the attainment
of truth in view ; and, without com-
promising orthodox doctrine, to
leave open and free to argument

338 Recent Polemics ci)id Irenics in Scholastic PJiilosopJiy.

oil that domain which has not been
closed in by any final definition of
competent authority. The polemi-
cal and irenical tendencies are not
in real opposition. They are ele-
ments capable of combination with
each other. We do not believe
that differences of opinion among
Catholic schools will ever be en-
tirely terminated or controversy-
cease. Yet there is always an
increasing approximation toward
unity, and the irenical spirit aids
this movement by diminishing
misunderstandings and moderating
controversial ardor. The Holy See
not only at times decides and ter-
minates controversies by a judg-
ment, but also, at other times, re-
fuses to pronounce judgment, and
admonishes those who seek to
stretch too far the import of her
decisions to respect the liberty of
opinion and discussion which she
allows.

We have an instance of this in
the subjoined documents respect-
ing the philosophy of the venera-
ble and holy Father Rosmini — a
system which has at present a con-
siderable following and is in very
decided opposition .to the ideologi-
cal doctrine of the Thomist school,
as well as to other parts of the
common, scholastic teaching.

ROSMINl'S WORKS, AND THE JUDGMENT OF
ROME UPON THEM.

(The following is a translation of the
official communication which appeared
in the Osseivatore Romano of June 20,
1876.)

MOST ILLUSTRIOUS MARQUIS :

In No. 136 of your esteemed journal,
June 14, 1876, I have read with pain an
article on a little work entitled "An-
tonio Rosmini and the Civilta Cattolica be-
fo.e the Sacred Congregation of the Index,
by Giuseppe Buroni, Priest of the Mis-
sion."

You are well aware that the works of
the distinguished philosopher Antonio

Rosmini were made the subject of a
most rigorous examination by the Sacred
Congregation of the Index from 1851 to
1854, aQd that at the close of this exam-
ination our Holy Father. Pope Pius IX.,
still happily reigning, in the assembly
of the most reverend consultors and
the most eminent cardinals, whose
votes he had heard, and over whom he
deigned, with a condescension seldom
shown, to preside in person, after invok-
ing with fervent prayers the light and
help of Heaven, pronounced the follow-
ing decree : "All the works of Antonio
Rosmini-Serbati, concerning which in-
vestigation has been made of late, must
be dismissed ; nor has this same inves-
tigation resulted in anything whatever
derogatory to the name of the author, or
to the praiseworthiness of life and the
singular merits towards the church of
the religious society founde^d by him."

The author of the article referred to
undertakes to discuss the meaning of the
words Dimittantur opera-) but, while pro-
fessing to admit their force, he reduces
it well-nigh to nothing. For he says:
" We do not deny that Dimittatur is in a
certain respect equivalent to Pertnittatvr;
but to permit that a work may be pub-
lished and read without incurring ec-
clesiastical penalty has nothing what-
ever to do with declaring the work it-
self uncensurable." Now, by these
words one is led to suppose that the
Sacred Congregation, or rather the Holy
Father, by pronouncing that judgment,
did nothing more than permit that the
works of Rosmini ma}' be published and
read without incurring a penalty.

But I ask : What penalty did the edi-
tors and readers of Rosmini's works in-
cur before those works were subjected
to so lengthened and accurate a scrutiny ?
None whatever. What, then, would the
Sacred Congregation of the Index have
done by such grave study and labors so
protracted ? Nothing whatever. And
to what purpose would the judgment of
the Holy Father have been given? To
no purpose whatever. If, then, we do
not wish to fall into these absurdities,
we must say that the accusations brought
against the works of Rosmini were false :
that in these works nothing was found
contrary to faith and morals ; that their
publication and perusal are not danger-
ous to the faithful. Who can ever sup-
pose that the Holy Father has set free
for publication works containing erro-

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 339

neous doctrines, and liberated the read-
ers of them from penalty ? To liberate
from penalty the readers of books infect-
ed with error would be an act productive
of greater injury than if a penalty were
imposed or (assuming its previous ex-
istence) were maintained in full vigor.

I might touch on other points of the
article in question, and show that its
author has presumed to dive further than
he ought into a matter which does not
belong to him. But what I have said
suffices to make it imperative on me to
address this letter to you. As it may
not be known to every one that the Mas-
ter of the Sacred Palace does not, under
existing circumstances, revise the jour-
nals, and as the character and fame of
the Osservatore Romano might lead to a
belief that he (the Master of the Sacred
Palace) has approved of the article in
question, I think it necessary to declare
to you that I should never have given
my consent to the publication of the
same. Nay, I have to request that you
will not, in future, receive any articles
either on the sense of the judgment Di-
mittatur, or against the learned and
pious Rosmini, or against his works, ex-
amined and dismissed.

I take this opportunity to remind all
concerned that the Holy Father, from
the time of the issuing of the Dimittan-
tur opera, enjoined silence, and this in
order that no new accusations should
be put forward, nor, under any pretext,
a way made for discord among Catho-
lics : " That no new accusations and
discords should arise and be disseminat-
ed in future, silence is now for the third
time enjoined, on either party, by com-
mand of His Holiness."

Who does not see that the seeds of
discord are sown by traducing the works
of Rosmini either as not being yet suffi-
ciently examined, or as suspected of er-
rors which were not seen either before
or after so extraordinary an examination,
or as dangerous ; or by using expres-
sions which take away all the value or
diminish excessively the force and au-
thority of a judgment pronounced with
so much maturity and so much solemni-
ty by the supreme Pastor of the church?

By this it is not meant to affirm that it
would be unlawful to dissent from the
philosophical system of Rosmini, or
from the manner in which he tries to ex-
plain some truths, and even to offer a
confutation of them in the schools ; but

if one does not agree with Rosmini in
the manner of explaining certain truths,
it is not on that account lawful to con-
clude that Rosmini has denied these
truths ; nor is it lawful to inflict any theo-
logical censure on the doctrines main-
tained by him in the works which the
Sacred Congregation has examined and
dismissed, and which the Holy Father
has intended to protect from further ac-
cusations in the future.

Believe me, etc., etc.,

Your most obedient servant,

FR. FRANCIS VINCENZO MARIA GATTI,

Of the Order of Preachers,
Master of the Sacred Apostolical Palace.

JUNE 16, 1876.

The following appeared in the
Osservatore Cattolico of Milan, July
i, 1876 :

The Sacred Roman Congregation of
the Index, by a letter addressed to His
Grace the Archbishop of Milan under
date of June 20, 1876, and signed by His
Eminence Cardinal Antonio de Luca,
Prefect of the Congregation, and the
Very Reverend Father Girolamo Pio
Saccheri, of the Friars Preachers, Secre-
tary, and delivered by his grace in per-
son to one of the responsible editors of
this journal in the afternoon of Wednes-
day, July 28, has enjoined us:

" i. To maintain in future the most
rigorous silence on the question of the
works of Antonio Rosmini ; because, in
consequence of the authoritative decree
of the Holy Father {That no new accusa-
tions and discords should arise and be dis-
seminated in future, silence is for the third
time enjoined on either party by command
of His Holiness), it is not lawful — in mat-
ters pertaining to religion and relating
to faith and sound morals — to inflict
any censure on the works of Rosmini or
on his person ; the only thing upon which
freedom is allowed being to discuss in the
schools and in books, and within proper
limits, his philosophical opinions and
the merits of his manner of explaining
certain truths, even theological. 2. To
declare in an early issue of this jour-
nal that we have not rightly interpreted
the sentence Dimittantur, which the Sa-
cred Congregation of the Index thinks
fit sometimes, after mature and diligent
examination, to pronounce upon works
submitted to its authoritative judgment."

Recent Polonies ami Ircnics in Scholastic Philosophy.

340

Full of reverence for the supreme
authority of the Holy See, and wishing
to be faithful to our duty as well as to
the programme of this journal, we, the
undersigned, responsible editors of the
Osservatore Cattolico, in our own behalf
and of all who have written in our col-
umns on the question aforesaid, intend
to declare and do hereby declare in the
most docile and submissive manner pos-
sible, that

1. As to the silence now imposed
we repeat and confirm what we said on
occasion of reproducing in this journal
the letter of the Master of the Sacred
Palace to the editor of the Osservatore
Romano— viz., that it shall be observed.

2. The sentence Dimiltantur, as used
by the Sacred Congregation of the Index
was not rightly interpreted by us.

ENRICO MASSARA, Priest,
DAVIDE ALBERTARIO, Priest,
Editors of the Osseiialore Cattolico.
MILAN, June 30, 1876.

Another and more recent in-
stance is that of the controversy
concerning the constitution of
bodies. A letter of the Pope to
Dr. Travaligni, president of a scien-
tific society in Italy, commending
the effort to bring physical and
medical science into harmony with
the scholastic philosophy, was in-
terpreted as giving authoritative
sanction to a certain doctrine of
the Thomist school. A professor
in the University of Lille wrote a
letter to the Pope on the subject,
setting forth the differences of
opinion and the continued contro-
versies respecting the constitution
of bodies, and praying for a posi-
tive decision. In reply to this the
professor and all others interested
in these questions were instructed,
in a letter written and published
by order of the Holy Father, that
the Holy See had denned nothing
in the premises, and that a solution
of difficulties should be sought for
by scientific investigation and dis-
cussion. We have not space for
the publication of this letter, but

it may be found in one of the back
numbers of the Catholic Review of
Brooklyn (Sept. 22, 1877).

As for the Rosminian philosophy,
we agree personally with Liberatore
and the Thomist school in rejecting
it as scientifically untenable. Nev-
ertheless, we have heretofore dis-
tinctly avowed that in a dogmatic
aspect it is free from censure, and
we are glad to see the matter placed
beyond question, and the contro-
versy relegated to its proper sphere
as one debatable only on purely ra-
tional grounds. The other ques-
tion is one which has been exten-
sively discussed in our pages, and
which we regard as extremely inte-
resting and important.

The doctrine proposed and ela-
borately discussed in the articles-
formerly published under the title
" Principles of Real Being " has been
attacked by a very learned and able
writer in a German periodical pub-
lished at St. Louis, on dogmatic
as well as philosophical grounds.
This is a convenient opportunity to
state that we have in manuscript a
very long and minute defence and
vindication of the doctrine advocat-
ed in these articles, written by their
distinguished author, who is well
versed not only in scholastic theo-
logy and metaphysics, but also in
mathematical and physical science.
We refrained from publishing his-
reply to the attack of his antagonist,,
partly because the discussion was
too subtle and abstruse for our read-
ers, and still more from unwilling-
ness to engage in dogmatic contro-
versy when there is a risk of per-
plexing pious minds. In matters
really dogmatic and pertaining to
Catholic doctrine we want no com-
promise or attenuation. We desire
only the restriction of the argument
from authority within its actual
limits, that the discussion of mat-

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 341

ters purely philosophical may be
carried on by rational arguments
alone, without accusations of hetero-
doxy on either side. In respect to
the essence and integrity of the
scholastic philosophy according to
the system of the two great doctors,
Aristotle and St. Thomas, we are in
hearty concurrence with the great
intellectual movement of the revival
and restoration of this philosophy
as the only true and scientific me-
taphysics to its ancient dominating
position. We do not, however,
consider that a blind submission to
the authority even of St. Thomas is
reasonable. An author who, like
Liberatore, professedly aims at
nothing more than an exact exposi-
tion of the doctrine of St. Thomas
undoubtedly renders a service to
metaphysical science and its stu-
dents. The writer of this article
•esteems very highly all the philo-
sophical works of this distinguished
Jesuit, and has used by preference,
for several years, his Institutiones
Philosophic^ ad triennium Accom-
modate as a text-book of instruc-
tion. Yet we cannot approve of
such a complete abdication of ori-
ginal and independent investigation
and reasoning as a rule to be fol-
lowed in philosophical teaching.
We do not find that the system of
the strict Thomists is proved in a
manner entirely satisfactory and
conclusive, in some of its details, par-
ticularly in that part which relates
to the harmony of physical with
metaphysical science. There is
such a thing as progress and devel-
opment in theology and philosophy.
The opinions of private doctors are
not final. Neither St. Augustine in
dogmatic theology, St. Alphonsus
in moral theology, nor St. Thomas
in both these sciences and metaphy-
sics, though declared by the Holy
See doctors of the universal church,
were competent to pronounce final

judgments; since they were not ren-
dered infallible by the superiority
of their genius and wisdom, from
which alone their authority is de-
rived. Their private doctrine, in-
asmuch as it passes beyond the
line of the Catholic doctrine con-
tained in their works and having its
own intrinsic authority, has only a
claim to a respectful consideration,
with a presumption in its favor.
In the last analysis all its weight
consists in the rational evidence
or proof sustaining it, which is les-
sened or destroyed by probable or
demonstrative proof to the con-
trary. The Jesuit school has al-
ways insisted on these principles.
While recognizing St. Thomas as
master, it has diverged from the
teaching of the Dominican commen-
tators on St. Thomas, both in theo-
logy and metaphysics. Whether
Suarez and others diverged or not
from the genuine doctrine of St.
Thomas, in their controversy with
writers of the Thomist school, is a
matter of dispute. The question
as to what is the real sense and im-
port of the doctrine of St. Thomas
or of Aristotle is distinct from the
question of the material truth and
evidence of any controverted pro-
position. The latter is much the
more important of the two, and rea-
son alone must decide it, so far as
it can be decided, in the absence
of any authoritative definition. If
philosophy, therefore, is to make
any progress, and if there is to be
any real approximation to unity in
philosophical doctrine among Cath-
olics, the authority of reason and
evidence must prevail over all hu-
man authority, and exclusive devo-
tion to systems or great names
must be abandoned, that truth may
be investigated and brought to
light.

The great motive urged by those
who write in a specially irenical

342 Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy.

spirit is to strengthen the combi-
nation of forces in the Catholic in-
tellectual army for the polemical
contest against error and doubt.
That the sophists of heresy and in-
fidelity may be confuted and van-
quished, that those who are erring
and out of the way may be reclaim-
ed, that honest seekers after truth
may be guided to a successful dis-
covery of this hidden treasure, is
the great object of Catholic po-
lemics. The great field of contest
is the philosophical domain. It
springs to view at once that agree-
ment in philosophical doctrine is
of the utmost importance for the
success of the Catholic cause in
this holy warfare. Among those
who have labored most zealously
and successfully toward this end,
the distinguished Jesuit Father
Ramiere stands pre-eminent. In his
most recent publication, U Accord de
la Philosophic de St. Thomas et de la
Science moderne au sujet de la com-
position des corps, prepared with the
aid of another Jesuit specially vers-
ed in the physical sciences, he has
made a deeply-studied and masterly
effort at harmonizing the peripate-
tic system with the results of expe-
riment and induction in modern
chemical science. It is the most
subtile and acute piece of argumen-
tation which has ever proceeded
from his pen. The doctrine of Ar-
istotle and St. Thomas has hither-
to been generally supposed to be in
a diametrical contradiction to that
of modern chemistry in respect to
the combination of elements in the
compound substances. The peri-
patetic theory has been, on this ac-
count, abandoned by most of our
modern authors and professors
in philosophy. A few, however,
among whom Liberatore and the
editor of the Scienza Italiana are
conspicuous, have exerted all their
power of subtile analysis to defend

the Thomist opinion. Another re-
cent writer, Dr. Scheid of Eich-
stadt, has endeavored to maintain.
the same thesis in the most exclu-
sive sense, and attempts to prove
that the Thomist theory alone is
either compatible with the dogmat-
ic definitions of the church or ade-
quate to give a satisfactory expla-
nation of the facts established by
chemical and physical experiments.
On the contrary, Dr. Fredault, who
is a French physician and an advo-
cate of the general doctrine of" the
Thomist school on form and matter,,
maintains that it is inadmissible in
respect to the constituent elements
of compound substances. In order
to facilitate the understanding of
the subject of controversy, we will
cite from Father Ramiere's appen-
dix a part of the Expose1 parallels des
deux systemes prepared by a distin-
guished professor in a Catholic col-
lege of France at Father Ramiere's
request.

Peripatetic School. Chemical School.

I. WHAT IS A SIMPLE BODY ?

It is a composition It is a material sub-
of first matter and stance endowed witk-
substantial form. determinate forces.

II. WHAT IS A CHEMICAL BODY — FOR IN-

STANCE, WATER?

It is a composition It is oxygen and hy-
of first matter and the drogen combined ia
aqueous substantial the proportions of 88
form. to ii. The forces of

the two components
remain identical in the
composition, although
in the state of combi-
nation they do not
manifest all their spe-
cial characteristics.

III. HOW ARE THE SIMPLE BODIES EX-
TRACTED FROM A CHEMICAL COMPOUND ?

At the moment of
decomposition the
substantial form of the
compound is destroy-
ed, and replaced by
the substantial form
of the components,

The force of the che-
mical re-agent destroys
the combination and
union of the simple bo-
dies, which return to
their primitive state,
and manifest anew

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 343

which are produced their proper forces in
from their own proper all their integrity,
non-existence (ex ni-
hilo sui)\ and the sim-
ple bodies recover their
former proportions.

IV. WHAT IS AN ANIMAL BODY — THE BODY
OF A MAN, FOR EXAMPLE — OR A PART OF
SUCH A BODY, AS A BONE, ETC.?

This body is a com- The human body,
position of first matter like all bodies, is a
and a substantial form, composition of mole-
In man this substantial cules and of parts en-
form is the rational dowed with chemical
soul, which gives to the forces which are unit-
matter its corporeity, ed together by the mu-
or corporeal being. In tual action of these
such a way that a bo- forces ; but, during
dy, taken in the redu- life, these forces are
plicative sense — that subjected and subordi-
is, inasmuch as it is nated to the vital force
considered simply as of the soul, which
body — is a composition penetrates them, do-
of first matter and the minates them, and
soul, which latter unifies them in their
gives to the body its vital functions, and
specific material being, which gives to the en-
tire body the form of
a human body, life,
and sensibility.

NOTE. — Form does
not meanyffwr*? but the
determining principle
of the specific nature
which this organized
body possesses as a
human body.

V. — WHAT PRODUCFS DEATH IN THE ANI-
MAL BODY AND THE HUMAN BODY ?

At the moment when Death consists sim-
the soul departs from ply in the separation
the body there is pro- of the soul and body,
duced in it a new sub- and does not exact the
stantial form, the ca- production of any
daverous form, which substantial form. The
by its union with the chemical forces, which
first matter constitutes are no longer dominat-
the corpse. But when ed by the soul, act
the dissolution of the freely, and the disso-
corpse proceeds gradu- lution of the corpse is
ally by the effect of nothing but the natu-
corruption, the cadav- ral result of their ac-
erous form is succeed- tion.
ed by new substantial
forms, produced from
previous non-existence
(ex nihilo sui), as nu-
merous and different
as are the substances
resulting from corrup-
tion, the mephitic par-
ticles dispersed in the
air being included.

The theory here presented under
the name of the peripatetic, and
claiming to be the genuine doc-
trine of Aristotle and St. Thomas,
is frequently called the theory of
substantial generations- Under that
name it has been examined and op-
posed in the series of metaphysi-
cal articles in this magazine already
referred to. It is necessary to ex-
plain, before proceeding further,
that the term matter in scholastic
philosophy denotes, not the com-
plete material being or body, wheth-
er simple or compound, such as
oxygen, water, iron, etc., but mere-
ly one element or component of the
material substance — viz., the com-
mon, indeterminate element, which
is the same in all, having a poten-
cy or receptivity for every possible
determination, but no fixed and
necessary union with any. It is
the principle of extension, but not
extended ; the source of inertia
and all that is passive, yet not a solid
atom; the subject of qualities and
active forces, but itself possessing
no quiddity or quality, and not
having existence, or the possibility
of existence, except as joined with
its compart, the active and deter-
mining element, joined with it in
order to make any single material
substance. This active element is
called the substantial form, which
is equally incapable of subsisting
alone, and therefore has no separate
being, yet is capable of giving its
first being to matter, and thus con-
stituting with it material substance.
According to the peripatetic theory,
as stated above, in chemical com-
binations which produce a new, com-
pound substance, such as water, no-
thing remains of the components
except the material substratum
or first matter. The determining
form which gave this matter its
specific being as oxygen and hy-

344 Recent Polemics and Ircnics in Scholastic PJiilosopliy.

drogen are destroyed, and a new
form, the aqueous, springs forth to
uive the matter a new first being
and constitute the substance wa-
ter. There is, consequently, in
this and every similar case, the
generation of a new substance, in
which the matter is pre-existent,
but the substantial form is educed
from the passive potency of the
matter, ex nihilo si/i, or from ut-
ter previous non-existence.

Father Ramiere maintains that
this theory is the creation of the
commentators on Aristotle and St.
Thomas, but does not properly be-
long to the system of either, and
can be refuted by arguments drawn
from the works of both these great
doctors. This is rather startling
and contrary to the prevalent sup-
position. The Thomist writers,
many of whom are men of the
most remarkably acute power of
analysis and thoroughly conversant
with the works of these great mas-
ters, honest also and candid with-
al, have certainly not imputed a
theory to Aristotle and St. Tho-
mas which is a pnre invention, or
without plausible grounds and appar-
ent reasons. Father Ramiere gives
an explanation which is at least in-
genious and merits consideration.
In the first place, he argues that
the two doctors of peripatetic phi-
losophy did not reason from a pri-
ori principles respecting the com-
position of bodies. They both
taught that celestial bodies are
composed of what they called mate-
ria.quinta, which is incorruptible
by reason of the inseparability of
its form from the matter. The
separability of matter and form in
earthly bodies, therefore, belongs
to them as a peculiar kind of bo-
dies, composed from what were sup-
posed to be the four simple ele-
ments of earth, air, fire, and water.

The fact that these elements are
transformed one into the other in
the transmutation of substances
led to the conclusion that there
was a common substratum under-
lying all, which remained under
different substantial forms. But
since chemistry has discovered the
really simple bodies which are not
susceptible of mutual transmuta-
tion, and cannot be resolved into
other substances by mechanical or
chemical agents, Father Ramiere ar-
gues that the very principles enun-
ciated by Aristotle and St. Thomas
respecting materia quinta require
that oxygen, hydrogen, etc.. should
be placed with it under the same
category. Moreover, he maintains
that the permanence of what we
now know to be simple substances
and irresolvable in combination,
was really taught under another
concept and with different terms
by Aristotle and St. Thomas ; that
is, that certain virtualities were
recognized as remaining and exer-
cising an active force in the com-
pound or transformed substance,
which is incompatible with the
supposition that only nude matter
remains, acted upon by a wholly
different and entirely new active
force. In regard to the human
body, in particular, he shows an
incompatibility between the expla-
nation of the cause of death which
St. Thomas gives and the peripa-
tetic theory. The reason of death
given by St. Thomas is that con-
trary forces are combined in the
human body which are dominated
by the vital force of the soul only
to a limited extent and with a
limited duration. When, by the
laws of nature, these contrary forces
begin to free themselves from the
dominating vital force, decay com-
mences, and is continued until they
have freed themselves to such an

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 345

extent that they destroy the apti-
tude of the body for receiving the
mode of being from the soul which
is called sensitive life. The soul
then necessarily ceases to inform
the body, and the two comparts of
the human substance or essence
are separated. The soul, being a
self-subsisting, incorruptible form,
an immortal spirit, departs to the
sphere of spirits, and the body is
dissolved by the force of natural
decomposition. Now, according
to the peripatetic theory, the soul,
being the only substantial form or
active force in the body, giving to
the nude first matter of the body
its first being or physical, corporeal
existence, must be itself the active
cause of decay and death. This
is contrary to the teaching of St.
Thomas that the soul gives only
life to the body, and, so far from
ceasing of itself the vital influx,
would continue to exert it for all
eternity, and thus make the body
immortal, if other and contrary
forces did not work within the
body to make it incapable of receiv-
ing this influx, and thus force the
soul to abandon it to itself and to
the power of death.

Father Ramiere acknowledges
that it is difficult to make all the
texts of Aristotle and of St. Thomas
harmonize with each other, and to
bring out a completely distinct and
finished theory from their writings.
He advances a conjecture, with
some plausible appearance of proba-
bility, that some texts found in the
works of St. Thomas have been in-
terpolated by disciples who were
more zealous than honest in their
efforts to maintain their own sys-
tem. The same conjecture has
been made heretofore in regard to
passages relating to the doctrine of
the Immaculate Conception. Be
this as it may, we think it is quite

sufficient to explain obscurities of
any kind which are found in the
dogmatic or philosophical system
of the Angelic Doctor, that he either
had not time or any pressing motive
for a thorough investigation and
elucidation of the matters in ques-
tion, or had not the requisite data
before him for the deductions and
conclusions pertaining to the case.
It is more to the purpose to dis-
cuss the doctrine of the composition
of bodies on its own merits, using
all the facts discovered by experi-
ment, and rational argumentation,
aided by the light of all previous
investigations, both physical and
metaphysical. Left to its own in-
trinsic probability, the peripate-
tic theory is sustained by a kind of
argumentation which seems to be
more ingenious than conclusive.
Several of its ablest advocates have
acknowledged that it is incapable
of demonstration. It rests its
claim to acceptance chiefly on ali-
itnde considerations. And on the
other side there are certain argu-
ments which have not yet, so far as
we know, received a satisfactory
answer.

Father Ramiere advances some of
these with his usual subtlety and
force, and at the same time with
the most courteous moderation
and respect toward his opponents.

It is admitted — as it indeed must
be, for there is no escape from evi-
dent facts — that a chemical re-agent
applied to a composite substance
like water brings back the compo-
nent elements in their former pro-
portions. Water gives up its
eighty-eight parts of oxygen and its
eleven parts of hydrogen. What is
the producing cause of these so-
called new substantial forms which
invariably make their appearance
ex nihilo sui? When the soul, which
is said to be the only substantial

346 Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy.

form of the body, leaves it in its
nudity as first matter, without first
being, quiddity, or quality, and, as
it would seem, doomed to annihila-
tion, what is the cause which pro-
duces the cadaverous form, that
suddenly appears to actuate the
matter and give it being as a
corpse ? Here Father Ramiere has
made one of his most dexterous
logical passes — one which it will
require great dialectical skill to
parry. The editor of the Scienza
Italiana replies thus to the question
as to where these forms come from :

" Certain forms do not come to
the subject from an extrinsic cause,
but spring up within the subject,
by educing them (traendole) from
the potentiality of the same sub-
ject." Father Ramiere desires to
be informed "what is the object to
which the active verb traendole is
referred ; what is that which educes
these forms from the potentiality
of the subject?" If no sufficient
cause can be assigned by which
substantial forms are educed, the
theory becomes untenable.

Father Ramiere devotes a consid-
erable part of his treatise to a con-
sideration of the important ques-
tion, What is the true sense of the
proposition that the rational soul is
the form of the human body ? This
proposition, maintained by Aristo-
tle and received by sound scholas-
tic philosophy, has been defined
as Catholic doctrine by the Council
of Vienne and by Pius IX. Father
Ramiere refers to Father Palmieri,
S.J., the author of a recent philo-
sophical text-book of high repute,
who "proves that the Council of
Vienne by no means intended to
condemn a doctrine maintained at
that time and since by perfectly or-
thodox theologians. The error pro-
scribed by the council is that which
ascribes to the human body anoth-

er vital principle besides the ration-
al soul." The Catholic doctrine is
that the soul is forma corporis, in
the sense that it is the life-giving
principle of the composite, corpo-
real, organic structure which con-
stitutes the human body in its
physical though incomplete nature,,
as one compart of the total human
composite, or complete human na-
ture. Father Palmieri calls the
bodily part a complete substance
but an incomplete nature, as like-
wise the spiritual part, which is the
soul. Father Ramiere adheres to
the common terminology which de-
nominates each part an incomplete
substance. As considered in dis-
tinction from the soul,*it lacks its
due complement, the vital principle
which makes it a living body and
sentient. The soul also, as distinct
from the body, lacks the comple-
ment of its inferior vital force, which
is an eminent kind of sensitive and
vegetative principle contained in the
same subject to which the attribute
of rationality belongs, and giving
to the subject — that is, to the soul —
an exigency for a body as its essen-
tial compart. The soul and body
complete each other in the human,
essence or nature. The body is
passive and inert in respect to
every vital force and function, with-
out the soul. The soul remains in
a merely potential state in respect
to its inferior faculties, when sepa-
rate from the body. In the com-
posite essence, the human nature
composed of soul and body, the
body stands in the relation of ma-
teria to the soul, the soul in the re-
lation of forma to the body. Thus
is constituted the human, rational
suppositum or persona, and the spe-
cific essence and unity of the
human being, of man, according to
his logical definition as animal ra-
tionale. We will let Father Ramiere

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 347

speak for himself, and explain at
length in his own language what
his own view is on this important
topic :

"Between spiritual substance .and
body there is a complete opposition, and
it is consequently absurd to suppose
that a body can borrow from a spirit that
by which it becomes body. Since the
substantial form of a being is. that which
makes it formally to exist as such, the
soul cannot be the substantial form by
which a body exists as body, unless it is
itself corporeal. It is the same with all
forms essentially material, and conse-
quently with all those which belong to
the essence of the elementary substances.
These forces, not being in the soul, can-
not be destroyed when the elements pass
into the body ; * yet they no longer exist
in their former state of independence.
They are seized upon and controlled by
the superior force of the soul, elevated
in a certain sort above their natural con-
dition, and employed as instruments of
the vivification of the matter of the body.
Heretofore these elements formed so
many independent unities ; henceforth
they become fractions of a whole to
which the soul must give the specific de-
termination. Their entire force con-
tinues to subsist ; their being is not de-
stroyed ; but, under the domination of a
new form, it acquires a new formal exis-
tence. It is thus that the soul is the
principle of the substantial unity of man.
It does not destroy the variety of the
elements, but it unites them ; it does
not suppress completely their mutual
opposition, but tempers it so far as to
establish a condition of harmony. There
is really but one substantial form in
man — the reasonable soul, because this
soul alone gives to the entire totality of
the human being its substantial deter-
mination ; it alone reduces the diversity
of elements to unity. It confers upon
the body, by its union with the same,

* Note by the author of the article. — The im-
port of this needs some further explanation. Since
the body is full of various and contrary physical
forces, these must come either from the soul as the
active principle giving the materia of the body its
first being, or from the elements which are the
chemical components of the blood, bones, and other
integral parts of the body. The soul cannot fur-
nish them, because it does not possess them. There-
fore the elements remain, and the material sub-
stance remains, and they are not divested of their
substantial formality.

something which is not a mere accident
but a new being, the being of humanity,
which raises it above all purely corpo-
real beings, and constitutes it within the
generic class of rational substances.

" The modern theory, understood in
this sense, is in perfect agreement as to
its substance with the peripatetic doc-
trine, and safe from all the dangerous ten-
dencies imputed to it. There is no just
cause for repeating any longer the ac-
cusation heretofore made against this
theory that it suppresses the substantial
unity of bodies, since, as we have shown,
so far from destroying this unity it pre-
sents it as it subsists in various grades,
proportioned to the relative degrees of
perfection in substances, much better than
the other systems. There is even less
foundation for the pretext that the theory
in question is in opposition to the defini-
tions of the church regarding the union of
soul and body in man. What, in fact, do
these definitions affirm? That the soul is
the true form of the human body, which it
informs and vivifies, not accidentally or
mediately, but immediately and essenti-
ally. Now, all this is perfectly verified
in our theory, which supposes that the
body receives its life, its specific nature,
its existence as human body, without
any interposing medium, from the soul.
Moreover, its union with the soul, so far
from being regarded as accidental, is
shown to be, on the contrary, substan-
tial, in whatever aspect it is considered,
whether on the side of the soul or on the
side of the body : on the side of the soul,
which without this union would be un-
able to exercise several faculties proceed-
ing from its essence ; on the side of the
body, which receives from this union the
substantial complement of its elements.
When, therefore, we examine closely that
argument which is the strongest, if not
the only, one sustaining the contrary
theory,* we perceive that it resolves itself
into a mere equivocation. The partisans of
this theory, who sometimes reproach their
adversaries with equivocating in respect
to the words ' substantial and acciden-
tal,'do not.perceive that they themselves
commit this fault. They confound that
which is indispensable to a being that it
may exist, with that which is indispen-
sable to it that it may possess the inte-
grity of its nature. Union with the body

• Viz. .that the modem theory destroys the unity of
substances, and particularly the unity of the human,
nature or substance. — A utkor of the article.

Recent Polemics and Ircnics in Scholastic Philosophy.

is not essential to the soul in the former
sense, as all acknowledge, but it is cer-
tainly not allowable to conclude from
this that it is purely accidental to it. We
may very justly call substantial, and even
essential, all that which is exacted by the
nature of anything. Now, union with the
body is certainly exacted by the nature
of the soul, which differs mainly from
pure spirits by this exigency. Nothing
could be more contrary to the principles
of scholastic philosophy than to regard
that property pertaining to the soul which
adapts it to be the form of the body as
a simple accident ; but if this is an es-
sential property, union with the body
cannot be considered as purely acciden-
tal, even admitting that the body is com-
posed of elements endowed with their pro-
per forms. Let us apply the same rea-
soning to the elements, which are them-
selves made in order to unite themselves
with other elements, as the soul is made
in order to unite itself with the body ;
and by this simple distinction of the two
senses of the word substantial we shall
eliminate the doctrinal misunderstanding
which makes a division between us.

'• How, then, could it happen that this
division has been so long continued ? It
is because the distrust of the defenders
of traditional philosophy has been pro-
voked by the presentation of the theory
at the present day generally adopted by
scientists, as an innovation. This dis-
trust will have no longer any object, and
harmony cannot fail to be re-established,
from the moment when it shall be recog-
nized that the modern experimental
science is in perfect harmony with the
principles laid down by Aristotle and ac-
cepted by St. Thomas."

The professor of physics who pre-
pared the Exposd given in Father
Ramiere's appendix presents very
distinctly and strongly what is the
common sentiment, especially of
those who are devoted to the study
of physical science, in our modern
Catholic schools :

" The peripatetic system on the com-
position of bodies is rejected by the
greater number of Catholic philosophers,
because this system, considered meta-
physically, sustains itself solely on equi-
vocations and the begging of questions
/Card. Tolomei), and has no demonstrative

force ( P. Zigliara) ; considered psycholo-
gically, it gives a handle to materialism ;
considered in the aspect of the chemical
sciences, it is in evident contradiction to
their experimental facts; considered his-
torically, it has been, so far as its psycho-
logical part is concerned, always combat-
ed by the school of Alexander de Hales,
St. Bonaventure, Scotus, and the Fran-
ciscans ; was condemned in the thirteenth
century by all the doctors of the English
universities, together with a majority of
those of the Sorbonne ; and in the eigh-
teenth century was commonly repudiated
by all the schools, with the exception of
the most rigid Thomists."

There is certainly no chance
whatever that this theory will ever
regain any considerable sway from
the mere weight of authority which
belongs to it from the traditions of
the past. As Father Ramiere just-
ly remarks :

" We must not forget that the present
discussion appertains to the purely scien-
tific order, and must consequently be
definiiivelv decided not bv authority but bv
reason. So long as the rational argu-
ments which overturn the theory con-
trary to our own have not been refuted,
nothing will be gained by the effort to
prove from a literal interpretation of
some texts that this theory belongs to
St. Thomas. The only interpretation
admissible in this case is the rational
interpretation, which clears up obscure
texts by the perfectly clear principles
which the holy doctor loudly proclaimed.
It is thus that we explain many difficult
passages in the works of the eagle of
Hippo ; and those who act otherwise,
far from proving in this way their re-
spect for him, really inflict an outrage
on his memory by putting him in oppo-
sition to himself and to the truth. Let
us not do a similar wrong to St. Thomas.
As he was always attentive to correct
himself even to the end of his short ca-
reer, we can be sure that, if his mortal
existence had been prolonged to our
day, he would not have failed to clear
up that which remained in obscurity in
his writings, and to complete, by the aid
of new discoveries in science, what was
necessarily incomplete in his theories.
Let us act in the same manner, and not
fear to show ourselves more faithful to

Recent Polemics and Ircnics in ScJiolastic PhilosopJiy. 349

the spirit of the doctrine of St. Thomas
than to the letter of a certain number of
texts found in his writings."

Father Ramiere could not have
expected to put an end to the con-
troversy by his short essay, and, in
fact, the only immediate result of
Dr. Fredault's larger work and his
own briefer piece of argument has
been to call fortli rejoinders from
the Scienza Italiana and the Civil ta
Cattolica. Some of the advocates
of the peripatetic theory are un-
questionably as well versed in the
physical sciences as their oppo-
nents. Their studies in chemistry
and other brandies of science have
made them dissatisfied with the
prevalent modern theories on the
constitution of bodies, and they
have for this very reason sought for
a more philosophical doctrine in the
ancient metaphysics. It is not to
be supposed that they will yield to
anything short of cogent reasoning,
or that any agreement in unity of
doctrine can be produced, unless
some really solid, satisfactory, and
conclusive theory is presented with
such convincing proof and evi-
dence that it must command gene-
ral assent. Until this is done
there is no choice except to con-
tinue the discussion. If it is in-
terminable, then all sides must
agree to differ, and in such a case
it is quite natural to fall back on
the authority of great men who are
supposed to have been gifted with
extraordinary perspicacity of in-
tellect, and to have seen into things
more clearly and deeply than mo-
dern men are able to do, perhaps
by the aid of supernatural light.
If the constitution of bodies is an
impenetrable mystery, we must be
content to remain in our ignorance,
and accept whatever formulas of
metaphysical or physical statement
seem to us the best expression of

the vague and confused notions we
possess. We are not quite pre-
pared to accept this situation as
inevitable, and it is certain that
not only on the European conti-
nent, but in England and America
also, the reviving interest in meta-
physical studies and the necessity
of combating materialism will sti-
mulate an effort toward a more per-
fect evolution of the truth contain-
ed in the ancient philosophy by
the help of mathematical and ex-
perimental science. It may be
asked what metaphysics and theo-
logy have to do with these matters,
which seem to belong to the do-
main of physics. We reply to
this question in the words of Fa-
ther Ramiere :

"The question what is in general the
nature of material beings, and what is-
in particular the nature of man as apper-
taining by his corporeal part to the ma-
terial world, does not belong, at least
exclusively, to physics ; it is also within
the domain of philosophy and theology.
The special object of physics is the
study of the sensible properties of
bodies, the observation of the phenom-
ena by which the different forces with
which they are endowed manifest them-
selves, and the determination of the laws
which regulate the exercise of these
forces. The investigation of the essen-
tial properties which enter into the very
idea of body and distinguish it from spir-
itual being belongs to metaphysics. And
since, in man, the body, united with the
spirit, participates in its destiny ; since,
in Jesus Christ, the corporeal world has
been associated to the divine dignity,
theology cannot give us a perfect know-
ledge of our destiny and our deification
by the divine Person who assumed hu-
manity, without availing itself of the aid
which is furnished by an exact notion of
the nature of bodies."

It seems to us that the real point
of difficulty and of controversy re-
specting the " nature of bodies '*
lies deeper than any of the ques-
tions proposed by Father Ramiere,

3 SO Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy.

and that the whole discussion must
start from this point in order to be
thorough and decisive. It is no so-
lution at all of the question, What
is the nature of corporeal being ? to
tell us that bodies are material
substances endowed with determi-
nate forces, or composites of such
substances. The drop of water,
mechanically divided, gives us only
minuter and minuter molecules of
water. But since, chemically di-
vided, it gives oxygen and hy-
drogen in composition with each
other to form these minutest mole-
cules, there must be in each of
these molecules others of such mi-
nute quantity as to elude experi-
ment, which are composed of still
smaller distinct molecules of oxy-
gen and hydrogen. One of these
molecules of oxygen, considered
apart from all other corporeal be-
ings, must be itself constituted by
smaller molecules or of some more ..
simple elements. We must come
at last to these simple elements,
.and ask the ques'tion, What con-
stitutes the entity and first actual-
ity of these elements? Boscovich
and Leibnitz, two of the most origi-
nal thinkers of modern times, both
of them well versed in mathematics
as well as eminent in metaphysics,
have presented the theory of simple
monads, which are dynamic centres
radiating in space upon each other
the active forces which produce
extension, quality, motion, and
every kind of material substance
with all their specific differences.
Father Bayma, in his remarkable
work Molecular Mechanics, has pre-
sented the hypothesis that these
simple elements are each separate-
ly endowed with only one force —
that is, either the attractive or re-
pulsive. The laws of molecular
mechanics have been exposed in
this treatise with rigid and compli-

cated mathematical demonstrations.
The metaphysical part of this hy-
pothesis has been fully developed,
so far as its primary and essential
principles are concerned, in the
pages of this magazine. The argu-
ments by which this hypothesis is
sustained and the contrary ones
overturned we have never seen
fairly and distinctly answered.
Certain objections are made, such
as these : that a force is not a being
in itself, but needs a substance to
support it ; that dynamism takes
away the reality of matter, that it
makes material substance like spir-
itual substance, that it gives no
basis for extension and continuous
quantity, etc. We think there is
some misunderstanding of terms
and concepts in the minds of those
who make these objections. We
understand in this theory such
terms as " active force " to denote
not an attribute or product without
subject or cause, but a principle
from which force proceeds, which is
also a passive principle upon which
active force terminates. It is a real
being, simple, unextended, not a
body or a spirit, having position
but not quantity, marking by its ex-
istence a point in space, the first
element of the primary composite
body or molecule, distinguishable
in respect to its matter and form,
but not separable, any more than
the centre and circumference of a
circle are separable. It is a sub-
stance, standing hi se et per se, in
respect to existence, but expressly
created for entering into composi-
tion with similar entities, in order
to make bodies with the various
attributes and accidents, active
powers and passive potencies, which
experience shows them to possess.
It is not a spirit, because it has no
capability of consciousness, intelli-
gence, or volition, but is simply de-

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 351

termined by its grade of being to
act in space by means of motion.
It is ens mobile* a.\\& the beginning
of physical quantity, as the point is
the beginning of abstract quantity
in geometrical science. As to the
difficulty of conceiving how exten-
sion arises without a first material
continuum to begin with, we think
this objection is counteracted by
the arguments proving that such a
continuum is an absurdity and an
impossibility.

The great desideratum in the
question of matter is to find the
invariable and indestructible ele-
ment, which remains, and will for-
ever remain, the same amid all trans-
mutations of bodies, the ultimate
substance endowed with a perpet-
ual existence in se, and competent
from its potency and active power
to be the principle of every possi-
ble combination and mode of being
within the limits of the purely cor-
poreal essence. Such a principle
seems to be furnished by the theory
of Boscovich and Leibnitz, as cor-
rected and developed by Father
Bayma. The simple beings en-
dowed with attractive or repulsive
force proceeding from a centre
which marks a point in space, and
having both a form and a mate-
rial principle which are naturally
inseparable, are capable of existing,
each one alone by itself, and ab-
solutely indestructible, except by
annihilation. Though utterly use-
less and inoperative, except as ex-
isting in multitude and mutually
acting on each other in their chem-
ical and mechanical combinations
they furnish the substratum of every
kind of matter and form which can
be predicated of corporeal being as
fns mobile. The primary molecules
of the simple bodies formed by the
first combinations of simple ele-
ments are so firmly bound together

that no power of which man can
avail himself suffices to separate
tli em, and we may suppose there is
no power in nature which can
break up their unity. Nor is there
any difficulty in supposing that
God can make bodies of any mag-
nitude or composite perfection
which are likewise incorruptible, in
accordance with the ancient con-
ception of materia quinta, or celes-
tial, incorruptible bodies. The rea-
soning by which this dynamic hy-
pothesis is sustained and contrary
theories refuted seems to be ex-
tremely probable, and even, in cer-
tain parts, demonstrative, from its
premises and data. If these in-
clude all which must be included,
and nothing pertaining to the es-
sence and integrity of the matter
of demonstration is left out, the hy-
pothesis is sufficient to account for
all which must be accounted for,
and by its simplicity recommends
itself to the mind as proposing
enough, and no more than enough,
for a distinct notion of the nature
of body and its specific difference
from soul and spirit. Just here, it
seems to us. comes in the need for
more full explanation and evolu-
tion of the theory, and a more
minute discussion between its ad-
vocates and those who advocate
the theories of the rigid peripatetic
system or the system favored by
Father Ramiere. We would like
to see a more complete proof given
that all which can be predicated of
material substance, as such, can be
referred to its nature as ens mobile,
and accounted for by the two primi-
tive forces of attraction and repul-
sion.

Especially when we consider the
phenomena of organized, living
bodies, vegetable and animal, the
most important questions arise, de-
manding from each one of the dif-

352 Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy.

ferent philosophical schools the an-
swers which they are able to fur-
nish, and an exposition of the w;iy
in which they seek to harmonize
this particular portion of their re-
spective systems with the first prin-
ciples of philosophy, of physics, and
of theology. The notions of poten-
tial matter and substantial form as-
sume here a new import and pre-
sent difficulties of the first magni-
tude, the solution of which in one
way or another introduces most
considerable modifications into the
metaphysics and the theology of
each different party in the contro-
versy.

What is the principle of vegetable
life and reproduction ? If all the
facts and phenomena of vegetable
life can be explained by the laws
of molecular mechanics and chem-
istry, the need for a distinct, sim-
ple form, vital principle, or vege-
table soul, is removed ; otherwise
the hypothesis fails to meet the exi-
gency of the case,, and the reason-
ing of the peripatetic philosophers
remains, in this respect, unanswered.

The question of the animal soul
stands by itself, and is more impor-
tant. Molecular mechanics and
chemical combinations cannot pro-
duce a sentient subject or account
for the sensible cognition which ani-
mals possess. There is certainly in
the animal a distinct form giving
to animal nature a potency and a
power not reducible to attraction
and repulsion between molecules,
not a modification of mobility and
motion. The ingenious scholastic
theory gives us a formula which
answers very well as a verbal state-
ment of the difference between the
irrational and the rational soul, be-
tween the brute and man. Accord-
ing to this theory, the animal soul
is not a substance, is not capable
of existing in se, depends on the

body and is destroyed by its death,,
is not immediately created, but is-
educed, ex nihilo sur, from the po-
tentiality of matter by the physi-
cal agencies and laws of generation.
What is startling and puzzling
about this theory is that it makes
an organized, material body exer-
cise sensible cognition. The soul
is a mere substantial form, higher
than the aqueous or igneous or ca-
daverous form, but of the same ge-
nus. It is educed from the poten-
tiality of matter, and therefore
matter is in potency to the sentient
faculty, as it is in potency to have
quantity, figure, color, and weight.
Second causes suffice to evolve from
its potency this new form of being
in which it can see, hear, feel, imag-
ine and remember, simulate many of
the processes and actions of ration-
al beings, enjoy and suffer, recog-
nize friends and enemies, invent
stratagems, play tricks, exercise
courage, fidelity, fortitude, and
constancy in affection, and show
forth all those remarkable phenome-
na which make the animal, in one
point of view, the greatest marvel of
creation. If the animal soul is not
a distinct substance, immediately
created and having existence /// ser
the peripatetic theory, pure and
simple, with all its mysteriousaess, is
preferable to any other, and its
failure to give demonstration and
satisfy the ingenium curio sum of
many searchers into the secrets of
nature is a necessary consequence
of the impenetrable mystery which
shrouds the essence of material be-
ing.

If the animal soul is a substance,
we must admit a grade of being be-
'tween the corporeal and the ration-
al natures, an inferior kind of spirit,
similar to the human <oul in re-
spect to that which makes it fit to
be the animating principle of an o;-

Recent Polemics and Irenics in Scholastic Philosophy. 353

game body, destitute of intelligence
and incapable of activity inde-
pendent of its bodily organs, yet, as a
substance in itself and a simple be-
ing, not destructible by corruption.
It is a maxim in philosophy that
there is no destruction of any-
thing once created by annihilation.
It continues to exist, therefore, af-
ter the death of its bodily compart.
If the anima belluina is imperish-
able, what becomes of it when the
animal dies? Even the human
spirit, though capable by its intel-
lectual faculties of living a separate
life, has an intrinsic exigency for a
body which it can animate ; much
more, then, the anima belluina,
which is a principle of animal life
and activity, and nothing more.
There is nothing superfluous or use-
less in nature, yet this kind of soul,
continuing to exist without a body,
is a useless thing. Moreover, al-
though the more perfect animals
manifest qualities which can easily
be taken to indicate the presence
of a vital principle which is a dis-
tinct substance, what shall we say
of those which can be divided into
sections, each of which continues to
live; and of those which approach
so near to the line of demarcation
between animal and vegetable life
that the difference between the two
seems to reach a vanishing-point,
and they shade into each other by
nearly imperceptible gradations ?

This is enough to show how se-
rious is the task of reconciling philo-
sophical parties, and settling the
disputes about the constitution of
bodies, matter and form, and all
their cognate topics, and making a
perfect synthesis of physics and
metaphysics. Mathematics come
in also, with the consideration of
quantity, space, infinites and infini-
tesimals, demanding a place in a
really complete synthetical exposi-

VOL. XXVI. — 23

tion of fundamental and universal
philosophy. There is room enough
for a great genius who shall be a
continuator of the work of St.
Thomas. If such a man should
arise, he would need to have all the
intellectual gifts and all the know-
ledge of a great metaphysician, a
great mathematician, and a great
physicist, combined under one form.
There has been but one Aristotle
and one St. Thomas, and we can-
not tell whether or no any other
man like them, or even equal to
Suarez, will be granted to the sci-
ence of philosophy. It seems that
we need some man of that kind to
deal with the obscurities and am-
biguities, the new aspects and new
relations of scholastic metaphysics,
and with the peculiar mental atti-
tude and habits of thought and ex-
pression belonging to our own time.
The English-speaking part of the
educated world certainly needs the
service of some really original
thinker, as well as learned and acute
expositor, to make all that is cer-
tain or highly probable in the
Thomistic philosophy thoroughly
intelligible, and to accomplish what-
ever is requisite and possible in ad-
vancing this philosophy toward a
desirable completion. Able and
learned expositors of the ancient
philosophy are not lacking in Italy
and Germany, but it seems to us
that some higher degree of original
power of thought and expression
than is found even in the most emi-
nent of these authors is desirable
for the masterly handling of certain
questions of present controversy.

Father Ramiere considers that
the time has come to hope for and
attempt the construction of " the
majestic temple of Catholic science,
whose base is laid in the infallible
dogmas of faith and the immova-
ble principles of reason, whose sto-

354 Recent Polemics and Ircnics in Scholastic FhilosopJiy.

ries are erected by the co-operat-
ing labor of observation and rea-
soning, whose circuit embraces the
entire expanse of human knowledge,
in which facts and laws, experimen-
tal and abstract sciences, the truths
of the natural and those of the su-
pernatural order, complete, strength-
en, and embellish each other by
their mutual agreement." That
" complete synthesis, to which all
the particular sciences are attached
as branches of a tree to the trunk,"
he considers to have been fifty years
ago apparently impossible, though
the conception of it may have been
latent in some minds, but at present
to be really within the power of
combined and rightly-directed in-
tellectual effort to achieve.

So far as essentials are concern-
ed, we are convinced that the
learned and pious Jesuit is not
without a solid ground for his en-
thusiastic prognostication of the
advancement of Catholic science.
In respect to the, special topics of
which we have been writing in the
present article, we are not very
sanguine of a speedy adjustment
of the controversies which divide
Catholic philosophers and others,
whether physicists or metaphysi-
cians, who investigate and argue
ur.on the nature of material sub-
stance. There is yet a good deal
of discussion and controversy to
be gone through, and we confess
we are in doubt how far it will
ever terminate in a conclusive and
final result. There are limitations
to human knowledge which are not
precisely determined. The space
of the unknowable lies around our
restricted sphere of the known and
the knowable. Happily, it is not
necessary for the substantial so-
lidity and practical utility of ra-
tional metaphysics and ethics, much
less for theological certainty in the

matters of real moment, that all the
interesting and abstruse questions
of controversy between different
schools should be decided. Ap-
parent "antinomies of reason "may
furnish a pretext to the sceptical
and captious, but they prove only
the limitation of intellect and rea-
son, our imperfect and inadequate
conceptions of the terms and pre-
mises which we reason about and
from which we draw conclusions,
and the defectiveness of language
as the medium of thought. The
certainties of reason, of history and
experience, of the judgments of the
human conscience, of divine reve-
lation, of Catholic authority, of the
common sense of mankind, are
amply sufficient for refuting every
kind of infidel or heretical error
which cloaks itself under a scien-
tific pretext, and for proving and
defending all that belongs to sacred
dogma in faith or morals, or is
in proximate connection with it.
Unity and harmony in these things
need not be disturbed by differ-
ences and discussions respecting all
manner of scientific questions.
We understand that this is what
Father Ramiere principally aims at,
and he himself gives a good exam-
ple of free and earnest controver-
sial discussion conducted in the
irenical spirit. We have always
found his writings luminous, inter-
esting, and profitable. We trust
that he and his confreres will con-
tinue their labors in the same di-
rection. We shall look also witli
great interest for the arguments by
which the learned writers for the
Civil t a Cattolica and Scienza I tali-
ana and other advocates of strict
Thomism maintain their own opin-
ions. The Sovereign Pontiff, in
his recent letter to the rector of
the University of Lille, has declared
that he desires all learned Catho-

Tota Pulchra.

355

lies " should with one accord, al-
though they follow different systems,
turn all their energies to put down
materialism and the other errors of
our age." This shows that, in the
judgment of the Holy Father, agree-
ment in these matters of actual differ-
ence is not a necessary condition
precedent to combined and success-
ful polemics against materialism and
the other dangerous errors of our
time. The Holy Father also ex-
horts " all whom it may concern "
not to " scatter their forces by dis-
puting with one another on ques-
tions which are matters of free
opinion." We understand this to
mean that discussions should not

degenerate into disputes of that
kind which is hostile to the spirit
of unity and charity, and not that
discussion should be altogether
abandoned. For, in another para-
graph, he exhorts learned Catho-
lics to " keep within the bounds of
moderation and observe the laws of
Christian charity while they dis-
cuss or attack systems in nowise
condemned by the Apostolic See."
This may suffice for the present,
and we trust that our readers who
hold metaphysical articles in aver-
sion will tolerate this one, in con-
sideration of the long time they
have been spared a similar trial of
their patience.

TOTA PULCHRA.*

CAN God so woo us, nor, of all our race,

Have formed one creature for his perfect rest ?
Must the Dove moan for an inviolate nest,

Nor find it ev'n in thee, O " full of grace " —

In thee, his Spouse ? Or could the Word debase
His Godhead's pureness when he fill'd thy breast,
Tho' Moses treasured up, at his behest,

The typical manna in a golden f vase ?

Who teach that sin had ever aught in thee,
Utter a thought the demons may not share —
Not tho' they prompt it in their fell despair :

For these, while sullenly hating the decree

That shaped thee forth Immaculate, " All Fair,"*

Adore it still — and must eternally.

* Cant. iv. 7.

t Ex. xvi. 33 ; Heb. ix. 4.

356

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

THE MYSTERY OF THE OLD ORGAN.

IN one of the least-visited church-
es of Ghent stands the most curious
and characteristic thing in it — its
organ : a contrast to the defaced
wood-work and mouldering Renais-
sance plaster, to the unused and
deserted chests in the vestry and
the few benches in the choir. The
paintings, the removable carvings,
even some of the monuments, the
choir-stalls and the stained-glass
windows, disappeared long ago ;
the very name by which the church
goes in the popular speech is ill-
omened and mysterious. Old wo-
men cross themselves and shake
their heads as they whisper the
name of the Apostate's church, and
tradition tells the rare inquirer
that this was a private chapel, the
property of a once renowned fam-
ily, noble and brave, but fierce and
fanatical, well known in the town
a inals for centuries, and only struck
from the roll of citizens and house-
holders at the end of the great
Flemish struggle of the sixteenth
century, when the Protestants left
Spanish ground for ever and found
a new country in Holland. The
disappearance of all valuable ob-
jects in the deserted church is
ascribed — and perhaps truly — to
many combining causes. Some
were destroyed during the occa-
sional image-breaking raids that
distinguished the wars of the Re-
formation ; some were sold or car-
ried off by the family whose pro-
perty they were, some confiscated
or stolen by the triumphant Spanish
government, or by no less indig-
nant relations of the family, who,
remaining behind, were anxious to
prove by deeds their freedom from

complicity with the apostate and
fugitive Stromwaels. Such were
the fragments of information to be
picked up by any one in whom the
simple people of the neighborhood
had confidence ; but whether every
fragment was historical is another
question. The church was in a
lonely quarter of the town, the
least altered by progress, where
stood only small shops supplying
the local wants, which in such pop-
ulations and such places vary very
little from those of five or six gen-
erations ago. A few spacious,
comfortable houses showed among
more cramped and less ornamented
ones, but the aspect of all, if rather
dead-alive, was very picturesque.
The church stands in a narrow
street and far from the house of its
patrons, now used as a storehouse
by the few wholesale dealers of
this quarter, who each have one
floor. In the attics live a few work-
men and one or two nondescript,
eccentric, and inoffensive persons,
supposed to be pensioners of one
of the dealers. One of these is a
bookworm and supposed to know
much of local legends and history.
Being very poor, he frequents only
the public library and such private
ones as are accessible gratis to
students ; and when he wants to
preserve information which he can-
not purchase in the shape of print-
ed books, he copies it assiduously
on miscellaneous paper, recruited
from old ledgers, bank and regis-
ter books, large parcels, etc., be-
sides the little he buys or has given
to him. His notes thus present a
very curious appearance, which he
sometimes complacently connects

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

357

with the possible researches and
comments of scholars of two hun-
dred years hence. One of his many
little sheaves of manuscript came
into my hands not long ago while I
was poking about the neighborhood,
looking for anything out of the way,
and I was induced to go and see
him. He was very shabby and
commonplace, and a good deal
smeared with snuff; neither his ap-
pearance nor his home was in
keeping with the outward look of
the houses, and there were no ar-
tistically-dilapidated surroundings
to fill out the romantic sketch
which my imagination had made
before I was introduced to him.
Travellers seldom mention their
disappointments, and always make
the most of their agreeable surpri-
ses, so that stay-at-home people are
often deluded into a belief that
every one on the European conti-
nent is more or less like a Dresden
figure or an actor in a mediaeval
play. My friend, however substan-
tial the entertainment might be
which his manuscript and his nar-
rative gave me, was decidedly a
failure personally, but none the
less was he to me a very important
and, in a degree, even an interest-
ing vehicle of information. A free
translation of his manuscript is all
that I can give ; as to his absorbed
manner in speaking, his evident in-
terest in the past, and his self-for-
getfulness when he got upon the
subject of the stories he had dug out
or pieced together from ancient pa-
pers, and his own impressions con-
cerning whatever was uncertain —
these it is impossible to convey to
others. He asked me first whether
I had examined the organ in the
chapel. I had done so, and found
its case a very beautiful piece of
carving ; the keys were kept speck-
less, and the front contained a

remarkable group of figures, carved
in wood and painted, representing
our Lord and the twelve apostles.
The instrument stood in a high
tribune looking into the choir, and
reached by a separate staircase,
narrow and winding. A carved
railing gave this tribune something
of the look of a balcony, but it
scarcely projected forward into the
chapel ; the carved front of the
organ and the gilt pipes were visi-
ble from below, and a tapestry cur-
tain hung from an iron rod on each
side of the instrument, concealing
the back entrance into the tribune.
The peculiarity about this organ
was that it was all but dumb, and
had never given a satisfactory sound
since its maker had bid it be silent.
It emitted some doleful sounds, if
struck, but for all musical purposes
it was useless. The situation it was
in, and the defects in its interior,
besides a third reason still unfor-
gotten by the popular mind, ac-
counted for its having been left
when the rest of the church trea-
sures were carried off. As a relic
of antiquity it was valuable, exhi-
biting as it does the state of mecha-
nical art at the beginning of the
sixteenth century ; but it was still
more interesting as the tangible
proof of a story connected with its
maker, the organist of the church
in 1505. This my old friend of
the attic had written out in the
queer-looking manuscript I have
mentioned.

Nicholas Verkloep was born a
servant of the Stromwaels, and
brought up in their household in
the very house where I read the
story. His parents kept the outer
gate, and the boy passed through
the usual stages of service common
to lads of his position, now a favor-
ite, now a butt, according to the

35S

TJie Mystery of tJie Old Organ.

humor of his master and each
member of the family, but all the
spare time at his command was de-
voted to music. He haunted the
churches, and begged his way into
choirs and libraries, learnt all the
church music he could pick up by
his ear, the hints of choristers, and
the few explanations in the manu-
script chant-books of the time, and
at last begged to be allowed to
blow the organ-bellows at the fam-
ily chapel. Meanwhile, he joined
in the services, and drew on him-
self the notice of the old organist,
who grew so fond and proud of
him that he taught him all he knew,
taught him to play the organ, and
asked the Count Stromwael to allow
him to bring the boy up as his suc-
cessor. Nicholas was fifteen when
this request was granted, and hence-
forth he nearly lived in the chapel.
Not only the music of the organ
fascinated him ; he grew absorbed
in studying its mechanism, and
would crouch for hours within the
instrument, getting his eyes used to
the darkness, and learning by heart
the " feel " of each piece. This
developed all sorts of oddities in
him : he grew absent-minded, and
often unconsciously moved his
fingers as if at work. Soon after
he began to make models of various
parts of an organ, indifferently the
inside and the outside ; for carving
seemed as natural to him as me-
chanical dissection. He had not
the same conservative feeling about
things as is common among our
present musicians, and the fact
that the Stromwael instrument was
a hundred and fifty years old, and
had gone through many repairs as
time went on and new improve-
ments succeeded each other, did
not prevent him from feeling cer-
tain that he could make a much
better organ in a very short time.

His plans were manifold ; the sub-
ject grew and grew in his mind ;
the additional stops which he add-
ed in imagination disgusted him
with the music he could draw from
the instrument at present ; and
while every one in the town was
excited about the wonderful young
player who bade fair to be a prodi-
gy, he himself was impatiently be-
wailing his drawbacks.

He told no one but his old mas-
ter of his hopes and his expecta-
tions, and this confidant was cer-
tainly the safest he could have; for
the old musician was a contented
and patient man, used to his old
ways, firm in his old traditions, not
caring to travel out of his old
grooves, and rather resentful of the
idea that what had been good mu-
sic and perfect mechanism in his
time should not be good enough
to satisfy the fastidious taste of a
young beginner. Yet he was fond
of his pupil, who used to soothe
him by the saying that each gene-
ration had a new door to open and
a new room to explore in the house
of knowledge, and that he ought
not to grudge him his appointed ad-
vance, any more than Moses grudg-
ed Josue his succession to the
leadership. In truth, the old man
was secretly proud of his clever
scholar, and, perhaps unconscious-
ly to himself, expected even more
of him than the youth did of him-
self. The two lived together in
the house of their patron, but had
little intercourse with the rest of
the mixed household, more gay
and more ignorant than themselves,
and my snuffy old friend nursed
the belief that he had discovered
the room which was home to these
two. It was a small attic chamber
looking towards the church, and in
a chest in it had been found rem-
nants of wood, wire, and leather, as

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

359

well as some strange-looking mod-
els and bits of carving, with rough
sketches on strips of parchment,
all of which I had seen in their
case in the museum at the Town-
hall. On the walls were some
doggerel Latin verses and some
rather indistinct marks, which,
nevertheless, the most learned mu-
sician in the town had pronounced
to be, most likely, a sort of musi-
cal short-hand, understood only
by its author. All this I also saw,
and, having no opposite theory to
uphold, was glad to believe remains
of Nicholas.

Now, says the manuscript, there
were found notes and jottings be-
sides plans and sketches, and it
seems plain from these that the
young organist wished eagerly to
make a new organ, on which no
one but himself should work ; in-
deed, this idea grew to be a mono-
mania, and he devoted to it all the
energy and interest which a man
generally spends on wife, children,
friends, home, profession, and ad-
vancement. But the count was an
obstinate conservative, and scout-
ed the idea of replacing his time-
honored family organ by a new
one, the work of a crazy youth,
even though he were the best play-
er and composer that ever breath-
ed. The old organist and his pu-
pil had many anxious talks on the
subject. In those days it was not
easy to transfer your domicile and
allegiance to a patron better suited
to you ; family bondage still held
good in practical matters ; the
Stromwaels had given him all the
home and education h» had, and,
in fact, he belonged to them. Be-
sides, the count was as proud of
his human possession as he was of
his ancient organ, and set as much
store by the reputation of the mar-
vellous young musician whom he

owned as he did by that of his
best-bred falcon, dog, or horse.
He would not have given up any
of these ; they were all ornaments
to his name, and it was fitting that
he should not be beneath or be-
hind any of his townsmen. He
was not old enough to give room to
hope for a change of circumstan-
ces through his death, and Nicho-
las became every day more discon-
tented at his prospects. He was
more reserved, morose, and morbid
than ever, and as he grew odder
the more was his music admired.
Strangers from neighboring towns
came to hear him play; the towns-
people begged him to teach their
sons; women looked up at the
gallery where he sat with his back
to them, with eyes that told of as
ready an inclination to love the
player as to admire the music;
wealthy foreigners sent him pre-
sents of money or jewels, after
the fashion of the times ; but no-
thing seemed to elate, or even inter-
est, him.

One day, while he was sitting at
the old organ, poring over his plans
for a new one, and contrasting the
existing instrument with the possi-
ble one, a man lifted the curtain
which then, as now, covered the en-
trance to the tribune. He was a
stranger to Nicholas, and seemed
elderly ; he was very quietly dress-
ed in black, and wore a sword.
The young man looked up in be-
wilderment, but rose and welcomed
the unknown, who sat down with
great composure by his side on the
wide carved bench in front of the
organ. He spoke Flemish, but
Nicholas thought with a foreign
accent, which, however, he could
not localize.

" You will forgive my curiosity,"
he said, " in coming here. I have
often heard you play from below,

360

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

and to-day, passing by the open
door, I came into the chapel in
hopes of hearing something, but
met your little blower lying asleep
on the altar steps, woke him up,
made inquiries, and decided to
come up."

" You are very welcome," said
Nicholas in a low voice, politely
but not cordially, and speaking
with that resignation which well-
bred but much- tried misanthropes
have but too much occasion to
practise in all times and companies.

" I want to speak of something
else than mere conventionalities,"
said the stranger abruptly, " and
I will begin by telling you that I
quite understand and appreciate
your distaste to general fellowship
with your kind; I see no reason
why I should be an exception, so
you need not resort to courteous
commonplaces, i have heard what
is your aim, and onjy seek you be-
cause I think I may be of some use
to you."

Nicholas looked up, at first ea-
gerly, then a shadow came over his
face. Any allusion to future suc-
cess fired him even against his will,
but experience had always hither-
to gone the opposite way. Taking
the stranger's permission literally,
he said nothing, but looked at him
inquiringly. The other went on
after a pause :

" I think I can promise you the
certainty, within ten years, of ac-
complishing your wish and seeing
your organ, if not in this place,, at
least in some other quite as advan-
tageous. I have oddities and fixed
ideas myself, and understand them
in others. In short, it rests mainly
with you whether you like to accept
my proposal or not."

"There are conditions, then?"
asked Nicholas, whom the belief of
his time with regard to compacts

with the devil imbued quite as
strongly as if he had not been a
genius, and who, in consequence,
immediately jumped to the conclu-
sion that this visit was not wholly
natural.

" Yes," said the stranger in his
metallic voice, unimpassioned but
compelling attention by some qua-
lity indefinable to Nicholas' mind,
yet surely present to his perception,
"I always hedge in business with
conditions ; otherwise I should be
a mere Haroun-al-Raschid, an ex-
perimenter in benevolence, which,
though an amiable character, is a
weak one. I hate weakness and I
hate foolishness. I judged you to
be neither fool nor weakling, and
so sought you out. The conditions
are very simple : I want you to
bind yourself to my secret service
for ten years, and in return I pro-
mise you the fulfilment of your
wish at the end of that time. In
the meanwhile your fame will in-
crease, your powers as a musician
will be unrivalled ; you will play
and compose so as to rouse the jeal-
ousy of all your profession ; you
will be in danger, but will never be
struck down ; you will have full
time for work and study, yet you
must always be ready to leave
everything instantly when I call
upon you; you will be my right
hand, but no one will suspect it ;
but if you once fail in your alle-
giance to me during these ten
years, your object will be frustrat-
ed at the end of that time."

" But," said Nicholas, who had
listened, growing more fascinated
as the stranger spoke, and by his
eagerness and play of features
guiding unconsciously the latter's
fast-increasing promises — " but
what power have you to bring such
things about? Count Stromwael
is a great man, besides being ob-

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

stinate and perverse ; how can you
dispose of his property, and even
his will?"

"And how," quickly retorted the
stranger with a cold smile, " can you
be so imprudent as to speak thus
unguardedly of your master's de-
fects to one whom you saw to-day
for the first time, and whose name,
position, and motives are unknown
to you ? Do you know that you
put yourself in my power by these
words? But I will partly answer
your question. I know something
of Count Stromwael, and what I
know gives me the right to offer
you what I do ; and as I happen to
want your services — they will never
conflict with your outward alle-
giance to your patron — I make you
the only proposal, as an equivalent,
for which you care. If you cared
for the common things — women,
money, position — you would not be
the person I want ; such vassals
can be bought by the cart-load, in
every station in life, from the Coun-
tess of Flanders or the first lord of
her household down to the ragged
beggars or the sleek hypocrites who
crowd the city. I want you, my
fancy has chosen you, and I ask
you will you buy success at the
price of ten years of your life ?"

" But why," persisted the eager
but uneasy Nicholas, "only ten
years? Why not ask for my whole
life ?"

The stranger laughed oddly.
" And your future life too ?" he
said. "Yes, I see what you are
thinking of: that I want your soul.
I will not deny your imputation ;
you flatter me by identifying me
with one whose power is as dread
as you have been taught to believe
the devil's to be, but I am quite
truthful in saying that I do not
crave more than a promise of ten
years' faithful and blind service.

You may, if you can, redeem the
sacrifice by a long after-life — I only
ask ten years; at your age it is not
much to give."

" And if I should die before the
ten years are over ?"

The stranger raised his eyebrows,
but without opening his eyes per-
ceptibly wider.

" You insist on continuing the
parallel?" he asked. " I only said
ten years of life; if you die you
escape me, but you lose your
own chance. What should I want
with a dead man ? The loss would
be as much mine as yours."

"If you can guarantee, as you
said, that I should be in danger
but should not be struck down,
perhaps you can promise me that I
shall not die till our contract is
fulfilled on both sides?"

" My dear friend, one would need
to be deathless one's self to make
such a promise. Even a doctor
could only promise life provided
such and such circumstances were
certain."

" If you can dispose of Count
Stromwael's will and property,"
said Nicholas doggedly, " you can
ensure me ten years' life."

" Is your life dearer to you than
your success, then ?"

"No; but the latter depends on
the former, and if you must hedge
in business by conditions, / must
be sure that I do not give you in
advance all you want without being
sure of my reward at the end."

" I should not have expected so
much foresight in you ; I respect
you for it. I will see that you have
this assurance, but how do I know
whether you will believe in it ?
You see you are so much shrewder
than ordinary enthusiasts that I
may be taking a spy or a critic
into my service*."

"I have, never thought about

362

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

business or guarantees before, be-
cause I care for nothing but the suc-
cess of my organ, and only that would
have made me eager to bind you
to your promise," said Nicholas,
still uneasily ; " but since you only
ask ten years' service, I think I
may safely say yes."

The stranger smiled again, as
oddly as before, and drew out a
roll of parchment from a little bag.
" According to tradition, you should
sign this with your blood," he said,
"but I shall be quite content if
you sign it with common ink.
Here is a horn and a pen ; only
write your name. But first read the
bond."

Nicholas looked suspiciously at
the stranger, who calmly handed
him the paper; the latter's face
showed neither interest nor tri-
umph. The deed was very simply
worded : " I, Nicholas Verkloep,
promise to owe unfailing and un-
questioning obedience in all things
to Marcus Lemoinne for the space
of ten years from this day and
hour, in return for the success of
my organ at the end of that time,
and for all the help he may give
me in the interval." The date was
already filled in, being the day on
which the above conversation took
place, and the hour was marked
two hours after noon. Nicholas
glanced at the clock behind him in
the chapel ; the hands pointed to
ten minutes to that hour. The
stranger followed his glance, qui-
etly rose from the bench, and turn-
ing his back upon him, knelt down
on the narrow board fixed for this
purpose to the front of the tribune.

Nicholas quickly turned things
over in his mind : as to his silence
about it when the promise was
signed he had decided ; as to his
fulfilment of his obligations to the
letter he was as loyally certain ;

as to the individual whom this man
either was or represented he had
very little doubt. Very few in his
time would have thought otherwise ;
perhaps few would have hesitated
so much after having made up
their minds not to ask the advice
of any one either before or after
the contract was made. Nicholas
was only an average Christian, and
had no strong feelings except on
the subject of his art; everything
was in favor of his giving ten years'
life for the success of his scheme.
As the clock struck the hour the
stranger rose, touched his shoulder,
and said, "Well?"

Nicholas, with something like a
start, took the pen and* signed his
name as quickly as he could, where-
upon the other also wrote in a fair
and scholarly hand these words :
" I, Marcus Lemoinne, promise to
ensure the success of Nicholas
Verkloep's organ at the end of ten
years, in return for his obedience
to me during that time."

No commonplaces passed at
parting, and Nicholas went home
soon after. His old master noticed
that he was a little more excited
than usual, and began to make
plans and preparations with more
energy, but he was used to these
phases of mind. The young man
(he was now twenty-three) procur-
ed beautiful and costly wood for
carving, besides ivory, paints, and
other materials, and set to work on
a complete model. Now began the
oddest experiences of his life : his
mind seemed doubled, for he was
conscious of a never-ceasing expec-
tation, an alertness, and a watch-
fulness hitherto unknown to him.
In the streets, in church, in bed at
night, he was always looking for
Lemoinne or ready to obey his
summons, yet his attention, when
he bestowed it on his work, was not

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

363

disturbed or lessened by this par-
allel current of thought. His mind
grew stronger, brighter, quicker,
more ingenious; his fanatical devo-
tion to his art increased daily, and
with it his powers, until his fame
grew to be just such as the stran-
ger had foretold. This stimulated
him further, and he made unheard-
of progress, so that his old friend
and teacher was half-crazy with
joy and pride. The count sent for
him to play in the hall before his
guests on a small organ of no great
power or value, and Nicholas drew
from it such sounds as the great
men of the profession could not
draw from the most magnificent
church instruments. That they
were jealous of him he knew, but
he feared no jealousy, as he court-
ed no admiration. He refused re-
peatedly to take advantage of his
reputation and increase his for-
tune by travelling to the various
art-loving cities of the Netherlands
and of Italy, or even by perform-
ing in public on great occasions, so
that the crowds of his persistent
admirers had to content themselves
with hearing him at his own old
organ in the Stromwael chapel.
Even the popular preachers of the
day were envious of him. Mean-
while, he worked first at the model,
then at the separate pieces of his
future organ. The count had given
no permission, nor hinted at any,
and Lemoinne had made no call
on his time, but his belief in the
efficacy of the bond never flagged
for a moment. It did not occur to
him to wonder why he never heard
the man's name mentioned as
among those who, whether mer-
chants, artists, or statesmen, had
public or secret power; his un-
spoken suspicion of his identity
prevented all such ideas, but it did
strike him as odd that for ten

months after the signing of the
contract nothing was required of
him. He felt morbidly that he did
not belong to himself, and knew
that, do what he would, a secret
influence sat within, master of his
heart and will, master even of his
dreams, and, he feared, of his art
also. Was it himself that he put
forth in his compositions? When
the ten years were ended he would
be able to tell, but it was a long
time to look forward to. Yet dur-
ing that time his fame would have
been made, and if his power then
suddenly deserted him and his sus-
picions came to be confirmed, he
could easily retire on his former
laurels and compose no more.
Retire at thirty-three ? Well, there
was the monastery ; many men had
made a second career, more credi-
table even than the first, by devot-
ing their worldly gifts, their wealth,
and their fame to religious pur-
poses when circumstances made
the world distasteful to them at an
earlier period than usual. If his
suspicions should be true, an after-
life of atonement would be fitting,
and it would give him time for
studies which he longed to under-
take, but had no leisure or oppor-
tunity for at present. The spiritual
element counted for nothing in his
calculations ; there were many
doors still closed in his nature.
As he wandered in fancy, his fingers
worked and produced beautiful or
weird things. The face of Le-
moinne, so constantly present to
his mind, often came out in wood
under his touch, and always, when
finished, gave him a start of sur-
prise ; for, surely, that was not the
expression he remembered ? And
yet, in carving the likeness, he
must have had the recollection be-
fore him? A year after the inter-
view in the .chapel his old teacher

364

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

the organist died, and the first
strange thing that he had ever said
to his pupil he said on his death-
bed.

"My son," he began, as he lay
with his hand in that of Nicholas,
" there is one thing I feel I must
say to you before I go ; it is my
duty, and young men sometimes
forget it. With you it is more
dangerous than with most. Be your
own master ; do not lose the owner-
ship of yourself. Men who do
generally commit crime, and, if the
slavery be to a woman, they often
do base, mean things. I have
sometimes feared that you were
losing the mastery of yourself, and
yet at other times I saw you ab-
sorbed in what has been your only
idol for twelve years or more."

" There is no woman that shares
that idolatry," answered Nicholas
evasively, starting at the old man's
anxious looks and awakened in-
sight.

" Well," said the dying man, " I
do not grudge you a wife, but I
fear any one, man or woman, whose
influence over you is not entirely
supported and controlled by rea-
son. In Gbd's name, Nicholas,
and as a dying man, I beseech you,
if you are in any toils, break through
them as quickly as you can."

" My dear master," said his pu-
pil, " when you are in heaven pray
that I may be guided aright, for I
shall have lost the only guide on
earth whose help or advice was of
use to me."

" That is no answer, Nicholas,"
said the old man reproachfully and
wearily ; " but remember what I
said."

" Yes, I will remember it," said
the other in an altered tone, " and,
if I can, I will heed it."

After the old man's death Nicho-
las led a very lonely life, but his

increasing labors at his organ cheer-
ed him and occupied his time.
His fame kept at its high pitch,
and the jealousy of his brother ar-
tists was well known.

Fourteen months after his first
interview with Lemoinne the latter
came again, this time to his home
(possibly the attic before describ-
ed). Nicholas told him how sur-
prised he had been at hearing no-
thing from him for so long.

"One does not use one's best
and rarest tools often," said the
other with his indescribable smile,
" though the highest price paid for
them is none the more begrudged
on that account ; and, again, the
finest instruments are used to do
what seems the least important
work. You know how a glass-
cutter uses a diamond ? Now, all
I want you to do is to ride to a
certain place and deliver this let-
ter; you will find the horse ready
saddled at St. Martin's Gate ; you
have twelve hours to do it in, and
by daybreak you will find the same
man ready to take the horse at the
same place from which you start.
The fleetest government messenger
would take sixteen hours ; but I
know the horse and his powers ; of
his rider I know enough to make
me trust him equally."

The implied trust flattered Ni-
cholas, who took the letter, and,
seeing the direction, started a lit-
tle, but said : " If you say it can be
done, it can, but the distance would
take a common rider nearer twenty
hours than sixteen. Shall I go at'
once?"

" Yes, and remember your trust
goes no further than the delivery
of this package to whoever opens
the door of that house to you."

It would take too long to de-
scribe the night ride, or even the
state of mind in which Nicholas

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

365

found himself while careering along
at a headlong speed towards his
goal. This was the first service he
had performed for his strange mas-
ter— an easy and safe one appa-
rently, though secret; the man's
fascination of manner or voice —
which was it? — had evidently not
lessened since his last appearance.
Nothing special occurred ; he gave
the letter to a commonplace look-
ing person at the door of an ordi-
nary, rather shabby house, and re-
turned by dawn. As to curiosity
concerning his errand, it struck
him as odd that he should feel
none ; yet he had never been of a
gossipy turn of mind, and these
things were, after all, only details
in the scheme. This business of
Lemoinne's was probably connect-
ed with politics, about which he
cared nothing. He did not see his
patron again for months, and his
work progressed wonderfully.

The next figure which bore the
man's likeness was that of a physi-
cian, pouring a liquid from one
vial into another, and the expres-
sion was that of absorbed attention.
The organ-case was to be orna-
mented with figures representing
various saints, the patrons of mu-
sic, of the Stromwaels, of the cha-
pel, and of the city ; then figures
typifying the various city guilds;
then nine figures emblematic of the
traditional nine choirs of angels;
but a space was left in the centre,
just over the key-board, for the
crowning masterpiece. A rose-tree
hedge was to run round the instru-
ment, and the pedals were each to
be carved so as to represent the
seven deadly sins, which, by being
trodden under foot, contribute to
make the music of the soul before
God. Fantastic ideas and odd de-
vices were constantly springing up
in his brain and being realized be-

neath his touch, and in these he
encouraged himself to indulge. In
one corner of the case, however,
was to stand a beautiful, dignified,
venerable figure, the glorified like-
ness of his old master, with no
corresponding figure opposite, and
robed like a prophet, holding a
tablet on which in letters of gold
were to be carved in Latin these
words : " Be master of thyself."

His life as a solitary artist and
mechanic was a monotonous one
to record; even his few tests of
obedience to Lemoinne were neith-
er romantic nor terrible. Once he
was sent in the disguise of a page
to a court entertainment, with or-
ders to follow and observe a high
official of the state (who afterwards
was proved a traitor and put to
death accordingly) ; another time
he was instructed to detain for half
an hour a professor of one of the
great universities, by which delay
the man lost an appointment he
much coveted ; and another time
he was sent to a young man of
great position and wealth, but an
orphan, to recommend a servant to
him. From this, however, sprang
some other circumstances worth
recording. The young man, Count
Brederode, took a violent fancy to
him, visited him at his home, en-
tered into his hopes and plans, and
begged him to be a friend and
brother to him. Nicholas felt drawn
to the count, but reminded him of
the difference between their stations,
and only agreed so far as circum-
stances would allow. This young
man was his very opposite — bright,
garrulous, sociable. He always had
a love affair on hand, and always
confided it to Nicholas, whose
words on the subject were never,
however, very encouraging. He
wasted his money in a way that
distressed his prudent friend, and

366

The Mysttry of the Old Organ.

his time in a thousand pursuits for
which he had no better excuse than
that " gentlemen generally did so
and so." The best-employed part
of his day was that which he some-
times spent watching Nicholas at
work. At last one day he said
suddenly :

" Do you know I am to marry
Count Stromwael's favorite niece,
whom he brought up as a sister
with his own only daughter? And
upon this occasion I am going
to ask him a favor, which I am
sure he cannot refuse: to let you
put up your organ in place of his,
which I will take for my chapel in
the country."

Nicholas stared at him in silence.
Was this a roundabout fulfilment
of Lemoinne's promise, or a wild,
boyish freak, likely to result in no-
thing ?

" Your organ is ' sufficiently far
advanced to put up and play on,
is it not ?"

" It will be in six months."

" Then six months hence you
shall transfer your workshop to the
chapel tribune," said Brederode
confidently.

Nicholas said nothing, but the
other was used to that. The fa-
mous musician grew more silent
every day ; things got complicated
in his mind, and he was always
puzzling himself. His brain was
clear only for his work ; at all other
times he walked in a dream of ex-
pectation, conjecture, and dread.
Each day the seemingly light bur-
den weighed more upon him ; the
horror of being entangled in con-
spiracies of which he was ignorant,
and concerned in wrongs which he
could neither prevent nor recon-
cile to himself, haunted him; and
yet in actual facts there was no-
thing to complain of, nothing even
to describe. It seemed incompre-

hensible to him that Lemoinne
should have made so solemn an
appeal and promise for so little re-
ward, and should have used his
power so sparingly. The very
blandness of the passing years made
him fear some awful test towards
the last. Meanwhile, Brederode's
generous, boyish friendship cheer-
ed and soothed him. But a year
after he first knew him, and two
months after Count Stromwael had
yielded to his nephew-in-law's ve-
hement pleading for the Verkloep
organ, Nicholas, at work in the
chapel, saw him enter with an un-
usually serious face. The young
man began to make dark confiden-
ces on political subjects,- which Ni-
cholas instinctively repelled, and,
without knowing why, he said :

" I entreat you, Count Brede-
rode, do not make me the reposi-
tory of plans and intentions that
may end dangerously for you. I
wish to know nothing of anything
which is likely to make the state
rake up all your habits and intima-
cies, and use them as the Philis-
tines did Delilah."

" I would sooner trust you than
my own wife," laughed the young
man, " and no one will suspect such
a maniac as you are, you know !"

" If you insist upon it," said Ni-
cholas sadly, " let me at least so-
lemnly swear to you, by my hope
of salvation, that nothing shall
make me betray you in the slightest
thing."

" I would trust you without an
oath," cried Brederode.

" Then you are not of the stuff
of which conspirators are made,"
said Nicholas, "and I wish you
would retire from a position un-
suited to you. You have no in-
terest even in it."

" None but the fun of secrecy
and excitement — except this," he

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

367

added more seriously : " that having
once promised to give others the
shield of my name and the support
of my money, I am bound in honor
not to run away."

" True, but break with them hon-
orably and frankly."

" I cannot."

" You 7*'/7/not?"

" No, it is not that ; there are
other games almost as exciting, but
my wife's brother is involved, and I
must stand by him. Let us treat
it only as an escapade ; I want to
tell you about it."

" I repeat my oath, then, and
pray Heaven to strike me deaf,
dumb, and palsied before I have
anything to do in this to your dis-
advantage."

" You make it so serious that it
loses its fun. But . . ." And
Brederode went on to explain a
scheme which the spirit of the
times and its prejudices alone made
dangerous, but which, if frustrated
and discovered, surely entailed
capital punishment. Nicholas lis-
tened moodily, striving to abstract
his mind, endeavoring not to take
in his friend's talk, and all the
while feeling a miserable conscious-
ness that, however it might come
about, he was nearing one of the
tests of his hateful bondage. The
day passed, and he still felt uneasy ;
each step on the stairs frightened
him ; he could hardly work. At
night Lemoinne came to see him.
Few words passed ; Lemoinne bade
him in the same cool, metallic voice,
indifferent yet compelling attention,
denounce Brederode and his fel-
low conspirators. He pleaded his
oath.

" No oath that conflicts with
your promise is worth anything."

" But he is my friend, and his
wife the niece of my patron."

" No harm shall come to you

through denouncing him ; your name
will be unknown. You shall ap-
pear only as an agent — my agent —
and not even Brederode himself
shall have the chance of upbraiding
you."

"But, since you know the whole
affair, why not act yourself?"

" I do not know the whole, but
you do, and I mean you to tell me
and write it down ; I will sign it
alone. I am known and have pow-
er in many places, but it is useful
to have instruments; I have bought
mine, and only wish to use what I
purchased. Sit down and write."
Nicholas stood sullen and silent.
" Do you fancy, because your organ
is partly built and placed, that no
accident may happen to it ? I can
do more than you think ; you weigh
an act with which no one but I
shall be acquainted against the
possible destruction of your favor-
ite, the fall of your ambition, the
collapse of your whole life."

" No one can put it to me more
forcibly than I have done to myself,"
said Nicholas moodily ; " but, un-
luckily for me, I have a conscience
left." '

" Forget it for twenty-four hours."

" You do not ask me to forget it,
but to disregard it, to gag it. I
know what I lose in breaking my
bond, and I believe in your power
sufficiently to be sure that even my
friend would not have opportunity
to rebuke me in life."

" Why do you talk about it ?" in-
terrupted Lemoinne with the cold
smile peculiar to him. '" To discuss
a thing, and weigh p ros and cons, is to
yield ; you do not reason against
what you have made up your mind
to refuse."

Nicholas gazed at the man in
horror. Who was he to go thus
mercilessly to the heart of the
question, to see his hidden thoughts,

368

The Mystery of the Old Organ.

to interpret the secret of all the
uneasiness he had felt ever since
his friend had spoken those light
but fatal words ? Who ? A master
stronger than himself; one whom
it was little use to resist now, no
doubt, since he had not had the
fortitude to resist him at first. It
ended in his yielding, but not with-
out the most terrible self-contempt ;
self-reproach was nothing to it.
He wrote what he knew ; as he
wrote it all came back to him,
much as he had honestly tried not
to hear or understand the details.
Lemoinne alone signed the paper,
and bade him take it to a certain
address before morning.

" If you change your mind or try
to deceive me, I shall know it," he
said coldly as he left, " and all the
difference will be that you will lose
your hopes, as well -as Brederode his
life."

Nicholas did as he was bidden,
and from that day the little peace
he had had before fled. The day of
the execution came, and he could
not resist going to see his friend
pay the penalty of his treachery.
His tongue was parched and his
eyes bloodshot ; he skulked be-
hind people in the crowd, and wore
his cap as low as he could over his
forehead ; but nothing availed him,
and when the axe fell he felt as if
his own soul had been under it in-
stead of the head of his friend. Fe-
verishly and recklessly, all but de-
spairingly, he returned to his work,
but though his brain and hands had
not lost their cunning, the impres-
sions of that day clouded every-
thing else in his mind, and he had
no heart for anything. Two years
sped on, and Nicholas Verkloep,
with his glowing reputation, was
more of an enigma than ever ; but it
would be impossible to describe
the many phases of his mental de-

lirium trcmens during that time.
The organ was near completion,
and Count Strom wael was now as
proud of it as the maker. Lemoinne
visited Nicholas once more before
the end, and this time at the place
where the contract was first made.
It was the same hour, too. He be-
gan by congratulating him on his
success so far, then examined the
carvings, and smiled as he noticed
his own face repeated many times.

" And here is Brederode's," he
said, as he pointed to the figure per-
sonifying the Choir of Thrones.
" What made you put him in ?"

" Because, as you well know, his
face is always with me," said
Nicholas, emboldened by his very
complicity with his terrible master.
" It was a relief to me to make the
image a sort of reality, to give tan-
gible expression to my remorse."

"Yes ; I see you have made the
carvings a sort of history of your
mind : I see the venerable prophet
and the device he bears ; the rose-
hedge with the prominent and
unnaturally-multiplied thorns ; the
haunting imps of dreams, your own
face and mine, and so on. It is
only a year and a few months now
to the time when our contract ends,
and hitherto we have kept it well.
I think it likely we shall not meet
again till the day is over. Nothing
but silence now will be your bur-
den. If you speak of or hint at any-
thing of our transactions, remember
the bond is cancelled; but, of course,
after the expiration of the ten
years you are free to publish the
whole."

He smiled scornfully, and, with
another expression of admiration
as to the work, left the tribune.
It was now that Nicholas put in
just over the key-board the groups of
our Saviour and the twelve apos-
tles (Judas, with the bag of money,

The Mystery of tJie Old Organ.

369

bore Lemoinne's likeness), but, in-
stead of being, as they are at pre-
sent, immovable, the figures went in
and out by a spring hidden among
the stops, so that at the Consecra-
tion they could be brought forward,
and after the Communion return to
the interior of the organ, in the
same way as some of the famous
figures of the clock in Strassburg
Cathedral. The day of the public
opening of the completed organ
came, the tenth anniversary of the
day of the contract, and the reader
may imagine all the paraphernalia
of a great mediaeval f£te, half-reli-
gious and half-secular.

Lemoinne sat among the guests
at Count Stromwael's banquet; it
was the first time Nicholas had
met him in public. The strange
man seemed utterly unconscious
that they had ever met before, and
his eyes met the organist's fully as
he complimented him in set phrases
and handed him a golden gift with
a small roll of parchment attached.
Stromwael laughed as he remarked :

" Is that the title-deed to a mort-
gaged estate, or a share in one of
your ships ?" Nicholas clutched it
in silence and tried to smile ; the
talk around him seemed to point
to his strange master being a bank-
er, but he held to his first suspi-
cions. As soon as he was alone
he looked hastily at the hateful
bond and thrust it into the fire.
It seemed odd to him that he did
not yet feel free ; he had expected
the release to be instantaneous.
Weeks passed, and still the same
old watchfulness and uneasiness
went on. Erederode's face came
to him more constantly; all his
faculties were centred in horrible
recollections and vague and still
more horrible expectations. All
Flanders raved about the wonder-'
ful organ, and requests for similar

VOL. XXVI. — 24

ones made under his directions and
supervision poured in from distant
parts. He vowed to himself never
to touch such a thing again, or even
give directions for it ; it was to his
fancy an accursed thing, associ-
ated with all the horror and de-
spair of his life. He refused all
offers ; and this grew to be even
more of a mania with him than the
making of the instrument had been
before. Now that his dream had
been fulfilled, he only longed to
die; his servitude was still unbro-
ken, though the letter of the bond
was now a dead letter ; he felt him-
self miserably fettered, haunted,
paralyzed. To the rather impe-
rious demand of Count Strom-
wael's cousin, himself a powerful
personage, for an organ with the
same group of the twelve apostles,
he returned a flat denial, and nei-
ther threats nor promises could
shake him. At last the power of
the two nobles combined threw
him into prison ; they made sure of
reducing him to obedience by vio-
lence and temporary ill-treatment.
The prison was what all mediae-
val dungeons were — damp, filthy,
unhealthy, dark. His food was
bread and water, and a very scanty
measure of both. For a month
he was treated as a criminal, but
nothing made any impression on
the moody, prematurely-aged man.
He had made up his mind that
only death would make him free,
only death would make him able to
explain and excuse himself to his
dead friend. He cared for no bod-
ily tortures ; for ten years he had
suffered a mental hell. His friends
and his patrons came alternately
to coax and tempt or to threaten
and abuse him; he would not yield.
Neither wealth, marriage, nor a
patent of nobility tempted him ;
neither the wheel, the rack, nor the

370

The Mystery of the Ola Organ.

block frightened him. He grew
weaker and weaker. His eyes saw
Lemoinne and Brederode all over
the narrow cell ; the one seemed
like a fiend, and the other always
like a corpse, with the head half-
severed, yet still conscious with a
kind of ghastly life. Physicians
examined him and confidently pro-
nounced him sane, and priests vis-
ited him and pronounced him cer-
tainly not possessed, but both
agreed that something unusually
terrible must be preying on his
mind. He never told what he saw
or felt, and answered all questions
evasively. At last Stromwael, fu-
rious at his vassal's obstinacy,
threatened to put his eyes out and
prevent him from ever taking plea-
sure in work again. He only
said :

" You cannot take away my sight,
even if you put out my eyes; would
to God you could !"

Before this last measure was re-
sorted to he received a visit from
Lemoinne, who, in the calm tone of
a cynic and a man of the world,
begged him to reconsider his deci-
sion.

"Nothing could tempt me!"
said Nicholas. " Not even you
could compel me ; it is not in the
bond, and I am free."

" Of course," said the other, smil-
ing. " I only ask you to yield for
your own good. Why should you
object ?"

" Because the thing is accursed ;
it has wrecked my life, and I will
have no more to do with it," said
Nicholas violently.

" But you are free now ?"

" Am I ?" said Nicholas, with
savage meaning.

" You do me too much honor,"
said Lemoinne sarcastically, "in.
believing my power to be supernat-
ural. Shall I tell you who I am,

and what was both my object and
the secret of my influence ?"

" You can tell what lies you
like."

" I dare say your superstition is
greater than my falsehood," said
the man with a smile; "and if I
told you, you would be convinced
against your will and still remain
of the same opinion. Well, you are
free now, and show your freedom
by throwing away the very gift you
sold yourself to obtain."

" If I could undo the past ten
years," said Nicholas, " I would
give up not my organ only, but my
art. But as it is, I shall never be
free while I live, and I will do no-
thing that may save or lengthen
my horrible life — a mockery, in-
deed, of freedom !"

" If that is your last decision, I
will say no more," said Lemoinne ;
"but remember, though our pact is
over, I am still your friend, and,
should you wish anything between
this and death which your jailers
would deny you, send me word."

Nicholas looked at him in sur-
prise and suspicion.

" Yes, they know me here by the
same name as you do, and I can
generally find means to do what I
wish. It is not the first time I have
been here or made a like offer to
a condemned man."

" I believe you," said Nicholas
shortly, and his visitor left him.
Two days elapsed before the threat
was carried into execution, but the
prisoner, full of his own trouble,
hardly dwelt upon the coming trial.
He prayed 'wildly that the red-hot
iron which was to take away his
bodily sight would blot out his
phantom companions from his men-
tal vision ; the horrors of his dis-
turbed brain appalled him more
than any earthly punishment, and
his half-description or hints of it to-

7 he Mystery of the Old Organ.

371

one person who visited him con-
stantly was such that the latter com-
passionately got leave for one of his
jailers to sleep with him in his
dungeon. The day of the horribly
unskilful torture came, and with
common iron rods, heated red-hot,
the famous artist's eyes were put
out. He writhed and moaned, but
the bodily pain was only a faint
image of the agony of his mind.
Was it madness? Was it possession ?
Were all the learned men wrong,
and he alone right, in thinking that
he carried hell within his brain?
There was no peace from the gnaw-
ing remorse of his betrayal of friend-
ship; no assurance that his repen-
tance was of avail comforted him ;
no obstinate affirmations could
make him feel that the unholy fet-
ters of his bond were in truth bro-
ken. It was not his blindness that
was killing him ; it was his mania.
He felt life ebbing, and was fierce-
ly glad, yet at times furious that,
with such gifts as his, he should go
prematurely to the grave. A chaos
of schemes floated through his
brain and maddened him yet more :
he saw a long array of the works
he might have accomplished before
he died — Masses, antiphons, fugues;
the improvements in the organ-
stops and the internal machinery
of the instrument ; a school he
might have founded — if he had
been content to rely upon his own
industry and the slow path of trust
in Providence. He had sold his
birthright, and what was the farce
of a ten years' contract, when he
knew that at this present moment
even the wreck that was left of him
was not his own? "If I am still
his, at least he shall help me once
more," he thought suddenly, as
Lemoinne's offer occurred to his
mind. " I will end this suspense at
once." He asked the man who

brought him his meals to tell Le-
moinne that he wanted him ; and as
he began the message he watched
with fear and curiosity to see how
it would affect the bearer of it.
Strange ! nothing but a common as-
sent ; evidently the request was not
a novel one. Lemoinne came that
very evening, and Nicholas asked
him fora sharp knife. He produc-
ed his own, which Nicholas felt all
over and took, saying :

"When you hear of my playing
on my organ for the last time, come
to the tribune and claim your knife.
I shall make the request, and feel
sure they will grant it."

" What do you mean to do with
the knife ?"

" Nothing which you would dis-
approve ; but since you say I am
free, let me prove it by not answer-
ing this question."

" I do not press you," said Le-
moinne with his usual icy smile.
Nicholas felt the look he could not
see, and his very heart seemed to
tighten and writhe within him.
He had guessed truly ; when he
asked Count Stromwael to allow
him to play once more on the or-
gan before he died — for he felt that
he shoufd not live long, he said —
the request was quickly granted.
His persecutors fancied that he
would be less on his guard now,,
and that somehow, while he pUy-
ed, they could surprise the secret
which they wanted to discover. He
was taken to the chapel atad seat-
ed before his instrument. Strom-
wael, his cousin, and Lemoinne.-
were there, besides other less im-
portant persons. All watched ea-
gerly. After half an hyur"fi pisy.
ing, as divine as the player's 'mind
was storm-driven and despairing,
Nicholas asked :

" Are the apostles out or in ?"
" In," was the answer.

372

The German Element in the Uii+tcd States.

He pressed a spring and the
group came slowly out — our
Lord's figure from the centre, and
those of six apostles from each
side. Then, with a quick and deft
touch, he cut something, and a
snapping sound was heard within ;
his fingers moved again, the knife
gleamed, and a wailing sound came
from the notes on which his left
arm now leaned ; then, turning
round with a smile of tiiumph that
looked ghastly on the blank face
and mutilated eye-sockets, he said :

" I am free now. I am ready to
die."

Lemoinne quickly took up the
knife that Nicholas dropped, and
smiled as if another character-
play had come to an end and
he had solved another riddle ;
Stromwael burst out into wild and
furious threats of purposeless re-
venge. Nicholas sat unmoved and
said :

" This .organ will be my only

monument, and, if a man's curse
can follow another, may mine fol-
low whoever shall attempt to re-
move or to repair my organ."

To this day the instrument
stands a witness to the tradition of
its maker's fate ; the group is im-
movable, and the few sounds the
notes produce are worse than
dumbness. Nicholas died two
months after, in prison, his mind
more and more delirious each day.
It is said that, when Lemoinne
heard of his death, he remarked to
one of his associates:

" Tli at man was the most perfect
tool I ever knew. If I had sworn
to him that I was a banker, a mer-
chant, a . usurer, a spy — an un-
scrupulous eccentric, whose one
mania was the possession of secret
power, and whose conscience was
dead to any obstacle — he would
still have believed in his own theory.
But I own I overshot the mark
and drove him too far."

THE GERMAN ELEMENT IN THE UNITED STATES.

THE social, moral, and* political
influence of the German- born and
German-descended population of
the United States upon their fel-
low-citizens has already been per-
ceptible ; that this influence will
vastly increase in the future is
highly probable. We may state
here one of the many reasons for
this belief. The intellectual and
political leaders of the Germans in
America have hitherto mainly con-
fined their public utterances, in the
press or on the platform, to the
German language. The German
newspapers are very numerous;
their circulation is large; they are
written for the most part with much

ability ; their treatment of social
and political questions is often
marked by a breadth of view and
a soundness of logic too frequently
wanting in many of their English
contemporaries. Their influence
upon the minds of their readers is
also greater than that wielded by
the majority of our newspapers
printed in the English language.
We have heard this fact attributed
to the superior honesty with winch
the German press is conducted ;
but upon this delicate ground we
shall not enter. Our point at pre-
sent is that German thought and
opinion, as expressed through the
German periodical press, influence

TJic German Element in the United States.

373

for the most part only the German
population. Few of us who are
not Germans read a German jour-
nal ; what the German leaders in
politics, morality, and literature are
saying, day after day, is for the
most part wholly unknown to the
rest of us. Occasionally an Ame-
rican editor translates a leading
article from a German journal and
gives it to his readers ; still more
frequently he avails himself of the
ideas and the arguments of his
German contemporaries and repro-
duces them as his own.

In the next generation this state
of things will be modified ; more
Americans will read German litera-
ture, and more Germans, or Ger-
man-Americans, will write in Eng-
lish journals, speak in English at
public conventions, and sit in our
legislative assemblies. The barrier
of language, which has hitherto
tended to separate Germans from
the rest of us to so great an extent,
will gradually yield and disappear.
The German language will be
learned by increasing numbers of
our non-German citizens; the com-
mon use of the German language
by the German-Americans will be
dropped, and the English tongue
adopted in its stead, not only in
business affairs, but in politics, lite-
rature, religion, and social inter-
course. The English language has
made many conquests, but in Ame-
rica it has only to hold its own.
It is the language of the country,
of the legislature, of the courts, of
the markets and exchanges, and of
society. Our German citizens must
acquire it, or enter handicapped
into all the relations of life.

The ability with which the Ger-
man journals here are conducted
does not prevent nearly the whole
of them which are not avowedly
Catholic from being inspired by an

antagonism to religion. The ge-
nius of the German mind has little
sympathy with socialism or com-
munism, and the theories of social-
ism and communism find expres-
sion among our German citizens
only through the writings or speech-
es of a few insignificant and unin-
fluential men in New York and
some of our other large cities.
But the German who is not a Ca-
tholic is most often an atheist ; and
he differs from the French atheist
in wishing his wife and children to
be atheists also. The non-Catholic
German press faithfully represents
this phase of the German mind ;
and it sneers at religion with the
same pertinacity and often with
more skill than is shown in a like
direction by too many of our Eng-
lish-written newspapers.

The total immigration into the
United States from the close of the
War of Independence to the end of
1876 was 9,726,455 souls. The
records of the government do not
furnish an ethnological classifica-
tion of all these ; it is only since
1847 that this classification has
been made. But every one knows
that the bulk of our immigrants
have come from Ireland and Ger-
many. At the port of New York
alone the total number of Irish im-
migrants from 1847 up to Septem-
ber i of the present year was
2,009,447 ; of German immigrants
2,345,486; of all others 1,265,240.
An estimated classification of those
arriving before 1847, added to the
above figures, gives 2,463,598 Irish,
2,622,556 German, and 1,542,311
of other 'nationalities. The present
Secretary of the Interior is the only
American citizen of German birth
who has ever held a cabinet ap-
pointment ; we believe that he is
the only citizen of German birth
who has ever sat in the Senate.

374

77/4* German Element in the United States.

But among the senators at the last
session of the Forty-fourth Congress
there were seven who were either
of foreign birth or the sons of for-
eigners; and in the lower House of
the same assembly there appears to
have been but one German to twelve
naturalized citizens of other na-
tionalities. The Secretary of the
Interior owes the prominent politi-
cal position which he fills less to
his statesmanlike and philosophical
acquirements than to his command
of the English language and to his
grace and power as a public speak-
er. No doubt there are among
our German citizens many who are
his equals in learning and political
wisdom, but who are almost wholly
unknown outside the German-speak-
ing community, for the reason that
they confine themselves, on the
platform or in the press, to the use
of the German language. The
coming generation of Americans of
German descent will not subject
themselves to this disadvantage ;
and thus the influence of German
thought will be widened and deep-
ened.

Upon this portion of our subject
•we may as well reproduce in sub-
stance, although not with literal
exactness, the observations made
to us by a German ecclesiastic, a
member of one of the German re-
ligious orders which are working
here with so much zeal and suc-
cess. In his opinion the German
element now in the United States
will ere long be greatly increased
by a revival of immigration. Im-
migration from Germany may not
again attain the vast proportions
which it reached in 1852-53-54,
nor during the seven memorable
years 1866-1872, but it will still be
very large. All other things being
equal, the proportion of Catholics
immigrating from Germany will be

greater in the future than in the
past. In looking at the future of
the country we should reckon that
the German element here will for
many years to come steadily and
rapidly increase. But it is not
probable that, after the passing
away of the present generation, our
German population will so tena-
ciously retain its distinctive nation-
al or ethnological features. It will
become absorbed in, amalgamated
with, the rest of the community,
but through this very absorption
and amalgamation it will leaven
the whole mass for good or for evil ;
and most probably the good will
preponderate.

In our present German popula-
tion, especially the younger por-
tion of it, there is a very percepti-
ble disposition to be a little asham-
ed of their German origin. This
feeling, which has long existed, re-
ceived a check during and imme-
diately after the triumph of Ger-
many over France in 1870 and the
erection of the German Empire.
But it has now revived and prevails
with more force than before. Our
German citizens feel that the gold-
en apples of victory have turned to
ashes in the grasp of the conquer-
ors. The milliards wrung from
France have sunk into the ground
or vanished in the air, and Ger-
many is poorer than before the
war — much poorer than France,
which Prince Bismarck imagined
had been crushed into nothingness.
All the glory that Germany won by
her conquest of France in the field
has been eclipsed by the peaceful
victory of France — a victory the
effects of which were made mani-
fest at our International Exhibition
last year. More serious still than
this, in the opinion of the learned
and acute ecclesiastic whom we
are quoting, is the dislike and con-

The German Element in t/ic United States,

375

tempt with which the iniquitous,
unnecessary, and tyrannical policy
of the German government toward
the church is regarded not only by
Catholic Germans in America, but
by those of their non-Catholic com-
patriots here who are not swayed
by sectarian hatred of the church.
This policy is justly regarded as
at once an evidence of weakness
and a prolific source of future trou-
ble, and among the non-Catholic
German-Americans the remark is
common that " between the Red-
coats and the Black-coats — the
Communists and the Catholics — the
empire is in great danger of de-
struction." For these reasons, and
other slighter ones, our German
fellow-citizens are becoming less
and less disposed to boast of their
nationality, and more and more in-
clined to Americanize themselves
and their children. The "Watch
on the Rhine" gives place to
*' Yankee Doodle " ; the suggestive
inquiry as to the precise locality
and boundaries of the Faderland
is not so popular as " Hail Colum-
bia." Certain considerations of a
utilitarian nature aid powerfully in
leading our German citizens in the
same direction. Their common
sense enables them to see that their
own advancement in life, and the
prosperity and happiness of their
children, materially depend upon
their thorough Americanization —
their complete identification with
the rest of the community in which
they live. The first step towards
this end is the acquirement and
use of the English language, and in
this the children often outstrip the
wishes of their parents. In the
German-American schools, secular
as well as religious, the study of
the English language is compulso-
ry, and necessarily so. The chil-
dren appear to have^a natural affin-

ity for the English tongue; they
acquire its use rapidly and soon
begin to speak it in preference to
their native language. It is not
uncommon to meet with families
where the parents address the chil-
dren in German and the children
reply in English. The truth is
that the English language as now
spoken, largely Teutonic in its
composition and structure, but en-
riched and softened by Celtic,
Latin, and Greek accretions, more
easily adapts itself to the expres-
sion of the necessities, the emo-
tions, and the ideas of the age. An
amusing illustration of this self-as-
serting power of the English lan-
guage was afforded by the expe-
rience of a village in Indiana, on
the Ohio River, which was settled a
few years ago by an exclusively
German colony consisting of about
three hundred families. Nothing
but German was at first spoken in
the houses, but in a very brief
space of time the language in the
streets was found to be English,
and ere long that became the pre-
vailing dialect of the place, appear-
ing, as one of the residents said, to
have sprung up and taken root
there just as the weeds in the
fields.

We should not omit to mention,
however, a fact which to a very
large degree tends to show that the
Americanization of our German
citizens is not so rapid as it might
be. Intermarriages between Ger-
mans, or descendants of Germans,
and Americans of other descent
are not regarded with favor by the
older Germans of the present gen-
eration, and such marriages are of
rare occurrence. This is to be de-
plored, especially for the sake of
the non-German party. In all the
domestic virtues the Germans are
richly endowed. The influence of

3/6

The German Element in the United States.

the mother in the family is supreme
within certain limits, and this in-
fluence is almost always exerted
for good. The German husband
does not regard his wife as a pretty
plaything, a fragile and expensive
doll to be dressed in gay raiment
and paraded for the gratification of
her own and his vanity. On the
contrary, the German husband, if
at fault at all in this respect, looks
upon his wife too much in the light
not merely of a helpmeet, but of a
servant in whose zeal, industry, and
faithfulness he can repose the ut-
most confidence. Americans too
often make useless idols of their
wives ; the German husband may
seem to regard his spouse from too
utilitarian a point of view. In the
German household, here as in the
Fatherland, there is not, as there
is too often in American homes,
one bread-winner and one or more
spenders. The wife, whenever it
is needful or expedient, not only
manages the domestic affairs of
the family with economy, prudence,
and good sense, but takes a full
share of the burden of providing
its income. If one journeys through
those portions of the West where
the Germans are largely engaged
in agricultural pursuits, he will see
the wife and daughters working in
the fields alongside of the husband
and the brothers ; in the towns,
while the husband is pursuing his
trade or laboring in the streets, the
wife is keeping a shop or a beer-
saloon, or otherwise earning her
full share of the family income, and
aiding her husband to -lay up the
nest-eggs of their future fortune.
The will of the wife is most fre-
quently supreme in all domestic af-
fairs, and even in matters of busi-
ness ; and this, too, without the
husband feeling himself at all " hen-
pecked." His wife is his equal ;

he shares with her his amusements
as well as his toils. Nothing is
more pleasant than the spectacle of
German families, on fete days or
on summer evenings, taking their
pleasure together in the beer-gar-
dens. The presence of the wo-
men and children does not lessen
the gayety of the men; but it pre-
vents them from excess and com-
pels propriety of conversation and
deportment. With these habits,
and with the gift of living well and
wholesomely, on plain but abun-
dant food, without wastefulness,
the Germans prosper, and they
acquire competences sooner and
more generally than other classes.
When wealth corner, thefr frugal
and sensible habits of life are not
laid aside for extravagant display,
nor is the influence and sway of
the mother weakened or lessened.
The daughters, even of the wealthi-
est and most cultured German fa-
milies, are taught how to become
good and useful wives to poor men,
and are thus prepared for reverses
of fortune. By some of our Ameri-
can women these virtues of their
German sisters may be regarded
with contempt and dislike ; but
many American men, we are in-
clined to think, would lead happier
lives and escape much pecuniary
trouble, if they won for themselves
wives from among the daughters of
their German neighbors. There
are but few such marriages now.
The German parents dislike them ;
and there is, moreover, a little ig-
norant prejudice on the American
side. The next generation or two,
we trust, will be wiser.

The limits of our space and the
scope of our article forbid us to do
more than merely glance at a branch
of our subject which is in itself
worthy of a separate essay — the in-
fluence exerted by our German

The German Element in tJie United States.

377

fellow-citizens upon the rest of us
by their works in music and in the
fine arts. Here the barrier of lan-
guage does not exist ; the genius
of music and of art is universal. A
certain degree of cultivation of the
ear and eye is necessary, of course;
but, this being attained, the music
of a German composer, the paint-
ing, the sculpture, the architecture,
or the decoration of a German art-
ist, is appreciated, admired, and
imitated as well by those ignorant
of his language as by those of his '
own nationality. There is reason
to believe that American taste in
music and in art owes vastly more
to German influence than is gener-
ally supposed or conceded. Per-
haps the strongest evidences of
this would result from a critical ex-
amination of the extent to which
German ideas have modified, en-
larged, beautified, and spiritualized
our architecture, our dramatic, do-
mestic, and ecclesiastical music,
and all those phases of our daily
life wherein the fine arts play a
part.

Among German-American archi-
tects may be mentioned G. F.
Himpler, a student at Berlin and
Paris, and a thoroughly-educated
master of his art — the builder of
fine churches in St. Louis, Detroit,
Sandusky, Elizabeth, Rome (New
York), Atchison, and other places;
among historical painters, Leutz —
now dead, but whose works at
Washington and elsewhere have
given him a national fame — Lam-
precht and Duvenech (the latter a
native of this country), Biermann
and Lange ; among decorative
painters, Thien, Ertle, and Muer ;
among sculptors and designers,
Schroeder, Allard, and Kloster —
the latter a very distinguished
young artist; among German sing-
ers, as well known here as in Ger-

many, Wachtel, Hainamns, Licht-
may, and Tuska ; among actors. See-
bach, Janauschek, Taneruscheck,
Lina Meyer, and Witt.

But we can only hint at these
things, and hasten on to remark, in
passing, that our German citizens,
even more generally and zealously
here than in Germany, seek to pro-
vide for and to secure the educa-
tion of their children. " The first
thing that a colony of German emi-
grants settling in America seeks to
establish is the school," said to us
a high authority. " If they are Ca-
tholics, or even zealous Lutherans,,
the church is built simultaneously
with the school ; but in every case
the school must be set up, and the
children must attend it at whatever
cost to the parents."

Thus far we have written of our
German population as a whole.
We now turn our attention to that
portion of it which belongs to our-
selves— i.e., the German Catholics
of the United States. United with
us by the bond of faith, their wel-
fare is especially dear to us, and in
their spiritual and material pro-
gress, prosperity, and happiness we
have a deep and abiding interest.

Prior to 1845 the German emi-
gration to the United States had
been numerically insignificant, and
consisted chiefly of the peasant
class. The revolution of 1848 had
the effect not only of greatly in-
creasing this emigration but of ma-
terially changing its character. An
official report recently made by
Dr. Engel, Director of the Bureau
of Statistics at Berlin, states that
the number of Germans who emi-
grated to the United States from
1845 to 1876, both years inclusive,
was 2,685,430. Dr. Engel remarks
that a very "large proportion of
these emigrants (considerably more
than 1,000,000 of them) were

378

The German Element in the United States.

"" strong men " ; there were few old
or infirm people among them ;
those of them who were not adult
males in the vigor of their manhood
were chiefly young and middle-
aged women and children. A
goodly proportion of these emi-
grants must now be living among
us; we know by the census of 1870
that our German-born population
even then numbered 1,690,410.
The German race is hardy and
prolific ; its women are good mo-
thers; their thrift, industry, and
-economical habits enable them to
live in comfort upon modest re-
sources ; without being teetotalers,
they are seldom intemperate. The
German-born and German-descend-
ed population of the United States
at present — including in the latter
class only those whose parents on
both sides or on one side or the
other were natives of Germany,
but who were themselves born
here — is believed to be about
5,500,000 souls. The great bulk of
this population is in the Central,
Western, and Northwestern States ;
the six States of New York, Illinois,
Ohio, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and
Missouri contain nearly two-thirds
•of the whole number.*

The German Empire as at pre-
sent constituted contained at the
latest census (1875) 42,723,242 peo-
ple. Of these not quite one-third
are Catholics. Had the immigra-
tion from the states which now
form the German Empire borne
this proportion, we should have in
the United States a German Catho-
lic population of about 1,800,000
•souls. But the immigration was
largely from the Protestant states,
or from those in which the Protes-
tants were in the majority. We
should be satisfied, and more than

* See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, July, 1877, " The
European Exodus.'

satisfied, when we learn that the
German Catholics in the United
States, according to the latest and
most accurate computation, num-
bered 1,237,563 souls. It is a very
large number — large enough to es-
tablish the fact that the Catholic
Germans arriving here have not
lost their faith, but have preserved
and guarded it for themselves and
their children. These 1,237,563
German Catholics in America are
not mythical or hypothetical per-
sons ; in making up the numera-
tion care was taken to include
only those who were known as
practical Catholics, frequenters of
the sacraments, careful observers
of their duties as Catholic parents
or Catholic children. In this con-
nection we may add some figures
for which we are indebted to the
courtesy of a German priest and
statistician, and on the accuracy
of which our readers may depend.
First, however, let us state, upon
the best authority, that the church
in America loses very few of her
German children. We were ex-
tremely gratified with the unani-
mous testimony which rewarded
our inquiries on this matter. It
very rarely occurs that a young
German Catholic of either sex
strays or is stolen from the fold.
Neither the false philosophy of
the infidel or Protestant German
schools, nor the seductions and
ridicule of their infidel or Protes-
tant American neighbors, lure them
from the faith. We have observed
in our own visits to the German
churches in New York, especially
at the early Masses, the large pro-
portion of male adult worshippers.
" Our old people, of course, never
leave us," said a learned German
priest, " and our young people
rarely, very rarely, stray away.
They are faithful in their duties,

The German Element in the United States.

379

and they appear to love their reli-
gion with all their hearts. When
they marry and have children, they
look after them as Catholic parents
should do. Our parochial schools
are well attended; our higher
schools and academies are prosper-
ous. Our teaching orders, of men
and women, have their hands full
of work, and they are almost with-
out exception well supported. One
of the bishops in a Western diocese,
the greater part of whose flock are
Germans, has the happiness of
knowing that all the children of his
people are in attendance either in
his parochial schools or in other
schools of which the teachers are
Catholics."

Our 1,237,563 German Catho-
lics in America are ministered to
in spiritual things by 1,373 Ger-
man priests. They have 930
church edifices, while there are 173
other congregations of them regu-
larly visited by priests, but as yet
without church buildings. The
whole number of Catholic priests
in the United States, according to
the Catholic Directory for this year,
is 5,297, of churches 5,292, and of
chapels and stations 2,768. Thus
it will be seen that the German
priests number a little more than
one-fourth of our American eccle-
siastical army. There is a German
priest for every 900 German Catho-
lics. How faithfully they dis-
charge their duties, and how zeal-
ously the people, on their part, as-
sist their pastors, may be estimated
by the fapt that the baptisms by
these German priests last year
numbered 71,077 — an average of
more than one each week for each
priest; and that the number of
•children in the German parochial
schools was 137,322 — an average of
almost exactly 100 children for
«ach priest. The following table

will show with approximate exact-
ness the number of German Catho-
lic priests and German Catholic
laymen in the various States or
dioceses :

Lay-
friests. Mtett.

New York 149 134,100

Baltimore 103 92,700

Pennsylvania 75 67,500

Ohio 200 180,000

Indiana 132 118,800

Michigan 33 29,700

Kentucky 43 38,700

Wisconsin 1^3 146,700

Kansas 13 11,700

Illinois 135 121,500

Missouri 80 72,000

Minnesota 74 69,600

Louisiana 38 34,200

Other localities 135 120,363

1.373 i,237,S63

The education of the juvenile
portion of this large army of Ger-
man-American Catholics is partly
in the hands of the teaching orders
of the church, male and female ;
partly in the hands of the parish
priests ; and partly confided to
private instructors. The " Ger-
man Sisters of Notre Dame," for
example, 923 in number, in 79 con-
gregations^ have charge of the pa-
rochial schools and instruct 25,557
children. They have also 15 aca-
demies, in which 1,375 pupils are
receiving higher education ; and n
orphan asylums with 1,400 children.
Another branch of the same sisters
have their houses in 17 congrega-
tions, and in these 63 teaching sis-
ters are instructing 9,000 children ;
they have also 3 academies with
700 pupils. The German Fran-
ciscan Sisters, in 19 congregations,
have 53 teaching sisters educating
5,700 children ; and one academy.
The Sisters of the Precious Blood,
in ii congregations, employ 17 of
their number in teaching 900 chil-
dren. The German Dominican Sis-
ters, whose houses are in New
York, Williamsburg, and Racine,
Wisconsin ; and the Sisters of

380

The German Element in the United States.

Christian Charity, at Melrose and
elsewhere, are among the many re-
ligious orders chiefly engaged in
educational work among the Ger-
man Catholics. Prince Bismarck
has done us a very good turn with-
out wishing it. The expulsion of
the religious orders of men and
women caused by the persecution
of the church in Germany com-
pelled these servants of God to
seek new homes. Many of these
orders already had houses in this
country; driven from Germany, they
found not merely a refuge but a
warm welcome and abundant work
with their brothers and sisters here.
Others of them, not previously es-
tablished in this country, and being
robbed by the paternal government
of Prussia of all their property, ar-
rived here in poverty ; but they
were joyfully received and speed-
ily supplied with means for com-
mencing their work in these new
and inviting fields. The German
branch of the Christian Brothers
— " Christliche Schulbruder " — has
experienced a marvellous growth,
and is accomplishing splendid re-
sults in the primary and higher
education of the German Catholic
youth.*

* Among the Catholic colleges whose teaching
staff is wholly or mainly German, and whose stu-
dents are largely of German birth, we may mention
the Redemptorist Convent and House of Studies at
Ilchester, Maryland, which has a staff of n learned
professors ; St. Charles Borromeo's Seminary of the
Congregation of the Precious Blood, Carthagena,
Ohio; St. Joseph's College, Cincinnati, conducted
by the Brothers of the Holy Cross ; Seminary of St.
Francis of Sales, Milwaukee ; College of St. Lau-
rence of Brundusium, Calvary, Ohio, conducted by
the Capuchin Fathers ; St. Vincent's Abbey of the
Order of St. Benedict, Beatty's Station, Pennsyl-
vania, with a staff of 25 professors ; St. Francis'
Monastery, Loretto, Pennsylvania ; St. Francis
Solanus' Convent of the Franciscan Fathers, Quin-
cy, Illinois ; St. Joseph's College, conducted by the
Franciscan Fathers, at Teutopolis, Illinois; Fran-
ciscan College, Allegany, New York ; St. Ignatius'
College, Buffalo ; Franciscan Collegiate Institute,
Cleveland ; Gymnasium of the Franciscan Fathers
at Cincinnati; St. Joseph's College, Rohnerville,
California, under the direction of the Priests of the
Precious Blood ; and St. John's College, conducted
by the Benedictines, at St. Joseph, Minnesota. We

A visit to a German Catholic
church can scarcely fail to be in-
teresting and profitable to an
American Catholic. He will see
much that is edifying and highly
pleasing. The congregations at the
early Masses on week-days — we
speak now only of what we have
ourselves observed in New York —
are generally large and are com-
posed of a fair share of men ; at all
the Masses on Sundays the atten-
dance is still more numerous. On
days of obligation, other than Sun-
days, these churches are thronged
to their utmost capacity ; at the
nine o'clock Mass on last Corpus
Christi we saw the great Church of
the Redemptorists, on Thfrd Street,
packed from the altar rails to the
doors, and even the spacious ves-
tibule filled with kneeling worship-
pers. On this occasion, as on
many others, nearly or quite one-
half of the congregation were men
— a fact which we emphasize, as it
contradicts the mistaken idea that
the faith is losing its hold upon our
men and is mainly cherished only
by women. There are thirteen
German Catholic churches in this
city. The good sense, thrift, and
wise management of the Germans
have borne their natural fruit in their
churches and religious houses as
well as elsewhere. For example,
attached to each of the two Ca-
puchin churches is a large, hand-
some, and substantial convent for
the use of the fathers and for their
schools. We were astonished at
the extent, the good arrangement,
and the solidity of these edifices,
and our astonishment was not less-
ened when we learned that they had
both been erected within the last
ten years.

may add in this place that thirteen of our sixty-
eight American prelates are of German birth or de-
scent.

The German Element in the United States.

It would be well, we think, if
the relations between our German
Catholics and the rest of us were
made more close and intimate.
The bond of faith, we know, unites
us in all essential tilings; but it
would be well for us to come near-
er together in every way. Our
German co-religionists are worthy
of all esteem. They are already
strong in numbers. They will con-
stantly became stronger. The/W/
Mall Gazette recently contained a
most interesting summary of a re-
port made by Vice-Consul Kruge
upon the subject of German emi-
gration. We quote the following
portion of this summary :

"Emigration from Germany, particular-
ly to the United States, increased steadily
after the memorable year 1848, and as-
sumed veiy large proportions immedi-
ately after the chances of a war between
Austria and Prussia in 1852 and 1853.
The largest number of emigrants of any
year left in summer, 1854, or after the de-
claration of the Crimean war — the Unit-
ed States alone receiving 215,009 German
immigrants in that year. There appears
a considerable falling off from 1858 to
1864, but already in 1865, when a proba-
bility of a war between Austria and
Prussia became more and more visible,
the number of emigrants began to in-
crease very much. The years from 1866
to 1870, most likely in consequence of
the suspicious relations between France
and the North German Confederation,
which ultimately brought on the war in
1870, give very large figures. Even the
year 1870 has the large number of 91,779
emigrants. ' Strange to witness,' says
Consul • Kruge, 'after the close of the
Franco-German war, when the German
Empire had been created, and a prosper-
ity seemed to have come over Germany
beyond any expectation, when wages
had been almost doubled, and when, in
fact, everything looked in the brightest
colors, a complete emigration fever was
raging in all pans of Germany '; and the
years 1871, 1872, 1873 show an almost
alarming tendency to quit the Father-
land. This movement would no doubt
have continued but for the natural check
it received through the financial and

commercial crisis in the United States.
There are however, at present again un-
questionable signs that a very large emi-
grating element is smoldering in Ger-
many, stimulated by political and econom-
ical e-nbroilments which will break forth
as soon as sufficient hope and induce-
ments offer themselves in transatlantic
countries in the eyes of the discontented
and desponding Germans. The general
political aspect and the decline of German
commerce and industry at the present
period are, observes Consul Kruge, such
that an emigration on a large scale must
be the natural consequence of the ruling
state of affairs. Among other illustra-
tions of the causes of a desire on the part
of the Germans to leave their native land,
Consul Kruge mentions the religious
' Kulturkampi,' which, he says, in its
practical results may, at least up till now,
be rightly termed an unsuccessful move
on the political chessboard, and has
been brought home by degrees to the
Roman Catholic population in an irritat-
ing, harassing form. Between the priests
on the one hand and the Government on
the other the lives of the Roman Catholic
peasantry are made one of ' perfect tor-
ment'; and these people naturally desire
to leave that country where, rightly or
wrongly, they believe their religion at-
tacked or endangered. The relations
between France and Germany also act
powerfully to promote emigration, and
the huge expenses of maintaining the
army, besides a navy of considerable
size, contribute to swell the emigration
tendency of the country. Consul Kruge
thinks that if the Australian colonies
care to have the largest portion of the
coming German emigration, at no time
have they had a better chance of creating
an extensive movement to their shores
than at present."

These remarks strongly confirm
the opinions expressed by ourselves
when writing on the same subject
four months ago.* But when the
wave of German emigration again
rises to its former height, it will
turn toward this country, as before,
and not to Australia. Here the
German population is already so
large and so well-to-do that the

* See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, August, 1877,
"Colonization and Future Emigration."

382 At the CIiurcJi-Door.

new-comers will find themselves at return of moderate prosperity to

home upon their arrival. Espe- the United States will probably

daily will the United States be at- give the signal for the commence-

tractive to the German Catholics; ment of the new German exodus;

for here they will find their exiled and we are scarcely too sanguine in

priests and nuns, already settled in believing that this return to pros-

their new homes, with churches and perity will not be delayed much

schools prepared for them. The longer.

AT THE CHURCH-DOOR.

THE city lights still glimmered in the square,
Shivered with morning's chill the winter air,
Scarce yet the eastern line of light broke through
The starlit darkness of the deep skies' blue.

Upon the sparkling snow clear shadows lay
The moon flung eastward, — as if so the day,
Whose unseen coming seemed to fill the air,
They yearning sought with outstretched arms of prayer.

A sound of bells from far-off towers broke,
The frosty silence with their pealing woke,
And answering bells flung back across the sky
The Christmas morning's glad, earth-echoed cry.

Dark, muffled figures with quick, constant tread
O'er glittering ice and snowy pathway sped —
A gathering train, crowding from lane and street,
To lay love's homage at the Child-Christ's feet.

A soft gleam from the church's windows fell

Across the square, as if in peace to tell

Of light less clouded shining pure within,

Of peace more eloquent cleansed souls should win.

As, with %he thronging crowd, my feet drew near
The open doorway whence the light streamed clear,
The accents of a language not my own
Broke through the hurrying footsteps' monotone —

At the Church-Door. 383

Quick-spoken words of soft Italian speech :
So far the simple utterance seemed to reach,
To Roman skies my dreaming thoughts it bore,
While home's familiar walls new aspect wore.

Seemed it almost, beneath that dark of dawn,
As if my feet fell Roman pavement on,
The lights that twinkled through the open door
Burning some altar, centuries old, before,

Whose glow, in truth, fell soft on northern fir
O'er whose dark shadow shone the face of her,
The lowly Mother-Maid, Lady of Grace,
Foligno's Queen watching the holy place.

And shrined within lay martyr-saint of Rome —

Vial and bones from ancient catacomb

Of that far city that seemed far no more,

Whose faith and speech met at the low church-door.

Seeming that speech true witness of the peace
Won years ago, when weary earth's release
The angels chanted in the midnight sky,
And earth's Redeemer waked with infant cry:

He who had come the narrow bonds to break
Of race and nation, who frail flesh did take
That Jew and Gentile might one Father claim,
And win all sweetness through one Brother's name.

Scarce foreign seemed the stranger's vivid word ;
Nay, rather was it as if so I h^ard
The Christian speech of some old saintly age
Claiming in faith an earlier heritage.

Before one altar soon our knees should bend,
In one heart's-worship soon our prayers ascend,
Within those sacred walls — our common home —
As children kneel of one true mother — Rome.

One faith was ours, one country all our own,
Wherein all petty landmarks are o'erthrown :
Not worshipping as Latin, Saxon, Gaul —
The children of one God who made us all.

384 -d- Siveet Revenge.

Ours an inheritance so full and great,
Each lowliest handmaid clothed in royal state ;
No heart so poor but that it throne may be
For Heaven's King in his infinity.

From Rome this guerdon of our faith we hold :
What though its light o'er broken seas is rolled?
Unfaltering it shines through storm-clouds' shade,
Unfailing beacon ! by God's Spirit fed.

A foreign faith ! Ay, so, of that strange land
Whereof as citizens our free souls stand,
Whose earthly pasture is the church's shrine —
Earth's limits lost within her realm divine.

A SWEET REVENGE.

CONCLUSION.

IV.

Ax this moment the door-handle
was touched on the outside, and
M. Rouviere sprang hastily from
his chair and stationed himself
with his back to the fire, look-
ing very straight and stiff and ag-
gressive. The door slowly opened
and Mme. Dupuis entered, push-
ing out, at the same time, the un-
fortunate cat which was trying to
slip in with her.

" No, no, pussy," said the lady,
" you got yourself turned out, and
you must stay out. O the naughty
men !" she exclaimed, laughingly,
as she closed the door, " they have
been smoking."

" Have we been smoking ?" said
Rouviere, sniffing. " Bless me ! I
really believe we have ; it shows
how absent-minded one can be.
I hadn't perceived it, so absorbed
were George and I in our great
project."

" What project ?" asked madame
as she took off her hood and cloak.
"Are you going to stay with us, M.
Rouviere ?"

" Not exactly," replied the guest,
" but for George and me the result
is the same. Are you good at
guessing riddles, madame ?"

" You are not going to take
George away with you, are you ?"
asked the wife, her brown eyes
resting firmly on his.

" With your permission, dear
lady," answered Rouviere, bowing
with ironical politeness.

" No, no, it cannot be !" exclaim-
ed Mme. Dupuis, with a forced,
flickering smile, looking at him in-
quiringly and speaking low and
hurriedly. " You will think me
very silly to take a joke so serious-
ly, but I cannot help it. You are
playing with my life-spring. Tell
me — I pray you tell me, dear M.
Rouviere, that you are not going
to take my husband away."

Revenge.

,85

" I shall certainly leave his heart
with you, my dear lady," answered
the triumphant friend, " but it is a
fact that I am going to carry off
his body for a while. The long
and the short of it is this : for some
time past George has been meditat-
ing a return to the land of the
living, and he is glad to seize this
opportunity to start at once, thus
obviating all minor hindrances."

Mine. Dupuis listened silently,
her eyes cast down ; she had not
taken a seat since her entrance into
the room, and she continued stand-
ing, leaning against an arm-chair
in front of her guest.

" It is true, then," she murmured
when Rouviere ceased speaking.

" Do you hear him ?" cried her
tormentor, laughing, as a heavy
thump was heard on the floor of
the room above them. " The mad-
cap ! what a row he is making up
there with his trunk. He's drag-
ging it about as if it were a trium-
phal car. Come, now, madanie, you
really ought not to feel surprised
that, after living thirty consecutive
years in Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte,
a man like George . . ."

" Do not trouble yourself to
enter into any explanations — I un-
derstand," interrupted Mme. Du-
puis dryly. " Where are you taking
him ?"

" Why, to tell the truth, my dear
lady, everywhere ; first . . ."

" For how long a time ?" again
interrupted the victim.

" How long ? Well, a year, per-
haps, or two years ... at most.
Ah ! my dear Mme. Dupuis, what
pleasant hours he is preparing
for you," continued M. Rouviere,
who waxed each minute more
and more vainglorious and jubi-
lant. " How vastly will your re-
markable collection of curiosities
be enriched by his few months of
VOL. xxvi. — 25

travel ! He will bring you back a
dozen authentic reliquaries, and as
many rosaries, blessed by the Holy
Father himself . . . propria manu !
What say you to that ?"

But Mme. Dupuis had ceased
to listen; she had thrown herself
into the arm-chair before her and
was weeping bitterly. " O my
God ! my God !" were the only
words she spoke between her sobs.

"Good!" growled Rouviere,
scowling at the unhappy woman —
" the elegiac style. Come, now," hfc
continued, making a step towards
her and forcing himself to speak
gently — "come, now, my dear lady,
you are not reasonable. What is
all this crying about? A. journey.
A journey don't kill a man ; am not
I a proof of that ? And, good God !
sailors' wives — what dyo they do ?
Really, this is too bad ; you are
placing me in a most annoying
position, madame," suddenly chang-
ing his gentle tone to one of vexa-
tion. " You are rendering my mis-
sion excessively painful."

" Excuse me, sir," sobbed the
stricken wife, raising her wet face
for a moment. "You see I ... I
can't . . ." She could not go on.

M. Rouviere began to pace the
room angrily ; his tactics were
at a loss, and he found his task
more difficult than he had an-
ticipated ; the little "provinciate "
did not resemble the old Indian
vixen as much as he had imagined.
Presently he stopped in front of the
weeping lady. " You are doing,
madame," said he sternly, "precise-
ly what I was instructed to tell you
George wishes to avoid."

" Shall I not see him before
he goes?" asked Madame Dupuis
with a frightened look, half-rising
from her seat as she spoke.

" You shall see him, if you can
recover your equanimity," replied

386

A Sivcct Revenge.

Rouviere; "if you cannot, it will
be better for you and for him not
to meet. His resolution is not to
be changed."

" Oh ! I will be calm, I promise
you," exclaimed the wife, great
drops flowing fast down her pale
cheeks ; " in a few minutes . . . give
me a few minutes more ... I can-
not ... all at once . . . O God !
merciful God !" Again she wept
despairingly.

"I am compelled to make the
remark, madame," observed Rou-
viere harshly, "that all this de-
spair is quite out of proportion
with the cause. The deuce take it !
I'm not carrying your husband off
to the war."

" No, no ; I believe that he will
come back again," sobbed Mme.
Dupuis, trying to wipe away her
tears.

" You are a pious woman, ma-
dame, and now's the hour to show
your piety. Religion does not
consist in only going to church.
You are not to think of yourself
solely in this world."

" But you see, M. Rouviere,"
replied the good little woman,
making a great effort to control
her emotion, "he's not accustom-
ed, like you, to a life of con-
tinual fatigue ; his health is more
delicate than you suspect. You
will take care of him," she added,
suddenly seizing her enemy's right
hand with both of hers — "you will
take care of him, will you not ?"

"Why, certainly, madame, cer-
tainly," answered Rouviere a
trifle more gently ; " you may rely
on me for that. I promise to bring
him back to you as fresh and rosy
as any lad in Cotentin. I give you
my word of honor. You under-
stand me, do you not ? But now, I
beg you, let us have no more tears,
especially no scene at parting."

" I will do all you wish me to
do." And Mme. Dr.puis forthwith
smiled tearfully on the hard, cold
man who had so wantonly upset
her happiness.

" Look," she cried presently, as
she wiped away the last hot drops,
" it can't be perceived that I have
been crying."

" That's right, madame ; that's the
way ! I've great esteem for strong,
single-hearted women ; for wives
who are truly Christian and self-
sacrificing. And now that you've
recovered your calmness, allow me
to repeat to you that there really
never was any reason for such
great grief. What is a year ? Gra-
cious heavens ! it is nothing. You
will probably spend six months of
it with your daughter, and the re-
maining six months you will pass
here in the midst of your remem-
brances. George wtfl not be more
than half absent, for everything
around you will bring him constant-
ly before you ; you will meet him
at every step !"

" Take care, sir, take care !" said
Mme. Dupuis, shaking her head at
him with a faint smile, "lest, while
you seek to comfort me, you in-
crease the pain, . . . which you
cannot understand !"

" I beg your pardon, madame ; I
understand it perfectly," replied
Rouviere, an angry gleam lighting
up his eyes for an instant, " and I
thought that I Avas proving to you
that I do."

" O sir ! believe me, I wish to
cast no reflection either on your
intelligence or your kindness; be
quite sure of that !"

"Madame!" exclaimed the gen-
tleman.

" But there are things," continued
Mme. Dupuis, giving at last free
utterance to her feelings — " there
are things which are not to be

A Sweet Revenge.

337

guessed. Have you thought how dif-
ferent your life has been to ours ?
You have been very wise ; you
have never allowed your heart to
be bound by any of those ties
whose number and strength are
only recognized when they come to
be broken. Yes, you may well say
that everything here, the very
hearthstone itself, forms a part of
our united lives, of our remem-
brances, making our very thoughts
the same. Everything around us
loves us, everything is dear to us.
. . . So, at least, I believed until
now ! A few minutes ago how
dearly I prized the simple objects
this room contains — all so familiar
to us both during so many years,
all bearing traces of our habits ;
each one reminding us of the pro-
jects, the pleasures, the sorrows we
have shared together ! And now
they are nothing to me — they can
be nothing to me but the ruins of
a false happiness, the wrecks of a
dream !"

" Really, madame, you exagge-
rate strangely," replied Rouviere
coldly ; " admitting that this jour-
ney throws a shade over the pre-
sent, the past, at least, remains in-
tact."

" You are mistaken, sir," return-
ed Mme. Dupuis. " This journey
is doubtless not much in itself, but
it answers cruelly a question which
I have been accustomed to ask my-
self in secret nearly all my life :
Is George happy ? No, he was
not happy; I alone was happy. I
know the truth at last ! He was
resigned " — she struggled a moment
to contain her emotion — "but he
was not happy. And yet my heart
— I feel it, I am sure of it — was
worthy of his; in every other re-
spect I was inferior to him, and I
felt it bitterly. What companion-
ship could a mind like his find in

the conversation of a poor, provin-
cial girl, ignorant of everything,
knowing nothing but how to love
him ?"

"You undervalue yourself," re-
marked her attentive listener ; " as
for me, I declare that the more I
know you, the better I appreciate
George's choice of a wife."

" You flatter me, M. Rouviere,"
replied Mme. Dupuis, smiling ;
" you see me unhappy, and you are
generous. I will be so too, and
forgive you all the pain you have
occasioned me. ... I have hated
you for years."

" Me ? Impossible ! What had I
done to deserve it ? But first tell
me " — and his voice was quite kind
and gentle — " you feel better now,
do you not ? I don't know how it
is, but really you look ten years
younger !"

" Possibly," said Mme. Dupuis,
with a quiet smile; " I think that I
am a little feverish — so much the
better!"

" Come, come, cheer up ! And
tell me, now, what painful part
have I played in your existence ?"

" Well, M. Rouviere," she began
calmly, but became more and more
excited as she went on, "I need
scarcely tell you that every woman,
from the very morrow of her wed-
ding-day, finds herself in presence
of a formidable rival — her hus-
band's unmarried life. Nor need
I explain how difficult is the task
to make him forget all that he has
given up for his wife; how almost
impossible it is to allay his regret
for the golden age that is gone —
regret which grows stronger as
those past days recede farther and
farther into the distance and youth
fades away. I, sir, soon perceived
that your name, incessantly on his
lips, was George's favorite symbol
of lost pleasures — the incarnation

388

of all the illusions of by-gone years.
In his dear thoughts you represent-
ed liberty, adventure, and the days
of fleeting sorrows and of infinite
hopes ; while / — I was positive life,
paltry domestic economy, and daily
anxiety. / was prose and you were
poetry. It was with you then that
I had to struggle, and I did so
with all my strength and with all
my soul. Alas ! it was in vain ;
you were stronger than I. Each
day George grew more thoughtful,
and it seemed to me as if every
one of those moments of sadness
was a triumph for you. How of-
ten have I wept secret tears over
my defects, here, seated by this
hearthstone, or under the willow-
trees in our little garden ! But I
was young then, and God took pity
on me and gave me my daughter,
and you were overcome. Now " —
her voice fell and she paused a
moment — "now the angel of our
home is gone, and victory is once
more yours."

"Who knows?" replied Rou-
viere, his voice strangely hoarse
and trembling. " The last word is
not yet spoken. You are going to
see George. Speak to him. You
can still prevent his journey."

" I have promised you that I will
not try to do so," she answered
gently.

" But I give you back your pro-
mise !" cried her guest vehemently.
" I will not be your evil genius.
I am abrupt, madame, selfish too,
sometimes — that's a bachelor's pro-
fession, you know ; but I am not
bad — pray, believe it."

" I do believe it," she replied,
looking him frankly and smilingly
in the eyes, " but I know George.
All my efforts would be useless ;
they would irritate him, and noth-
ing more. Besides, even if, by dint
of tears, I could keep him at home,

I would not do it now. I should
only be adding another new and
bitter regret to those which have
already poisoned his life. And my
heart would seem to reproach me
with my victory every time that I
saw him silent or sad. No; he
must go !"

" All you say is true — too true,"
said Rouviere after a short pause.
"There is nothing to reply; you
are right. But depend on me, ma-
dame, to shorten his absence."

" I will depend on you ; thank
you." She rose from her seat as
she spoke and offered her hand to
him. The repentant guest clasped
it in both of his and kissed it, bow-
ing low as he did so. At'the same
moment a loud noise as of some-
thing falling down the stairs, fol-
lowed by a great confusion of
tongues, was heard outside.

" My God ! what is the matter?"
exclaimed Mine. Dupuis, pale as
death. " It is he ; I hear his
voice !"

She rushed towards the door,
but before she could reach it her
husband entered, boiling over with
passion, and followed by Marianne.

" You're an awkward dunce ! Be
silent, I command you!" he shouted,
as the maid tried to excuse herself.
"You can't make me believe that
you find this trunk, which has no-
thing but a few shirts in it, too
heavy for you to carry. The stu-
pid creature," he continued, turn-
ing to his wife, " actually let my
trunk roll from the top to the bot-
tom of the staircase !"

" Well, the fact is," cried Mari-
anne, " ever since you told me that
you were going to Rome I've lost
all strength in my arms and legs.
I've no strength at all. Going to
Rome, indeed ! What next?"

" The woman is crazy," said Du-
puis, red with indignation. " What

A Sti'cct Revenue.

389

business is it of yours, I should
like to know ?"

" I don't say that it's my business,"
replied the maid, who was as red
and angry as her master, " but, all
the same, it's a queer idea to leave
mistress here all alone, at her age
too, while you go to Rome. You'll
be lucky if you find her again when
you come back. / won't answer
for it." •

" Marianne, take care !" cried
Dupuis, who had listened, speech-
less with amazement, to his old ser-
vant's impertinence. "You must
see that I am far from pleased."

" I'm not surprised at that," re-
turned she ; " you're not pleased
with others, because you're not
pleased with yourself. That's al-
ways the way."

" I dismiss you from my ser-
vice," cried her master, in a fury.

"Go down stairs directly, Mari-
anne," said her mistress sternly.

" I dismiss you," repeated Du-
puis ; " though they should be the
last words I have to speak in my
own house, they shall be obeyed.
I dismiss you from my service ! It
is your fault also, my dear Reine,"
he added when the maid had gone
from the room ; " you allow your
servants to be too familiar with
you. You see the consequence.
I hope you understand that I have
dismissed that woman ?"

"Yes, George," answered the
lady gently; "I will settle her
wages to-morrow morning, if you
do not change your mind."

"Change my mind!" exclaimed
her husband. " Am I accustomed
to change my mind every five min-
utes ? Am I a weathercock, or do
you deem me so weakened by age
that I can submit to be lectured by
my own servants?"

" I beg you, dear, not to say an-
other word on the subject. She

shall go away to-morrow. But I
want to know, George, if you have
all you need. Let me look into
your trunk, will you ? Men don't
know much about wearing-apparel,
and when one is travelling the
merest trifle that is missing suffices
to put one out of sorts for the
whole day. I know that you can
buy whatever you want, but where's
the use when you can avoid it ?
And then, too, I wish to make you
think of me all the time, you gad-
about !"

" Do as you like, love," said
George; " here are the keys."

"Well, Tom," he continued,
when the lady had closed the door
behind her, " it seems to me that
she received the news very well
indeed."

" Perfectly; do you know, George,
your wife possesses some great quali-
ties?"

" I know she does," returned
Dupuis, looking inquisitively at his
friend's serious, almost downcast
countenance.

" She is shy and excessively
timid, and that does her wrong,"
went on Rouviere.

" I told you so, my dear friend,"
cried Dupuis eagerly. " She was
afraid of you at dinner. Now, I
would bet any sum that, the ice
once broken, you hardly recog-
nized her."

" It is true. Under the influ-
ence of deep emotion — for I will
not conceal that she was at first
very much affected — she found ex-
pressions, directly from her heart,
which astonished me."

"She has plenty of heart, that's
certain !" exclaimed the gratified
husband.

"And you may add," said his
friend, "that she possesses a most
refined and elevated mind."

" I know it, Tom — I know it

390

A Sweet Revenge.

well !" cried Dupuis with delight.
'' I'm not a blockhead, hey ? Do
you suppose that I should have
married her, if I had not known all
that ? And if it had to be done
again, I should do it again. I am
not only happy in the woman I
have chosen, Tom, but I am proud
of her ! She has some slight defects
— I see them as well as any one —
but, bless me ! of what consequence
is a little awkwardness, or perhaps
a few parish prejudices, when you
find in the same woman the most
self-sacrificing tenderness, the most
exquisite good sense and upright-
ness, the most fervent and unas-
suming piety — in short, all the vir-
tues that can captivate an honest
man ?"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Rouviere,
slapping him caressingly on the
shoulder. "An honest man — there
you are ! Well, well ! all right."

" What do you mean ?" asked
Dupuis, astonished.

" I mean," replied Rouviere,
" that the conclusion of your little
speech is perfectly clear : thinking
better about our journey, and esti-
mating more coolly the value of
the treasure that remains in the
house, you have lost the courage to
leave it. In short, you are about
to let me go away alone. ... I
can understand perfectly that it
should be so."

"But I swear . . ." cried Du-
puis.

" Say no more, say no more," in-
terrupted his friend. " I under-
stand it all perfectly, I tell you."

"You wmmderstand, you mean,"
said Dupuis angrily. " I have
never, for one moment, forgotten
my wife's good qualities, but, were
she ten times the saint she is, it is
not less true that I have been liv-
ing the life of a snail. Good hea-
vens ! 1 shall be better able to ap-

preciate her many virtues when no
consciousness of intellectual degra-
dation is present to spoil my enjoy-
ment."

" You are too absurd, George !
You make me laugh with your ' in-
tellectual degradation.' "

" You did not laugh half an hour
ago," retorted Dupuis, "when you
depicted it in colors . . . well, in
$ colors which not even your friend-
ship for me could soften."

" Is it possible that you did not
perceive that I was jesting ? How
singular it is that there's not an in-
telligent man in France who, if he
is condemned to live in the pro-
vinces, far from Paris, does not
fancy that he is becoming idiotic !
I had a presentiment that you suf-
fered from this monomania, and I
amused myself by exciting it. I
had been drinking, you know ; let
that be my excuse."

" However that may be," answer-
ed Dupuis, a cold, stubborn ex-
pression stealing over his face and
fixing itself there, " I am more than
ever resolved to travel ; if I hesi-
tated before, I do so no longer. I
confess that I was afraid of the ef-
fect my intention would produce
on my wife, but her calmness re-
moves all my scruples."

" Listen to me, George, I beg
you," replied his friend earnestly :
" don't trust too much to appearan-
ces ; your wife affects a firmness she
is far from feeling. I know . . ."

" You know!" interrupted Du-
puis. " You know that you begin
to think that I shall be in your way,
and so you want to cast me over."

" No, George, no — nothing of the
kind. You don't understand me.
I sincerely believed, from what you
said, that you had changed your
mind. I thought that I was an-
ticipating your wishes in giving
back your promise to go with me.

A Sivect Revenge.

391

But if you really persist in your in-
tentions, all right ... I am de-
lighted."

" Here are the horses," bawled
Marianne, opening the door sud-
denly and then shutting it with a
bang.

" That old woman would take
my life, if she could," said Rouviere,
laughing. " Now, then," he con-
tinued, taking up his cloak, " let's
gird up our loins. By the bye, I
think I remember that you never
can sleep in a coach."

" I beg your pardon, I can sleep
perfectly well."

"So much the better. Allans!
Bravo ! Are the horses put to, I
wonder? Does this window look
out upon the street ?" Rouviere
opened the sash as he spoke, but
closed it quickly. " What a wind !
It's terrible — cold enough to split a
rock ! Now I think of it, one of
the glasses of the post-chaise is
broken. I'm afraid you'll be fro-
zen to death, George."

" Don't trouble yourself about
me," replied Dupuis, putting on his
overcoat. "I can bear cold like a
Laplander."

" All right !"

The clock at this moment struck
nine, and Madame Dupuis entered
the room, carrying a soft India
shawl suspended from her arm.
The poor lady was very pale.

" Everything is ready," she said
with a trembling voice, " and here
are your keys, dear. You will see
that I have added some few little
things that you had forgotten.
And here is a comforter for you.
I've cut my old cashmere shawl in
two, and half of it will be very
nice to wrap round your throat; it
is very warm."

" How foolish of you to cut
up your shawl !" cried Dupuis.
" However, since 'tis done, I ac-

cept ; but it really was very foolish
of you."

" Here is the other half for you,
M. Rouviere," said madame, pre-
senting it with a kind smile.

"For me !" cried Rouviere, tak-
ing it from her with respectful
eagerness. " Thank you, thank you
most sincerely !"

" You will remember your pro-
mises, will you not ?" asked the
lady gently, fixing her eyes on his.

Rouviere bowed and turned
away abruptly.

"You will write to our daugh-
ter, George ? You will not fail ?"

" I will write to her — to both
of you — often, often," answered
George in a husky voice, and
pulling his travelling-cap over his
eyes.

" The 1 2th of January !" sudden-
ly exclaimed Rouviere, who was
warming his feet at the fire, while
he examined an almanac placed on
the chimney-piece. " Is it really the
i2th of January to-day?"

" It really is," replied Mine.
Dupuis. "Why do you ask? Is
there any particular remembrance
attached to that date ?"

" It is a date which interests me
only," replied Rouviere in a tone
of infinite sadness. " Five years
ago this very evening, almost at
this same hour, I was passing
through an ordeal I shall never for-
get. Now, George, are you ready ?"
he added with abrupt impatience.

" What kind of an ordeal ? What
had happened to you? An acci-
dent?" asked George, with intense
interest.

" No, not an accident, but I was
very ill, which is always a misfor-
tune— and ill in an inn, which is
horrible."

" People are ill everywhere," re-
marked Dupuis sententiously.

" True ; but the impressions made

392

A Su'cct Revenge.

on you by sickness and death vary
according to the circumstances in
which they surprise you; you can
scarcely conceive how much, un-
less you have had the experience."

" Pshaw ! death is death under
all circumstances ; it is- always
equally unpleasant !" cried Dupuis.

"Ah! you think that. ... I
should like to have seen you . . .
Well, I'll tell you my story. It
happened at Peschiera, on the Lago
di Guardia — a lovely country ; we'll
pass through it, and I'll show you
the house. I was detained there by
a fever of a somewhat pernicious
character. All went on well, how-
ever, during eight days — for I was
delirious the whole time, and knew
nothing of what was passing — till
one fine evening, the evening of
the 1 2th of January, when I sud-
denly came to myself, so weak in
body, so anxious in spirit, and at
the same time with such an extra-
ordinary lucidity of mind that I
felt convinced I was at the point
of death. I have passed through
many bitter moments in the course
of my life — cruel moments — which
nevertheless I can think of now
with a kind of pleasure; but when
I recall to mind my awakening in
that inn-chamber, a cold shiver
runs through me; I shudder !"

Rouviere paused as Marianne
entered the room ; Mme. Dupuis
signed to her imperatively not
to interrupt, and the maid remain-
ed standing near the door.

" What did you see that could
make such a fearful impression on
you ?" asked George, moving a
little nearer to his friend.

"Nothing very horrible; only
some people who were waiting for me
to die, an old woman and a young
doctor who were conversingtogether
in a corner, and a priest who was
kneeling at the foot of my bed.

"They formed to my eye a picture
whose accessories were the dirty,
faded curtains of the couch on
which I was stretched and the
tarnished, heterogeneous furniture
of a lodging-house. But the igno-
ble surroundings, the preparations
for death even, caused me no emo-
tion ; what revolted me — stirred up
my very soul to protest — was the
neglect, the brutal lack of charity —
saving the presence of the priest —
the desolate isolation, the void of
all human sympathy in which I re-
alized that I was at that moment
dying. How distinctly I can recol-
lect the pitiful, suppliant look with
which I gazed around me, as if try-
ing to interlink the life 'that was
escaping me with any, the slightest,
earthly object; as if seeking to dis-
cover some sign of interest, of pity
even, in the impassible faces which
looked so calmly on me ! My ago-
nized heart longed for any trifle — a
picture, a vase, a chair — which had
known me, and to which I could say
farewell. But all was strange."

" Death never can be agree-
able," remarked Dupuis crabbedly.
"When the last hour is upon us
it is dismal to be alone, I don't say
the contrary; but I can't see that
it is more cheerful to be surround-
ed by a weeping family."

" I think that you would have
felt as / felt then," replied Rou-
viere with melancholy gravity ; "the
death which God has ordained for
men — the death which most men
die, which finds consolation and
resignation in the tears of tender
regret shed by loving friends — that
death appeared to me, in my solita-
ry agony, like a sweet, untroubled
feast. ... I made many a singu-
lar reflection that night ! But
come, George, are you ready?"

" When you will ; . . . but, first,
what were your reflections ?"

A Sweet Revenge.

393

" Well, to tell you the truth, I
lost somewhat of my self-sufficien-
cy. And then I congratulated my-
self a little less on the path I had
chosen for my life's journey. Why
not say it ? The book of life
seemed suddenly to be opened be-
fore me, and I read on every page,
traced by God's own hand, the
words ' duty and sacrifice.' I had
rejected that law. Hitherto I had
only seen its hardships ; now I rec-
ognized its benefits. I had avoid-
ed its bonds that I might live in-
dependently, and exile and isola-
tion had been my lot. I had fan-
cied that, by escaping the usual dull
routine of humble duties, I should
win for myself a happiness un-
known— pleasures inconceivable to
the vulgar crowd. Alas ! I found
that 1 had experienced nothing
save a loveless youth, a solitary
old age, and an unlamented death.
Then, George — then I understood
what an erroneous price we pay
for the indulgence of our selfish-
ness."

" Were you long in this agitated
state ?" asked Dupuis.

" Long enough for it to be in-
delibly impressed on rny memory,"
replied his friend. " When the
young physician perceived that I
was looking at him, he arose and
approached me, and I felt the
touch of his hand, cold and indif-
ferent as his heart. I pushed it
away and closed my eyes. And
then a vision of my father's death-
bed flashed before me, distinct and
clear. I saw again, grouped around
it, the faithful friends of his youth
— our ancient servants, the old
doctor, the white-haired priest,
and, dearest of all, my mother, my
good mother. They leaned over
him, they wiped his damp brow,
they smiled at him through their
tears ; they had gladdened his life,

and they were beside him now, to
cheer and sustain him as he passed
away ! My dried-up heart melted
within me as I gazed on this vision
of a scene I had long since ceased
to recall, and I burst into tears;
they saved me !"

Rouviere stopped, overpowered
by his emotion, and, covering his
eyes with his hand, leant forward
against the mantle-shelf.

" These recollections are too
painful," said Dupuis gently.

" They are painful," replied Rou-
viere, his voice hoarse and trem-
' bling, " and everything I see around
me here awakens them. Oh ! how
alike these old houses are," he
continued, speaking to himself and
looking around the room. " All this
is familiar to me. There stood my
mother's little work-table near the
window, just as that is — I always
found her seated at it when I came
home for a holiday — and there, in
the chimney-corner, was the great
arm-chair in which my father al-
ways sat. And the family portraits
looked down from the walls just as
these do. There, as here, the trace
of two lives closely entwined, never
to be separated, was visible every-
where. Why did I not learn by
their example ? Why was I com-
pelled to drag my weary, vagrant
life, my unceasing remorse, all
over the wide world, ere I could
comprehend that they were happy?
Did they know that they were hap-
py ? I doubt it. How often I
have heard my father speak with
envy of the very pleasures I have
found so hollow ! How often they
confided to me their mutual griev-
ances ! And yet when one went
the other could not stay. Dear
old father ! dearest mother!"

" My dear friend !" whispered
George.

" And I," continued Rouviere,

394

A Sweet Revenge.

with increasing emotion — " I sold
their home as soon as it was
empty — I had the heart to do that !
I sold the room where I was born ;
I sold all our family traditions ;
I sold the ancient, faithful friend-
ships which seemed to adhere to
the house and soil. I alienated my
patrimony. ... I riveted the chain
of egotism I was so eagerly forging.
I did my work well ; no kind care,
no friendly companionship will ever
be the solace of my old age. I have
nothing to offer in return — not even
the bribe of a legacy. I cannot
even buy back that humble home ;
my last days may not be sheltered
by those walls whose very shadows
I have learned to love. I may not
even die there. Come ! let us go,"
he added with vehemence, dashing
away the tears which suddenly in-
undated his face.

"Yes, Tom, we will go" — and
George seized his friend's hand —
" we will go, if you refuse to accept
a brother's place by my fireside.
And you, Reine," he said, turning
to his wife, "dry 'your tears and
forget this hour's ingratitude. It
was the first ; it shall be the
last!"

"O George, my husband!"
sobbed the sweet little woman as
she gave him the kiss of pardon ;
then, approaching Rouviere with
gentle grace, she said softly and
beseechingly :

" Will not the happiness you have
restored to us tempt you to remain
with us ? We should be so glad to
share it with you !"

" Madame, dear, good friends,"
stammered the guest. . . . " O

George ! you have caught me in the
very snare I spread for you."

He sank into a chair, overcome
by his emotion, while George and
Reine stood by him, clasping his
hands in theirs. " Oh !" sighed he
at last, " it is too sweet a dream for
such a forlorn wretch as I am."

" He will stay with us!" exclaim-
ed Mine. Dupuis joyfully.

"And I will go and make his
bed in the best blue chamber,"
cried Marianne, wiping her eyes
with her apron. The poor girl had
been standingquietly near the door,
an involuntary listener, during al-
most the whole of Rouviere's con-
fession.

" What ! the deuce ! Marianne !"
growled Rouviere, rising hastily
from his seat.

" I'm going to make your bed,
sir !" cried Marianne, in great good-
humor.

" Very well, then ; but don't let
the head be lower than the heels,
my good creature, as you house-
maids generally manage it. Slope
it down gently from head to foot,
mind you, and . . ." He stopped a
moment, then smilingly resumed :
" Make it as you will, Marianne ; I'm
sure it will be first-rate. You
see," he added, turning toward his
hosts when Marianne had left the
room, " how this disgusting egotism
crops up incessantly ; . . . you must
try to cu re me of it. Oh ! what a rest
I'm going to have now," he ex-
claimed as he threw himself on the
sofa. ..." Madame, dear madame,
will you do me a favor? I know
what the pains of exile are by sad ex-
perience— pray, let the cat come in !"

The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress. 395

THE RECENT PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CONVENTION AND

CONGRESS.

THIS convention, which met in
Boston on the 3d of October and
continued in session for twenty
days, was the triennial " Conven-
tion of the Protestant Episcopal
Church in the United States of
America." The bishops sat in a
house by themselves and conduct-
ed their proceedings in secret, fol-
lowing in this the precedent of the
Anglican Church as well as the cus-
tom of the Roman Catholic Church
in its provincial and plenary coun-
cils. The House of Deputies con-
sisted of one hundred and eighty
clergymen and one hundred and
eighty laymen, representing forty-
five dioceses, and eight clergymen
and eight laymen representing
eight "missionary jurisdictions."
These sat in public, and a verba-
tim report of their proceedings is
before us. Among the lay dele-
gates were several gentlemen of
national fame — the Hons. John W.
Maynard, of Pennsylvania; Tho-
mas A. Hendricks, of Indiana,
the Democratic candidate for the
Vice-Presidency at the recent elec-
tion ; John W. Stevenson, of Ken-
tucky ; John W. Hunter and L.
Bradford Prince, of Long Island ;
Gen. C. C. Augur, U. S. Army;
Daniel R. Magruder and Mont-
gomery Blair, of Maryland ; Rob-
ert C. Winthrop, of Massachusetts;
General J. H. Simpson, U. S. Army;
Hamilton Fish, Cambridge Living-
ston, and W. A. Davies, of New
York ; Morrison R. Waite, of Ohio ;
and Geo. W. Thompson and Rich-
ard Parker, of Virginia. It is not
probable that any of the other sects
could marshal laymen like these to

sit in its councils. We mention
their names because the list af-
fords some explanation of the fact
that the social and political influ-
ence of the Protestant Episcopa-
lians is vastly out of proportion
to their numerical strength. At a
preliminary session, the bishops
and deputies being together, Dr.
Williams, the Bishop of Connecti-
cut, preached a sermon in which
he introduced a subject that subse-
quently occupied much of the atten-
tion of the convention — "the most
threatening social evil of our time,
the growing lack of sympathy be-
tween different classes and indivi-
duals of such classes." " To-day,"
he said, " we see great chasms
opening everywhere because of
this, which threatens church and
state alike with sad disaster." And
he added :

" I think those chasms are more en-
tirely unrelieved and ghastly in this
country than in almost any other. I
know that we have not been wont so to
think or speak, and I know that to say
this involves some chance of incurring
severe displeasure ; but I fully believe
it to be true. In most lands there are
things — I speak of things outside of
Christian sympathies and labors— that
somewhat bridge over these threatening
severances. There are ancient memo-
ries ; ancestral offices and ministries
that in their long continuance have almost
becomebindinglaws ; relations, long en-
during, of patronage and clientship; and
many other things besides. With us —
we may as well face the fact — those
things have, for the most part, no exist-
ence. The one only helping thing we
have — still apart from what was just al-
luded to — is political equality. And
how much virtue has that shown itself
to have in pressing exigencies and

396 The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress.

emergencies? When, all at once, in
the late summer months, that yawning
chasm opened at our feet which appear-
ed to threaten nearly everything in ordi-
nary life, how little there seemed to be
to turn to ! There stood on either side
contending forces in apparently irrecon-
cilable opposition, and everywhere
we heard the cry about rights ! rights !
rights ! till nothing else was heard. If
some few voices dared to speak of du-
ties they were lost in the angry clamor.
And yet those voices must be heard.
Those words about duty on the one side
and the other must be listened to, if
ever we are to have more than an armed
truce between these parties — a truce
which may at any time burst out into
desolating strife."

Dr. Williams' remedy was, of
course, that the Protestant Episco-
palians should teach the people their
duties. To do this, however, they
must first get the hearing of the
people. But this is just what they
have failed to get, and will al-
ways fail in getting — certainly so
long as they provide fine churches
with eloquent preachers for the
rich, and a very different order of
preachers and churches for the
poor. The Catholic Church, be-
fore whose altars all distinctions of
earthly rank and position disap-
pear, can and does teach the peo-
ple what their duties are, and she
does it with effect, since her priests
speak with authority and by virtue
of an incontestably divine commis-
sion— two things quite unknown
among the sects. This is what
Rev. Hugh Thompson felt and ac-
knowledged when, in the Episcopal
Church Congress held in this city,
lie said :

" What is the worth of a church in
this world except as a moral teacher —
except this : to get the Ten Command-
ments kept on earth ? The church
canons are usually busy with ques-
tions affecting garments, gestures, pos-
tures, and the orthodoxy of the Prayer-
Book, but rarely do we find any moral

legislation. There are plenty of in-
structions to the clergy and bishops,
and we are led to think what a wicked
lot of people these clergy and bishops
must be to need all these laws, and what
a good and pious laity we must have
when they have no need of such legisla-
tion ! The church gives no real expres-
sion of opinion on the complicated ques-
tions of marriage, so that one minister
may bless a union while another would
not do so under any circumstances. Is
it right that the church should evade
such responsibilities as these? The
church must place itself plainly on re-
cord. The church must be to a million-
aire and beggar the same, must demand
equal justice for all — for the railway
president and the railway brakeman, for
the worshipper in the gilded temple and
in the ordinary meeting-house. Such a
church, with the courage and fearless-
ness and ability to tell and enforce the
eternal truth, without fear or favor, is
what this country is waiting for, and
would have an influence here unequal-
led since the days of Athanasius."

The first two days of the con-
vention were spent chiefly in rather
unseemly discussions upon a pro-
position to print fifteen hundred
copies of Dr. Williams' sermon, to
appoint a committee "to consider
the importance of the practical
principles enunciated in it," and in
attempts to begin a debate upon
three amendments to the constitu-
tion proposed three years ago by
the last convention. Much interest
was excited by some remarks by
the Rev. Dr. Harwood, of Connec-
ticut, who thought that one of the
most pressing duties of the conven-
tion would be the invention of a
method whereby clergymen who
had grown tired of their work
might be retired without incurring
disgrace. It is curious to observe
how the Catholic doctrine, " once a
priest always a priest," still lingers
among the laity of this Protestant
body, while its clergymen, or some
of them, seem anxious to destroy it.
Dr. Harwood complained that al-

The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress. 397

though at present the regulations
of his church permitted any clergy-
man to " withdraw from the min-
istry for causes not affecting
his moral character," nevertheless
" somewhat of a stigma rests upon
the man, and people may even
point to his children and say,
'There go the children of a dis-
graced clergyman.' " This state
of things was found to be " a griev-
ous burden "; for there were num-
bers of good fellows who feel that
" they are out of place in the min-
istry of the Protestant Episcopal
Church," and who still continue
in that service because they fear
to incur disgrace by leaving it.
Dr. Harwood drew a pitiful picture
of the condition of these unhappy
persons: "They may have chang-
ed their minds about some doc-
trine ; they may believe too much
or too little; they may be drifting
towards a blank unbelief or to-
wards a wretched superstition ;
they may feel that they have mis-
taken their calling and cannot do
their work, for neither their hearts
nor their minds are in it." We
agree with Dr. Harwood that his
church would be better off without
such parsons ; and it is sad to re-
cord that his proposition, looking
towards the adoption of a cheap
and easy, although " honorable,"
method of getting rid of them, was
not finally successful.

On the third day of the conven-
tion the Rev. Dr. De Koven, of
Wisconsin, brought forward the
question of changing the name of
the Protestant Episcopal Church.
This proposition was made in the
interest of that section of it which
follows the Anglican ritualists.
This section has a real or affected
horror of the word "Protestant";
its members wish to persuade them-
selves that they are Catholics — and

the wish is very natural and most
praiseworthy — but they are resolv-
ed never to seek the reality and
yield to the living authority of the
Catholic Church. In order to
avoid this submission, they set up
the claim that they are themselves
the Catholic Church, or rather " a
branch " of it. To make this claim
a little less absurd the elimination
of the word " Protestant " would
be advisable ; and for some time
past, it appears, an industrious pro-
paganda for this purpose has been
carried on. Certain of the bishops, *
many of the clergymen, and a num-
ber of the journals of the Protes-
tant Episcopalians have been en-
listed in the proposed " reform,"
and its advocates mustered all their
forces in the convention. Dr. De
Koven introduced the matter by
reading a paper adopted in the dio-
cese of Wisconsin last June, and
moving a resolution. The paper
was as follows :

" Whereas, The American branch of
the Catholic Church universal [sic] in-
cludes in its membership all baptized
persons in this land ; and

" Whereas, The various bodies of pro-
fessing Christians, owing to her first
legal title, do not realize that the church
known in law as the ' Protestant Episco-
pal Church ' is, in very deed and truth,
the American branch of the one Catholic
Church of God ; therefore, be it

" Resolved, That the deputies to the
General Convention from this diocese be
requested to ask of the General Conven-
tion the appointment of a constitutional
commission, to which the question of a
change of the legal title of the church,
as well as similar questions, may be re-
ferred."

Dr. De Koven accordingly pre-
sented a motion for the appoint-
ment of this commission and mov-
ed its reference to the Commit-
tee on Constitutional Amendments.
The absurd side of the assumptions
made in the preamble is apparent ;

398 The Protestant Episcopal. Convention and Congress.

but the ridicule and scorn which
they excite should not blind one to
the arrogant claim therein set up.
It is laughable to assert that a sect
with less than 270,000 communi-
cants, and with a history of less
than a century, claims as its mem-
bers all the baptized persons in the
United States, including seven or
eight millions of Roman Catholics;
it is still more ludicrous to be told
that the reason why we and all the
other " baptized persons " do not
recognize this sect as our mother
the church is that up to this time
she has chosen to call herself by a
false name. The name — the name's
the thing wherewith to catch the
conscience of the people ! Let us
only call ourselves something else,
and then "all the baptized persons
in this land " — Papists, Presbyte-
rians, Methodists, Baptists, Mor-
mons, and all the rest — will hasten
to exclaim, " Our long-lost mother !
Behold your children !" This is
the ludicrous side of the business,
and it is funny enough. The seri-
ous side of it is the fact that a
claim so arrogant should be seri-
ously presented in a convention
composed of respectable, and in
some cases eminent, American gen-
tlemen. Let us see what became
of it.

Dr. De Koven's motion imme-
diately caused an animated debate.
An attempt to get rid of it by lay-
ing it on the table was lost ; and
after a disorderly and heated dis-
cussion, in which the president
seemed occasionally to lose his
head, the motion for reference to
the committee was carried. On
the eighth day of the session the
committee, through Mr. Hamilton
Fish, reported that it was " inexpe-
dient to institute any commission
to revise and amend the constitu-
tion of the church," for the reason,

among others, that such a commis-
sion would be unlimited in its
powers and might upset everything.
On the tenth day another commit-
tee, to whom had been " referred
certain memorials and papers look-
ing to a change in the legal title of
the church," reported that such a
change might impair the legal right
of property in the several dioceses,
and that it would be better to
make no change. The two re-
ports came up for decision on the
twelfth day of the session, and the
ball was opened by Dr. De Koven
in a long and clever speech. He
proposed the adoption of a new re-
solution providing for the appoint-
ment of a commission to consider
and report upon the best method
of " removing apparent ambigui-
ties," and " the setting forth our
true relations to the Anglican com-
muniorj as well as to the whole
Catholic Church." He drew a very
curious and not at all a pleasant
picture of his church as at present
constituted. So far as the laity are
concerned, anybody may be a lay
member, if he " merely goes to
church a few times a year " and
pays money for the support of the
minister. '' He need not be bap-
tized; he need not be confirmed;
he need not be a communicant.
He may even be Jew, Turk, or in-
fidel, if you please, provided he has
the money qualification which makes
up the franchise of the church-'
Here, indeed, is a pitiable state of
things ; a society composed of
unbaptized persons can scarcely
be called a Christian association.
" Underneath it all," Dr. De Koven
went on to say, " lies this money
qualification. The parish elects
its vestry, and its vestry need not
be communicants. The vestry and
parish elect the lay delegates to
the diocesan convention, and they

The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress. 399

need not be communicants. The
diocesan convention elects the lay
members of the standing commit-
tees, and they need not be commu-
nicants." The truth is that the rul-
ing laymen of the sect need not be,
and probably are not, Christians at
all, and that they " run the ma-
chine " for social and political pur-
poses, just as they would manage a
club or a political party. If the
laymen are of this stripe, what can
be said of the priests ? " Like peo-
ple, like priest," said Dr. De Koven ;
" As you go through the land and
witness the sorrow, the trials, the
degradation of the parochial clergy,
you are quite well aware that un-
derneath all lies this simoniacal
taint." The bishops are almost in
.as sad a state. Their councils of
advice are the standing commit-
tees ; these may be composed of
unbaptized men, and the bishops
have no voice in their nomination ;
and " thus you have the marvellous
spectacle of a bishop sitting at the
head of his diocesan synod, but
bound by laws which that synod
(possibly composed of non-Chris-
tians) makes, and in the making of
which he has had no voice what-
ever, either of assent or dissent."
It could scarcely be supposed, how-
ever, that evils so great as these
would be removed simply by a
change of name, and Dr. De Koven
found himself at last willing to ad-
mit as much. He was willing, he
said, to go on for a while longer
with the old name, although as long
as it was retained such evil conse-
quences would follow. But he in-
sisted that " the day will come when
this church shall demand, not that
an accident of its condition, not that
a part of its organization, should
represent it to the world, but that
its immortal lineage shall represent
it."

The church may demand what it
pleases, and may call itself by what-
ever name it chooses to invent; but
its history is written and cannot be
changed. Men will always know
that it is the daughter of that crea-
ture whose father was Henry VIII.
and whose nursing mother was
Queen Elizabeth. A delegate from
Illinois pleaded for the change of
name, for the reason that he was
tired of saying on Sundays, " I be-
lieve in the Holy Catholic Church,"
and all the rest of the week, " I be-
lieve in the Protestant Episcopal
Church." Mr. Hamilton Fish de-
clared that it was "too late to
change the name of Protestant
Episcopal," and that if the sect was
not Protestant it was nothing. His
great objection, however, was that
if the change were made the church
would be in danger of losing its
property. Finally, on the thirteenth
day of the session, the resolution
for the appointment of the consti-
tutional committee to consider this
and other changes was voted down
by a vote of 16 to 51 ; and a sepa-
rate resolution, that no change
should be made in the name of the
church at present, was carried by
an almost unanimous vote.

The convention also touched
upon marriage and divorce, but ra-
ther gingerly. The House of Bi-
shops passed a resolution repealing
the present canon on this subject,
and adopting the following in its
place :

" SFCTION. i. If any persons be joined
together otherwise than as God's Word
doth allow, their marriage is not lawful.

" SEC. 2. No minister of this church
shall solemnize matrimony in any case
where there is a divorced wife or hus-
band of either party still living, and
where the divorce was obtained for some
cause arising after marriage ; but this
canon shall not be held to apply to the
innocent party in a divorce for the cause

4OO

The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress.

of adultery, or to parties once divorced
seeking to be united again.

" SKC. 3. If any minister of this church
shall have reasonable cause to doubt
whether a person desirous of being ad-
mitted to holy baptism, or to confirma-
tion, or to the holy communion, has
been married otherwise than as the word
of God and discipline of this church al-
low, such minister, before receiving such
person to these ordinances, shall refer
the case to the bishop for his godly
judgment thereupon ; provided, however,
that no minister in any case refuse the
sacrament to a penitent person in ex~
treinis.

" SEC. 4. No minister of this church
shall present for confirmation or admin-
ister the holy sacraments to any person
divorced, for any cause arising after mar-
riage, or married again to another in
violation of this-canon, or during the
lifetime of such divorced wife or hus-
band ; but this prohibition shall not ex-
tend to the innocent party where the di-
vorce has been for the cause of adultery,
nor to any truly penitent person.

" SEC. 5. Questions touching the facts of
any case arising under this canon shall
be referred to the bishop of the diocese,
or, if there be a vacancy in the episcopate,
then to some bishop designated by the
Standing Committee, who shall thereup-
on make enquiry by a commissionary or
otherwise, and deliver his godly judg-
ment in the premises.

" SEC. 6. This canon, so far as it affixes
penalties, does not apply to cases occur-
ring before its taking effect, according to
canon iv., title iv."

From the Roman Catholic point
of view there are at least two ob-
jections to this canon. There is
no authority pointed out whereby it
may be decided what it is that
" God's word doth allow " respect-
ing marriage ; and the permission
for the re-marriage of one of the
parties in a divorce is repugnant
to the rule of the church, and could
not for a moment be assented to
by any one who holds the Catholic
and Christian doctrine of marriage.
In the debate upon the canon it
was urged that the second section
could not be enforced among the

Indians nor among the negroes ;
and some of the clergymen objected
to the section which provides for
the reference of doubtful cases to
the bishop. Especial ridicule was
cast upon the sixth section, which,
as one delegate expressed it, asserts
that "the longer a man has contin-
ued in sin the less sin he has."
More than one clerical delegate, on
the other hand, lifted up his voice
in favor of " greater freedom in the
matter," and they drew pathetic
pictures of the sad condition of a
woman divorced from her husband
for incompatibility of temper, for
example, and, under this canon,
unable to marry again. But at
length the canon was pas'sed.

Our readers can scarcely be ex-
pected to take much interest in the
other proceedings of the conven-
tion. There was a debate, lasting
through several days, upon a pro-
posed canon for the creation and
development of orders of deacon-
esses, or " sisterhoods," in imita-
tion of our own societies of holy
women. The bishops wished to
retain strict control over these pos-
sible organizations ; the lower
house desired them to be left quite
free, or subject only to the super-
vision of the parish clergyman.
The two houses could not agree,
and the matter was dropped. A
still more tedious debate arose from
propositions for the adoption of a
" shortened service," lay preaching,
and the permissible use of the En-
glish Lectionary. There was very
little talk about dogma ; and it is
noticeable that the quarrels be-
tween the Ritualists and the Evan-
gelicals were kept entirely suppress-
ed during the convention. The
only doctrinal breeze which animat-
ed the gathering was caused by the
introduction of a paper by Mr.
Judd, of Illinois, which, on the

The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress. 401

whole, is so queer that we reproduce
it here :

" Whereas, A majority of the bishops of
the Anglican communion at the Lambeth
Conference, held in the year of our Lord
1867, while solemnly ' professing the
faith delivered to us in Holy Scripture,
maintained in the primitive church and
by the fathers of the English Reforma-
tion,' did also ' express the deep sorrow
with which we view the divided condi-
tion of the flock of Christ throughout the
world, ardently longing for the fulfilment
of the prayer of our Lord, "that all may
be one,'" and did furthermore 'solemn-
ly record' and set forth the means by
which ' that unity will be more effectual-
ly promoted ' ; and

" Whereas, The Lambeth declaration
was not only signed by all the nine-
teen American bishops then and there
present, but the whole House of Bishops,
at the General Convention of 1868, also
formally resolved that they ' cordially
united in the language and spirit ' of
the same ; and

" Whereas, Our fervent prayer, daily
offered, ' that all who profess and call
themselves Christians may hold the
faith in unity of spirit/ cannot receive
fulfilment unless there be a clear and
steadfast clinging to ' the faith once for
all delivered to the Saints' ; and

" Whereas, The restoration of this
'unity of spirit' in the apostolic 'bond
of peace ' among all the Christian peo-
ple, for which we thus daily pray, ought
also to be the object of our most earnest
efforts ; and

" Whereas, This unity manifestly can-
not be restored by the submission of
all . other parts to any one part of the
divided body of Christ, but must be
reached by the glad reunion of all in
that faith which was held by all before
the separation of corrupt times began ;
and

" Whereas, The venerable documents
in which the undisputed councils sum-
med up the Catholic faith are not easily
accessible to many of the clergy, and
have never been fully set forth to our
laity in a language ' understanded of the
people ' ; therefore

" Resolved, by the House of Deputies of
the Protestant Episcopal Church in the
United States of America, Tuat a memo-
rial be presented to the Lambeth Confer-
ence at its second session, expressing
VOL. XXVI. — 26

our cordial thanks for the action of its
first session in 1867, in which it enjoined
upon us all the promotion of unity 'by
maintaining the faith in its purity and
integrity, as taught by the Holy Sci if lures,
held by the primitive church, stitnmed vp
in the crteds, and affirmed by the undisput-
ed general councils'1 ; and, in furtherance
of the good work thus recommended
and enjoined, we humbly request the
said Lambeth Conference, by a joint
commission of learned divines, or other-
wise, to provide for the setting forth of
an accurate and authentic version, in
the English language, of the creeds and
the other acts of the said undisputed
general councils concerning the faith
thus proclaimed by them, as the standards,
of orthodox belief for the whole church.
" Resolved, also, That the House of Bi-
shops be respectfully requested to take
order that this memorial shall be duly
laid before the next session of the Lam-
beth Conference by the hand of such of
its members as may be present thereat."

The debate on this paper was
somewhat amusing. It was point-
ed out that rather serious con-
sequences might follow the gene-
ral dissemination of " an accurate
and authentic version, in the Eng-
lish language, of the creeds and the
other acts of the said undisputed
general councils concerning the
faith"; and the awful question was
asked, " Who is to decide how many
undisputed councils there have
been?" But at last the preamble
and resolution were adopted, and
we congratulate our Protestant
Episcopalian brethren upon that
decision. Many of them — clergy-
men as well as laymen — said they
did not know what even the first
six O3cumenical councils had de-
cided. If they now acquire this
knowledge, they will learn enough
to convince them that they are
living in heresy, and that their first
duty is to seek for admission into
the church.

" The Church Congress," which
commenced its sessions in New
York on the 3oth of October and

4O2 The Protestant Episcopal Convention and Congress.

continued to sit for four days, was
in some degree a supplement to
the "convention." At the con-
gress, however, nothing was to be
done ; affairs were simply to be
talked about. In four days much
can be said : the papers read and
the speeches made before the Con-
gress will make a large volume
when collected. A Catholic would
arise from their perusal with a feel-
ing of profound melancholy. He
would see the blind leading the
blind and tumbling into the ditch.
In Protestantism the opinion of one
man is as good as that of another ;
views the most discordant may be
expressed on the same platform,
and there is no arbiter to pronounce
with infallible voice what is truth.
In the congress, for instance, seve-
.ral of its clerical members took oc-
casion to lavish praises upon the
Roman Catholic Church — one of
.them declared that the true spirit
.of the Roman Catholic Church had
. always been " tender, true, and
.noble"; another, a bishop, extolled
the work of our missionaries among
.the Indians, saying that they " had
done the best work," and that their
conduct was in glorious contrast
.with that of the missionaries of the
.sects, who acted too often like
'" carpet-baggers." These declara-
tions did not prevent other mem-
bers when speaking from indulging
in bitter denunciations of " Roman-
.ism." Bishop Potter, at the open-
.ing of the congress, warned the
members that they must not expect
.to settle anything; the only good
to be expected from their discus-
.sions was such as might follow the
interchange of opinion. A discus-
sion on church architecture was
ended by a minister who said that
-churches should be built wholly
with respect to acoustics, and that
the ideal church would be a plain

hall where the voice of the preach-
er could be distinctly heard. The
question of the relation of the
church to the state and to society
was discussed at much length —
some of the speakers arguing for a
union of church and state, and
others advocating strict abstinence
on the part of the church from all
political affairs. Bishop Littlejohn,
of Long Island, declared that

" The most urgent duty of the church
to the nation was first to vindicate its
moral fitness to sway all in and around
it. It should show that its charter was
divine. It should be able to say to the
grosser personality of the nation, 'Come
up higher ; this is the way, walk ye in
it.' The first duty of the church to the
national life was to put its own house in
order. Again, the church having ele-
vated itself to the level whence it had a
right to teach and authority to guide, its
habitual attention should not be diverted
from its great duties to society and to
the nation. The church's best work was
at the root and upon the sap of the so-
cial tree of life, not with the withered
and dead branches. It was here that the
church was to exercise its highest func-
tions upon society and upon the nation.
Let it keep before it that one of its high-
est duties was to show, both to society
and the individual, that they did not
derive their personality from each other,
but from God. There was a warrant for
such teaching, for it rested upon a theo-
logical principle. Humanity, in the gen-
uine whole and in the individual man,
had its foundation in Christ, and, there-
fore, for each there was infinite sacred-
ness, even in Christ himself. But the
church had instructions for society, and
especially for American society. It had
some teaching for those who in dreams
and in revolutions cried out for liberty,
equality, and fraternity. By how many
was this cry raised, even to those who
would have no sloping sides, no top.
but all bottom to the social pyramid !
It seemed that that was a cry which the
church might answer. Liberty, equality,
fraternity ! The land was full of false
idols under those names. The perver-
sion was of man ; the movement itself
was of God. The perversion could be
brought about by forgetting the move-

The "Civ lit h Cattolica " on the Fortifications of Rome. 403

ment itself. God in Christ not only
willed that all men should be free and
equal, but he told them in what sense
and how they were to become so. It
was by the ministry of the word, not by
the sword, not by the law, not by ab-
stract speculation, that man was to learn
what these things were for which he so
thirsted. Modern society and the Gos-
pel must be reconciled, and to do this
there was no competent authority except
the church."

Bishop Littlejohn, when speaking
of " the church," has in his mind Ins
own body. That society can never
accomplish the work he points out ;

men know that it lias no authority
to teach them, and those who speak
in its name speak with divided and
inconsistent voices. The church
of God, however, can do tiiis work
and is doing it. She has no need
" to vindicate her moral fitness "
or to "elevate herself to the level
whence she has a right to teach and
authority to guide." She had all
this done for her eighteen hundred
years ago, when her divine charter
was given her. And that charter
never has been and never will be
revoked.

THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA ON THE FORTIFICATIONS

ROME.

THERE is no European periodi-
cal which treats of the great politi-
cal movements of the day with more
complete knowledge and consum-
mate ability and sagacity than the
Civilta Cattolica, especially in re-
spect to all that has a bearing on
the Roman question. In the num-
ber of October 6 an article of
great interest takes up the topic of
the fortifications around Rome and
Civita Vecchia which have been
ordered by the Italian government,
and casts some light on the motives
which have induced the persons at
the head of Victor Emanuel's ad-
ministration to adopt this extraor-
dinary measure.

The pretext put forth, that it is
necessary to protect Rome against
armed invasion by the reactionary
party of the clericals, is so ridicu-
lous that it has deceived no one,
but has excited the ridicule even
of the Italian liberals. But one
probable and credible reason can
be given for an undertaking involv-
ing such a great expenditure at a

time when the finances of the state
are in such a wretched condition.
This reason is that the measure
has been undertaken by the dicta-
tion of Bismarck, in virtue of a se-
cret treaty between Prussia and
Italy, and in view of a proposed
war of the two combined powers
against France. The Italian king-
dom was set up, as is well known
to all, by Napoleon III. for the
sake of using its alliance and em-
ploying its military power to the
advantage of the French Empire.
The control of this convenient in-
strument was, however, wrested
from the unfortunate emperor by
his conqueror and destroyer, Bis-
marck, who has continued to gov-
ern not only William and his em-
pire, but Victor Emanuel and his
kingdom, to the great and increas-
ing disgust of the majority of Ital-
ians, including a large portion even
of the liberals. The intention of
Bismarck to seize upon the speedi-
est convenient opportunity of mak-
ing a new invasion of France has

404 Ihc "Ch'ilta Cattolica" on tJic Fortifications of Re inc.

been too openly manifested to ad-
mit of any doubt. The execution
of this purpose has been delayed at
the instance of Russia, in order to
leave that power more free and un-
embarrassed for its great enterprise
of destroying the Ottoman Empire
and taking possession of Constanti-
nople. In the Bismarckian scheme
the war against the Papacy and the
Catholic Church, against France
and Austria, is all one thing, with
one motive and end — the exaltation
of the infidel Teutonic empire on
the ruins of Latin Christianity and
civilization ; and the possession of
Constantinople by the Russians as
the capital of another great schisma-
tical empire, dividing with Prussia
the hegemony of the world, har-
monizes with this scheme, as plan-
ned long ago by the two astute and
powerful chancellors, Gortchakoff
and Bismarck.

The papers have been saying of
late that Bismarck, whose ambitious
mind triumphs over the shattered
nerves and dropsical body which
seem soon about to become the
prey of dissolution, has been lately
threatening Europe with a general
war for the coming vernal equinox.
This means, of course, that he is
preparing an equinoctial storm of
"blood and iron" to mark for ever
in history the close of his own ca-
reer as the beginning of a new Eu-
ropean epoch. The sagacious writer
in the Civilth considers the order for
fortifying Rome and Civita Vecchia
as a strong confirmation of the
fact of a military alliance between
the anti-Christian government of
Italy and the Bismarckian empire,
and of the probability of an ap-
proaching war by the two allied
powers against France. He pru-
dently abstains from carrying his
prognostics any further, wittily ob-
serving that it would be proof of a
scanty amount of brains if he were

to attempt anything of the kind.
We can easily understand that, for
men writing and publishing in
Florence, a certain caution and re-
serve are necessary in the open, ex-
plicit expression of the hopes and
expectations which they know how
to awaken in other minds by a sig-
nificant silence. Nevertheless, as
we happily enjoy more liberty of
speech than is conceded to Italians
when they happen to be clericals,
we will run the risk of passing for
a man of " scarso cervello," and
give utterance to a few of the con-
jectures which sprang up in our
own mind upon reading the re-
marks of our able contemporary.

Both the Bismarckian 'and the
Cavourian political fabrics are in a
precarious condition. It is perhaps
less desperate to undertake a haz-
ardous enterprise on the chance of
success than to remain quiet with
the certainty of being swept away
by the current of coming events.
Nevertheless, the ruin may be
hastened, and even directly brought
about, by the very means which
are used to avert the crisis, if the
undertaking is really desperate.
Perhaps the bete noir which harass-
es the sleepless nights of the Prus-
sian, which the servile Italian min-
ister threatens upon the people
grumbling at their excessive tax-
ation, which the political apes of
French radicalism pretend to dread,
may be the nightmare of a pro-
phetic dream. As the unhappy
victims of a divine fate in the Greek
tragedies accomplish the direful
woes foretold at their birth by the
very means used to avert them, the
accomplices in the anti-Christian
conspiracy may bring upon them-
selves the catastrophe they seem to
fear — a reactionary movement in
which they will be submerged. If
Italy consents to incur the un-
known risks of an alliance with

Sonnet.

405

Prussia, and play the part of a sub-
servient tool to the insane ambi-
tion of Bismarck, one of the conse-
quences may be that her speedily
and falsely constructed unity will
be shattered. Russia is at pre-
sent too deeply engaged in her
deadly struggle with Turkey to be
either a formidable ally or ene-
my to any other great power for
some time to come, even if she
comes off victorious in the end.
In respect to Russia, Austria has
now her favorable, perhaps her
last, opportunity to secure her own
stability and equality by a repres-
sion of her other antagonist, Prus-
sia. An invasion of France makes
Austria, with her army of one million,
the natural ally of France. There
are urgent motives which might
draw England into the same coali-
tion. And what is there improba-
ble in the conjecture that one of
the great events in such a war
would be the occupation of the
Pontifical States by the allied troops,
and the restoration of the pontifi-
cal sovereignty? If the Pope re-
covers his royal capital well forti-

fied, the advantage of the fortifica-
tions will be his, and make him
more secure in future against law-
less invasion of banditti.

We are not at all certain that a
prospective triumph of Russia bodes
so much good to the party of anti-
Christian revolution as many sup-
pose. The interest, the safety
even, of that empire requires of her
that she should exert all her power,
and co-operate with every other
legitimate power exerted in Europe,
to put down Freemasonry and re-
store the Christian political order
in the civilized world. It is very
probable that when the European
congress meets, after the present
cycle of wars, to pacificate Europe
and readjust the equilibrium of na-
tions, neither Gortchakoff nor Bis-
marck will be numbered among liv-
ing statesmen; and that the catalogue
of disasters by which the enemies
of the Holy See are punished will
be so far completed for the present
century, as to serve a salutary pur-
pose in warning and instructing the
rising and coming statesmen and
sovereigns of Christendom.

SONNET.

THERE is a castle of most royal state,

Wherein no warder watches from the walls,
Nor groom nor squire abides in court or halls :
Silent are they, grass-grown and desolate.

A thousand steeds a thousand knights await,
Sleeping, all harnessed, in the marble halls
Until the Appointed One upon them calls,
Winding the horn that hangs beside the gate.

Then shall the doors fly open, and the steeds

Neigh, and the knights leap, shouting, to the selle,
And they shall follow him and do such deeds

All men must own him master. But the spell
Who knows not and. uncalled, essays the horn,
Falls at the fated doors and dies forlorn.

The Irish Hedge-Poets.

THE IRISH HEDGE-POETS.

THE music of the ancient Irish
has been preserved because no in-
terpreter was needed to translate
its beauties into another tongue.
The poetry which accompanied
the music has well-nigh perished,
and what remains attracts but little
attention. For this there are two
reasons : the students of Celtic
literature have been few, and of
those who have endeavored to
translate its poetry into English
there are but one or two who have
succeeded in any fortunate degree
in retaining the spirit and beauty
of the original. The best as well as
earliest collection of Irish poetry is
Hardiman's Minstrelsy of Ireland,
bat it is accompanied by feeble and
conventional translations. A lite-
ral translation of the poetry would
make this a most valuable collec-
tion for the general reader ; as it
stands, it is only of worth to those
who can read the original Irish.
Several other collections, smaller
and of less value, are in existence,
but a real and full collection of Irish
poetry has yet to be made. We
are aided in the present article by
two small volumes entitled Munster
Poetry, collected by John O'Daly, a
well-known Dublin bookseller and
antiquarian, and translated, the
first series by the unfortunate James
Clarence Mangan, and the second
by Dr. George Sigurson. They do
not attempt to deal with the gen-
eral subject, but only profess to be
a collection of popular poetry cur-
rent in Munster from eighty to one
hundred years ago, and composed
by the last of the Irish bards who
sang in their native tongue, and
were called "hedge-poets."

The race of bards or hedsce-

poets — whichever title may be pre-
ferred— who sang in their native
language virtually became extinct
at the beginning of the present
century. The history of their lives,
as well as most of their poetry, ex-
ists only in tradition, and, but for a
few incomplete collections, would
soon vanish for ever. It is not too
late, however, to form some picture of
them, and the value of their poetry
is such as to make us deeply re-
gret that no more has been pre-
served. And, even without intrin-
sic merit, the national poetry of a
people is always worth preserving.

During the eighteenth century,
as is well known, the Celtic Irish
were at a very low stage of politi-
cal fortune. The entire subjuga-
tion of Ireland, for the time, oc-
curred at the battle of Limerick.
The flower of the army of Sarsfield
followed its gallant leader to the
plains of Mind en, and made the
reputation of their race as soldiers
under the French banners. Those
who remained in Ireland were
crushed into outward subjection.
The tyranny of the conquerors, ex-
asperated by the doubtful and des-
perate struggle, placed no bounds
to the humiliation which it endea-
vored to inflict. The penal laws
were cruel and barbarous beyond
those of any nation on record.
All intellectual as well as religious
education was denied the Irish peo-
ple, and it was only by stealth that
they could gratify their thirst for
either.

The spirit of the Celtic popula-
tion was crushed, but not degrad-
ed. They were conquered, and
were aware that another struggle-
was hopeless for the present. None

The Irish Hedge- Poets.

407

the less they preserved all their
national feelings. The language
of the common people in their
daily intercourse was Irish ; their
only pride was in Irish tradition,
and their only poetry was in the
same melodious tongue. This con-
tinued long after English was the
language used for business. It
must not be supposed that, al-
though the Celtic Irish were poor
and deprived of all religious and
political rights, they were en-
tirely ignorant or uncultivated.
The average Irish peasant of the
last century was likely to have
more learning than his English
compeer. The hedge-schoolmas-
ter was abroad in the land, and
the eagerness with which Irish pea-
sant lads sought for knowledge un-
der difficulties was only second to
the fervency of their religious faith
under persecution. The educa-
tion was not of the most valuable
or practical cast in all particulars,
but that it was cultivated so ear-
nestly is the highest proof of the
undegraded character of the peo-
ple. The hedge-schoolmasters
were more learned in Latin than
in science, and taught their pupils
to scan more assiduously than to
add. The traditionary Irish his-
tory, the exploits of Con of the
Hundred Battles, and the prophe-
cies of Columbkille were expound-
ed more particularly than the bat-
tles of Wolfe or Marlborough or
the speeches of Chatham. This
was but natural. The Irish then
felt no share in English victories
or interest in English literature.
Poetry was especially a branch of
learning in those days as it has
never been since. The hedge-
schoolmasters were often poets as
well as pedagogues, and the amount
of verse produced of one sort
or another was enormous. Much

of it was naturally worthless, but
among the crowd of poetasters was
here and there a poet who had
the heart to feel and the tongue to
express the woes of his country
and the passions of his own heart
in the language of nature. The
hearts of the people answered them,
and their memories treasured their
songs. They were no longer bards
entertained in the halls of the
great. They were the wandering
minstrels of the poor, but some of
them were genuine poets whose
power and grace were visible under
every disadvantage.

In considering the fragments of
this poetry three things must be
kept in mind : first, that it has
been preserved mostly by oral tra-
dition ; secondly, that it is trans-
lated from a language whose idiom
is especially hard to be rendered
into English; and, thirdly, that the
lyrical form imposes additional dif-
ficulties in adequate rendering.
By far the larger number of the
productions of the hedge-poets are
of an allegorical cast. The poet in
a vision sees a queenly maiden, of
exquisite beauty and grace, sitting
lonely and weeping on some fairy
rath by moonlight, by the side of
some softly-flowing stream, or by
the wall of some ruined castle of
ancient splendor. He is at first
confounded by her beauty. Then
he takes courage at her distress,
and asks whether she is Helen of
old who caused Troy town to burn,
or she that was the love of Fion,
or Deirdre, for whom the sons
of Usnach died. These are the
three types of beauty almost inva-
riably used. The lady replies, in
a voice that " pierces the heart of
the listener like a spear," that she
is neither of these three; she is
Kathleen ni Ullachan, or Grauine
Maol, Roisin Dubh, the Little Black

408

The Irish Hedge-Poets.

Rose, or Sheela na Guira, these
being the figurative names for the
female personification of Ireland.
She laments to the poet's ear that
her heroes brave, her Patrick Sars-
field, her John O'Dwyer of the
Glens, are driven across the seas,
and that she is the desolate slave
of the Saxon churls. Then she
rises into a strain, half-despairing,
half-exulting, that the heroes will
soon return with help from the
hosts of France and Spain ; that the
fires of the Saxon houses shall
light every glen, and the "sullen
tribe of the dreary tongue " be
driven into the sea ; that God shall
soon be worshipped once more on
her desolate altars, and the kingly
hero, her noble spouse, her prince
of war, shall once more clasp her
to his arms and place three crowns
upon her head. This is the out-
line of almost every one of these
patriotic visions, and it will be
seen at once how beautiful was the
conception and how capable of ex-
hibiting the highest pathos. The
Irish minstrels had to sing of their
country in secret, for the ear of the
conquering race must not hear of
their hopes and fears. In this dis-
guise they would give voice to their
patriotic passion as to an earthly
mistress, and »their country's woes
and hopes could be imparted with a
double intensity. This personifying
the country in the form of a beau-
tiful and desolate woman is not pe-
culiar to Irish poets, but seems the
form of expression for the passion-
ate patriotism of all oppressed
countries. It is common to the
Italian, the Polish, and the Servian
poets.

In the description of the beauty
of the forlorn maiden one poem
bears a great resemblance to an-
other, and those beauties which
are peculiar to Irish girls are her

distinguishing features; thus, the
long, flowing tresses, the coolun, or
head of fair locks, is often most
beautifully painted.

" Her clustering, loosened tresses

Flowed glossily, enwreathed with pearls,
To veil her breast with kisses

And sunny rays of golden curls "

— Sheela ni Cullenan, by Wm. Lenane.

" Her curling tresses meet

Her small and gentle feet.
Her golden fleece — the pride of Greece,

Mis;ht shame those locks to greet."

" The dew-drops flow down

Her thick curls' golden brown.1'

— The Drooping Heart, by MacColter.

" Sunbright is the neck that her golden locks cover."
— The Cuilfhon.

" Her hair o'er her shoulders was flowing

In clusters all golden and glowing,
Luxuriant and thick as in meads ar<x the grass-
blades

That the scythe of the mower is mowing "
— Tke Vision of Conor Sullivan.

From these specimens it may be
guessed that either blonde beauty
was more common among Irish
maidens than now, or that its rarity
made it doubly prized. It appears
to have been as much in demand
as in these days, which have wit-
nessed the grand rage for fair locks
at the expense of bleaching-irons
and Pactolian dye. It is only oc-
casionally that some poet dares to
express his preference for cean dubh
dheelish — the dear black head.

The pure brow of wax in fairness
and radiance is not forgotten :

" Whose brow is more fair than the silver bright ;
Oh ! 'twould shed a ray of beauteous light
In the darkest glen of mists of the south."

— The Melodious Little Cuckoo.

Narrow eyebrows finely arched
were a peculiar mark of distinction.
For the eyes there is almost a
whole new nomenclature of com-
parison and compliment. The pe-
culiar and most often repeated
color is "green," which is the un-
compromising English translation
of the delicate Irish epithet which
means

The Irish Hedge-Poets.

409

" The grayest of things blue.
The greenest of things gray "

— that shade of the most beautiful
and brilliant eyes well known to
Spanish as well as Irish poets, and
which Longfellow and Swinburne
have not hesitated to describe by
the naked and imperfect English
adjective. This is the way in
which one of these ignorant min-
strels expresses what he means, and
renders it with a new grace:

11 1 gave you — oh ! I gave you — I gave you my whole

love ;
On the festival of Mary my poor heart you stole,

love,
With your soft green eyes like dew-drops on corn

that is springing,
With the music of your red lips like sweet starlings

singing."

— Fair Mary Barry.

A beautiful and apt comparison
for the sweet, rosy bloom, nowhere
found in such perfect charm as in
Ireland, was the apple blossom and
the berry.

" On her cheek the crimson berry
Lay in the lily's bosom wan."

— Slieela ni Cullenan.

" The bloom on thy cheek shames the apple's soft
blossom."

Among the finest and most delicate
comparisons, however, is this :

" Like crimson rays of sunset streaming
O'er sunny lilies her bright cheeks shone."

The fair one's bosom is declared
to be like to the breast of the sailing
swan, to the thorn blossoms, to the
snow, to the summer cloud, in a va-
riety of beautiful expressions :

" Her bosom's pearly light

Than summer clouds more bright.

More pure its glow than falling snow
Or swan of plumage white."

— Beside the Lte, by Michael O'Longen.

" Her breast has the whiteness
That thorn-blossoms bore."

Her hands are pure and white as
the snow, and never without being
accomplished in the art of embroi-
dery. There is scarcely a poem in

the whole collection in which the
skill of the heroine in this particu-
lar is not mentioned. She does
not play upon the harp. That was
a manly profession. Embroidery
was the fashionable accomplish-
ment for Irish ladies, and the maid-
en who typified Ireland must be
pre-eminent in it.

" Her soft, queenly fingers

Are skilful as fair,
While she gracefully lingers

O'er broideries rare.
The swan and the heath-hen,

Bird, blossom, and leaf,
Are shaped by this sweet maid
Who left me in grief."

The voice was that of the thrush
singing farewell to the setting sun,
the cuckoo in the glen, or the lark
high in air. Bird-voiced was the
universal epithet. The branch of
bloom, the bough of apple-blos-
soms, was the whole lovely creature.

Such were the beauties and ac-
complishments of the heroines of
the hedge-poets, largely, doubtless,
derived from the earlier bards, but
often exclusively their own. They
were chiefly applied to the ideal fig-
ure who represented in her beauty
and her sorrow their forlorn country,
but sometimes to the earthly mis-
tress of flesh and blood whose
smiles they sought. Seldom any-
thing so natural and so delicate is
to be found in any national poetry.
The false and artificial compliments
of English amatory poetry, equally
with the overstrained comparisons
of Oriental verse, seem tasteless
and tawdry beside these simple
blossoms of nature. They give
out health and perfume, while the
English love-songs are like wax,
and the gorgeous verse of the East
is, like its vegetation, magnificent
but often odorless.

Those poems which we have de-
scribed form much the larger por-
tion of the remains of the hedge-

The Irish Hedge-Poets.

poets ; but there are others, devot-
ed purely to love, to satire, and
to lamentation. There are some
which are a sort of dialogue and
courtship in rhyme. The min-
strel " soothers " the damsel with
all the arts of his flattering tongue.
He calls her by every sweet name
he can think of; tells how deep is his
passion and how renowned he will
make her by his verse. The rustic
coquette replies with a recapitula-
tion of all his faults and failings,
his poverty, his fondness for drink,
his disgrace with all his relations,
and his general unfitness for the
yoke of matrimony, and then very
often yields to his flattery and
goes away with him; or else she
listens to his string of endearments
without a word, and then dismisses
him with stinging contempt. Some-
times the bard sits down in sorrow,
generally in a tap- room over an
empty glass, and details the charms
of the fair one who has wrought
his woe ; or sometimes, though rare-
ly, it is one of the opposite sex,
who has been driven from home by
the curses of her kindred, and, sit-
ting by the roadside, tells her tale
of woe or despair. Such cases,
however, are infrequent, and the
general purity of both theme and
verse is worthy of all praise. The
number of lamentations is much
less than would naturally be ex-
pected among a people whose ve-
hemence of grief is noted, and
where the keener s extemporane-
ous mourning reached such a
height of impassioned eloquence.
From whatever reason, but few ap-
pear to have been preserved.
Those that are, however," are char-
acterized by profound strength and
pathos. The keen of Felix Mac-
Carthy for his children is one of
the saddest lamentations ever put
into verse. It is entirely too long

for quotation, but these two verses,
describing the mother's appearance
and grief, will show something of
its genuineness and power :

" Woe is me ! her dreary pall,
Who royal fondness gave to all,
Whose heart gave milk and love to each —
Woe is me ! her 'plaining speech "

" Woe is me ! her hands now weak
With smiting her white palms so meek.
Wet her eyes at noon, and broken
Her true heart with grief unspoken."

A lament for Kilcash, or rather for
its patroness, is also very powerful.
The romantic love-tales are few
in comparison with the number
among the Irish street-ballads of
to-day. The rich young nobleman
who falls in love with the pretty
girl milking her cow, and' the fair
lady of great estate who picks out
her lover from the tall young men
in her own service, make but few
appearances. The only ballad of
this kind in the collection is not
after the usual pattern. The heir
to "land and long towers white"
certainly falls in love with a rustic
maiden, but, instead of flying with
him on his roan steed and becom-
ing mistress of his castle, she tells
him with great prudence that he
will find other maidens better suit-
ed to his degree :

" I'm not used at my mother's to sit with hosts,
I'm not used at the board to have wines and toasts,
I'm not used to dance-halls with music bold,
Nor to couches a third of them red with gold."

And, in spile of his fervent and elo-
quent protestations, she refuses to go
with him.

Such are the themes and charac-
teristics of the last age of Celtic
poetry in Ireland. If we have
failed to show that the minstrels
who sang in such poverty and op-
pression had natural genius of a
high order, we have not accom-
plished our purpose. We think
that true poetry is visible in almost
all that remains of their produc-

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

411

lions. Like all sectional and class
poets, they resembled each other
very much. The same species of
imagery, the same terms of thought
and peculiar epithets, were common
to them as to the Troubadours, the
Scandinavian minstrels, and to all
other classes of poets singing to a
confined audience and having little
or no acquaintance with other
forms of poetry. It is through
them alone that the voice of the

Irish people of their day can be
heard. All other forms of the ex-
pression of the oppressed race have
perished. In the music and poet-
ry of Ireland is made manifest, so
that the dullest ear cannot mistake
it, the sorrow of a nation in bond-
age, tinging all mirth, all hope, and
all love with an indefinable ca-
dence of melancholy as plainly as
in the real outbursts of lamentation
and despairing cries of woe.

RELIGION ON THE EAST COAST OF AFRICA.

THE marvellous success of the
indomitable Stanley has attracted
the attention of all to Africa, that
region of mystery, marvel, and ma-
laria. The Catholic would natur-
ally learn something of the work of
the church in that continent, and of
the religious condition of its popu-
lation. But the subject is too vast
for anything less than a large vol-
ume, and it will be more profitable
to confine our attention to the do-
minions of the Sultan of Zanzibar.
This region has a double interest.
Zanzibar is the starting-point of al-
most every Central African expedi-
tion. Thence Livingstone, Speke
and Grant, Cameron, and Stanley on
two occasions, have struck into the
interior and made valuable dis-
coveries. It is also the old centre
of the East African slave-trade,
which, though it has received a se-
vere check, is not yet abolished.
Moreover, Zanzibar is a microcosm
— a little world in itself. There one
meets with the Arab, the Hindoo,
the Persian, the Malagashi, the Ban-
ian, the Goa Portuguese, the ne-
gro, and the European.

The most important portion of

the Sultan of Zanzibar's territory is
the islands of which Zanzibar is the
chief. The name was once applied
to the whole coast, and it is proba-
ble that that must have been the
meaning of Marco Polo when he says
(on hearsay evidence) that the isl-
and of Zanzibar is two thousand
miles round. The term is suppos-
ed to signify the " Land of the
Blacks." The island is in about 6°
south latitude, 48 miles long by 18
broad. It is separated from the
mainland by a strait only 20 miles
in breadth. As one approaches
Zanzibar from the north the coast
appears bare, rocky, and surround-
ed by low cliffs. Here dwell some
wild people, almost completely cut
off from the more civilized portion of
the inhabitants, and following de-
basing and degrading superstitions.
But as we sail southwards, between
the island and the main, the shore
becomes low and flat, the beach cov-
ered with sand of silvery whiteness,
and the whole backed by rising
ground not more than 300 feet
high, on which grow in rich abun-
dance cocoanut and other feathery-
leaved palms. Soft breezes, laden

412

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

with s\veet odors from the groves
of spice-trees, blow from the shore.
The island is rich in fruits ; man-
gos, oranges, limes, pummalos or
shaddock, pineapples, ' jack-fruit,
guavas, bananas, and cashew
abound. But about four years ago
a hurricane visited Zanzibar for
the first time ; almost all the dhows
in the harbor were wrecked, many
lives were lost, and the greater part
of the trees were destroyed. On
one estate known to the writer only
four per cent, of the trees remained
standing, and the ground, strewn
with palms, was a lamentable sight.

At the entrance of Zanzibar har-
bor are several beautiful islands of
emerald green. One of these, call-
ed French Island, is used as a bur-
ial-place for Europeans, and many
wooden crosses and boards mark
the last resting-place of seamen of
the British navy, cut down by the
fever which is so fatal on this coast.
The heat is not excessive, seldom
rising to 90°, but there is a feeling
of depression in the atmosphere,
and a short residence in this clim-
ate serves to take the energy out of
most people.

Now we arrive at the city of
Zanzibar, the most important place
in East Africa. Its name, in the
native language, is Unguja. For
miles before reaching the city we
have seen large white, square build-
ings close to the shore — the country
residences of wealthy Arabs. The
appearance is very pleasing, and so
is that of the city from the sea, as
similar houses stand near it. These
are the English, French, American,
and German consulates, over which
wave the flags of their respective
nations; also the sultan's palace,
the custom-house, and residences of
rich Arabs and Hindoos. They
are built of coral covered with the
whitest plaster, only relieved by regu-

lar rows of windows, the brightness
reflected from these houses being al-
most blinding. But on entering
the town you cease to wonder at
the bad name it has earned. With
scarcely an exception Zanzibar is a
heap of rubbish ; the narrow lanes,
or paths which do duty for streets,
are surrounded by low hovels form-
ed of earth plastered over wooden
frames, roofed with palm-leaves,
and possessing no means of ventila-
tion but the doorway, the interior
being consequently dark, stifling,
and filthy. Many buildings have
been allowed to go to utter ruin,
and the very mosques are hardly
presentable. But the bazaars form
the sight of the city. They are,
perhaps, a little wider than the
other thoroughfares, and the fronts
of the houses are occupied by small
stalls, on which are piled articles
the most incongruous — soap, fish,
plantains, cotton goods, medicine,
oil, etc. In the midst is seated,
cross-legged, a fat old Banian,
stripped to the waist, with his naked
foot in a basket of grain, or a pret-
ty dark-eyed girl with a ring in her
nose. The market produce of all
kinds is heaped on the ground
without any attempt at order, and,
as every one present is screaming at
the top of his voice in his own lan-
guage, the Babel of tongues is com-
plete.

The government is in the hands
of the Arabs. This people have
from time immemorial had trading-
stations on the coast, but Vasco da
Gama doubled the Cape of Good
Hope in 1499, and the Portuguese
soon superseded the Arabs and
held the coast for a couple of hun-
dred years, when the Arabs suc-
ceeded in dislodging them, and
they are now confined to Mozam-
bique and Quilimane, at the mouth
of the Zambesi.

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

413

Remains of Portuguese forts are
scattered up and down the shores of
the mainland, and the writer assist-
ed once in whitewashing Vasco da
Gama's column at Melinda, which
makes an excellent harbor mark.
Near the fort at Zanzibar nume-
rous Portuguese cannon, cast in a
European arsenal in the present
century, lie on the ground, a proud
trophy for the Arabs and a humi-
liating spectacle for Europeans.
Fifty years ago Sayid Said, the
Imatim of Muscat, visited Zanzibar
and fixed his residence there. At
his death one of his sons succeeded
to his African and another to his
Arabian possessions, the former pay-
ing an annual tax of forty thousand
dollars to the Imaum. Sayid Bar-
ghash, the present sultan, succeed-
ed his brother Sayid Majid seven
years ago. He had previously been
exiled to Bombay at the instance of
the English, whose protigt Majid
was. His policy has been one of
economy and retrenchment. Though
the government may be called an
absolute monarchy, yet it answers
rather to the old feudal constitu-
tions of Europe in the middle ages,
the sultan being checked by mem-
bers of his own and other powerful
families.

The Arab statute-book is the
Koran interpreted by what may be
called the priesthood. But witch-
craft is a great power, not only
with the heathen but also with
Mahometans, in Africa, and, after
consulting his sheiks and sherifs,
the sultan often has recourse to
the heathen Mganga. One is re-
minded of the Witch of Endor, Pha-
rap's magicians, and many of the
old superstitions which we find
recorded in the ancient Hebrew
Scriptures.

The population of the city may
be one hundred thousand, and that

of the remainder of the island ra-
ther more ; but one cannot decide
this with any accuracy, as it is
against Moslem principles to take a
census. Who are they to count the
favors of God ? Of the mongrel
population of Zanzibar the Arab is
the dominant race, though there
are few, if any, pure Arabs — some-
times that name being applied to a
man as black as a negro. But the
better class of them are fine, hand-'
some men, splendidly dressed, and
very dignified and self-possessed.
They are ignorant, however, big-
oted, supercilious, and licentious.
They are also very indolent and
have few redeeming features. Low-
er classes of Arabs there are, who
are soldiers, sailors, traders, and so
on, and from them are drawn the
villains who carry on the iniquitous
slave-traffic.

There are about seven thousand
British subjects — Banians and oth-
er Indian peoples. The commerce
of the East African coast is chief-
ly in their hands, and they are the
bankers and represent the moneyed
interest. Those owning slaves are
in danger of losing them, if the
British consul discover the fact ;
but it is hardly possible for them
not to trade in slaves, as they are
always sold with landed properties,
and without them labor could hard-
ly be obtained.

Most of the army, which numbers
nine hundred, is composed of Be-
looches, who are a motley set of
rascals, brutal, lazy, and cowardly.
But somehow they contrive to live,
and arm themselves too, on three
dollars a month, and seem to be
pretty prosperous. The artillery-
men are Persians — tall, handsome
men with black moustaches, high
black sheepskin caps, green tunics,
and loose trowsers. But their bat-
tery, which is full of small brass

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

and iron guns overlooking the sea,
is a poor affair, ridiculous from a
military point of vie\v, and better
adapted for firing salutes than for
purposes of warfare.

There are about two thousand
men from the Comoro Islands, but
no one seems to have anything good
to say of them.

The mass of the population is
composed of blacks from the east
coast. These are almost entirely
slaves, and are made to work for
the support of the lazy Arabs. A
person acquainted with the country
easily distinguishes members of the
different tribes from each other;
they may be , known by the tribe
marks — mostly punctures in the
forehead — and by their general ap-
pearance. The slaves are capable
of much endurance; the writer once
paid thirty or forty slave women
eight cents each for a day's work,
which consisted of walking thirty
miles, carrying weights on their
heads half the way. They did not
seem at all exhausted after this ar-
duous task. Great cruelties are
perpetrated in the capture of the
slaves and in conveying them to
Zanzibar, but, as a rule, they are
treated fairly enough when once
they are received into a family, be-
ing allowed one day a week to work
for themselves, besides other extra
time.

There are only sixty or seventy
white people — American, English,
Scotch, French, and German — but
without them the commerce of the
place would collapse. The chief
exports are spices, ivory, ebony,
cocoanuts, and gum-copal. The
imports are cotton fabrics, pocket-
handkerchiefs of bright colors,
crockery, etc.

The climate of Zanzibar is health-
ierthan that of the mainland, though
it is quite bad enough ; the won-

der is that any one can live there.
The city lies very low, almost sur-
rounded by a shallow lagoon, over
which the water flows at every tide,
leaving a deposit of reeking filth.
No attempt at drainage has been
made ; sanitary reform is totally
unknown ; and the smell of the
beach caused Livingstone to sug-
gest that the name should be
changed to Stinkibar. The year
before the great hurricane there was
a cholera epidemic which is sup-
posed to have killed ten thousand
people. Strangely enough, the
Europeans, who mostly suffer much
from fevers, were totally exempt,
and the natives got the notion that
the devil, who gave them' the cho-
lera, was afraid to attack the re-
doubtable Myungoo ; so they some-
times whitewashed a man who
showed symptoms of the disease, to
cheat the devil, but the devil refus-
ed to be cheated so easily. The
physical is far superior, however,
to the moral condition of Zanzibar;
in fact, the place is a Sodom where
morality is unknown.

To arrive at an idea of the reli-
gious condition of the peoples it is
necessary to consider each race sepa-
rately, and try to understand their
habits and modes of thought. First
let us take the negro — the most nu-
merous class. Even so we shall be
generalizing for the different tribes
and nations of the interior, as dis-
tinct from each other and the races
of Europe.

The writer has had considerable
opportunities of judging of the
black man, having served in a
British man-of-war engaged in the
suppression of the slave-trade, and
having for some time been in charge
of an establishment of liberated
slaves — mostly boys. The negro
character is a strange series of con-
tradictions, and it takes some dire

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

415

to understand him. He is pro-
foundly conscious of his inferiority.
An English officer adopted a little
slave boy taken from a dhow, and
we taught him a few elements of
religion, which he eagerly grasped.
Amongst others he was much
struck by the idea of a future
state. One day he was being chaff-
ed : " Ah ! you nigger — thick lips —
flat nose," when he replied : " If
I'm a good nigger, after I die I
shall get up again, not black then,
but white as you are." It was a
long time, though, before he could
believe that a negro could rise
again, though it did not seem un-
reasonable to him for an Arab or
white man to rise.

Passing with this same boy,
Mumbo, through a graveyard at
Zanzibar, he pointed to a grave.
"Who's there?" he said. "Arab
man," I answered, recognizing it
to be so from the concrete with
which the grave was covered.
" He get up again ?" " Yes," I re-
plied, after which the boy was
thoughtful and silent for a while.
" Who's buried there ?" he repeat-
ed, pointing to a grave marked by
a wooden cross. "A Msungu "
(white man), I answered. " He

get up again :

Yes." Another

pause. "And who's there ?" the boy
again asked, pointing to a mean
grave unmarked by cross or stone.
" A nigger man," said I. " He get
up again ?" But on replying in the
affirmative he would not believe it,
and continued obstinately sceptical
for some time.

Selfishness seems to be the most
prominent feature of the negro
character. Civilized people mask
the repulsive feeling, but not so the
black. Everything is for himself
and his own present sensual grati-
fication. They have not a particle
of gratitude, and if you show them

kindness or give them a present it
is considered a sign of weakness,
and their contempt for their bene-
factor is apparent. There is no
word expressive of thanks in the
Svvahili language, though the
" Santa " of the Arab, accompanied
by a bow, the right hand placed on
the heart, is most graceful and
pleasing. On taking charge of the
boys' house, in the benevolence of
my heart I invested in numbers of
stalks of bananas — a large one can
be obtained for eight cents— and
distributed them. But no word of
thinks was heard, and the boys be-
gan to consider fruit as a right, and
to grumble if it were not forth-
coming ; so I grew rather disgust-
ed and discontinued scattering lar-
gesse amidst such a graceless set.
Neither do they show much affec-
tion. This, perhaps, is hardly to be
wondered at, as the slave-traffic,
which has existed from time imme-
morial, must, by constantly separat-
ing families, have weakened and al-
most destroyed all ties of kindred.
A gentleman well acquainted with
the people told me that the only
known affection amongst them was
that between a son and his mother.
Several slave boys whom we had
liberated and kept on board the
ship, on our leaving the coast were
wisely sent on shore to the mission,
only the one of whom I have
previously spoken remaining. He
wept piteously and sobbed himself
to sleep. We were touched, and
fancied that, after all, we had formed
too low an estimate of the negro,
till on waking he appeared to have
completely forgotten his friends, and
never spoke of them again. It then
appeared that his grief had been
purely selfish ; for, as he phrased it,
he would have no one " to skylark
with." " What will you give me ?"
is the view a negro takes of his

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

neighbor, and in this the Ki-S\vahili,
and even the Arab, very much re-
semble him. One's ear soon
grows familiar with the cry of
" Lata paca "—"Bring pice "—pice
being little Indian copper coins
which form the currency at Zanzi-
bar. This question is asked you
in the streets or country roads, not
merely by the poor, but even by
well-to-do people. I was one day
walking home from a feast to which
I had been invited by the proprietor
of a sugar plantation — a S wahili man.
These people are mulattoes, partly
Arab, but mostly negro. They are
Mahometans and call themselves
Arabs. We had been hospitably
feted, and I was accompanied by a
brother of my host, a nice-looking
young fellow, upright as a dart — as
they all are — and dressed in the
graceful long white linen robe which
they always wear. He was proceed-
ing to his home, a well-built stone
house, but before leaving me I was as-
tonished at his asking in Swahili for
a few pice ! Doubting my ears, I ask-
ed a boy who understood English
what he had said, and he told me
that I had not mistaken his mean-
ing ; so I gave him two or three
coppers, and he went away well
pleased.

Negroes are very improvident,
like most, savage races. They take
no thought for the morrow — not
from faith, but from utter reckless-
ness. They are also fond of deser-
tion for the mere sake of change.
Slaves sometimes leave their mas-
ters and hire themselves out for a
year or two to some one else, re-
turning afterwards as if nothing had
happened, and receiving no punish-
ment, the master fearing that he
might revenge himself on him or
desert again, and also arguing that
it is his nature and that no better
can be expected of him. I was

once on a shooting party in the
Kingani River, and placing one of
the boats in charge of a quarter-
master, left with him a Seedee boy,
or black seaman, to clean the jaws
of a hippopotamus that I had shot
on the previous day. I went up
the river in the other boat with the
remaining seamen for a day's shoot-
ing, and on my return in the even-
ing was informed that the black
had decamped, and we never saw
any more of him. In the ship he
was receiving about four times as
much pay as he could possibly earn
elsewhere, and, in addition to this,
he left clothes and money behind.
Yet we afterwards learnt that be-
fore leaving the vessel he had told
his friends of his intention to run.

The negro is, in Africa as else-
where, exceedingly indolent, and,
nature having provided him with
abundance of the necessaries of life,
he indulges his laziness to the full
when he possibly can — that is, in
his native country or at Zanzibar,
if he can manage to possess a few
slaves to work for him.

He is also obstinate and head-
strong. Going on shore on the
beautiful island of Pemba, north of
Zanzibar, to trade for provisions,
they were uniformly refused us,
whatever price we offered. Yet
next day the natives brought the
things to the ship, some miles from
the shore, and offered them for sale.
A little bit of a boy was so obstinate
that he would not obey orders un-
less he chose, even if thrashed with
a rhinoceros-hide whip ; neither did
he flinch nor utter a cry under
punishment. But when he left the
ship, where he had been petted by
the sailors, being sent to the French
Mission, he "was so disgusted that
the first thing he did was to roll on
the beach and completely destroy
his new clothes, and the missionaries

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

417

were compelled to restore him his
old sailor costume. Still he sulked,
and when I left they had not man-
aged to get him to speak.

Negroes are subject to sudden
fits of fury almost amounting to
madness, and then they cry, shout,
vociferate, and argue in the most
ridiculous manner. They love to
eat and are very greedy, but are still
more fond of drinking, and in their
own country begin the day by copi-
ous potations of beer. However,
at Zanzibar drunkenness would be
punished by imprisonment ; and
that is no trifle, the prisoners being
placed in a yard enclosed by four
walls, and receiving no food, unless
they have a friend to bring them
some. They are also exceedingly
depraved, and, when brought into
contact with the semi-civilization
of the coast, they become, if any-
thing, worse than before- A
stranger is astonished at the cool
manner in which they enter a
strange house, if they see the door
open. They place their spear in a
corner, set themselves in the best
place, and talk till they are tired
(they are especially fond of hearing
themselves talk), when they rise
and leave. It is no good trying to
exclude them ; their curiosity must
be satisfied, and they insist on see-
ing and learning about everything
— examining and handling your
clothes and asking the value of each
article.

Negroes have the redeeming fea-
ture of being mostly good-temper-
ed and pleased by a very little.
They delight in a joke, yet their
wit is of the most elementary char-
acter. They are exceedingly fond
of music ; neither does its unvaried
monotony pall on them. I once
passed an old man amusing him-
self by drumming with two sticks
on a plank; returning after some
VOL. xxvi. — 27

hours, I found him continuing the
performance, which he had evident-
ly kept up all the time. You will
see them on a moonlight night, or
even in the daytime, dancing and
flinging their limbs about in the
most ridiculous and imgraceful
manner to the tune of tomtoms and
fifes ; yet they keep perfect time.
A circle is formed, and a perform-
er waltzes rapidly around the inner
space, looking up to the sky, till she
becomes giddy and falls into the
arms of her friends. Whatever
work they are engaged in, these
people always sing, and in the
streets you constantly hear the
chant of porters, who carry tusks.
of ivory or bales of goods slung be-
tween two of them on a pole which
rests on their shoulders.

The East African negro has
been completely debased by cen-
turies of oppression and slavery.
"All the good qualities appear
crushed out of the African race/'
said an experienced missionary
at Zanzibar to me. Their religion
is the same as that of the natives
of the west coast — fetichism. I
believe this word is derived from
the Portuguese feitifo, a doing —
that is, of magic. Nature has col-
ored the black man's thoughts, but
not with the sublime and beautiful.
He sees nothing in nature but the
terrible, vast, threatening, and hos-
tile. The dense jungle with huge
trees, concealing poisonous snakes,
fierce lions, and spotted leopards;:
the fever-breeding swamp; the de-
vastating cyclone — these have pro-
duced a feeling of dread, helpless-
ness, and terror on his debased
mind. He has but a very vague,
unformed idea of a Supreme Being,
and does not at all conceive of the
spiritual and eternal side of man.
To him death is destruction. Yet
he believes that tlie ghost of the

4i8

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

departed person remains, and he
always imagines it to be harmful
and hostile. In fact, he is for ever
in terror of ghosts and witchcraft,
and his religion consists in the
propitiation of natural objects.
The African's creed may be re-
duced to two articles : the first
demonology, or the existence of
spectres of the dead ; the second
witchcraft, or black magic. Their
native superstitions the slaves carry
with them to Zanzibar or wherever
they are taken, and so deeply root-
-ed are these beliefs in their minds
that I have often been surprised to
hear negroes who have been Pro-
testant Christians for years, and
daily attending public Christian
^worship, speak of witchcraft in or-
dinary conversation as much as a
miatter of course as they would of
iiny every-day occurrence. For in-
. stance, missing some pice from my
drawers, I asked my servant to
'find out who had taken them. He
replied that he could not do so, but
'.that a man had been there years
..ago who " made plenty witchcraft":
he would have told me, but now he
was gone. Some very good Chris-
tian boys, as I was walking with
them one day, suddenly dropped

• their voices and told me that it
was a "plenty bad place." I im-
agined that fever or ague was in-
tended, as it was low, marshy

•ground ; but no such thing. They
had once witnessed some "witch-

• craft " or other there.

There are Afganga — wizards
.•and witches — who are partly im-
postors and partly dupes of their

• own imagination. To these peo-
ple the negroes have recourse
in any calamity or sickness. Their
office is to transfer the evil from
which they suffer to some one else.
Of course payment is the prelimina-
ry— no pay, no work. And an Afri-

can must have present payment ;
he attaches no value to promises
of future reward, though ever so
near. These Mganga endeavor
to entice ghosts from possessed
persons and transfer them to some
inanimate object, striving to effect
it by music, dancing, and drinking.
Thus, they nail pieces of cloth to
trees to coax the devils into them.
Epileptic fits are very common, and
it is not astonishing that they
should regard them as the effect
of seizure by some external agent.
On the mainland they attempt to
discover the workers of magic by
most cruel ordeals.

There are also rain-makers. It
does not require an exceptionally
weatherwise person to infer what
the weather will be in a country
of regular monsoons and seasons ;
still, they sometimes make a mis-
take, and then the false prophets
have to escape as best they can.

The Arabs have the utmost con-
tempt for the negroes, and, so far
from trying to convert them, pur-
posely leave them to perdition ; if
they made them Mahometans they
would be their equals, and this they
do not at all desire.

Such is the character and reli-
gious belief of these unhappy peo-
ple. We will see later on what the
church can do for them, but in this
inquiry one important subject
must be considered — that is, the
slave-trade. Slavery on the White
Nile is admirably described by
Sir Samuel Baker in his Nile
Basin, and it is much the same on
the east coast. The petty native
chieftains are constantly at war
with each other, the object being
plunder. They try to surprise a
neighboring village at night, fire it,
and surround it with armed men.
As the luckless inhabitants rush
out to escape from the flames,

Religion en the East Coast of Africa.

419

their enemies shoot down the men
and seize the women and children
for slaves, carrying off the cattle.
Sometimes a thieving Arab slaving
party joins one chief who has a
grudge against a neighboring vil-
lage, assisting him to destroy it in
the manner just described and
sharing the plunder. The Arabs
then manage to quarrel with their
allies, and so obtain their goods
also.

As long as this state of things
exists mission work in the interior
will be impossible. The Protestant
English mission, under Bishop
Mackenzie, some years ago estab-
lished itself in the interior near the
Zambesi, and gathered together
some hundreds of natives whose im-
provement they hoped gradually
to effect. But a powerful tribe
attacking the one amongst which
they dwelt, they had to perform
the uncongenial task of driving
off the invaders with their rifles.
Their friends were saved for the
time, but many of the missionaries
had died from fever, and the small
remainder was obliged to retire.
Shortly after this the tribe with
which they had been was swept
away and destroyed. The slave-
trade naturally prevents all pro-
gress and the increase of popula-
tion. It also weakens all family
ties, parents killing their offspring
if they are in want. Great cruel-
ties are practised, not only in the
capture of slaves, but in their
transit to the place of destination.
The Arabs are very improvident,
and sometimes, having failed to
provide sufficient food for their
caravan, they leave some of the
slaves in the desert to starve, not
even removing the yokes by which
they are fastened together. I was
told of a woman who was carrying
a bale of cloth, nnd on the jour-

ney gave birth to a child. She
could not carry both the baby and
the goods ; the latter were the more
valuable, so the infant was brained
against the nearest tree and left on
the ground.

About four years ago a treaty
was signed between the Sultan of
Zanzibar and the British govern-
ment, by which the importation of
slaves was prohibited, but the
Arabs were permitted to retain
the slaves they already possessed.
Strong pressure had to be brought
to bear on the Arabs to compel
them to sign this treaty ; but even
now a considerable traffic is carried
on by the east coast with Arabia,
Pemba, and Madagascar. The ne-
groes are crowded into the slave-
dhows, and their sufferings from
hunger and filth must be extreme
on a voyage. Many die and are
thrown overboard, and the remain-
der land in a miserably reduced
condition. But the household
slaves are treated kindly and well
fed; this the owner finds politic, or
the slave might desert. They are ad-
dressed as " Ndugu-yango " — " My
brother " — and considered part of
the family.

There are two sorts of slaves in
the islands — the Muwallid, or do-
mestic, born in slavery, and the
wild imported slave. The former
class are much better treated than
the others. Even young captured
slaves are not so tractable as they,
but the older ones are very obsti-
nate and contrary and given to
thieving and disorder. Sometimes
in revenge they attempt the life of
their master or try to get him into
serious trouble, yet they are seldom
punished for it, any more than
with us a vicious animal would be.
They are slaves, and it is their na-
ture, and they themselves give this
as their excuse when convicted of

42O

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

the most abominable crimes. But
slaves often rise to a very impor-
tant position; and as Abraham sent
his servant to Mesopotamia to ne-
gotiate his son's marriage, so slaves
are entrusted by their masters with
the command of trading caravans
to the interior, they preferring to
remain comfortably at home. Free
negroes have been known to sell
themselves for slaves, and, when
asked about it, to reply : " What
can a dog do without a master ?"
Also, slaves often own slaves of
their own. The pilot of Zanzibar,
an official of some importance call-
ed Buckett, was a slave, and, when
seen habited' in a naval officer's
old coat and a handsome turban
on his head, he appeared a person
of much distinction.

It is difficult to see how slavery
can be kept up at Zanzibar, now
that importation is forbidden ; for
the annual loss from death and de-
sertion is thirty per cent., and the
average annual importation a few
years ago was estimated at thirteen
thousand. Slavery, as it has been
there, is an abominable institution
and a complete bar to improve-
ment.

Though the negro is so ignorant,
superstitious, and debased, yet it
has been abundantly shown that
he is capable of improvement. I
once visited the well-ordered es-
tate of Kokotoni, in the north of
Zanzibar Island, the property of
Capt. Fraser. I found it in charge
of an intelligent Scotchman, who
said that they had about five hun-
dred laborers resident on the plan-
tation— half men and half women.
They required them all to marry,
gave them cottages, provision,
grounds, and two dollars and a half
each per month, and they were an
orderly and well-conducted people.
The overseer had taught them differ-

ent trades — as that of wheelwright,
necessary for the work of the estate
— and, though they sometimes de-
serted in true negro fashion, yet the
truants were sure to return again.

At Zanzibar and Bagomoyo,
twenty-five miles off on the main-
land, at the mouth of the Kingani
River, the Societe du Saint-Esprit,
the parent house of which is in
Paris, have most flourishing estab-
lishments. The town house is in
the centre of Zanzibar, its corru-
gated iron roof, towering above the
neighboring buildings, being a con-
spicuous object. On entering you
will be greeted in good French by
very civil negro boys dressed in
blue blouse and trowsers'and wear-
ing a black glazed hat. They will
conduct you to a spacious sitting-
room decorated with pictures of
religious subjects, and before long
the superior, Pere Etienne, appears.
He is a tall, slight man, and has not
lost the cavalry swagger which he
acquired as captain in a Lancers
regiment, and which forms a strange
contrast to his black soutane. He
is a most affable and agreeable
priest, and conducts one round the
interesting establishment. There
is a beautiful little chapel on the
first floor, and when I was last in
it the walls were being stencilled.
In the workshops trades are taught
to the boys by the lay brethren,
such as working in metals, carpen-
tering, and boat-building. The
pupils belong to the mission, they
having been either handed over to it
by the British consul from captured
slave-dhows, or purchased by the
mission in the slave-market in the
old times before slavery was abol-
ished. At Bagomoyo there is a
still larger establishment under the
care of Pere Homer, where about
ten clergy and the same number of
sisters have charge of an agricul-

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

421

tural colony on which are several
hundred Christian negroes. At first
the mission did not mean to Chris-
tianize the natives, thinking that
they were so degraded that it would
take several generations to raise
tli em to that point ; but they found
them capable of more than was
originally expected. The mission
establishment is half a mile from
the town of Bagomoyo, which con-
tains about five thousand people,
but it has the appearance of a
small town itself. The grounds
are laid out in a most orderly man-
ner ; it is a pleasure to walk along
the straight, well-kept paths be-
tween fields of maize, millet, and
sweet potatoes.

The captain of the ship in which
I served was one day up the Kin-
gcini River in his boat, accompanied
by a young Alsatian lay brother
from the mission. Shooting a hip-
popotamus cow, the calf, only a
week or two old, would not leave the
mother's carcase, and the captain,
who had to return to his ship, giv-
ing money to the brother, advised
him to obtain assistance and catch
the little animal, which he present-
ed to the mission. A few months
after, as we were visiting the good
fathers, the lay brother took us to
a large tank surrounded with a
fence, which they had formed for
the accommodation of the hippopo-
tamus. Standing at the gate, the
brother called the animal by name,
and it came snorting out of the
water, ran up to its master, looking
up into his face, and followed us
about the garden and into the
house like a dog. Here lie was
fed from a bottle with flour and
milk. He was taken to the Zoolo-
gical Gardens at Berlin shortly af-
terwards, and must have sold for
at least six thousand dollars. Hip-
popotami are inimical to the crops

of rice which grow near the river?,
as they come on shore in the night
and devour enormous quantities of
the young tender shoots, so that
the fields have to be carefully
watched. But more dangerous ani-
mals are found on the coast, and
Pere Horner told us a story of a
huge lion which had carried off
several of their cattle. They con-
structed a trap of a deserted hut,
into which they enticed the ani-
mal, which, finding himself impri-
soned, aroused all the establish-
ment from their midnight slumbers
by his roarings. He was shot by
one of the brethren.

The fathers give their guests a
good dinner of many courses in
true French style, but one should
not conclude, as does Stanley in
his How I Found Livingstone, that
champagne is their ordinary beve-
rage. On the contrary, when I was
there they could offer us nothing
but a little white mm which had
been sent them from our ship, and
the champagne with which they
welcomed Mr. Stanley was some of
a small present which they had re-
ceived.

Their mode of work is undoubt-
edly the true one : to get a cer-
tain number of negroes, isolate
them as much as possible from the
licentious society of their heathen
brethren, and hope of them to
form the nucleus of a future Chris-
tian population.

The Church of England has a
mission at Zanzibar, and has also
some settlements on the main-
land ; and as I had several friends
there, I know something about it
from personal observation, and re-
gret that its members are not Ca-
tholics, for a more devoted set of
workers it would be hard to find.
They have a house on a shainba, or
estate, two miles from the town, in

422

Religion on the East Coast of Africa.

which there ;ire a number of libe-
rated slave boys, who are instruct-
ed in reading, writing, and arith-
metic, and are taught such trades
ns carpentering and field labor.
Dr. Steere, the third bishop of this
mission, which was set on foot by
the English universities of Oxford
and Cambridge at the instance of
Livingstone, is a linguist, being the
authority on Swahili, the language
commonly spoken at Zanzibar and
on the coast. He has written a
Swahiii grammar, and translated
into the language great parts of the
Bible, prayers, hymns, and school-
books, and these are excellently
printed in the mission press by
some of the pupils, a few of whom
he took to England to perfect them-
selves in the trade at a large Lon-
don printing establishment. All
the printing done in Zanzibar is
their work. They have a beautiful
chapel, where there are daily morn-
ing and evening services, and these
are attended by all the establish-
ment; and I a:n told that many of
of the boys show great devotion,
kneeling for a quarter of an hour
together in the chapel. I am in-
clined to fear, though, that the Af-
rican Anglican's notion of religion
is something which will propitiate
an angry, hostile power — in fact, a
relic of demonology. " Our Fa-
ther " has no meaning to one who
had perhaps been sold to an Arab
by his parent for a bowl of rice.
T\vo miles beyond the English mis-
sion's boys' house is a similar es-
tablishment for girls- under the
charge of women. The girls look
fatter and healthier than the boys,
a large proportion of whom are
affected by the terrible skin diseases
so prevalent amongst the blacks.

The mission had a devoted young
clergyman there some years ago,
who, being possessed of large means

and wealthy friends, purchased the
old slave market in Zanzibar, on
'which a handsome stone church
with groined roof, and different
school buildings, were erected. But
he sacrificed his life, as most of the
workers of this mission have done,
by his zeal, and fell a victim to
fever; his funeral was attended by
parties from the English men-of-
war in the harbor, and by some of
the Catholic missionaries, and many
of the European residents who
wished to pay a last tribute of re-
spect to the memory of a brave
and devoted, if mistaken, man. He
once told me that some of his
pupils asked him a very perti-
nent question : Why, if the Chris-
tian religion was one, the French
and English missions were not
united ? He evaded it by replying
that they taught in English, but the
others in French ! When his death
was announced in England a young
clergyman, who had formerly work-
ed in the same mission, was preach-
ing for it in an English church and
exhorting his hearers to give mo-
ney and, if possible, their personal
services to the cause. He was as-
tonished afterwards at a young wo-
man presenting herself and offering
herself for the work. Neither pic-
tures of fever, discomfort, nor death
could deter her from going to Zan-
zibar, as I believe ^he afterwards
did.

Bishop Steere used to give a
weekly address in the native lan-
guage in the city of Zanzibar to
any w^o chose to attend, and I
have heard that the rich Arabs
used to flock to it in crowds, com-
ing to the bishop's house afterwards
to discuss the different Christian
doctrines of which they Iia'd heard.
But if any Arab became a Christian
he would probably be assassinated
by his comrades, so great is their

Religion on the Easi Coast of Africa.

423

bigotry. Singularly, the part of the
Bible which has most interest for
an Arab is the genealogies; for, as
is well known, they are most careful
in preserving such records, even of
their very horses.

The Mahometan residents at
Zanzibar and on the coast, both
Arab and Ki-Swahili, go to school
at seven years of age, and in two or
three years learn to write, and read
the Koran. They are also taught a
few prayers and hymns and some
Arab proverbs, and this completes
their education. In two points a
good Moslem puts ordinary Chris-
tians to shame — in prayer and tem-
perance. In the East one often
sees even the poorest people pros-
trating themselves towards Mecca
on their praying-mat, and repeat-
ing the accustomed prayers at the
stated hours, which occur five times
a day. I have seen a naked black
laborer praying in a coal-lighter
during an interval of work. One
is reminded of the quaint old Bel-
gian cities, where it is common to
see female figures, in their long
black cloaks, kneeling before a cru-
cifix in some open space. Tem-
perance the Arab rigidly observes;
and how can one expect them to
become Christians when they daily
witness the drunkenness of white
seamen ? In fact, this objection
has been urged upon me by na-
tives, and the answer which one
makes, that our religion does not
permit drunkenness, is not satisfac-
tory to them. " If we got drunk,"
they say, " our sultan would put
us in prison."

Strict.Mahometans are very Pha-
risaical. We once had great trou-
ble with a Mahometan priest or
schoolmaster who visited our ship.
He refused the coffee which we
offered him because it was made
by a Christian, and would only

condescend to drink some lime-
juice out of a glass which we assur-
ed him had never been used, and
even this beverage had to be pre-
pared by his own servant. Some
Arab gentlemen who accompanied
him and dined with us, being pre-
vented from eating anything that
we had cooked, could get nothing
but oranges.

The Hindis are a sect of Ma-
hometans who are not recognized
by the Arabs, but the exact nature
of their differences I have not
been able to learn. Neither could
I arrive at the religion of the Ban-
ians. Their mortality at Zanzibar
is very great, and you may daily
see processions of Banian men go-
ing to the beach beyond the town,
where they raise a funeral pyre of
wood, on which their deceased
friend is consumed, the remains
being washed away by the rising
tide.

On the coast the people are
much the same as those who in-
habit the island of Zanzibar. There
are the lazy, cowardly Belooch
soldiers and their families, and
these swashbucklers are thoroughly
despised and hated. The towns
are ruled by headmen, who are
subject to the Sultan of Zanzibar,
but who enrich themselves by ex-
tortion. The Washenzi are day-
laborers, and are barbarians from
the interior. Banians are always
found prospering in trade. The
Ki-Swahili — which means people of
the coast, degenerate Arabs — are
ignorant and vicious. They have
a great fear and hatred of the white
man, particularly of the English,
whom they called Beni Nar — Sons
of Fire. They think that, if once the
white man's foot has been placed
on the land, lie is sure to obtain
possession of it in the end; and in
this they are not far mistaken.

424

Religion on the EasF^Coast of Africa.

The Wamrina are a coast clan
even more debased and vicious
than the latter people, and they
appear to have little reason. They
are cowardly and cautious, but
very cunning, and, as most of the
inhabitants in those parts, lie habi-
tually, even when there is no ob-
ject to be gained thereby.

There are a number of small
towns on the coast from Maga-
doxo, a little north of the equator,
to Kilwa, the great slave-mart in
the south. The chief ones are
Brava, Lamu, Marka, Melinda, and
Mombas. At both of the latter
are Portuguese remains, and at
Mombas is a. Protestant mission
which at the time of my visit had
been established thirty years, and
had cost a large amount of money,
but had apparently done very little
good. The celebrated Dr. Krapf,
who had been four years in Abys-
sinia, was the first to go there,
starting from Zanzibar. This was
in 1844. He was the first to draw
up a Ki-Swahili grammar, in which
he was assisted by Dr. Rebmann,
who arrived two years afterwards.
Their journeys from Mombas, which
is situated in 4° south latitude,
are well known. They discovered
Kilima Njaro, a snow-clad moun-
tain 22,814 feet high, only 3° south
of the equator, and what they heard
from the natives of vast lakes in
the interior, where nothing but
sandy deserts had hitherto been
supposed to exist, led to the fa-
mous travels which have exposed
a new world to the wondering eyes
of men and opened up new fields
for the glorious labors of the mis-
sionary.

Dr. Rebmann was living near
Mombas at the time of my visit,
though old and blind, and, I hear,
has since died. I did not see him,
though I started to do so with one
of the missionaries. I was so dis-
gusted by this man's narrow sec-
tarianism in the midst of heathen-
dom— he commencing to abuse the
mission of his own church at Zan-
zibar— that I preferred to spend
the night on the river in a boat
with our seamen rather th^n, with
my friends, accompany him to the
Rabai Mission. We came across a
pamphlet written by them for their
English supporters, containing a
lot of pious texts : " Come over and
help us "; " The fields are'white to
the harvest"; "A wide door and
effectual is open," and so on ; but
it struck us as being great non-
sense. However, I am told that
they have since that started a large
establishment of liberated slaves.
The Wesleyans have a mission in the
neighborhood, but of them I know
nothing, as we did not visit them.

The Sultan of Zanzibar visited
England two years ago, offered to
place his dominions under British
protection, and has exerted him-
self to put a stop to the slave-trade,
though he fought hard against its
abolition at first, as from it he de-
rived the principal part of his reve-
nue. If a stop could be put to
this evil and peace established in
the interior, a splendid field for
mission-work would be the result,
the black having such respect for
the superior knowledge and intel-
lect of the white man that many
tribes would receive the mission-
ary with a hearty welcome.

Nciv Publications.

425

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTIANITY, WITH
A VIEW OF THE STATE OF THE ROMAN
WORLD AT THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.
By George P. Fisher, D.D., Professor
of Ecclesiastical History in Yale Col-
lege. New York : Scribner, Arm-
strong & Co. 1877.
Dr. Fisher has taken up a line of ar-
gument of great interest and importance,
which has employed the minds and pens
of a number of able writers before him,
but which cannot be too frequently or
copiously treated. The author informs
us in his preface that he has prepared
the work as now published from a course
of lectures before the Lowell Institute
of Boston. The principal portion of his
argument presents precisely what is
needed by a large number of educated
persons in New England, especially in
Boston, where a reckless, extravagant
rationalism and neologism, borrowed
from Germany, are rapidly undermining
all belief in the genuineness, historical
truth, and doctrinal authenticity of our
earliest Christian documents, together
with those of Judaism. This modern in-
fidelity saps the historical basis of Chris-
tianity, that it may be free to criticise it
as a theory, a mere natural phenomenon,
a phase of human evolution. Any one
who turns their own historical and criti-
cal methods against these sceptics does
good service to truth. We are pleased
to recognize the many merits, both in re-
spect to matter and diction, in the essay
of the learned professor. The five chap-
ters on the Roman policy, and Greco-
Roman religion, literature, philosophy,
and morals, are admirable. The geogra-
phical accuracy and distinctness with
which, as on a map, the Roman Empire is
graphically delineated, makes a charac-
teristic and noteworthy feature of this
part of the work, which is enriched with
a great number of h;ippy classical quota-
tions. The succinct review of historical
Judaism during the important but much-
neglected period of five centuries imme-
diately preceding the birth of Christ is
interesting and valuable. A very able
critical defence of the genuineness of
the New Testament history, of the truth
of the miracles and resurrection of our
Lord, his superhuman character and

divine mission, completes a solid and
unanswerable argument for the histori-
cal basis of Christianity as a divine and
supernatural religion.

The author has shown the conver-
gence of all the lines of movement
drawn in the past history of the world
towards the moment of Christ's appear-
ance. This is one of the strongest
proofs of his divine mission, inasmuch
as it shows that the Author and Ruler of
the world is also the Author of the Chris-
tian religion. The complement to the
argument should point out the diver-
gence of the lines from the same point
through the post-Christian times, and
the work of human regeneration histori-
cally fulfilled — the second and even
greater proof of the divine legation of
Christ. The author shows very conclu-
sively that those destructive critics and
sceptics who deny the true historical
idea of Christ as presented in the New
Testament take away all sufficient
cause for the effect produced in Chris-
tianity.

The foundation for a complete argu-
ment from cause to effect and effect to
cause, in the relation between the his-
torical idea of Christ and the historical
idea of his regenerating work, is laid by
establishing his supernatural character,
mission, and works. Thus far Dr. Fish-
er gives us complete satisfaction. When
he proceeds to develop his own concep-
tion of the true Christian idea — the plan,
namely, of human regeneration, and the
means for executing the plan — we do not
find it complete and adequate. As com-
pared with the view heretofore prevalent
among evangelical Protestants, it is,
nevertheless, a marked approx;mation to
the Catholic idea. We consider that Dr.
Fisher's argument requires a comple-
ment, in order to make the historical
circle embracing all ages and centred
in Christ perfect in its circumference.
To explain our statement and adduce
reasons for it would require many pages,
and we must for the present refrain from
anything beyond a mere expression of
our judgment.

There is only one passage which we
have thus far noticed in a perusal of
nearly the whole of Dr. Fisher's volume

426

New Publications*

which has jarred upon our feelings as
out of tune with his prevalent mode of
philosophical candor and historical jus-
tice. On page 238 it is written : " Pha-
risaism, like Jesuitism, is a word of evil
sound, not because these parties had no
good men among them, but because
prevailing tendencies stamped upon each
ineffaceable traits of ignominy."

We are persuaded that in the great
number and variety of studies which
have absorbed his time and attention
the writer of the foregoing passage has
never found leisure to read the books
which would give him the true notion of
the institute and history of the Jesuits.
We give him credit for great sincerity
and love of truth, and yet we cannot
help thinking that there is still a rem-
nant of prejudice left in his mind, which
in this case causes, to use his own words,
"groundless, gratuitous suspicion, such
as, in the ordinary concerns of life, is
habitually repelled by a healthy moral
nature."

As a production of learning, philo-
sophical thought, and literary taste, the
Beginnings of Christianity deserves, in
our opinion, a place among the best
works of New England scholars. We
will close this notice by an extract which
shows the philosophical and religious
tone and quality of the great argument
presented in the volume :

" When we look back upon the an-
cient philosophy in its entire course, we
find in it nothing nearer to Christianity
than the saying of Plato that man is to
resemble God. But, on the path of spe-
culation, how defective and discordant
are the conceptions of God ! And if
God were adequately known, how shall
the fetters of evil be broken and the
soul attain to its ideal? It is just these
questions that Christianity meets through
the revelation of God in Jesus Christ.
God, the head of that universal society
on which Cicero delighted to dwell, is
brought near, in all his purity and love,
to the apprehension, not of a coterie of
philosophers merely, but of the humble
and ignorant. There is a real deliver-
ance from the burden of evil, achieved
through Christ, actually for himself and
potentially for mankind. How altered
in their whole character are the ethical
maxims which, in form, may not be
without a parallel in heathen sages !
Forgiveness, forbearance, pity for the
poor, universal compassion, are no long-

er abstractions derived from speculation
on the attribuies of Deity. They are a
part of the example of God. He has so
dealt with us in the mission and death
of his Son. The cross of Christ was the
practical power that annihilated artificial
distinctions among mankind and made
human brotherhood a reality. In this
new setting, ethical precepts gain a
depth of earnestness and a force of
impression which heathen philosophy
could never impart. We might as well
claim for starlight the brightness and
warmth of a noon-day sun " (p. 189).
This fine passage is supplemented by
two condensed statements in another
place, that the end in view of the plan
of Jesus was " the introduction of a new
life in humanity," and the plan itself
" the establishment of a society of which
he is the living head " (p. 467). This
really comprehends the whole Christian
Idea in germ. Its true and perfect evo-
lution, and an accurate commentary upon
it, would present a complete philosophy
of Christianity.

DE DEO CREANTE : Prselectiones Schc-
lastico-Dogmaticje quas in Collegio
S.S. Cordis Jesu ad Woodstock, Max-
ima Studiorum Domo Soc. Jesu in
Feed. Americas Sept. Statibus, habebat
A.D. MDCCCLXXVI.-VII., Camil-
lus Mazzella, S.J., in eod. Coll. Stud.
Praefectus et Theol. Dogm. Professor.
Woodstock, Marylandiae: Ex Officina
Typographica Collegii. 1877. Svo,
pp. XXXV.-935.

This treatise is a complete exposition
and defence of the Catholic doctrine on
creation and its kindred topics as hand-
ed down in the church by tradition from
the earliest ages to the present day. As
the title of the book indicates, the sub-
ject is considered not merely from a
dogmatic point of view; all the errors
of the ancients as well as of their modern
imitators being taken up in turn and re-
futed. 'A glance at the general divisions
of the work will show the wide range of
topics treated : I. " De Creatione Gen-
eratim " ; II. " De Angelica Substantia " ;

III. " De Hominis Origine et Natura " ;

IV. " De Hominis Elevatione ad Statum
Supernaturalem " ; V. " De Humanse Na-
turae Lapsu" ; VI. " De Hominis Novis-
simis."

Each of these subjects is developed
with the greatest detail. Take, for ex-

New PubhcatiLns.

427

ample, the seventeenth proposition in
the third disputation, on the origin of
the human race. In the introductory re-
marks to this proposition the author first
explains our descent from Adam, tlie
first man, according to revelation, and
then devotes some ten pages to a con-
cise but thorough exposition of Darwin-
ism and its companion errors. After
this he lays down the following thesis :
" Primi parentcs, prout ex divina reve-
latione constat, non modo quoad animam,
sed etiam quoad corpus, immediate a
Deo conditi sunt. Quam certissimam
veritatem frustra evertere aut infirmare
nituntur qui nunc audiunt Transformis-
tae : principium enim quod assumunt
arbitrarium est, atque experientiae repug-
nans ; media, quae assignant, ad trans-
formationem cfficiendam sunt insuffi-
cientia ; probationes, demum, quas ad-
ducunt, nihil omnino evincunt." This
he proves directly by a large array of
arguments from the Holy Scriptures, the
fathers and the doctors of the church.
He then proceeds to show the untena-
bleness of the opposite theories, demon-
strating that animals can only be propa-
gated by others of the same species ;
that the ablest practical scientists of the
day have acknowledged the arbitrariness
of the transformation theory, and that
many have proved it contrary to known
facts ; that the means suggested by the
evolutionists are insufficient to explain
the origin of man, etc., etc. He intro-
duces a large and well-marshalled army
of quotations from American, British,
and Continental scientists to back up his
position.

The divisions of the work and the
order in which they are treated lay no
claims to originality, which the author
has very sensibly considered as worse
than out of place in a theological text-
book, since it tends only to perplex the
student and to introduce confusion into
the schools of divinity. The fate of wri-
ters who have, even in our own day,
adopted a different course proves clearly
the correctness of this view. Neverthe-
less, the method pursued in the treat-
ment of particular questions is at once
novel and useful, and, as far as we know,
peculiar to Father Mazzella. As a gen-
eral rule, theological writers, after hav-
ing briefly explained the meaning of the
proposition and touched on the errors
of their adversaries, enter at once on the
demonstration. This done, they devote

a great deal of space to the solution of
difficulties and the refutation of objec-
tions; and it is on this last point espe-
cially that they rely for making the
sense of their thesis clear. Father Maz-
zella has adopted a different mode of
proceeding. The development of each
of his propositions contains two distinct
parts : in the first he presents a complete
exposition of the subject-matter in all
its bearings ; in the second he proves
the point at issue. He starts out by
giving a summary of the decisions of the
church regarding the question under
discussion. Then, if there be any diver-
sity of opinion amongst Catholic doc-
tors, he explains each system and notes
the degree of probability contained in
it. Finally, ha proceeds to the exposi-
tion of contrary errors or heresies, and
of the various senses, false and true, in
which the doctrine may be interpreted.
All this opens the way to the second
part, in which the thesis is proved from
Scripture, the fathers, and reason, and
the few difficulties that perhaps remain
are answered.

Tins manner of developing a subject
seems to us to confer a twofold benefit
on the student : it gives him a clear and
comprehensive conception of the posi-
tive doctrine, and at the same time sup-
plies him with general principles by
means of which he may readily solve any
new objections that may chance to arise
in discussion. It is not sufficient for the
young theologian to have learned by
heait a number of proofs, and the an-
swers to the long string of difficulties
given in his text-book. He must be im-
bued with the whole spirit of Catholic
doctrine, and thus he will form within
himself a new theological sense, if we may
use the expression, by which he can
easily discern what is consonant with,
and what is repugnant to, the truths con-
tained in the deposit of faith. Such is
the result aimed at in Father Mazzella's
method. Hence he devotes but little
space to the answering of objections ; for
he has already disposed of them in the
exposition of his thesis. Most difficul-
ties, in fact, arise from a misunderstand-
ing of Catholic doctrine ; hence it is
plain that they must readily disappear, if
the dogmas of the church be clearly ex-
plained.

As is proper for a theologian, the au-
thor makes abundant use of Scripture
and tradition. Whilst avoiding all

423

New Publications.

needless excursions into the fields of
philology and hermeneutics, he does not
refuse to handle the difficulties brought
from these sciences. An instance of this
is his vindication of the true sense of the
famous £q> GJ — in quo — in the fifth chapter
of the Epistle to the Romans. When-
ever the question under discussion has
been defined by the church, the decrees
are carefully given and explained. We
frequently find a series of definitions on
the same subject, taken from councils
held at various periods, proving the won-
derful unity of the church's teaching in
various ages. Father Mazzella makes
frequent use of the fathers and great
scholastic writers. He generally quotes
them word for word, thus ensuring con-
viction as to their real opinion, and fa-
miliarizing the reader with their peculiar
modes of thought and expression, tak-
ing care, however, t6 explain all obscuri-
ties in the text.

Every student of theology is aware of
the importance of mental philosophy in
our days, when the repugnance of the su-
pernatural to reason is so loudly and
boldly asserted. Hence the author con-
stantly appeals to it, but is careful to
admit only such opinions as are approv-
ed by the authority of the schools, taking
as his guides only St. Thomas and the
ablest commentators of the Angelic Doc-
tor, especially Suarez.

In the third disputation the author has
made the natural sciences come to the
aid of theology, especially when treating
of the Mosaic cosmogony, of the origin
and antiquity of the human race, etc.
Certain devotees of modern experimental
science, whose principles are built on
mere hypotheses, and who insist on our
taking mere possibilities as established
facts, have declared a deadly war against
revelation. It is difficult to convince
such men of their errors by appealing to
pure reason ; for they are in a remarka-
ble degree wanting in the logical faculty.
You can overcome them only by oppos-
ing facts to facts, and by proving that
their own pet studies contradict their
theories. This Father Mazzella has
aimed at doing ; and he supports his
position by bringing forward a mass of
facts and disclaimers from the latest
writings of the ablest scientists. The
style is clear, simple, and straightforward
— a most necessary quality in a book of
the kind. Difficult terms are always ex-
plained, and neither order nor precision

is ever sacrificed to a show of learn:r.g
or rhetorical skill.

MODERN PHILOSOPHY, FROM DESCARTES
TO SCHOPENHAUER AND HARTMANN.
By Francis Bowen, A.M., Alford Pro-
fessor of Natural Religion and Moral
Philosophy in Harvard College. Xe\v
York : Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1877.

The preface of Prof. Bowen prepossess-
es us at once in his favor. " No one,"
says he, " can be an earnest student of
philosophy without arriving at definite
convictions respecting the fundamental
truths of theology. In my own case,
nearly forty years of diligent inquiry and
reflection concerning these truths have
served only to enlarge and confirm the
convictions with which I began, and
which are inculcated in this book. Ear-
nestly desiring to avoid prejudice on
either side, and to welcome evidence
and argument from whatever source they
might come, without professional bias,
and free from any external inducement
to teach one set of opinions rather than
another, I have faithfully studied most
of what the philosophy of these modern
times and the science of our own day
assume to teach. And the result is that
I am now more firmly convinced than
ever that what has been justly called *
'the dirt-philosophy' of materialism
and fatalism is baseless and false. I ac-
cept with unhesitating conviction and
belief the doctrine of the being of one
personal God, the creator and governor
of the world, and of one Lord Jesus
Christ in whom ' dwelleth all the fulness
of the Godhead bodily' ; and I have found
nothing whatever in the literature of
modern infidelity which, to my mind,
casts even the slightest doubt upon that
belief. . . . Let me be permitted also to
repeat the opinion, which I ventured to
express as far back as 1849, that the
time seems to have arrived for a more
practical and immediate verification than
the world has ever yet witnessed of the
great truth that tha civilization which is
not based upon Christianity is big with
the elements of its own destruction"
(pp. vi., vii.).

These are sound and wise words,
which we welcome with peculiar plea-
sure as emanating from a chair in Har-
vard University. The scope of Mod-

* By Carlyle.-Eo. C. W.

New Publications.

429

ern Philosophy is more restricted, as
the author distinctly premises, than the
general title indicates. The authors
whose systems are discussed ex professo
are Descartes, Spinoza, Malebranche,
Pasc-.d, Leibnitz, Berkeley, Kant, Schel-
ling, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Hart-
mann. There is also a general discus-
sion of those great topics of metaphysics,
the origin of ideas and the nature of the
universals, of the freedom of the will and
of the system of positivism, with an ex-
position of the relation of physical to meta-
physical science. It is quite proper for the
learned professor to select a particular
range in modern philosophy for his lec-
tures, but we respectfully submit that a
less general title would have been more
accurately definitive of his real object,
and that he identifies too much the
course of Eurdpean thought with the di-
rection of certain classes of thinkers.
The revival of the philosophy of Aristo-
tle and St. Thomas in modern times is
certainly worthy of notice, and is exer-
cising a strong and decisive influence on
modern European thought. The ques-
tions of ideology and the universals can
hardly be adequately presented without
consideration of their treatment by the
able modern expositors of scholastic
philosophy. We do not agree with Mr.
Bowen in his estimate of Descartes, or
in his general views of the superiority of
modern to ancient and mediaeval philo-
sophy. Neither are we in accordance
with his special views of ideology. Nev-
ertheless, we recognize a current of very
sound and discriminating thought
throughout his whole course of argumen-
tation, which tends always toward the
most rational and Christian direction,
taking up the good and positive elements
which it meets with on the way, and re-
jecting their contraries. The author
seems to have a subtle intellectual and
moral affinity for the highest, most spir-
itual and ennobling ideas of the great
men of genius, both heathen and Chris-
tian. Plato, Malebranche, and Leibnitz
seem to be those with whom he is most
in sympathy. His most marked antipathy
is shown for the degrading pessimism
of Schopenhauer. We feel sure, from
the tone of his reasoning and the qual-
ity of his sentiments, that he would find
the greatest pleasure in the perusal of
the writings of such Catholic philoso-
phers as Kleutgen, San Severino, Liber-
atorc, StJckl, and perhaps m ire than

all of Laforet, on account of his Platon-
izing tendencies.

Mr. Bowen's style is remarkably and
elegantly classic. He throws a literary
charm and glow over his discussions
and expositions of abstruse ethical and
metaphysical topics which we do not
often find, except in the works of Ital-
ian authors, although some who write in
English are beginning to cultivate this
style, in which logical severity is combin-
ed with rhetorical grace. No one could
write with more modesty and suavity of
manner, or in a more calm and amiable
temper. We hope this truly excellent
volume, in such contrast with the com-
mon run of jejune and debasing trash
which passes for science and philosophy,
will be very much read, especially in
the neighborhood of Boston, where it is
sadly needed.

HISTORY OF THE SUPPRESSION OF THE
SOCIETY OF JESUS IN THE PORTUGUESE
DOMINIONS. By the Rev. Alfred Weld,
S.J. London : Burns & Gates. 1877.
(For sale by The Catholic Publication
Society Co.)

This able work of Father Weld throws
a flood of light on a very sad and gloomy
page of history. Never was the Society
of Jesus so fearfully tried and persecut-
ed, and never did its virtues shine more
conspicuously, than in the period referred
to by the author — that is, during the
twenty years preceding the entire sup-
pression of the order by Clement XIV.
in 1773.

We behold its holy and se'f-sacrificing
members spreading themselves over the
New as well as the Old World, making
countless conquests for Christ, bearing
every hardship and danger in order to
teach the truths of faith to the most bar-
barous tribes and peoples, planting the
standard of the cross in the most dis-
tant regions, and watering the seed of
the Gospel by their blood. Wherever
they went they gave evidence, in their
own persons, of the highest apostolic
virtues.

God could not but bless the efforts of
such disinterested and self-sacrificing
followers of his divine Son, and their
labors were crowned with astonishing
success. Take, for example, the history
of their missions in Paraguay. No
brighter or more cheering picture was
ever displayed to the world than the
fatherly government of the Jesuits over

430

A" civ Publications.

these poor children of the forest. Here
civilization and religion went hand in
hand, and peace and prosperity reigned.
But the very success of the mission-
aries raised up against them powerful
and bitter enemies. The more saintly
they were, the more envy they excited ;
the more learned and influential, the
more jealousy arose, until at last their
enemies vowed their destruction.

Chief among those enemies, and most
powerful in his opposition, was Carvalho,
Marquis of Pombal, the chief minister
of state under Joseph I., King of Por-
tugal. Having, by sycophancy, flattery,
and deception, made himself master of
this weak sovereign, and always finding
means to prevent his evil designs from
becoming known, he labored to destroy
the authority of the Holy See throughout
the kingdom of Portugal, and to estab-
lish, as nearly as possible, a national
church. He saw that the faithful Society
of Jesus would be an insuperable obsta-
cle in his way. He accordingly deter-
mined on its destruction, or, if he could
not effect this, at least its expulsion from
the Portuguese dominions. Knowing
the high esteem in which the learned
body was held throughout Europe by
kings, princes, nobles, and people, and,
above all, by each succeeding Sovereign
Pontiff, he made use of every means, and
means always the most malicious, in
order to destroy the character and influ-
ence of the Jesuits. There was no in-
sinuation too low, no instrument too vile,
no slander too base, of which he did not
make use to effect their injury and ruin.
He spread throughout Europe, especially
in the principal courts, the grossest li-
bels (many of them written by himself)
against the society, and all under the
hypocritical plea of serving religion,
law, and order. Every species of tyran-
ny that human malice, aided by a deeper
malice, could invent or call into being
to injure the glorious institute founded
by that great soldier of Christ, St. Igna-
tius, Pombai exercised.

During his ministry nine thousand in-
nocent persons, many of whom were of
the noblest families in the kingdom or
ecclesiastics of the highest character, were
condemned either to prison or to death,
without any trial, and often without even
knowing the cause for which they were
deprived of their life or liberty.

The sufferings of the poor Jesuits,
many of whom had spent the chief por-

tion of their lives as apostles in South
America and had been brought back in
chains to the dungeons of Portugal,
were of the most harrowing description.
Not a few died in their wretched prisons,
and the few that survived at the end of
eighteen years, when they were released
by order of the Queen, were but miser-
able wrecks of their former selves.

On the day of the queen's coronation,
May 13, 1777, Francis da Silva, Judge
of the Supreme Court, pronounced his
memorable address, in which he thus de-
nounces, in the name of the whole na-
tion, the tyranny from which they were
just freed : " The blood is still flowing
from the wounds with which the heart of
Portugal has been pierced by the unlim-
ited and blind despotism from which we
have just ceased to suffer. He (Pombal)
was the systematic enemy of humanity,
of religion, of liberty, of merit, and of
virtue. He filled the prisons' and the
fortresses with the flower of the king-
dom. He harassed the public with
vexations and reduced it to miser}'. He
destroyed all respect for the pontifical
and episcopal authority ; he debased
the nobility, corrupted morals, perverted
legislation, and governed the state with a
sceptre of iron, in the vilest and most
brutal manner that has ever been seen
in the world."

All the machinations of this politician
are laid bare, and his miserable agents
in this fearful persecution exposed to
view, in this work of Father Weld. He
does not ask us to take for granted his
simple declarations, but fortifies even-
position which he takes by the clearest
and most undeniable proofs. He has
had access to authentic documents, which
he has put to the best use. His style
is clear and forcible, and in the argu-
ments which he uses and the proofs
with which he sustains them he gives us
a noble, just, and triumphant vindication
of the great society of which he is a
member.

In reading this work we could not
but call to mind the prophecy of St.
Ignatius that " the heritage of the Pas-
sion should never fail the society" — " A
prophecy," says the Protestant writer
Stewart Rose, " fulfilled up to this time ;
for they (the Jesuits) are still, as for
three hundred years past, indefatigable
in the saving of souls, perversely mis
represented and stupidly misunder-
stood."

Nciv Publications,

431

ANTAR AND ZARA, AND OTHER POEMS,
MEDITATIVE AND LYRICAL. By Au-
brey De Vere.

THE FALL OF RORA, AND OTHER POEMS,
MEDITATIVE AND LYRICAL. By the
same. London : Henry S. King &
Co. 1877. (For sale by The Catholic
Publication Society Co.)

These two volumes "comprise the
author's secular poetry previous to the
' Legends of St. Patrick ' (1872^ together
with many poems composed before that
date, though not published." " His reli-
gious poems will be collected later in a
separate volume."

Antar and Zara, with many shorter
pieces, first appeared in the pages of
THE CATHOLIC WORLD. It was in those
pages that the writer made Mr. De Vere's
acquaintance ; and not a few of our
readers, probably, are indebted to the
same source for their introduction to the
great Catholic poet of the day. To such
it will be a welcome surprise, as it is to
us, to find his cultured muse so prolific.
The variety of themes, too, within these
volumes affords a frequent ramble "to
fresh fields and pastures new." The
poet himself has travelled. With Byron,
he has " stood on the Alps," and ponder-
ed in the " City of the Soul, "and basked
in the "eternal summer" that " yet gilds
the Isles of Greece." At home, again, he
has sung Erin's glories and woes as
though he had taken down the old Bardic
harp from '• Tara's walls."

As a poet, however, he shows the
influence of two other great masters
than Byron and Moore — though some of
his Irish ballads remind us of the latter.
He is chiefly a disciple of Wordsworth,
while he has studied to good purpose
the scholarly verse of Tennyson. With
most imitators of Tennyson the classic
perfections of the Laureate are turned to
mere affectations. Not so with Mr. De
Vere, who is equally a scholar himself.
This scholarly taste, indeed, would have
prevented him, we are sure, from adopt-
ing Wordsworth's theory of poetic dic-
tion, even had Tennyson never arisen to
recall English poetry from the loose, in-
accurate style into which his great pre-
decessors, with the exception of Cole-
ridge, had thrown so much splendid
thought.

This conviction of ours regarding the
combined influence of Tennyson and
Wordsworth on our author's poetry is

confirmed by the discovery that Antar
and Zara is dedicated to the former by
" his friend " ; and, again, of the sonnet
"Composed at Rydal, September, 1860,"
with the two following sonnets "To
Wordsworth, on Visiting the Duddon."
Antar and Zara, particularly in the short-
er metre of Zara's " song," is eminently
Tennysonian. For example :

" He culled me grapes— the vintager ;

In turn, for song the old man prayed :
I glanced around ; but none was near:
With veil drawn tighter, I obeyed.

" 'Were I a vine, and he were heaven.

That vine would spread a vernal leaf
To meet the beams of morn and even,
And think the April day too brief.

" ' Were he I love a cloud, not heaven,

That leaf would spread and drink the rain ;
Warm summer shower and dews of even
Alike would take, and think them gain.

" ' It would not shrink from wintry rime

Or echoes of the thunder-shock,
But watch the advancing vintage-time.
And meet it, reddening on the rock.' "

And again :

"Dear tasks are mine that make the weeks

Too swift in passing, not too slow :
I nurse the rose on faded cheeks,
Bring solace to the homes of woe.

" I hear our vesper anthems swell ;

1 track the steps of Fast and Feast ;
I read old legends treasured well
Of Machabean chief or priest.

" I hear on heights of song and psalm

The storm of God careering by ;
Beside His Deep, for ever calm,
I kneel in caves of Prophecy.

" O Eastern Book ! It cannot change !

Of books beside, the type, the mould-
It stands like yon Carmelian range
By our Elias trod of old !"

Here are the sonnets:

" COMPOSED AT RYDAL.
" SEPT , 1860.

" The last great man by manlier times bequeathed
To these our noisy and self-boasting days
In this green valley rested, trod these ways,
With deep calm breast this air inspiring breathed.
True bard, because true man, his brow he wreathed
With wild-flowers only, singing Nature's praise ;
But Nature turn'd, and crown'd him with her bays,
And said, 'Be thou my Laureate.' Wisdom sheathed
In song love-humble ; contemplations high.
That built like larks their nests upon the ground ;
Insight and vision ; sympathies profound,
That spann'd the total of humanity :
These were the gifts which God pour'd forth at

large
On men through him ; and he was faithful to his

charge."

43?

New Publications.

TO WORDSWORTH, ON VISITING THE
DUDDON.

" So long as Duddon, 'twixt his cloud-girt walls

Thridding the woody chambers of the hills,

Warbles from vaulted grot and pebbled halls

Welcome or farewell to the meadow rills ;

So long as linnets pipe glad madrigals

Near that brown nook the laborer whistling tills,

Or the late-reddening apple forms and falls

'Mid dewy brakes the autumnal red-breast thrills ;

So long, last poet of the great old race,

Shall thy broad song through England's bosom

roll,

A river singing anthems in its place,
And be to later England as a soul.
Glory to Him who made thee, and increase,
To them that hear thy word, of love and peace !

" When first that precinct sacrosanct I trod
Autumn was there, but Autumn just begun ;
Fronting the portals of a sinking sun.
The queen of quietude in vapor stood,
Her sceptre o'er the'dimly- crimsoned wood
Resting in light. The year's great work was done ;
Summer had vanish'd, and repinings none
Troubled the pulse of thoughtful gratitude.
Wordsworth ! the autumn of our English song
Art thou : 'twas thine our vesper psalms to sing :
Chaucer sang matins ; sweet his note and strong ;
His singing-robe the green, white garb of Spring :
Thou like the dying year art rightly stoled —
1 online purple and dark vest of gold."

Wordsworth was a giant at the sonnet.
His sonnets are, in our judgment, by
far his best productions, and those in
which his theory of diction jars one least.
We congratulate Mr. De Vere on follow-
ing in the master's footsteps by cultivat-
ing the sonnet, and without the defects
of the leader. We are also proud to see
him disregard the Petrarchian sonnet as
the only correct type — a form in which
the English language would be sadly
monotonous, were it never allowed to
vary the order of rhymes, particularly in
the minor system. Surely our language
has every right to a sonnet of its own —
and that flexible.

We will only add that the objections
commonly made to Mr. De Vere's poet-
ry—to wit, that it is elaborate and re-
quires much thought — are of no weight

again$t.his mission as a poet. He aims,
we presume, at interesting the cultured
few rather than the uncultured many.
A poet's highest function is, we say, to
teach. And a true Catholic poet, like
our author, can reach intelligences, both
within and without the church, through
doors at which " divine philosophy " in
dull, prosaic garb must knock in vain.

SADLIER'S ELEMENTARY HISTORY OF THE
UNITED STATES. By a Teacher of
History. New York : William H.
Sadlier. 1877.

This is a very pleasing and useful
little manual for children. It presents
the chief events of the history of this
country in the form of question and
answer, giving a prominence much
needed to the great part which Catholics
have played in the struggles of the
Republic, and its material and social de-
velopment. The plan was well conceiv-
ed, and has been well executed. It is
the last work of the enterprising and
much-lamented young Catholic publish-
er who was so suddenly carried off at
the opening of what promised to be a
most useful and honorable career.

ANCIENT HISTORY. From the French of
Rev. Father Gazeau, S.J. Revised
and corrected, with questions at the
end of each chapter. By a pupil of
the Sisters of Notre Dame. First
American edition. New York: The
Catholic Publication Society Co. 1877.

This is another and useful addition to
the Catholic Publication Society's edu-
cational series. It is a very interesting,
clear, and comprehensive history, em-
bracing the chief powers and peoples of
ancient times, and ending with the death
of Alexander the Great and the division
of his empire. The questions at the end
of each chapter form an improved fea-
ture o*n the original, and the translation
runs as smoothly as could be desired.

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVL, No. 154.— JANUARY, 1878.

BETWEEN THE YEARS.

1877-1878.

Rogntt, qua ad pacem tuttt, yerttsttletn : et abundant in dilrgentibus te. — Ps. cxxi.

OLD with its sorrow, weary with the load

Of angry strife and murderous thought of wrong
It hath with such sad patience borne so long,

The year draws near the judgment-seat of God.

Signed at its birth with Heaven's holiest name,
Blessed with the chrism of self-sacrifice,
It brought men gifts of more than royal price ;

Asked in return a pure and generous fame ;

Life's book it opened at a clean white page —
Whereon fell not the shadow of a stain —
Set in man's hand a consecrated pen

Whose script should be the future's heritage.

Lo ! we have written ; shall we dare to see

The closed book opened in eternity ?

Jtsu, Redemptor ! at thy feet we kneel,

Who burn the tapers round the dying year;
Rest we beseech for him that lieth here,

And on the blotted page thy mercy's seal.

Through this dark night we wait with hope the day,
Ready the handmaid of thy grace to greet
Who hear the rhythm of her strong, young feet —

The fair New Year, advancing swift this way.

434 Christianity as an Historical Religion.

Jesus, most patient, does thy morning break ?
Shall she we wait for, with thy Spirit's breath
Stir to new life a world that slumbereth ?

Shall last year's thorns to fleecy blossom wake ?

Cometh thy kingdom ? Shall thy will be done,

And Calvary's shade be lost in Thabor's sun ?

in.

To thee we look, O Jesus, our true light !

With eyes, tear-dimmed, that, straining, gaze along
The future's ways the past o'ershades with wrong";

That dread the glitter of this earthly night,

Where every star is rivet of a cross.

Still in the light of Child-blessed Bethlehem
We feel the portent of Jerusalem,

We hear the echoes of sad Rama's loss.

In thee we trust, and in her, crucified,

Our holy mother Rome, thy spouse divine,
In whose dear face eternal light doth shine,

In whose maimed hands thy perfect gifts abide.

In thee we rest, who know the future thine ;

Shape thou our deeds unto thy will divine.

CHRISTIANITY AS AN HISTORICAL RELIGION.*

THE doctrine of natural develop- ciples, is only one of the evanes-

ment or evolution may be appre- cent forms, depending for existence

hended and presented in theoreti- on the body it animates, becoming

cal form under two diverse phases extinct, like a sound or the trace of

or aspects. One of these resembles a bird in the air, as soon as death

the old scholastic theory of the takes place. So, in the theory of

eduction of forms from the poten- pure natural evolution, history,

tiality of matter. The indetermi- polity, ethics, theology, science,

nate something which is almost no- educe themselves from the poten-

thing takes on all kinds of specific tial," determinable substratum of

determinations, which chase away humanity, without efficient or final

and supplant one another, each one causes, in evanescent forms ; and

vanishing into nothingness like a their animating spirit is no more

melody when the harp-strings cease than an anima belluina.

to vibrate. The animal soul, the The other theory may be like-

liighest of these determining prin- wise illustrated from the same phi-
losophy, comparing it with the doc-

* The Beginnings of Christianity. With a . ' J ' . °

View of the State of the Roman World at the Birth trine Of the rational SOW, 11111116-

of Christ. BY George p. Fisher D.D., Professor diately created, self-subsisting, en-

of Ecclesiastical History in Yale College, etc. New . *

York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1877. tering into Composition With body

Cliristianity as an Historical Religion.

435

but not immersed in it ; like a
swimmer in water, with head and
shoulders above the surface ; ani-
mating matter, but dominating over
it and subordinating it to serve by
its development and life the higher
end of the spirit, which readies be-
yond the temporal and sensible
toward infinity and eternity. Thus
all human development — though it
is nature which is developed, though
natural processes subserve its evo-
lution, and its history is the history
of human events, acts, thoughts,
polities, religions — is informed and
dominated by a superhuman, a di-
vine spirit, power, action, for a
.supra-mundane end.

The true philosophy of history
is constructed on this theory —
meaning by theory what Aristotle
and the Greeks meant, not a vis-
ionary conjecture, but an intel-
lectual speculation by which the
mind has true vision of intelli-
gible realities, as it has of sensi-
ble objects by ocular vision. This
true philosophy of history is partly
identified with theology, or the
science of God and all that which
is divine ; not only in so far as theo-
logy is the highest part of rational
philosophy, but also inasmuch as it
transcends reason. The knowledge
of God and that which is divine
transcending natural intelligence
and reason, is the revelation of God
in and through the Word, who " en-
lighteneth every man coming into
this world," and consequently casts
light on everything pertaining to
humanity. The creation, destina-
tion, fall, redemption and glorifica-
tion of humanity in and through
the Word, " who was made flesh
and dwelt among us," is the object
of Christian theology, to which the
immediate object of history is sub-
ordinate. The Incarnate Son of
God is the central figure in human

history, its circumference is drawn
around this centre, and all its di-
ameters pass through it.

A number of great historians
have perceived this truth, and
made universal history render up
its testimony, which is sometimes
latent and sometimes patent, to
Christ and to his divine work of
human regeneration. Leo, for in-
stance, having first convinced him-
self of the truth of divine revela-
tion by the study of history, made
his entire work on the universal
history of mankind a splendid and
irrefutable demonstration of Chris-
tianity. The course of time and
events before Christ is a prepara-
tion for his coming. The one great
event in human history is the di-
vine Epiphany, the visible manifes-
tation of God in the Person of the
Word through his assumed human
nature, in which he was conceived
and born of the Virgin, lived
among men, died, and rose again to
an immortal and glorious life, for
the fulfilment of the divine purpose
in 'creation and the consummation
of the1 destiny of mankind. The
course of time and events after
Christ is the successive fulfilment
of this divine purpose, to be com-
pleted in the final consummation
at the end of the present order of
the world.

In the six centuries immediately
preceding Christ the preparation
and convergence of events become
more distinct and manifest ; the
features of human evolution are
more marked ; the progress and
tendency of the universal move-
ment are apparently accelerated in
the direction of the common point
of convergence; all human affairs,
the objects of history, seem to rise
out of its dim horizon, looming up
in increasing magnitude, like the
great ships of a squadron hasten-

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

ing from all points of the com-
pass over a broad sea to their ren-
dezvous. Before this period the
expanse of time is to our eye al-
most like the waste solitudes of
ocean. Confucius collected some
remnants of Chinese historical doc-
uments going back to the ninth
century B.C. Some imperfect re-
cords of Hindoo antiquity have
been brought to light in modern
researches. Hieroglyphic and cu-
neiform inscriptions, like traces of
a caravan on the sand, present to
the curious modern eye vestiges of
a remote past. Berosus wrote in
the reign of Seleucus Nicator, Ma-
netho in that .of Ptolemy Philadel-
phia, Herodotus four centuries and
a half before Christ. Varro, the
most learned of the Romans, dates
the beginning of authentic Roman
history from the first Olympiad, B.C.
776. Authentic written history
does not go back as far as Solomon,
except as we find it in the sacred
writings of the Old Testament.
These priceless documents are the
family records of the house of Naza-
reth, the genealogy of Jesus Christ,
the history of his predecessors and
precursors ; of inchoate Christian-
ity, of the prophecy and providence,
the promises and laws, the typical
rites and preliminary covenants,
the elementary revelations and the
other preludes, by which, in divers
places, times, and manners, the
Word of God prepared the way for
his coming upon earth to fulfil all
prophecy and accomplish the ex-
pectation of all nations.

About five centuries and a half
before Christ the prophet Daniel
made his celebrated prediction of
the great period of seventy weeks —
/>., four hundred and ninety years
— from the rebuilding of the temple
and city of Jerusalem to the Mes-
sias. This period is marked as the

one of immediate expectation and
preparation. As the time of the
great Prophet drew near the suc-
cession of the minor prophets in
Judea ceased. The Jewish people
became less exclusively isolated,
and came into relations with other
nations which were quite new and
marked with a transitional tenden-
cy. The Greek Scriptures of the
second canon, like the writings of
St. Paul in the New Testament, arc-
more like the classic works of other
nations than those of the first
canon, which are marked with the
peculiar Hebrew characteristics.
A diffusion of the Jews, of their
books and ideas ; a general disse-
mination of the Greek language and
literature, a world-wide unifica-
tion of civilized, and in part of
barbarous peoples under the Ro-
man polity ; a remarkable advance-
ment of the human mind in the
great works of philosophy, poetry,
literature, art, and every species of
civilization ; are the principal se-
cond and concurrent causes direct-
ed by divine Providence to fulfil a
purpose, analogous to the mission
of St. John the Baptist, among the
nations predestined to a Christian
vocation.

There is nothing in this view
which favors rationalism. Grace
supposes nature, and God is the
author of both. Natural and su-
pernatural providence are distinct
but not separate. Rational science
and revealed doctrine are portions
of the universal truth which has its
measure in the divine intelligence
and its primal origin in the divine
essence. It is, moreover, charac-
teristic of the divine operation to
act on the rule of parsimony in the
use of means. Where second causes
are sufficient the first cause does
not immediately intervene and su-
persede their action ; where natural

Clirislianity as an Historical Religion.

437

forces are sufficient they are not
supplanted by those which are su-
pernatural. What a long period
elapsed before the earliest of the
inspired books was written ! How
few have been the prophets, how
comparatively few and rare mira-
cles of the first order ! In the be-
ginning, religion, the church, the
whole spiritual order, was identi-
fied with the common social and
civil order. The special interven-
tion of God in the calling of Abra-
ham, the legation of Moses, the
entire Jewish system, was a reno-
vation of the more ancient and
universal dispensation, confined
within the limits of one nation,
protected by special legislation,
sanctioned by miracles, manifested
in revelations through inspired men
and prophets. As the time draws
near when the church and religion
were to become once more and
finally Catholic, the supernatural
providence of God over the Jewish
people becomes less extraordinary,
and his natural providence over
the other nations more conspicu-
ous. The great Prophet himself,
the Messias, the Son of God in
human form, performs miracles and
appeals to them, as it were, with
reserve and reluctance, hides his
wisdom and power from men, re-
fuses to exert his dominion over
men and nature in defence of his
own life, discloses himself after his
resurrection to a few only, and de-
parts, so to speak, incognito from
the earth to return to his heavenly
abode with the Father. The gift
of inspiration, by virtue of which
the written documents of revela-
tion are completed, is imparted to
a small number only; their writings
fill but a small compass ; within fifty
years from the opening of the New
Testament canon by the first Gos-
pel it is closed by the last book of

the last of the apostles, St. John
No new David, or Isaias, or Daniel,
or Paul, or John is henceforth to
appear in the church. All this
shows the purpose of God not to
oppress the human by the divine
in the deification of humanity, not
to supersede the natural by the
supernatural, or to supplant the
activity of the human intelligence
and will by an overbearing divine
power. The Spirit of God brooded
over the face of chaos in the be-
ginning, gradually bringing it into
form and order, and the same Spi-
rit has been waving his wings*
over the waters of human history
during the entire period of the ex-
plication of God's creative act in
time and space through human ac-
tions and events. Where creative
power is required — i.e., where it is
the will of God to give being to a
term educed from non-existence
and from no pre-existing subject —
God acts alone and immediately
as first cause with no concurrent
cause. He has created and con-
tinues to create all simple sub-
stances. Where supernatural pow-
er is required to bring from creat-
ed substances certain results which
presuppose a new form of being in
them above their intrinsic substan-
tial actuality, or some other aug-
mentation of their natural force by
an immediate divine act, God in-
tervenes directly as the efficient
cause of the effect produced. He
is the author of second causes and
principles, of the first germs of evo-
lution, of generative powers, of all
origin, and of all that is called
in the German language Urweseii.
He preserves everything, concurs
with everything, directs everything
toward proximate, remote, and final

* Mr. Leeser, a late eminent Jewish scholar and
minister of a synagogue in Philadelphia, translated
the original text of Gen. i. n : " The Spirit of God
mat waving over the face of the waters.''

438

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

ends, bringing the creation which
proceeded from him as first cause
back to himself as final cause. And
therefore, whenever there is a suf-
ficient reason, he intervenes direct-
ly to overrule the order of second
causes and the natural laws he has
himself established. The especial
reason for this is to prevent the
thwarting of the legitimate action
of beings endowed with con-creative
power, through the illegitimate in-
terference of other beings endowed
with the same power. All spiritual
beings have this con-creative power
by virtue of intelligence and free-
will. They may fail to exercise it
when they should; they may be
hindered from exercising it by
equal or superior force. The or-
der of moral probation requires
that great freedom of movement
should be allowed to these forces
in voluntary efforts and in conflicts.
But the final cause of this proba-
tion also exacts that the predeter-
mined plans of God shall be infal-
libly executed, and that he shall
overrule the wills both of men and
angels for the fulfilment of his own
sovereign will.

The natural and the superna-
tural are, therefore, not separate,
much less disconnected, least of
all hostile, in the order of divine
providence, although they are dis-
tinct and placed in logical opposi-
tion to one another. Sacred and
secular history, religion and civili-
zation, theology and science, the
eternal and temporal interests of
mankind, cannot be separated from
each other and relegated to mu-
tually distant or hostile kingdoms,
like the kingdoms of light and
darkness in the system of the Ma-
nicheans. Any view which con-
siders mankind as separated into
two divisions of the elect and the
reprobate by an antecedent de-

cree, is false. The doctrine that
the nature of man has become to-
tally depraved, and that his entire
rational and physical activity
develops only sin which tends
fatally to perdition, is utterly un-
christian as well as unphilosophi-
cal. It is only from this doctrine
that we could deduce a theory by
which the society of the elect would
be considered as a separated,
isolated tribe, a small invisible
church, without any real relation
through a spiritual bond with the
mass of mankind. The Catholic
doctrine is expressed by the author
of the Book of Wisdom in these
beautiful words : " God created all
things that they might b£ : and he
made the nations of the earth for
health : and there is no poison of
destruction in them, nor kingdom
of hell upon the earth. For justice
is perpetual and immortal."*

The true philosophy of Chris-
tianity must, therefore, take into
view the providence of God over
the Gentiles, their history, philoso-
phy, polity, and civilization, in order
to appreciate the period of prepa-
ration for the Messias who was the
expected of the nations. The phi-
losophy of history, also, must take
into view the whole cycle of spe-
cial acts of divine providence re-
corded in the books of the Old
Testament, and fulfilled between
the epochs of the calling of Abra-
ham and the appearance of the
Messias in the history of the pecu-
liar people of God. Mr. Formby.
with his peculiar originality and
vigor of thought, has brought out
into more striking relief than any
other author we know of the idea
common to several excellent mo-
dern writers respecting the posi-
tion of the two cities, Jerusalem

* Wisdom i. 14 15.

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

439

and Rome, in the historical order
of divine Providence. They are,
as it were, the two great citadels of
God, the two great capitals of the
universal kingdom of Christ. Dur-
ing the thousand years immediately
before the Incarnation the city of
David, the seat of the royal ances-
tors of Jesus Christ our Lord, was
the citadel of all the highest inte-
rests of humanity. All the hopes,
the whole future destiny, of man-
kind were in David's royal line,
the sweet psalmist, the prophet,
the king of Israel. For seven cen-
turies God was preparing Rome,
first the ally, then the arbiter, and
finally the conqueror of Judea, to
take the place of Jerusalem, and by
its world-wide polity to serve as a
medium for the promulgation and
extension of the divine religion
throughout the whole earth.

The true philosophy of history
sets aside all theories which are ex-
clusive on the one side or on the
other — those which exclude the or-
dinary providence of God over all
mankind under the natural law,
and those which exclude his extra-
ordinary providence over the church
under the supernatural law — and
includes both under one synthesis.
The one exclusive view proceeds
from an a priori theological princi-
ple resulting in a conclusion with
which a logical induction from
facts cannot be reconciled, and
therefore denies or misrepresents
the facts. The other proceeds
from an & priori metaphysical prin-
ciple with a similar result. The
one is a pseudo-supernaturalism,
the other a pseudo-naturalism. The
first pretends to be the genuine
spiritual religion, or pure Chris-
tianity ; the second professes to be
the genuine rational philosophy, or
pure science. Both are counter-
feits of the truth. The best cor-

rective of these theoretical tenden-
cies is to be found in the correct
knowledge and exposition of his-
tory. Lacordaire lias well said :
" On nc brfile pas les fails." Facts
are incombustible ; they cannot be
made to evaporate in the gaseous
elements of transcendental meta-
physics, or vanish in clouds of
smoke from the pipes of German
neologists. Each of these make
their gas or blow their clouds from
products of their own imagination
adroitly substituted for facts. Facts
resist with an invincible inertia
every combination with false theo-
ries of supernatural religion. In
all branches of science pure rea-
soning and the investigation of
facts must go together in harmony
and mutually complete each other.
Even in divine revelation God is
careful to present facts with their
evidence in connection with doc-
trine, and a large portion of the
Bible is made up of historical re-
cords. The divine legation of
Moses and the divine mission of
Jesus Christ are great historical
facts, and they are in synthetical
connection with all the great events
and epochs of human universal his-
tory. In this concurrence and har-
mony we find the most evident and
tangible proof and corroboration
in the order of natural reason of
the truth revealed by God in Jesus
Christ, which is the object of di-
vine faith, and the soul of the com-
plete substance of Christianity.

Jesus Christ came on the earth
at the very juncture of the ages, at
the moment for crystallization, at
the epoch of crisis in human affairs,
when Judaism, Grecian culture, and
Roman jurisprudence combined
with Roman valor, were ready to
blend in a new combination ; when
the three strands spun by no blind
fate, but by all-seeing Providence,

440

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

were ready to be intertwined : the
pure tradition of the patriarchs, the
philosophy of the heathen sages,
the organic polity of the imperial
legislators — an electric cable to
bind the earth and transmit the
new movement of divine impulse.
The Jews preserved and handed
down the pure doctrine of mono-
theism, the promise of redemption,
and the moral law — the germ of re-
vealed doctrine and ethics, which,
in the state of development, is the
faith and law of Christianity. The
Greeks furnished the intellectual
human culture in philosophy, poet-
ry, and art, of which the Christian
religion availed itself, as of a pre-
cious vase in' which to detain its
subtle and sublime essence — an
ideal atmosphere for the communi-
cation of its influence to the minds
and imaginations of men in all ages
and countries. Rome opened the
way for diffusion and unification.
Immobility in tradition, mobility
in intelligence, motive power in or-
ganization, are the characters of
Jewish, Greek, and Roman civiliza-
tion, which were united in Chris-
tianity under a higher and control-
ling vital force.

They were each and all temporary
and insufficient, subject to a law of
internal decay, evanescent in their
nature, and about vanishing when
Jesus Christ came on the earth.
That he came just in time to su-
persede them and to begin the uni-
versal regeneration of mankind;
that he really did so without any
purely human and natural means
which were sufficient causes of the
effects produced; is a proof that
the God whose providence rules the
world sent him to fulfil this mis-
sion, and that his work was a di-
vine operation. God's hand alone
could spin and twine the threads
of human destiny and make Time's

noiseless, incessant shuttle weave
the woof and web into the succes-
sive figures of historical embroi-
dery.

The miracles and resurrection of
Jesus Christ, historically proved as
certain, indubitable facts, authenti-
cate his divine mission ; they stamp
a divine seal on his credentials as
the Messias promised from the be-
ginning of the world. This divine
legation gives divine authority to
his word and precepts. Whatever
he teaches in the name of God is a
divine revelation,, and whatever he
commands is a divine law. The
authentic record of these miracles,
the record of what Jesus said and
did ; the authentic account of
his teaching respecting his own
person, plan, doctrine, and law—
that is, of the principles and the
foundation of the Christian reli-
gion— is historical; it is an authen-
tic testimony respecting facts. The
authentic record of the actual
founding of Christianity on the
principles and plan of the Master,
by the disciples to whom he en-
trusted the work of carrying his
design into effect, is historical.
This divine design necessarily em-
bracing all that is contained in the
idea of a continuity and develop-
ment of divine providence over hu-
man affairs and destinies from the
beginning to the end of the world,
its actual carrying out through suc-
cessive ages becomes matter of his-
tory for the time present in respect
to times past. Its principles of con-
tinuity and development, in con-
nection with the order of provi-
dence anterior to Christ, and with
the progress of its movement from
the apostolic age through the ages
following, are to be sought for in
its history, not to the exclusion
of reasoning from abstract prin-
ciples, but in connection with

Cliristianity as an Historical Religion.

441

it. The historical documents ot
the New Testament, considered
merely as credible testimony and
apart from their inspiration, are
of paramount importance in respect
to the inquiry into the nature of
the genuine, authentic Christianity
promulgated and established as a
world-religion by its Founder and
his apostles. After these come all
other documents containing histo-
rical record or indirect evidence
respecting the earliest age of the
Christian religion. In this aspect
the study of dogmas of faith, of
laws and rites, of the spirit and the
organization of Christianity, is di-
rected toward an historical term.
The object of the inquiry is to as-
certain what is Christianity, what
was its legitimate development,
where is to be found through all
ages the real continuation, uninter-
rupted succession, perpetual life,
and progressive expansion which
connote the identity of its essence
and its specific unity in all its dis-
tinct moments, as it proceeds from
its beginning towards its end. Al-
though its intrinsic truth and au-
thority are established simultane-
ously with the exposition of its his-
torical character, the argument is
nevertheless distinct, in respect to
its conclusive force in this direc-
tion, from the pure manifestation of
the real essence and nature of the
religion. The question as to its
essential constituents and their logi-
cal connection is logically distinct
from the question as to its mate-
rial truth, although they are
metaphysically one by an insepa-
rable composition. Christ, mani-
festing himself in history, is a re-
velation of the infinite wisdom,
power, and goodness of God in his
divine works, which transcend the
reach of all created and dependent
forces. It is the Eternal Word

speakingefficiently, as when he said :
" Let there be light : and there
was light." If we can only see all
objects by this light, through a
pure medium, we cannot fail to be
enlightened by the knowledge of
the truth.

The able work of Dr. Fisher, the
title of which is prefixed to this ar-
ticle, and which was briefly noticed
in our last number, is based on the
idea we have set forth in these pre-
liminary remarks, although we do
not profess to have given an expo-
sition of the learned author's pre-
cise thesis, or ascribe to him a view
identical in all particulars with the
one we have presented. We will em-
ploy his own language for this pur-
pose, of showing his own individual
conception of the historical environ-
ment of Christianity, and the con-
clusions to which investigation and
reflection on the great facts and
events connected with its begin-
nings have led him.

"Christianity is an historical religion.
It is made up of events, or, to say the
least, springs out of events which, how-
ever peculiar in their origin, form a part
of the history of mankind. . . . The Apos-
tle Paul refers to the birth of Christ as
having occurred ' when the fulness of
time was come ' (Gal. iv. 4).

" His thought evidently is not only that
a certain measure of time must run out,
but that a train of historical events and
changes must occur which have the com-
ing of Christ for their proper sequence.
Of the nature of these antecedents in the
previous course of history he speaks
when he has occasion to discuss the rela-
tion of the Mosaic dispensation to the
Christian, and to point out the aims of
Providence in regard to the Gentile na-
tions. It was formerly a mistake of both
orthodox and rationalist to look upon
Christianity too exclusively as a system
of doctrine addressed to the understand-
ing. Revelation has been thought of as
a communication written on high and
let down from the skies — delivered to
men as the Sibylline books were said to
have been conveyed to Tarquin. Or ii

442

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

has been considered, like the philosoph-
ical system of Plato, a creation of the
human intellect, busying itself with the
problems of human life and destiny ; the
tacit assumption in either case being
that Christianity is merely a body of
doctrine. The truth is that revelation is
at the core historical. It is embraced in
a series of transactions in which men
act and participate, but which are refer-
able manifestly to an extraordinary agen-
cy of God, who thus discloses or reveals
himself. The supernatural clement does
not exclude the natural ; miracle is not
magic. Over and above teaching there
are laws, institutions, providential guid-
ance, deliverance, and judgment. Here
is the ground-work of revelation. For
the interpretation of this extraordinary
and exceptional line of historical phe-
nomena prophets and apostles are raised
up — men inspired to lift the veil and ex-
plain the dealings of Heaven with men.
Here is the doctrinal or theoretical
side of revelation. These individuals
behold with an open eye the significance
of the events of which they are witness-
es or participants. The facts of secular
history require to be illuminated by phi-
losophy. Analogous to this office is
the authoritative exposition and com-
ment which we find in the Scripture
along with the historical record. The
doctrinal element is not a thing in-
dependent, purely theoretic, discon-
nected from the realities of life and his-
torj. These lie at the foundation ; on
them everything of a didactic nature is
based. This fact will be impressively
obvious to one who will compare the
Bible, as to plan and structure, with the
Koran.

" The character of revelation is less
likely to be misconceived when the de-
sign of revelation is kept in view. The
end is not to satisfy the curiosity of those
who ' seek after wisdom,' by the solu-
tion of metaphysical problems. The
good offered is not science, but salva-
tion. The final cause of revelation is the
recovery of men to communion with God —
that is, to true religion. Whatever know-
ledge is communicated is tributary to
this end.

" Hence the grand aim, under the Old
Dispensation and the New, was not the
production of a book, but the training of
a people. To raise up and train up a
nation that should become a fit instru-
ment for the moral regeneration of man-

kind was the aim of the old system. . . .
Under the new or Christian system the
object was not less the training of a peo-
ple ; not, however, with any limitations
of race. The fount of the system was to
be a community of men who should be
' the light of the world,' and ' the salt of
the earth. . . .'

" The grand idea of the kingdom of
God is the connecting thread that runs
through the entire course of divine reve-
lation. We behold a kingdom planted
in the remote past, and carried forward
to its ripe development, by a series of
transactions in which the agency of God
mingles in an altogether peculiar way in
the current of human affairs. There is
a manifestation of God in act and deed.
Verbal teaching is the commentary at-
tached to the historic fact, ensuring to
the latter its true meaning."

This is sound and Christian phi-
losophy, admirably expressed and
containing many fruitful germs of
thought. What we have quoted
may suffice to show that the his-
torical nature of Christianity is the
fundamental idea of Dr. Fisher's
argument in the work under re-
view.

He recognizes also a law of his-
torical and continuous development
through all time in Christianity as
resulting from its vital force, which
differs from the previous historical
stage in this: that "in the giving
of revelation, at each successive
stage, and especially at the con-
summation, there was an increment
of its contents," whereas "this is
not true of Christianity since the
apostolic age." The touchstone
and test of normal development, in
the sense to which the signification
of the term is restricted when it is
used of the post-apostolic age, is
that "it springs out of the primi-
tive seed " — namely, the deposit of >
revealed truth contained in the
teaching of Christ and the apostles
in its state of ultimate complete-
ness.

The historical method of deter-

CJiristianity as an Historical Religion.

443

mining the real origin and nature
of Christianity is contrasted with
the method which is purely a priori
and exclusively metaphysical in the
following passage :

"The historical basis of Christianity
marks the distinction between Christian
theology and metaphysical philosophy.
The starting-point of the philosopher is
the intuitions of the mind ; on them as a
foundation, with the aid of logic, he
builds up his system His only postu-
lates are the data of consciousness. In
Christian theology, on the contrary, we
begin with facts recorded in history, and
explore, with the aid of inspired au-
thors, their rationale. To reverse this
course, and seek to evolve the Christian
religion out of consciousness, to trans-
mute its contents into a speculative sys-
tem, after the manner of the pantheistic
thinkers in Germany, is not less futile
than would be the pretence to construct
American history with no reference to
the Puritan emigration, the Revolution-
ary war, or the Southern Rebellion. The
distinctive essence of Christianity eva-
porates in an effort, like that undertaken
by Schelling in his earlier system, and
by Hegel, to identify it with a process of
thought."*

Farther on in his argument Dr.
Fisher shows how this perverse
employment of the d priori method
has produced the sceptical theories
of the Tubingen school of criti-
cism :

"As regards the credibility of the Gos-
pel history, it ought to be clearly under-
stood that the modern attack by Baur,
Strauss, Zeller, and others is founded
upon an a priori assumption. It is taken
for granted beforehand that whatever is
supernatural is unhistorical. The testi-
mony into which a miracle enters is
stamped at once as incredible. Chris-
tianity, it was assumed, was an evolu-
tion of thought upon the natural plane.
At a later day Strauss fell into a mate-
rialistic way of thinking, which rendered
him, if possible, more deaf to all the
evidence which, if admitted, implies the
supernatural. From the point of view
taken in the sceptical school, therefore,

*P. '.

the New Testament histories, so far as
they relate to the wonderful works of
Christ, and his resurrection and mani-
festation to his disciples after his death,
must be discredited. But their princi-
ple, or prejudice, carries the negative
critics farther. It mustaflect their juda
ment as to the authorship of the narra-
tives which record the miracles. It is
rendered difficult to believe, if not quite
improbable, that these histories emanate
from apostles, eye-witnesses of the life
of Jesus. The myths, or the consciously-
invented stories, the product of a theolo-
gical ' tendency ' in the primitive church,
cannot well be ascribed to the immediate
followers of Christ. The fact that the
New Testament histories contain ac-
counts of miracles also tends to weaken
and vitiate their general authority, in
the estimation of the sceptical school.
That is to say, the credulity of the Gos-
pel writers, or their willingness to de-
ceive, as evinced in the supernatural
elements embraced in their books, makes
them less entitled to trust in their re-
cord of ordinary events into which the
miracle does not enter. . . .

"Connected with the unscientific as-
sumption first noticed, other assumptions
were adopted by the Tubingen school
which are equally unsound. It was as-
sumed that Christianity is an evolution
of thought according to the scheme of
the Hegelian logic, where it is held as a
law that a doctrine in an undeveloped
form must divaricate into two opposite?,
to be recombined afterwards in a higher
unity. Thus, it was assumed that Pau-
linism.and the sharply-defined Judaizing
system attributed to Peter, were the an-
tagonistic types of opinion which sprang
out of the seed of doctrine planted by
Christ, and which were reunited in the
old Catholic theology, the evangelical
legalism of the fathers of the second
century." *

This statement is supplemented
by another succinct and pregnant
passage containing the elements of
an argument of great comprehen-
sion and irrefragable conclusive-
ness. After affirming that " the
mythical theory is wrecked upon a
variety of difficulties which it can-
not evade or surmount " — a state-

* Pp- 393-39S-

444

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

ment which has much more force,
taken in connection with the entire
context of thorough critical rea-
soning, than it can show as a mere
isolated quotation — the learned pro-
fessor proceeds :

" What is the rationalistic theory of
the origin of the Christian religion ? It
is that Jesus, a carpenter of Na/areth,
with no prestige derived from birth or
social standing, taught in Galilee for
about a year — for to this period the class
of whom we speak would limit his pub-
lic work. From these brief labors, made
up wholly of verbal instruction, came
that profound impression of his super-
human dignity which was made indeli-
bly upon his disciples, and which his
crucifixion as a criminal did not weaken,
and that transforming power which went
forth upon them, and, in ever-increasing
measure, upon all subsequent genera-
tions. The Apostolic Church, the con-
version of Paul, and his Epistles, the
narratives of the four Gospels, with all
that the}' contain, and Christianity, as it
appears in the history of mankind, all
spring from that one year of mere teach-
ing ! The effect is utterly disproportion-
ate to the cause assigned."*

We must take notice that the
author, with a competent know-
ledge of the theories and argu-
ments of the German Biblical cri-
tics, has carefully refuted them,
and presented solid proofs of the
genuineness and authenticity of
the historical books of the New
Testament, before arriving at this
part of his argument. He is sum-
ming up his plea after an exami-
nation and discussion of evidence.
His reasoning is not, therefore,
based on mere hypothesis, but is
the conclusion of a well-sustained
thesis, with all the weight derived
from his precedent proofs. And
he is therefore logically entitled to
make the demand that Christianity
shall be estimated by the historical
measure, according to the full

* Pp. 464, 465-

value of its miraculous facts and
supernatural qualities, to the exclu-
sion of any hypothesis which pre-
tends to be rational but is really
only fantastic, and therefore un-
philosophical as well as unchris-
tian.

"It is much more consistent with a
sound philosophy, instead of taking re-
fuge in an unreasonable denial of facts
historically established, to seek to com-
prehend them. At the outset the no-
tion should be banished that miracles
are repugnant to nature ; that the super-
natural is anti-natural. There is one
system ; and supernatural agency, how-
ever it ma}' modify the course of nature,
does no violence to the universal order.
For there is no such unbending rigidity
in the course of nature that it cannot be
modified by the interposition of volun-
tary agency. A steamship, cutting its
way through the billows in the teeth of
wind and tide, moves by the force of ma-
chinery which is contrived and directed
by the human will.* The volitions of
man produce an effect which nature, in-
dependently of this spiritual force, could
never occasion. Now, of the limits of
the possible control of matter by the pow-
er of spirit, any more than of the essence
and origin of matter itself, we cannot
speak. It is a presumptuous affirmation
that there is no being in the universe
who can infinitely outdo the power of
man, vast as it is, in this direction." f

In this brief and sententious
manner, with a few heavy and well-
directed strokes of sound reason,
the author effectually demolishes
all the brittle ware of transcenden-
tal nonsense which calls itself ration-
alism. We are reminded of a sen-
tence we once heard uttered by
that singular genius, Henry Giles, in
a railway carriage, respecting a mat-
ter quite different: " Such theories
are shattered like rotten glass by a
single thump of common sense."

We find no reason for quoting

* We should prefer to say contrived by the hu-
man intelligence, constructed and directed by the
human will.

tP.46s.

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

445

anything from Dr. Fisher's exposi-
tion of the historical preparation
for Christianity in the propaedeu-
tic system of Judaism. For the
present we will only refer to the
notice which he takes of the dis-
persion of the Hebrews over the
world at the epoch of the birth of
Christ, adopting the language of
Mommsen, which designates Juda-
ism as " an effective leaven of cos-
mopolitanism " working in the same
direction with the imperial Roman
polity toward a blending of nation-
alities in the more general solida-
rity "the nationality of which was
really nothing but humanity." Of
fhe providential office of Greece
and Rome in connection with that
of Judea he thus speaks :

" These were three nations of antiqui-
ty, each of which was entrusted with a
grand providential office in reference to
Christianity. The Greeks, whatever
they may have learned from Babylon,
Egypt, and Tyre, excelled all other
races in a self-expanding power of intel-
lect—in ' the power of lighting their own
fire.' They are the masters in science,
literature, and art. Plato, speaking of
his own countrymen, made ' the love of
knowledge ' the special characteristic of
' our part of the world,' as the love of
money was attributed with equal truth
to the Phcenicians and Egyptians. The
robust character of the Romans, and
iheir sense of right, qualified them to
rule, and to originate and transmit their
great system of law and their method of
political organization. Virgil lets An-
chises define the function of the Roman
people in his address to ^Eneas, a visitor
to the abodes of the dead :

" ' Others, I know, more tenderly may beat the

breathing brass,
And better from the marble block bring living

looks to pass ;
Others may better plead the cause, may compass

heaven's face,
And mark it out, and tell the stars their rising and

their place ;
But thou, O Roman ! look to it the folks of earth to

sway ;
For this shall be thine handicraft : peace on the

world to lay,
To spare the weak, to mar the proud by constant

weight of war.'

" Greece and Rome had each its own
place to fill ; but true religion — the spirit
in which man should live — comes from
the Hebrews." *

Dr. Fisher places the relation of
sympathy or affinity between the
mythological religion and Chris-
tianity in three things : first, in the
stimulus and scope given to subjec-
tive religious sentiments; second,
in the impulse towards " a goal
hidden from sight," the object of
" an unfulfilled demand in the reli-
gious nature " of men seeking after
God, whom they, in the language of
St. Paul on Mars' Hill, at Athens,
" ignorantly worshipped "; third, in
a growing "monotheistic ten-
dency." f

The topic of the relation of
Greek philosophy to Christianity
is handled by the learned author
in a very judicious and discrimi-
nating manner, although we are
disposed to take a considerably dif-
ferent view of the philosophy of Aris-
totle as compared with Platonism.
We are pleased to observe his high
estimate of the writings of Cicero.
The chapter on this topic is thus
introduced :

" The Greek philosophy was a prepara-
tion for Christianity in three ways : it
dissipated, or tended to dissipate, the
superstitions of polytheism ; it awaken-
ed a sense of need which philosophy of
itself failed to meet ; and it so educated
the intellect and conscience as to render
the Gospel apprehensible and, in many
cases, congenial to the mind. It did
more than remove obstacles out of the
way ; its work was positive as well as
negative : it originated ideas and habits
of thought which had more or less direct
affinity with the religion of the Gospel,
and which found in this religion their
proper counterpart. The prophetic ele-
ment of the Greek philosophy lay in the
glimpses of truth which it could not fully
discern, and in the obscure and uncon-
scious pursuit of a good which it could
not definitely grasp." \

* P. 66.

t Pp. 137-139- % P- 140-

446

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

In treating of " the close relation
of the Roman Empire to Christian-
ity " Prof. Fisher notices the ex-
tension of Roman citizenship, the
cosmopolitan polity of Caesar, the
unifying influence of Roman juris-
prudence, the assimilation of man-
kind in language and culture by
the spread of the Romano-Hellenic
civilization and the Greek and
Latin languages, travel and inter-
course, commerce and a general
mingling of mankind from various
causes, the mingling of religions,
and the resuscitation of the idea
of a common humanity. Without
overlooking the external agency of
Rome in paving the way for Chris-
tianity, the author more distinctly ac-
centuates another kind of influence :

"The effect of the consolidation of so
large a part of mankind in one political
body, in breaking up local and tribal
narrowness, and in awakening what
may be termed a cosmopolitan feeling,
is in the highest degree interesting.
The Roman dominion was the means of
a mental and moral preparation for the
Gospel ; and this incidental effect is
worthy of special note. The kingdom of
Christ proposed the unification of man-
kind through a spiritual bond. What-
ever tended to melt down the prejudices
of nation, and clan, and creed, and in-
stil in the room of them more liberal
sentiments, opened a path for the Gos-
pel. Now, we find that under the politi-
cal system established by Rome a va-
riety of agencies co-operated to effect
such a result. Powerful forces were at
work whose effect was not limited to
the creation of outward advantages for
the dissemination of the religion of
Christ, but tended to produce a more or
less genial soil for its reception. We
have, then, to embrace in one view the
influence of the Roman Empire in both
of these relations, in shaping outward
circumstances, and in favoring a mental
habit, which were propitious to the intro-
duction of the new faith." *

What the author proposes in the
last clause of this quotation he fiil-
* p. 42.

fils in a very satisfactory manner in
one of the most splendid chapters
of his work.

The outline of the historical basis
of Christianity having been drawn,
and the principles of the sound
historical construction of a true
and logical theory or philosophy of
the Christian religion established,
the outline of the actual founda-
tions, and the first course of the
great structure itself, determining
its plan of architecture, next de-
mands our consideration. In plain-
er language, the actual "beginnings
of Christianity " in the apostolic age,
the earliest history of the religion
of Christ, in respect to all its consti-
tutive principles, presents itself for
examination. What is Christianity
in its essence, nature, integrity of
organic constitution, its proper at-
tributes; with a due distinction of
its substance from its accidents, of
its genuine and normal germs of
future development from every-
thing of a parasitic nature or in
any way abnormal ? This is the
great question to be studied in the
authentic records of the antiquities
of Christianity, with all the light
and aid which can be obtained from
every source accessible to research.

The long-continued, widely-ex-
tended preparations of divine Provi-
dence for the great event of the
coming of the Messias of the Jews
and Gentiles, the immensity of the
ground prepared to be the theatre
of the future Christian history, the
vast and mighty instrumentalities
made ready to serve the fulfilment
of the plan of Jesus and of the
apostolic mission, all point toward
something proportionate in gran-
deur to the grandeur of the inchoate
order which preceded. The an-
ticipation of Christ in history de-
mands a corresponding realization
of his actual presence and opera-

To the Witch-HaseL

447

lion in the " fulness of time," the
age of the completion and consum-
mation of human destinies on the
earth. Moreover, the stupendous
miracles, especially the crowning
one of the Resurrection, which are
among the first facts and events of
historical Christianity, logically and
rationally require that an ideal of
Christianity shall be presented
which justifies such an outlay of
supernatural power, and the posi-
tion of causes containing such infi-
nite potential force. The end of
all previous human history being
found in the beginning of Chris-
tianity, the new beginning of all
human history must be likewise
found there. If the normal, legiti-
mate development in later ages is
tested by its origination from the

primitive seed planted in the apos-
tolic age, the nature and qualities
of that seed must be correctly as-
certained. If we would recognize
the true genius of Christianity in
its real manifestations from the
days of the apostles to our own, and
discriminate it from simulated ap-
paritions, we must know what this
genius really is, or the original
error will falsify all subsequent
processes of judgment and reason-
ing, like an ambiguous middle in a
syllogism.

But we have proceeded as far as
our limits will permit in the present
article, and must postpone the con-
sideration of what was actual Chris-
tianity in the apostolic age, and of
the learned author's theory on the
subject, to a future opportunity.

TO THE WITCH-HAZEL.

" Last of their floral sisterhood,
The hazel's yellow blossoms shine,
1 he tawny gold of Afric's mind !"

J. G. WHITTIER.

No mocking dream art thou of summer sun,
No fading shadow of the autumn's gold ;
Thy sunset stars their yellow light unfold

As some pale planet, when the day is done,

Giveth unfailing promise of the night

With its blessed hours of rest, its sparkling fields —
The glittering harvest that the darkness yields

Of unknown worlds far reaching out of sight.

In the year's twilight thy pale blossoms shine
With faithful promise of the winter's night —
The broad, white fields with nameless stars a-light,

The crystal glitter far outshining thine.

In the late daylight that about thee lies,

How soft thy radiance to sun-weary eyes !

448 To the Witch-Hazei.

The brave arbutus fair foretold the spring

With gleam auroral of the coming slow

Of perfect summer's full life's noon-day glow,
With undimmed sunshine, earth illumining.
Thy stars, wan hazel, break amid the blaze

Of gold and scarlet wherewith burn the hills —

As when the pomp of royal burial fills
The clouded skies that mourn the dying days.
The gold grows spent, ashen the scarlet fires,

The night too near for any song of bird ;

'Mid voice of streams and rustling leaves, foot-stirred,
The grieving summer's last earth-prayer expires.
Brighter thy glow as golden pomp .grows sere,
O pale-hued Hesper of the westering year !

in.

No dreary harbinger art thou of woe,

Of barren days, and warm life lost in death :
On heav'n-kissed peaks is born the icy breath

Whose touch unfolds the flowers of the snow.

Spring's buds, close-folded, lie along the bare

And shivering boughs where calls the wild-voiced wind,
And fine the leafless tracery is lined

On blue undimmed as summer heavens wear.

Hearts glow the warmer for the bitter wind,
Stars are but brighter for the frosty night,
Of earth despoiled love climbeth holy height,

New, blossoming paths her feet, untiring, find.

Thought of thy promise shining in dim skies

Fills darkest hour with lights of Paradise.

IV.

Among thy boughs almost the sound I hear
Of Christmas bells breaking on wintry gloom ;
Foretelling so, the glimmer of thy bloom

The kindliest feast of all the saint-crowned year.

O happy year ! that for its twilight crown

Wears the dim radiance of thy peaceful stars,
Hears song of angels, where no harsh note jars,

Filling the woods whence latest bird hath flown.

O waiting bloom ! bud forth thy prophecies,
Thine earnest of a life fore'er renewed,
Thy light in darkness, with fair hope imbued,

Thy golden gift of love's amenities.

O conjurer's wand ! thy jewelled staff bend low,

Show the bright waters living 'neath the snow.

The Wolf- Tower

449

THE WOLF-TOWER.

A BRETON CHRISTMAS LEGEND.

LONG ago in Brittany, under
the government of St. Gildas the
Wise, seventh abbot of Ruiz, there
lived a young tenant of the abbey
who was blind in the right eye
and lame in the left leg. His name
was Sylvestre Ker, and his mother,
Josserande Ker, was the widow of
Martin Ker, in his lifetime the
keeper of the great door of the
Convent of Ruiz.

The mother and son lived in
a tower, the ruins of which are
still seen at the foot of Mont Saint-
Michel de la Trinite, in the grove
of chestnut-trees that belongs to
Jean Marechal, the mayor's ne-
phew. These ruins are now called
the Wolf-Tower, and the Breton
peasants shudder as they pass
through the chestnut-grove ; for at
midnight around the Wolf-Tower,
and close to the first circle of
great stones erected by the Druids
at Carnac, are seen the phantoms
of a young man and a young girl —
Pol Bihan and Matheline du Coat-
Dor.

The young girl is of graceful
figure, with long, floating hair, but
without a face ; and the young
man is tall and robust, but the
sleeves of his coat hang limp and
empty, for he is without arms.
Round and round the circle they
pass in opposite directions, and,
strange to tell, as the legend adds,
they never meet, nor do they ever
speak to each other.

Once a year, on Christmas night,
instead of walking they run ; and
VOL. xxvi. — 29

all the Christians who cross the
heath to go to the midnight Mass
hear from afar the young girl cry:
" Wolf Sylvestre Ker, give me back
my beauty!" and the deep voice
of the young man adds : " Wolf
Sylvestre Ker, give me back my
strength !"

II.

And this has lasted for thirteen
hundred years ; therefore you may
well think there is a story connect-
ed with it.

When Martin Ker, the husband
of Dame Josserande, died, their son
Sylvestre was only seven years old.
The widow was obliged to give up
the guardianship of the great door
to a man-at-arms, and retire to the
tower, which was her inheritance ;
but little Sylvestre Ker had per-
mission to follow the studies in the
convent school. The boy showed
natural ability, but he studied lit-
tle, except in the class of chemis-
try, taught by an old monk named
Thae'l, who was said to have dis-
covered the secret of making gold
out of lead by adding to it a cer-
tain substance which no one but
himself knew ; for certainly, if the
fact had been communicated, all the
lead in the country would have
been quickly turned into gold.
As for Thae'l himself, he had been
careful not to profit by his secret,
for Gildas the Wise had once said
to him : " Thae'l, Thae'l, God does
not wish you to change the work
of his hands. Lead is lead, and
gold is gold. There is enough
gold, and not too much lead.

450

The Wolf -Tower.

Leave God's works alone ; if not,
Satan will be your master."

Most assuredly such precepts
would not be well received by mo-
dern industry; but St. Gildas knew
what he said, and Thael died of
extreme old age before he had
changed the least particle of lead
into gold. This, however, was not
from want of will, which was prov-
ed after his death, as the rumor
spread about that Thael did not
altogether desert his laboratory,
but at times returned to his be-
loved labors. Many a time in the
lonely hours <pf the night the fish-
ermen, in their barks, watched the
glimmer of the light in his former

• cell ; and Gildas the Wise, having
jbeen warned of the fact, arose one
might before Lauds, and with quiet
•steps crossed the corridors, think-
ing to surprise his late brother,
and perhaps ask of him some de-
tails,of the other side of the dread-

• ed door which separates life from

• death..

When he reached the cell he
^listened and heard ThaeTs great
bellows puffing and blowing, al-
though no one had yet been ap-
pointed to succeed him. Gildas
suddenly opened the door with his
master-key, and saw before him
little Sylvestre Ker actively em-
ployed in relighting ThaeTs fur-
naces.

St. Gildas was not a man to give
way to sudden wrath; he took the
child by the ear, drew him outside,
and said to him gently:

" Ker, my little Ker, I know
what you are attempting and what
tempts you to make the effort ; but
-God does not wish it, nor I either,
,my little Ker."

" I do it," replied the boy, " be-
cause my dear mother is so poor."

"Your mother is what she is;
has what God gives her. Lead

is lead, and gold is gold. If you
go against the will of God, Satan
will be your master."

Little Ker returned to the tower
crestfallen, and never again slipped
into the cell of the dead Thael ; but
when he was eighteen years old a
modest inheritance was left him,
and he bought materials for dis-
solving metals and distilling the
juice of plants. He gave out that
his aim was to learn the art of heal-
ing ; for that great purpose he read
great books which treated of medi-
cal science and many other things
besides.

He was then a youth of fine ap-
pearance, with a noble, frank face,
neither one-eyed nor lame,* and led
a retired life with his mother, who
ardently loved her only son. No
one visited them in the tower,
except the laughing Matheline, the
heiress of the tenant of Coat-Dor
and god-daughter of Josserande ;
and Pol Bihan, son of the successor
of Martin Ker as armed keeper of
the great door.

Both Pol and Matheline often
conversed together, and upon what
subject, do you think? Always of
Sylvestre Ker. Was it because
they loved him ? No. What
Matheline loved most was her own
fair self, and Pol Bihan 's best
friend was named Pol Bihan. Ma-
theline passed long hours before
her little mirror of polished steel,
which faithfully reflected her laugh-
ing mouth, full of pearls ; and Pol
was proud of his great strength,
for he was the best wrestler in the
Carnac country. When they spoke
of Sylvestre Ker it was to say :
" What if some fine morning he
should find the secret of the
fairy-stone that is the mother of
gold!"

And each one mentally added:

"I must continue to be friendly

The Wolf -Tower.

451

with him, for if he becomes wealthy
he will enrich me."

Josserande also knew that her
beloved son sought after the fairy-
stone, and even had mentioned it
to Gildas the Wise, who shook his
venerable head and said:

"What God wills will be. Be
careful that your son wears a mask
over his face when he seeks the
cursed thing ; for what escapes from
the crucible is Satan's breath, and
the breath of Satan causes blind-
ness."

Josserande, meditating upon
these words, went to kneel before
the cross of St. Cado, which is in
front of the seventh stone of Caesar's
camp — the one that a little child
can move by touching it with his
finger, but that twelve horses, har-
nessed to twelve oxen, cannot stir
from its solid foundation. Thus
prostrate, she prayed : " O Lord
Jesus! thou who hast mercy for
mothers on account of the Holy
Virgin Mary, thy mother, watch
well over my little Sylvestre, and
take from his head this thought of
making gold. Nevertheless, if it
is thy will that he should be rich,
thou art the master of all things,
my sweet Saviour !"

And as she rose she murmured :
" What a beautiful boy he would
be with a cloak of fine cloth and
a hood bordered with fur, if he
only had means to buy them!"

in.

It came to pass that as all these
young people, Pol Bihan, Mathe-
line", and Sylvestre Ker, gained a
year each time that twelve months
rolled by, they reached the age to
think of marriage ; and Josserande
one morning proceeded to the
dwelling of the farmer of Coat-Dor
to ask the hand of Matheline for
her son, Sylvestre Ker ; at which

proposal Matheline opened her
rosy mouth so wide, to laugh the
louder, that far back she showed
two pearls which had never before
been seen.

When her father asked her if the
offer suited her she replied : " Yes,
father and godmother, provided
that Sylvestre Ker gives me a
gown of cloth of silver embroider-
ed with rubies, like that of the Lady
of Lannelar, and that Pol Bihan
may be our groomsman."

Pol, who was there, also laughed
and said : " I will assuredly be
groomsman to my friend Sylvestre
Ker, if he consents to give me a
velvet mantle striped with gold,
like that of the castellan of Gavre,
the Lord of Carnac."

Whereupon Josserande returned
to the tower and said to her. son :
" Ker, my darling, I advise you to
choose another friend and another
bride ; for those two are not wor-
thy of your love."

But the young man began to
sigh and groan, and answered :
" No friendship or love will I ever
know, except for Pol, my dear com-
rade, and Matheline, your god-
daughter, my beautiful play-fel-
low."

And Josserande having told him
of the two new pearls that Mathe-
line had shown in the back of her
mouth, nothing would do but he
must hurry to Coat-Dor to try and
see them also.

On the road from the tower to the
farm of Coat-Dor is the Point of
Hinnic, where the grass is salt,
which makes the cows and rams
very fierce while they are grazing.
As Sylvestre Ker walked down the
path at the end of which is the
Cross of St. Cado, he saw on the
summit of the promontory Pol and
Matheline strolling along, talking
and laughing'; so he thought :

452

The. Wolf -Tower.

" I need not go far to see Mathe-
line's two pearls. '

And, in fact, the girl's merry
laughter could be heard below, for
it always burst forth if Pol did but
open his lips; when, lo and be-
hold ! a huge old ram which had
been browsing on the salt grass
tossed back his two horns, and,
fuming at the nostrils, bleated as
loud as the stags cry when chased,
and rushed in the direction of
Matheline's voice ; for, as every one
knows, the rams become furious if
laughter is heard in their mea-
dow.

He ran quickly, but Sylvestre
Ker ran still faster, and arrived the
first by the girl, so that he received
the shock of the ram's butting
while protecting her with his body.
The injury was not very great, only
his right eye was touched by the
curved end of one of the horns
when the ram raised his head, and
thus Sylvestre Ker became one-
eyed.

The ram, prevented from slaugh-
tering Matheline, dashed after Pol
Bihan, who fled ; reached him
just at the end of the cliff, and
pushed him into the sea, that beat
against the rocks fifty feet below.

Well content with his work, the
ram walked off, and the story says
he laughed behind his woolly beard.
But Matheline wept bitterly and
cried :

" Ker, my handsome Ker, save
Bihan, your sweet friend, from
death, and I pledge my faith I will
be your wife without any condi-
tion."

At the same time, amid the roar-
ing of the waves, was heard the
imploring voice of Pol Bihan cry-
ing:

"Sylvestre, O Sylvestre Ker!
my only friend, I cannot swim.
Come quickly and save me from

dying without confession, and all
you may ask of me you shall have,
were it the dearest treasure of my
heart."

Sylvestre Ker asked :

" Will you be my groomsman ?"

And Bihan replied :

" Yes, yes, and I will give you
a hundred crowns. And all
that your mother may ask of me
she shall have. But hasten, has-
ten, dear friend, or the waves will
carry me off."

Sylvestre Ker's blood was pour-
ing from the wound in his eye, and
his sight was dimmed ; but he was
generous of heart, and boldly leap-
ed from the top of the promontory.
As he fell his left leg was 'jammed
against a jutting rock and broke,
so there he was, lame as well as one-
eyed ; nevertheless, he dragged
Bihan to the shore and asked :

"When shall the wedding be?"

As Matheline hesitated in her
answer — for Sylvestre's brave deeds
were too recent to be forgotten —
Pol Bihan came to her assistance
a»nd gaily cried :

" You must wait, Sylvestre, my
saviour, until your leg and eye are
healed."

" Still longer," added Matheline
(and now Sylvestre Ker saw the two
new pearls, for in her laughter she
opened her mouth from ear to ear) —
" still longer, as limping, one-eyed
men are not to my taste — no, no !"

"But," cried Sylvestre Ker, " it
is for your sakes that I am one-
eyed and lame."

" That is true," said Bihan.

" That is true," also repeated
Matheline ; for she always spoke
as he did.

" Ker, my friend Ker," resumed
Bihan, "wait until to-morrow, and
we will make you happy."

And off they went, Matheline and
he, arm-in-arm, leaving Sylvestre

The Wolf -Tower.

453

to go hobbling along to the tower,
alone with his sad thoughts.

Would you believe it ? Trudg-
ing wearily home, he consoled him-
self by thinking that he had seen two
new pearls behind the smile. You
may, perhaps, think you have never
met such a fool. Undeceive your-
self: it is the same with all the men,
who only look for laughing girls
with teeth like pearls.

But the sorrowful one was Jos-
serande, the widow, when she saw
her son with only one eye and one
sound leg.

" Where did all this happen ?" she
asked with tears.

And as Sylvestre Ker gently an-
swered, " I have seen them, mother;
they are very beautiful," Josserande
divined that he spoke of her god-
daughter's two pearls, and cried:

" By all that is^ ho^y, he has also
lost his mind !"

Then, seizing her staff, she went
to the Abbey of Ruiz, to consult
St. Gildas as to what could be done
in this unfortunate case; and the
wise man replied :

" You should not have spoken of
the two pearls; your son would
have remained at home. But now
that the evil is done, nothing will
happen to him contrary to God's
holy will. At high tide the sea
comes foaming over the sands, yet
see how quietly it retires. What
is Sylvestre Ker doing now ?"

" He is lighting his furnaces,"
replied Josserande.

The wise man paused to reflect,
and after a little while said :

" In the first place, you must
pray devoutly to the Lord our God,
and afterward look well before
you to know where to put your
feet. The weak buy the strong,
the unhappy the happy ;x did you
know that, my good woman ? Your
son will persevere in search of the

fairy-stone that changes lead into
gold, to pay for Pol's wicked friend-
ship and for the pearls behind the
dangerous smiles of that Matheline.
Since God permits it, all is right.
Yet see that your son is well pro-
tected against the smoke of his
crucible, for it is the very breath
of Satan ; and make him promise
to go to the midnight Mass."

For it was near the glorious
Feast of Christmas.

IV.

Josserande had no difficulty in
making Sylvestre Ker promise to
go to the midnight Mass, for he
was a good Christian; and she
bought for him an iron armor to
put on when he worked around his
crucibles, so as to preserve him
from Satan's breath.

And it happened that, late and
early, Pol Bihan now came to the
tower, bringing with him the
laughing Matheline; for it was
rumored around that at last Syl-
vestre Ker would soon find the
fairy-stone and become a wealthy
man. It was not only two new
pearls that Matheline showed at the
corners of her rosy mouth, but a
brilliant row, that shone, and chat-
tered, and laughed, from her lips
down to her throat ; for Pol Bihan
had said to her :

" Laugh as much as you can ; for
smiles attract fools, as the turning-
mirror catches larks."

We have spoken of Matheline's
lips, of her throat, and of her
smile, .but not of her heart ; of
that we can only say the place
where it should have been was
nearly empty ; so she replied to
Bihan :

" As much as you will. I can af-
ford to laugh to be rich ; and when
the fool shall have given me all the

454

7 he Wolf -Tower.

gold of the earth, all the pleasures
of the world, I will be happy, happy.
... I will have them all for my-
self, for myself alone, and I will
enjoy them."

Pol Bihan clasped bis hands in
admiration, so lovely and wise was
she for her age; but he thought:
" I am wiser still than you, my
beauty : we will share between us
what the fool will give — one half
for me, and the other also; the
rest for you. Let the water run
under the bridge."

The day before Christmas they
came together to the tower — Ma-
theline carrying a basket of chest-
nuts, Pol a large jug, full of sweet
e-ider — to make merry with the god-
mother. They roasted the chest-
nuts in the ashes, and heated the
cider before the fire, adding to it
fermented honey, wine, sprigs of
rosemary, and marjoram leaves ;
and so delicious was the perfume
of the beverage that even Dame
Josserande longed for a taste.

On the way Pol had advised
Matheline adroitly to question
Sylvestre Ker, to know when he
would at last find the fairy-stone.
Sylvestre Ker neither ate chest-
nuts nor drank wine, so absorbed
was he in the contemplation of
Matheline's bewitching smiles ;
and she said to him :

" Tell me, my handsome, lame,
and one-eyed bridegroom, will I
soon be the wife of a wealthy
man ?"

Sylvestre Ker, whose eye shot
forth a lurid flame, replied :

" You would have been as rich
as you are beautiful to-morrow,
without fail, if I had not promised
my dear mother to accompany her
to the midnight Mass to-night.
The favorable hour falls just at
the first stroke of Matins."

" To-day ?"

" Between to-day and to-mor-
row."

" And can it not be put off?"

" Yes, it can be put off for seven
years."

Dame Josserande heard nothing,
as Pol was relating an interesting
story, so as to distract her atten-
tion ; but while talking he listened
with all his ears.

Matheline laughed no longer,
and thought :

" Seven years ! Can I wait seven
years ?" Then she continued :

" Beautiful bridegroom, how do
you know that the propitious mo-
ment falls precisely at the hour of
Matins ? Who told you so ?"

" The stars," replied .Sylvestre
Ker. " At midnight Mars and
Saturn will arrive in diametrical
opposition ; Venus will seek Vesta ;
Mercury will disappear in the sun ;
and the planet without a name,
that the deceased Thael divined by
calculation, I saw last night, steer-
ing its unknown route through
space to come in conjunction with
Jupiter. Ah ! if I only dared dis-
obey my dear mother."

He was interrupted by a distant
vibration of the bells of Plouhar-
nel, which rang out the first signal
of the midnight Mass. Josserande
instantly left her wheel.

"It would be a sin to spin one
thread more," said she. " Come, my
son Sylvestre, put on your Sunday
clothes, and let us be off for the
parish church, if you please."

Sylvestre wished to rise, for
never yet had he disobeyed his
mother ; but Matheline, seated at
his side, detained him and mur-
mured in silvery tones :

"My handsome friend, you have
plenty of time."

Pol, on his side, said to Dame
Josserande :

" Get your staff, neighbor, and

The Wolf- Tower.

455

start at once, so as to take your
time. Your god-daughter Mathe-
line will accompany you ; and I
will follow with my friend Sylves-
tre, for fear some, accident might
happen to him with his lame leg
and sightless eye."

As he proposed, so was it done ;
for Josserande suspected nothing,
knowing that her son had promis-
ed, and that he would not break
his word. As they were leaving,
Pol whispered to Matheline:

" Amuse the good woman well,
for the fool must remain here."

And the girl replied :

" Try and see the caldron in
which our fortune is cooking.
You will tell me how it is done."

Off the two women started ; a
large, kind mother's heart, full of
tender love, and a sparrow's little
gizzard, narrow and dry, without
enough room in it for one pure
tear.

For a moment Sylvestre Ker
stood on the threshold of the open
door to watch them depart. On
the gleaming white snow their two
shadows fell ; the one bent and al-
ready tottering, the other erect,
flexible, and each step seemed a
bound. The young lover sighed.
Behind him Pol Bihan in a low
voice said :

" Ker, my comrade, I know
what you are thinking about, and
you are right to think so ; this
must come to an end. She is as
impatient as you are, for her love
equals yours ; for both of you it is
too long to wait."

Sylvestre Ker turned pale with
joy.

" Do you speak truth ?" he stam-
mered. " Am I fortunate enough to
be loved by her?"

"Yes, on my faith !" replied Pol
Bihan, " she loves you too well for
her own peace. When a girl

laughs too much, it is to keep from
weeping — that's the real truth."

v.'

Well might they call him " the
fool," poor Sylvestre Ker ! Not
that he had less brains than an-
other man — on the contrary, he
was now very learned — but love
crazes him who places his affec-
tions on an unworthy object. Syl-
vestre Ker's little finger was worth
two dozen Pol Bihans and fifty
Mathelines ; in spite of which Ma-
theline and Pol Bihan were perfect-
ly just in their contempt, for he
who ascends the highest falls the
lowest.

When Sylvestre had re-entered
the tower Pol commenced to sigh
heavily and said :

" What a pity ! What a great,
great pity !"

"What is a pity?" asked Sylves-
tre Ker.

" It is a pity to miss such a rare
opportunity."

Sylvestre Ker exclaimed :

"What opportunity? So you
were listening to my conversation
with Matheline ?"

" Why, yes," replied Pol. " I al-
ways have an ear open to hear
what concerns you, my true friend.
Seven years ! Shall I tell you what
I think ? You would only have
twelve months to wait to go with
your mother to another Christmas
Mass."

" I have promised," said Syl-
vestre.

" That is nothing; if your mother
loves you truly, she will forgive
you."

" If she loves me !" cried Sylves-
tre Ker. " Oh ! yes, she loves me
with her whole heart."

Some chestnuts still remained,
and Bihan shelled one while he
said :

456

The Wolf-Toivcr.

" Certainly, certainly, mothers
always love their children ; but
Matheline is not your mother.
You are one-eyed, you are lame,
and you have sold your little patri-
mony to buy your furnaces. Noth-
ing remains of it. Where is the
girl who can wait seven years ?
Nearly the half of her age ! . . .
If I were in your place I would
not throw away my luck as you are
about to do, but at the hour of
Matins I would work for my hap-
piness."

Sylvestre Ker was standing be-
fore the fireplace. He listened,
his eyes bent down, with a frown
upon his brow.

"You have spoken well," at last
he said ; "my dear mother will for-
give me. I shall remain, and will
work at the hour of Matins."

"You have decided for the
best !" cried Bihan. " Rest easy ; I
will be with you in case of danger.
Open the door of your laboratory.
We will work together ; I will cling
to you like your shadow !"

Sylvestre Ker did not move, but
looked fixedly upon the floor, and
then, as if thinking aloud, mur-
mured :

"It will be the first time that I
have ever caused my dear mother
sorrow !"

He opened a door, but not that
of the laboratory, pushed Pol Bihan
outside, and said :

" The danger is for myself alone ;
the gold will be for all. Go to the
Christmas Mass in my place ; say
to Matheline that she will be rich,
and to my dear mother that she
shall have a happy old age, since
she will live and die with her fortu-
nate son."

VI.

When Sylvestre Ker was alone
he listened to the noise of the

waves dashing upon the beach, and
the sighing of the wind among the
great oaks — two mournful sounds.
And he looked at the empty seats
of Matheline, the madness of his
heart ; and of his dear mother, Jos-
serande, the holy tenderness of all
his life. Little by little had he
seen the black hair of the widow
become gray, then white, around
her sunken temples. That night
memory carried him back even to
his cradle, over which had bent the
sweet, noble face of her who had
always spoken to him of God.

But whence came those golden
ringlets that mingled with Josse-
rande's black hair, and which shone
in the sunlight above his. mother's
snowy locks ? and that laugh, ah !
that silvery laugh of youth, which
prevented Sylvestre Ker from hear-
ing in his pious recollections the
calm, grave voice of his mother.
Whence did it come ?

Seven years ! Pol had said,
" Where is the girl who can wait
seven years ?" and these words
floated in the air. Never had the
son of Martin Ker heard such
strange voices amid the roaring of
the ocean, nor in the rushing winds
of the forest of the Druids.

Suddenly the tower also com-
menced to speak, not only through
the cracks of the old windows
when the mournful wind sighed,
but with a confusion of sounds
that resembled the busy whispering
of a crowd, that penetrated through
the closed doors of the laboratory,
under which a bright light stream-
ed.

Sylvestre Ker opened the door,
fearing to see all in a blaze, but
there was no fire ; the light that
had streamed under the door came
from the round, red eye of his fur-
nace, and happened to strike the
stone of the threshold. No one

The Wolf- Tower.

457

was in the laboratory ; still the
noises, similar to the chattering
of an audience awaiting a prom-
ised spectacle, did not cease. The
air was full of speaking things ;
the spirits could be felt swarming
around, as closely packed as the
wheat in the barn or the sand on
the sea-shore.

And. although not seen, they
spoke all kinds of phantom-words,
which were heard right and
left, before and behind, above and
below, and which penetrated
through the pores of the skin like
quicksilver passing through a cloth.
They said :

" The Magi have started, my
friend."

" My friend, the Star shines in
the East."

" My friend, my friend, the little
King Jesus is born in the manger,
upon the straw."

" Sylvestre Ker will surely go
with the shepherds."

" Not at all ; Sylvestre Ker will
not go."

" Good Christian he was."

" Good Christian he is no lon-
ger."

" He has forgotten the name of
Joseph, the chaste spouse."

"And the name of Mary, the
ever Virgin Mother."

"No, no, no!"

" Yes, yes, yes!"

" He will go !"

"He will not go!"

"He will go, since he promised
Dame Josserande."

" He will not go, since Matheline
told him to stay."1

" My friend, my friend, to-night
Sylvestre Ker will find the golden
secret."

" To-night, my friend, my fiiend,
he will win the heart of the one he
loves."

And the invisible spirits, thus

disputing, sported through the air,
mounting, descending, whirling
around like atoms of dust in a sun-
beam, from the flag-stones of the
floor to the rafters of the roof.

Inside the furnace, in the cruci-
ble, some other thing responded,
but it could not be well heard, as
the crucible had been hermetically
sealed.

" Go out from here, you wicked
crowd," said Sylvestre Ker, sweep-
ing around with a broom of holly-
branches. " What are you doing
here ? Go outside, cursed spirits,
damned souls — go, go !"

From all the corners of the room
came laughter; Matheline seemed
everywhere.

Suddenly there was profound si-
lence, and the wind from the sea
brought the sound of the bells of
Plouharnel, ringing the second
peal for the midnight Mass.

" My friend, what are they say-
ing?"

" They say Christmas, my friend —
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas !"

" Not at all ! They say, Gold,
gold, gold !"

" You lie, my friend !"

" My friend, you lie !"

And the other voices, those that
were grumbling in the interior of
the furnace, swelled and puffed.
The fire, that no person was blow-
ing, kept up by itself, hot as the
soul of a forge should be. The
crucible became red, and the stones
of the furnace were dyed a deep
scarlet.

In vain did Sylvestre Ker sweep
with his holly broom ; between the
branches, covered with sharp leaves,
the spirits passed — nothing could
catch them ; and the heat was so
great the boy was bathed in per-
spiration.

After the bells had finished their
second peal he said : " I am stifling.

The Wolf- Tower.

I will open the window to let out
the heat as well as this herd of evil
spirits."

But as soon as he opened the
window the whole country com-
menced to laugh under its white
mantle of snow — barren heath,
ploughed land, Druid stones, even
to the enoynous oaks of the forest,
with their glistening summits, that
shook their frosty branches, saying :
" Sylvestre Ker will go ! Sylvestre
Ker will not go !"

Not a spirit from within flew out,
while all the outside spirits enter-
ed, muttering, chattering, laughing :
"Yes, yesr yes, yes! No, no, no,
no !" And I believe they fought.

At the same time the sound of a
cavalcade advancing was heard on
the flinty road that passed before the
tower; and Sylvestre Ker recogniz-
ed the long procession of the monks
of Ruiz, led by the grand abbot,
Gildas the Wise, arrayed in cope
and mitre, with his crosier in his
hand, going to the Mass of Plou-
harnel, as the convent-chapel was
being rebuilt.

When the head of the cavalcade
approached the tower the grand
abbot cried out :

" My armed guards, sound your
horns to awaken Dame Josserande's
son !"

And instantly there was a blast
from the horns, which rang out
until Gildas the Wise exclaimed :

"Be silent, for there is my tenant
wide awake at his window."

When all was still the grand
abbot raised his crosier and said :

" My tenant, the first hour of
Christmas approaches, the glorious
Feast of the Nativity. Extinguish
your furnaces and hasten to Mass,
for you have barely time."

And on he passed, while those
in the procession, as they saluted
Ker, repeated :

" Sylvestre Ker, you have barely
time ; make haste !"

The voices of the air kept gib-
bering : " He will go ! He will not
go !" and the wind whistled in bit-
ter sarcasm.

Sylvestre Ker closed his window.
He sat down, his head clasped by
his trembling hands. His heart
was rent by two forces that dragged
him, one to the right, the other to
the left : his mother's prayer and
Matheline's laughter.

He was no miser; he did not
covet gold for the sake of gold, but
that he might buy the row of pearls
and smiles that hung from the lips
of Matheline. . . .

"Christmas!" cried « a voice in
the air.

" Christmas, Christmas, Christ-
mas !" repeated all the other
voices.

Sylvestre Ker suddenly opened
his eyes, and saw that the furnace
was fiery red from top to bottom,
and that the crucible was surround-
ed with rays so dazzling he could
not even look at it. Something
was boiling inside that sounded
like the roaring of a tempest.

"Mother! O my dear mother!"
cried the terrified man, " I am
coining. I'll run. . . ."

But thousands of little voices
stung his ears with the words :

" Too late, too late, too late ! It
is too late !"

Alas ! alas ! the wind from the
sea brought the third peal of the
bells of Plouharnel, and they also
said to him : " Too late !"

VII.

As the sound of the bells died
away the last drop of water fell
from the clepsydra and marked
the hour of midnight. Then the
furnace opened and showed the
glowing crucible, which burst with

The Wolf- Tower.

459

a terrible noise, and threw out a
gigantic flame that reached the
sky through the torn roof. Sylves-
tre Ker, enveloped by the fire, fell
prostrate on the ground, suffocated
in the burning smoke.

The silence of death followed.
Suddenly an awful voice said to
him : " Arise." And he arose.

On the spot where had stood the
furnace, of which not a vestige re-
mained, was standing a man, or
rather a colossus; and Sylvestre
Ker needed but a glance to recog-
nize in him the demon. His body
appeared to be of iron, red-hot and
transparent ; for in his veins could
be seen the liquid gold, flowing
into, and then in turn retreating
from, his heart, black as an extin-
guished coal.

The creature, who was both fear-
ful and beautiful to behold, extend-
ed his hand toward the side of the
tower nearest the sea, and in the
thick wall a large breach was made.

" Look," said Satan.

Sylvestre Ker obeyed. He saw,
as though distance were annihilat-
ed, the interior of the humble
church of Plouharnel where the
faithful were assembled. The offi-
ciating priest had just ascended
the altar, brilliant with the Christ-
mas candles, and there was great
pomp and splendor; for the many
monks of Gildas the Wise were
assisting the poor clergy of the
parish.

In a corner, under the shadow of
a column, knelt Dame Josserande
in fervent prayer, but often did the
dear woman turn toward the door
to watch for the coming of her
son.

Not far from her was Matheline
du Coat-Dor, bravely attired and
very beautiful, but lavishing the
pearls of her smiles upon all who
sought them, forgetting no one but

God ; and close to Matheline Pol
Bihan squared his broad shoulders.

Then, even as Satan had given
to Sylvestre Ker's sight the power
of piercing the walls, so did he per-
mit him to look into the depth of
hearts.

In his mother's heart he saw
himself as in a mirror. It was full
of him. Good Josserande prayed
for him ; she united Jesus, Mary,
and Joseph, the holy family, whose
feast is Christmas, in the pious
prayer which fell from her lips ;
and ever and ever said her heart to
God : " My son, my son, my son !"

In the heart of Pol Sylvestre
Ker saw pride of strength and
gross cupidity ; in the spot where
should have been the heart of Ma-
theline he saw Matheline, and no-
thing but Matheline, in adoration
before Matheline.

" I have seen enough," said Syl-
vestre Ker.

" Then," replied Satan, " listen !"

And immediately the sacred mu-
sic resounded in the ears of the
young tenant of the tower, as plain-
ly as though he were in the church
of Plouharnel. They were singing
the Sanctus : " Holy, holy, holy,
Lord God of Hosts ! The heavens
and the earth are full of thy glory.
Hosanna in the highest ! Blessed
is he that cometh in the name of
the Lord. Hosanna in the high-
est!"

Dame Josserande repeated the
words with the others, but the re-
frain of her heart continued : " O
Jesus, Infinite Goodness ! may he be
happy. Deliver him from all evil
and from all sin. I have only him
to love. . . . Holy, holy, holy, give
me all the suffering, and keep for
him all the happiness!"

Can you believe it? Even while
piously inhaling the perfume of this
celestial hymn the young tenant

460

The Wolf- Toivcr.

wished to know what Matheline
was saying to God. Everything
speaks to God — the wild beasts in
the forest, the birds in the air, even
the plants, whose roots are in the
ground.

But miserable girls who sell the
pearls of their smiles are lower than
the animals and vegetables. No-
thing is beneath them, Pol Bihan
excepted. Instead of speaking to
God, Pol Bihan and Matheline
whispered together, and Sylvestre
Ker heard them as distinctly as if
he had been between them.

" How much will the fool give
me ?" asked Matheline.

" The idiot will give you all,"
replied Pol.

'" And must I really squint with
that one-eyed creature, and limp
with the lame wretch ?"

Sylvestre Ker felt his heart die
away within him.

Meanwhile, Josserande prayed :
" O ever Virgin Mother ! pray
for my dear child. As Jesus is
your adorable heart, Sylvestre Ker
is my poor heart. . . ."

" Never mind," continued Bihan,
" it is worth while 4imping and
squinting for a time to win all the
money in the world."

" That is true ; but for how
long?"

Sylvestre Ker held his breath to
hear the better.

" As long as you please," answer-
ed Pol Bihan. '

There was a pause, after which
the gay Matheline resumed in a
lower tone :

" But . . . they say after a mur-
der one can never laugh, and I wish
to laugh always. . . ."

" Will I not be there ?" replied
Bihan. " Some time or other the
idiot will certainly seek a quarrel
with me, and I will crack his
bones by only squeezing him in

my arms; you can count upon my
strength."

"I have heard enough," said
Sylvestre Ker to Satan.

" And do you still love this Bi-
han ?"

"No, I despise him."

" And Matheline — do you love
her yet ?"

" Yes, oh ! yes, . . . but ... I
hate her !"

" I see," said Satan, " that you
are a coward and wicked like all
men. Since you have heard and
seen enough at a distance, listen,
and look at your feet. . . ."

The wall closed with a loud crash
of the stones as they came together,
and Sylvestre Ker saw^that he was
surrounded by an enormous heap
of gold-pieces, as high as his waist,
which gently floated, singing the
symphony of riches. All around
him was gold, and through the gap
in the roof the shower of gold fell
and fell and fell.

" Am I the master of all this ?'.'
asked Sylvestre Ker.

" Yes," replied Satan ; "you have
compelled me, who am gold, to
come forth from my caverns ; you
are therefore the master of gold,
provided you purchase it at the
price of your soul. You cannot
have both God and gold. You
must choose one or the other."

" I have chosen," said Sylvestre
Ker. " I keep my soul."

" You have firmly decided ?"

" Irrevocably."

" Once, twice, . . . reflect ! You
have just acknowledged that you
still love the laughing Matheline."

" And that I hate her ; . . . yes,
... it is so, . . . but in eternity I
wish to be with my dear mother
Josserande."

"Were there no mothers," growl-
ed Satan, " I could play my game
much better in the world !"

The Wolf -Tower.

461

And he added :

" For the third time, . . . ad-
judged !"

The heap of gold became as tur-
bulent as the water of a cascade,
and leaped and sang ; the millions
of little sonorous coins clashed
against each other, then all was
silent and they vanished. The
room appeared as black as a place
where there had been a great fire;
nothing could be seen but the lurid
gleam of Satan's iron body.

Then said Sylvestre Ker :

" Since all is ended, retire !"

VIII.

But the demon did not stir.

" Do you think, then," he asked,
" that you have brought me hither
for nothing? There is the law.
You are not altogether my slave,
since you have kept your soul ; but
as you have freely called me, and I
have come, you are my vassal. I
have a half-claim over you. The
little children know that; I am as-
tonished at your ignorance. . . .
From midnight to three o'clock in
the morning you belong to me, in
the form of an animal, restless, rov-
ing, complaining, without help from
God. This' is what you owe to
your strong friend and beautiful
bride. Let us settle the affair be-
fore I depart. What animal do
you wish to be — roaring lion, bel-
lowing ox, bleating sheep, crowing
cock ? If you become a dog you
can crouch at Matheline's feet, and
Bihan can lead you by a leash to
hunt in the woods. . . „"

" I wish," cried Sylvester Ker,
whose anger burst forth at these
words — " I wish to be a wolf, to
devour them both !"

"So be it," said Satan; "wolf
you shall be three hours of the
night during your mortal life. . . .
Leap, wolf!"

And the wolf Sylvestre Ker leap-
ed, and with one dash shattered
the casement of the window as he
cleared it with a bound. Through
the aperture in the roof Satan es-
caped, and, spreading a pair of im-
mense wings, rapidly disappeared
in an opposite direction from the
steeple of Plouharnel, whose chimes
were ringing at the Elevation.

IX.

I do not know if you have ever -
seen a Breton village come forth
after the midnight Mass. It is a
joyous sight, but a brief one, as all
are in a hurry to return home,
where the midnight meal awaits
them — a frugal least, but eaten
with such cheerful hearts. The
people, for a moment massed in
the cemetery, exchange hospitable
invitations, kind wishes, and friend-
ly jokes; then divide into little
caravans, which hurry along the
roads, laughing, talking, singing.
If it is a clear, cold night, the click-
ing of their wooden shoes may be
heard for some time ; but if it is
damp weather the sound is stifled,
and after a few moments the faint
echo of an " adieu " or Christmas
greeting is all that can be heard
around the church as the beadle
closes it.

In the midst of all this cheerful-
ness Josserande alone returned
with a sad heart; for through
the whole Mass she had in vain
watched for her beloved son. She
walked fifty paces behind the caval-
cade of the monks of Ruiz, and
dared not approach the Grand-Ab-
' bot Gildas, for fear of being ques-
tioned about her boy. On her
right was Matheline du Coat-Dor,
on her left Bihan — both eager
to console her; for they thought
that by that time Sylvestre Ker
must have learned the wonderful

462

The Wolf- Toiler.

secret which would secure him un-
told wealth, and to possess the
son they should cling to the mo-
ther ; therefore there were pro-
mises and caresses, and " will you
have this, or will you have that ?"

" Dear godmother, I shall al-
ways be with you," said Matheline,
" to comfort and rejoice your old
age ; for your son is my heart."

Pol Bihan continued :

" I will ne^er marry, but always
remain with my friend, Sylvestre
Ker, whom I love more than my-
self. And nothing must worry
you; if he is weak I am strong,
and I will work for two."

To pretend that Dame Josse-
rande paid much attention to all
these words would be false ; for
her son possessed her whole soul,
and she thought :

" This the first time he has ever
disobeyed and deceived me. The
demon of avarice has entered into
him. Why does he want so much
money ? Can all tne riches of the
world pay for one of the tears that
the ingratitude of a beloved son
draws from his mother's eyes?"

Suddenly her thoughts were ar-
rested, for the sound of a trumpet
was heard in the still night.

" It is the convent-horn," said
Matheline.

" And it sounds the wolf-alarm !"
added Pol.

" What harm can the wolf do,"
asked Josserande, " to a well-mount-
ed troop like the cavalry of Gildas
the Wise ? And, besides, cannot
the holy abbot with a single word
put to flight a hundred wolves?"

They had arrived at the heath
of Carnac, where are the two
thousand seven hundred and twen-
ty-nine Druid stones, and the
monks had already passed the
round point where nothing grows,
neither grass nor heath, and which

resembles an enormous caldron —
a caldron wherein to make oaten
porridge — or rather a race-course,
to exercise horses.

On one side might be seen the
town, dark and gloomy ; on the
other, as far as the eye could reach,
rows of rugged obelisks, half-black,
half-white, owing to the snow,
which threw into bold relief each
jagged outline. Josserande, Mathe-
line, and Pol Bihan had just turned
from the sunken road which branch-
es toward Plouharnel ; and the
moon played hide-and-go-seek be-
hind a flock of little clouds that
flitted over the sky like lambs.

Then a strange thing happened.
The cavalcade of monks was seen
to retreat from the entrance of the
avenues to the middle of the circle,
while the horn sounded the signal
of distress, and loud cries were
heard of "Wolf ! wolf! wolf!"

At the same time could be dis-
tinguished the clashing of arms,
the stamping of horses, and all the
noise of a ferocious struggle, above
which rose the majestic tones of
Gildas the Wise, as he said with
calmness :

" Wolf, wicked wolf, I forbid you
to touch God's servants!"

But it seemed that the wicked
wolf was in no hurry to obey, for
the cavalcade plunged hither and
thither, as though shaken by con-
vulsion ; and the moon having
come forth from the clouds, there
was seen an enormous beast strug-
gling with the staffs of the monks,
the halberds of the armed guard,
the pitchforks and spears of the
peasants, who had hastened from
all directions at the trumpet-call
from Ruiz.

The animal received many
wounds, but it was fated not to
die. Again and again it charged
upon the crowd, rushed up and

The Wolf -Tower.

463

down, round and round, biting,
tearing with its great teeth so fear-
fully that a large circle was made
around the grand abbot, who
was finally left alone in face of the
wolf.

For a wolf it was.
And the grand abbot having
touched it with his crosier, the
wolf crouched at his feet, panting,
trembling, and bloody. Gildas the
Wise bent over it, looked at it at-
tentively, then said :

" Nothing happens contrary to
God's holy will. Where is Dame
Josserande ?"

" I am here," replied a mournful
voice full of tears, "and I dread a
great misfortune."

She also was alone ; for Mathe-
line and Pol Bihan, seized with
terror, had rushed across the fields
at the first alarm and abandoned
their precious charge. The grand
abbot called Josserande and said :
" Woman, do not despair.
Above you is the Infinite Goodness,
who holds in his hands the heavens
and the whole earth. Meanwhile,
protect your wolf; we must return
to the monastery to gain from sleep
strength to serve the Lord our
God!"

And he resumed his course, fol-
lowed by his escort.

The wolf did not move ; his
tongue lay on the snow, which was
reddened by his blood. Josserande
knelt beside him and prayed fer-
vently. For whom ? For her be-
loved son. Did she already know
that the wolf was Sylvestre Ker?
Certainly; such a thing could
scarcely be divined, but under
what form cannot a mother discov-
er her darling child ?

She defended the wolf against
the peasants, who had returned to
strike him with their pitchforks
and pikes, as they believed him

dead. The two last who came were
Pol Bihan and Matheline. Pol Bi-
han kicked him on the head and
said, "Take that, you fool!" and
Matheline threw stones at him and
cried : " Idiot, take that, and that,
and that!"

They had hoped for all the gold
in the world, and this dead beast
could give them nothing more.

After a while two ragged beggars
passed by and assisted Josserande
in carrying the wolf into the tower.
Where is charity most often found ?
Among the poor, who are the fig-
ures of Jesus Christ.

Day dawned. A man slept in
the bed of Sylvestre Ker, where
widow Josserande had laid a wolf.
The room still bore the marks of a
fire, and snow fell through the hole
in the roof. The young tenant's
face was disfigured with blows, and
his hair, stiffened with blood, hung
in heavy locks. In his feverish
sleep he talked, and the name
that escaped his lips was Mathe-
line's. At his bedside the mother
watched and prayed.

When Sylvestre Ker awoke he
wept, for the thought of his con-
demnation returned, but the re-
membrance of Pol and Matheline
dried the tears in his burning eyes.

" It was for those two," said he,
" that I forgot God and my mother.
I still feel my friend's heel upon
my forehead, and even to the bot-
tom of my heart the shock of the
stones thrown at me by my be-
trothed !"

" Dearest," murmured Josse-
rande, " dearer to me than ever, I
know nothing; tell me all."

Sylvestre Ker obeyed ; and when
he had finished Josserande kissed
him, took up her staff, and proceed-

464

The Wolf-Toiucr.

ed toward the convent of Ruiz to
ask, according to her custom, aid
and counsel from Gildas the Wise.
On her way men, women, and chil-
dren looked curiously at her, for
throughout the country it was al-
ready known that she was the
mother of a wolf. Even behind
the hedge which enclosed the
abbey orchard Matheline and Pol
were hidden to see her pass ; and
she heard Pol say : " Will you
come to-night to see the wolf run
round ?"

" Without fail," replied Mathe-
line ; and the sting of her laughter
pierced Josserande like a poison-
ous thorn.

The grand abbot received her,
surrounded by great books and
dusty manuscripts. When she
wished to explain her son's case
he stopped her and said :

"Widow of Martin Ker, poor,
good woman, since the beginning
of the world Satan, the demon of
gold and pride, has worked many
such wickednesses. Do you re-
member the deceased brother,
Thae'l, who is a saint for having
resisted the desire of making gold —
he who had the power to do it ?"

"Yes," answered Josserande;
" and would to heaven my Sylves-
tre had imitated him !"

" Very well," replied Gildas the
Wise, " instead of sleeping I passed
the rest of the night with St. Thae'l,
seeking a means to save your son,
Sylvestre Ker."

" And have you found it, fa-
ther?"

The grand abbot neither an-
swered yes nor no, but he began to
turn over a very thick manuscript
filled with pictures ; and while
turning the leaves he said : " Life
springs from death, according to
the divine word ; death seizes the
living according to the pagan law

of Rome ; and it is nearly the same
thing in the order of miserable
temporal ambition, whose inheri-
tance is a strength, a life, shot
forth from a coffin. This is a book
of the defunct Thael's, which treats
of the question of maladies caused
by the breath of gold — a deadly
poison. . . . W'oman, would you
have the courage to strike your
wolf a blow on his head powerful
enough to break the skull ?"

At these words Josserande fell
her full length upon the tiles, as if
she had been stabbed to the heart ;
but in the very depth of her agon) —
for she thought herself dying — she
replied :

"If you should order' me to do
it, I would."

" You have this great confidence
in me, poor woman ?" cried Gildas,
much moved.

" You are a man of God," an-
swered Josserande, " and I have
faith in God."

Gildas the Wise prostrated him-
self on the ground and struck his
breast, knowing that he had felt a
movement of pride. Then, stand-
ing up, he raised Josserande, and
kissed the hem of her robe, saying:

" Woman, I adore in you the
most holy faith. Prepare your axe,
and sharpen it !"

XI.

In Brittany, when this legend is
repeated, the relater here adds a
current proverb of the province :
" Christians, there is nothing great-
er than Faith, that is the mother of
Hope, and thus the grandmother
of Holy Love, that carries one
above to the Paradise of God."

In the days of Gildas the Wise
intense silence always reigned
at night through the dense oak
forests of the Armorican country.

The Wolf -Tower.

465

One of the most lonely places was
Caesar's camp, the name given to
the huge masses of stone that en-
cumbered the barren heath; and it
was the common opinion that the
pagan giants supposed to be buried
under them rose from their graves
at midnight, and roamed up and
down the long avenues, watching
for the late passers-by to twist
their necks.

This night, however — the night
after Christmas — many persons
could be seen about eleven o'clock
on the heath before the stones of
Carnac, all around the Great Basin
or circle, whose irregular outline
was clearly visible by moonlight.

The enclosure was entirely
empty. Outside no one was seen,
it is true ; but many could be
heard gabbling in the shadow of
the high rocks, under the shelter of
the stumps of oaks, even in the
tufts of thorny brambles ; and all
this assemblage watched for some-
thing, and that something was the
wolf, Sylvestre Ker.

They had come from Plouharnel,
and also from Lannelar, from Car-
nac, from Kercado, even from the
old town of Crach, beyond La Trin-
ite.

Who had brought together all
these people, young and old, men
and women? The legend does not
say, but very probably Matheline
had strewn around the cruel pearls
of her laughter, and Pol Bihan
had not been slow to relate what
he had seen after the midnight
Mass.

By some means or other the en-
tire country around for five or six
leagues knew that the son of Mar-
tin Ker, the tenant of the abbey,
had become a man-wolf, and that
lie was doomed to expiate his
crime in the spot haunted by the
phantoms — the Great Basin of the

VOL. XXVI. — 30

Pagans, between the tower and the
Druid stones.

Many of the watchers had never
seen a man-wolf, and there reigned
in the crowd, scattered in invisi-
ble groups, a fever of curiosity, ter-
ror, and impatience ; the minutes
lengthened as they passed, and it
seemed as though midnight, stop-
ped on the way, would never
come.

There were at that time no
clocks in the neighborhood to
mark the hour, but the matin-bell
of the convent of Ruiz gave notice
that the \vished-for moment had
arrived.

While waiting there was busy
conversation : they spoke of the
man-wolf, of phantoms, and also of
betrothals, for the rumor was
spread that the bans of Matheline
du Coat-Dor, the promised bride
of Sylvestre Ker, with the strong
Pol Bihan, who had never found a
rival in the wrestling-field, would
be published on the following Sun-
day; and I leave you to imagine
how Matheline's laughter ran in
pearly cascades when congratulat-
ed on her approaching marriage.

By the road which led up to the
tower a shadow slowly descended ;,
it was not the wolf, but a poor wo-
man in mourning, whose head was
bent upon her breast, and who
held in her hand an object that,
shone like a mirror, and the bril-
liant surface of which reflected the
moonbeams.

"It is Josserande Ker!" was
whispered around the circle, be-
hind the rocks, in the brambles,,
and under the stumps of the oaks.

1 'Tis the widow of the armed
keeper of the great door !"

"'Tis the mother of the wolf,
Sylvestre Ker !"

"She also has come to see. . . ."

" But what has she in her hand ?"

466

The Wolf- 7ower.

Twenty voices asked this ques-
tion. Matheline, who had good
eyes, and such beautiful ones, re-
plied :

" It looks like an axe. . . . Hap-
py am I to be rid of those two, the
mother and son ! With them I
could never laugh."

But there were two or three
good souls who said in low tones :

" Poor widow ! her heart must
be full of sorrow."

" But what does she want with
that axe ?"

" It is to defend her wolf," again
replied Matheline, who carried a
pitchfork. %

Pol Bih an held an enormous hol-
ly stick which resembled a club.
Every one was armed either with
threshing flails or rakes or hoes ;
some even bore scythes, carried
upright ; for they had not only
come to look on, but to make an
«end of the man-wolf.

Again was heard the chime of
the Matin-bells of the convent of
Ruiz, and immediately a smother-
ed cry ran from group to group :

"Wolf! wolf! wolf!"

Josserande heard it, for she
paused in her descent and cast an
.anxious look around ; but, seeing
no one, she raised her eyes to hea-
ven and clasped her hands over
the handle of her axe.

The wolf, in the meantime, with
fuming nostrils and eyes which
looked like burning coals, leaped
over the stones of the enclosure
and began to run around the circle.

" See, see !" said Pol Bihan, " he
no longer limps."

And Matheline, dazzled by the
red light from his eyes, added : " It
seems he is no longer one-eyed !"

Pol brandished his club and
continued :

" What are we waiting for ? Why
not attack him ?"

"Go you first," said the men.

"I caught cold the other day.
and my leg is stiff, which keeps me
from running," answered Pol.

" Then I will go first !" cried
Matheline, raising her pitch-fork.
" I will soon show how I hate the
wretch !"

Dame Josserande heard her and
sighed :

" Girl, whom I blessed in bap-
tism, may God keep me from curs-
ing you now !"

This Matheline, whose pearls
were worth nothing, was no cow-
ard ; for she carried out her words,
and marched straight up to the
wolf, while Bihan stayed behind and
cried :

" Go, go, my friends ; don't be
afraid ! Ah ! but for my stiff leg I
would soon finish the wolf, for I
am the strongest and bravest."

Round and round the circle
galloped the wolf as quickly as a
hunted stag; his eyes darted fire,
his tongue was hanging from his
mouth. Josserande, seeing the dan-
ger that threatened him, wept and
cried out :

" O Bretons ! is there among
you all not one kind soul to defend
the widow's son in the hour when
he bitterly expiates his sin ?"

" Let us alone, godmother," bold-
ly replied Matheline.

And from afar Pol Bihan added :

" Don't listen to the old woman ;
go!"

But another voice was heard in
answer to Dame Josserande's ap-
peal, and it said :

" As last night, we are here !"

Standing in front of Matheline,
and barring the passage, were two
ragged beggars with their wallets,
leaning upon their staffs. Josse-
rande recognized the two poor men
who had so charitably aided her
the night before; and one of them.

The Wolf -Tower.

467

who had snow-white hair and
beard, said :

"Christians, my brethren, why
do you interfere in this? God re-
wards and punishes. This poor
man-wolf is not a damned soul, but
one expiating a great crime. Leave
justice to God, if you do not wish
some great misfortune to happen
to you."

And Josserande, who was kneel-
ing down, said imploringly :

" Listen, listen to the saint !"

But from behind Pol Bihan cried
out :

"Since when have beggars been
allowed to preach sermons ? Ah !
if it were not for my stiff leg. . . .
Kill him, kill him! . . . wolf! wolf!
wolf!"

"Wolf! wolf!" repeated Mathe-
line, who tried to drive off the old
beggar with her pitch-fork.

But the fork broke like glass in
her hands, as it touched the poor
man's tatters, and at the same time
twenty voices cried :

" The wolf! the wolf! Where has
the wolf gone ?"

Soon was seen where the wolf
had gone. A black mass dashed
through the crowd, and Pol Bihan
uttered a horrible cry :

"Help! help! Matheline !"

You have often heard the noise
made by a dog when crunching a
bone. This was the noise they
heard, but louder, as though
there were many dogs crunching
many bones. And a strange voice,
like the growling of a wolf, said :

" The strength of a man is a
dainty morsel for a wolf to eat.
Bihan, traitor, I eat your strength !"

The black mass again bounded
through the terrified crowd, his
bloody tongue hanging from his
mouth, his eyes darling fire.

This time it was from Matheline
that a scream still more horrible

than that of Pol's was heard ; and
again there was the noise of an-
other terrible feast, and the voice
of the wild beast, which had al-
ready spoken, growled :

" The pearls of a smile make a
dainty morsel for a wolf to eat.
Matheline, serpent that stung my
heart, seek for your beauty. I
have eaten it!"

XIII.

The white-haired beggar had
endeavored to protect Matheline
against the wolf, but he was very
old, and his limbs would not move
as quickly as his heart. He only
succeeded in throwing down the
wolf. It fell at Josserande's feet
and licked her knees, uttering dole-
ful moans. But the people, who
had come thither for entertainment,
were not well pleased with what
had happened. There was now
abundance of light, as men with
torches had arrived from the abbey
in search of their holy saint, GilT
das the Wise, whose cell had been
found empty at the hour of Com-
pline.

The glare from the torches
shone upon two hideous wounds
made by the wolf, who had devour-
ed Matheline's beauty and Pol's
strength — that is to say, the face of
the one and the arms of the other :
flesh and bones. It was frightful
to behold. The women wept while
looking at the repulsive, bleeding
mass which had been Matheline's
smiling face ; the men sought in
the double bloody gaps some traces
of Pol's arms, for the powerful
muscles, the glory of the athletic
games; and every heart was filled
with wrath.

The legend says that the tenant
of Coat-Dor, Matheline's poor fa-
ther, knelt beside his daughter and

46S

The Wolf-Toiver.

felt around in the blood for the
scattered pearls, which were now as
red as holly-berries.

" Alas !" said he, " of these dead
stained things, which when living
were so beautiful, which were ad-
mired and envied and loved, I
was so proud and happy."

Alas ! indeed, alas ! Perhaps it
was not the girl's fault that her
heart was no larger than a little
bird's; and yet for this defect was
not Matheline most cruelly pun-
ished ?

"Death to the wolf! death to
the wolf! death to the wolf!"

From all sides was this cry heard,
and brandishing pitchforks, cudgels,
ploughshares, and mallets, came
rushing the people toward the
wolf, who still lay panting, with
open jaws and pendent tongue, at
the feet of Dame Josserande.
Around them the torch-bearers
formed a circle : not to throw light
upon the wolf and Dame Josse-
rande, but to render homage to the
'white-haired beggar, in whom, as
though the scales had suddenly
fallen from their eyes, every one
recognized the Grand-Abbot of
Ruiz, Gildas the Wise.

The grand abbot raised his
hand, and the armed crowd's eager
advance was checked, as if their
feet had been nailed to the ground.
Calmly he surveyed them, blessed
them, and said :

" Christians, the wolf did wrong
to punish, for chastisement belongs
to God alone; therefore the wolf's
fault should not be punished by
you. In whom resides the power
of God? In the holy authority
of fathers and mothers. So here
is my penitent Josserande, who
will rightfully judge the wolf and
punish him, since she is his
mother."

When Gildas the Wise ceased

speaking you could have heard a
mouse run across the heath. Each
one thought to himself: " So the
wolf is really Sylvestre Ker." But
not a word was tittered, and all
looked at Dame Josserande's axe,
which glistened in the moonlight.

Josserande made the sign of the
cross — ah! poor mother, very slow-
ly, for her heart sank within her —
and she murmured :

" My beloved one, my beloved
one, whom I have borne in my
arms and nourished with my milk
— ah ! me, can the Lord God in-
flict this cruel martyrdom upon
me ?"

No one replied, not even Gildas
the Wise, who silently adjured the
All-Powerful, and recalled to him
the sacrifice of Abraham.

Josserande raised her axe, but
she had the misfortune to look at
the wolf, who fixed his eyes, full of
tears, upon her, and the axe fell from
her hands.

// was the ivoJf u'ho picked it ?//>,
and when he gave it back to her he
said : " I weep for you, my moth-
er."

" Strike !" cried the crowd, for
what remained of Pol and Ma-
theline tittered terrible groans.
"Strike! strike !"

While Josserande again seized
her axe the grand abbot had time
to say :

" Do not complain, you two un-
happy ones, for your suffering here
below changes your hell into pur-
gatory."

Three times Josserande raised
the axe, three times she let it
fall without striking ; but at last
she said in a hoarse tone that
sounded like a death-rattle : " I
have great faith in the good
God !" and then, says the legend,
she struck boldly, for the wolf's
head split in two halves.

The Wolf -Tower.

469

XIV.

A sudden wind extinguished the
torches, and some one prevented
Dame Josserande from falling, as
she sank fainting to the ground, by
supporting her in his arms. By
the light of the halo which shone
around the blessed head of Gildas
the Wise, the good people saw that
this somebody was the young ten-
ant, Sylvestre Ker, no longer lame
nor one-eyed, but with two straight
legs and two perfect eyes.

At the same time there were
heard voices in the clouds chant-
ing the Te Dcum. Why? Be-
cause heaven and earth quivered
with emotion at witnessing this su-
preme act of faith soaring from
the depth of anguish in a mother's
heart.

xv.

This is the legend that for many
centuries has been related at Christ-
mas time on the shores of the Pe-
tite-Mer, which in the Breton tongue
is called Armor bi/ian, the Celtic
name of Brittany.

If you ask what moral these good
people draw from this strange story,

I will answer that it contains a bas-
ketful. Pol and Matheline, con-
demned to walk around the Basin
of the Pagans until the end of time,
one without arms, the other with-
out a face, offer a severe lesson to
those fellows who are too proud of
their broad shoulders and brute
force, and gossiping flirts of girls
with smiling faces and wicked
hearts ; the case of Sylvestre Ker
teaches young men not to listen to
the demon of money ; the blow of
Josserande's axe shows the miracu-
lous power of faith ; the part of
Gildas the Wise proves that it is
well to consult the saints.

Still further, that you may bind
together these diverse morals in
one, here is a proverb which is
current in the province: "Never
stoop to pick up the pearls of
a smile." After this ask me no
more.

As to the authenticity of the
story, I have already said that the
chestnut-grove belongs to the may-
or's nephew, which is one guaranty ;
and 1 will add that the spot is call-
ed Sylvestreker, and that the ruins,
hung with moss, have no other
name than "The Wolf-Tower !"

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

MR. FROUDE ON THE DECLINE OF PROTESTANTISM.*

WE have seen what Mr. Froude
thinks of the " Revival of Roman-
ism." Let us now see what he has
to say on a subject nearer his
heart — the decline of Protestan-
tism.

He has much to say ; and, to
use an ordinary phrase, he makes
no bones about saying it. At the
outset we would dispose of what
seems a fair objection.' If, it may
be urged, you make Mr. Froude
so very untrustworthy a witness
against Catholics and the Catholic
Church, why should he not be
equally untrustworthy when as-
sailing Protestantism ?

The objection is more plausible
than real. Mr. Froude is a pro-
fessed Protestant. In the cause of
Protestantism he is earnest even to
aggressiveness. He believes in and
loves it with all his heart and soul,
as really as he disbelieves in and
detests Catholicity. He can say
nothing that is too good of the early
Protestant Reformers and of their
" Reform." He doubts about
nothing, apologizes for nothing,
attempts to palliate nothing either
in the Reformers or their Reform.
He sees nothing in either to apolo-
gize for or to palliate. He can
only regret that, so far as Protes-
tant belief and work and workers
go, the nineteenth century is not as
the sixteenth. He is altogether on
his own ground here ; and we sub-
mit that the testimony of such a
man in such a matter is of value,
the more so when it is confirmed
to-day by concurrent Protestant

* Sh,>rt Studies on Great Subjects. By James
Anthony Froude, M.A. New York: Scribner,
Armstrong & Co. 1877.

testimony on all sides. The only
difference between Mr. Froude and
the great mass of non-Catholic
writers on this subject is that he is
more frank than they, and lays his
finger unshrinkingly on very tender
Protestant spots.

Of the actual state of Protestan-
tism he has little that is good or
hopeful to say, with one notable
exception — North Germany — which
will be considered later on. Pro-
testantism to-day Mr. Froude finds
weak-kneed as well as weak-head-
ed. It has not that aggressive
strength of the early teachers and
preachers of Reform. The modern
teachers have lost that pronounced
faith in themselves and in their
doctrines, that burning zeal, that
fierce hatred of Catholicity, of
falsehood, and of sham, that Mr.
Froude is pleased to discover in
the early Reformers.

"Religion speaks with command,"
he says very rightly. It " lays
down a set of doctrines, and says,
' Believe these at your soul's peril.'
A certain peremptoriness being
thus of the essence of the thing,
those religious teachers will always
command most confidence who
dare most to speak in positive
tones." All of which is, of course,
most true.

Speaking " in positive tones,"
however, does not necessarily im-
ply a divine mission, or even an
erroneous sense of a divine mission.
It may be bluster ; it may be cal-
culated lying; it may be the mis-
taken enthusiasm of a weak intel-
lect and fervid imagination. To
be real it must stand the severest
tests. Of a man who asserts his

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

471

mission from heaven as a teacher
of religion something more than
his own word is demanded, how-
ever positive that word may be.
In the preaching and the teaching
of the truth there is in all ages
a unity of voice, a community of
feeling and of purpose, a singleness
of eye, of aim, of method, a union
of heart and of soul, that is unmis-
takable and carries conviction
with it. There is no change in it ;
no fleck or flaw. What is new
agrees with what is old ; is gene-
rally a consequence flowing out of
the old. It preaches only one God
and one law from the beginning.
It never contradicts itself; it never
narrows or broadens its moral lines
to suit the convenience or the
whim of persons or of nationalities.
It never compromises with human-
ity. It enlightens the intellect
while appealing to the heart of
man. It makes no divisions be-
tween men or nations ; no special
code for this or for that. It is aw-
ful in its inflexibility ; majestic in
its calm ; eternal in its vigilance ;
"the same, yesterday, to-day, and
for ever." This is living Truth ;
this is God's ; and he who speaks
the word of God is known by these
signs.

Mr. Froude is at a loss to find
this spirit now abroad in the world.
The nearest approach to it he finds,
oddly enough for him, in the Ca-
tholic Church. But, of course, that
is owing to some devilish ingenuity
of which the Catholic Church alone
has the secret. As for Protestants,
" it is no secret," he says, " that of
late years Protestant divines have
spoken with less boldness, with
less clearness and confidence, than
their predecessors of the last gene-
ration." "They are not to be
blamed for it," he adds, and we
quite agree with him. "Their in-

tellectual position has grown in
many ways perplexed. Science and
historical criticism have shaken po-
sitions which used to be thought
unassailable " (p. 99). We point-
ed out one of those " positions " —
the Protestant Reformation in Eng-
land— but that is not in the contem-
plation of Mr. Froude. To him,
even if to him alone, that position
still stands, " unassailable."

" Doctrines once thought to carry
their own evidence with them in their
inherent fitness for man's needs have
become, for some reason or other, less
conclusively obvious. The state of
mind to which they were addressed has
been altered — altered in some way either
for the worse or for the better. And
where the evangelical theology retains
its hold, it is rather as something which
it is unbecoming to doubt than as a
body of living truth which penetrates
and vitalizes the heart " (p. 99).

It is to be regretted that Mr.
Froude does not specify these
"doctrines." He fails to do so in
any place, and in such matters, as
indeed in all, there is nothing like
accuracy in order to arrive at a
clear understanding of what is
wrong. Some of them, however,
may be easily guessed at. In these
days it would be hard to discover
what precise "doctrines" "evan-
gelical " or any but Catholic theo-
logians do hold, if hard pushed and
driven to make an explicit state-
ment of what they do and what
they do not believe. The expres-
sion " evangelical theology " may
help to enlighten us as to Mr.
Fronde's meaning. That we take to
mean a theology based on the Bible
as the first, final, and only guide to
man's knowledge of God and all
implied in that knowledge. This
view of his meaning is confirmed by
another passage (p. 100), wherein,
contrasting the doctrinal position

472

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

of the Catholic and Protestant, lie
says :

" It " (the Catholic Church) " stands
precisely on the same foundation on
which the Protestant religion stands —
on the truth of the Gospel history. Be-
fore we can believe the Gospel history
we must appeal to the consciousness of
God's existence, which is written on the
hearts of us all."

There is a mistake here which
will be obvious to any instructed
reader. There is no more reason
" to appeal to the consciousness of
God's existence " for the truth of
" the Gospel history " than for the
truth of any other history. As a
history, history it is and no more,
to be judged as to its accuracy
on the known laws of historical
criticism. It contains a written
record of events, and stands or
falls on the truth of what it re-
cords, just as does Mr. Froude's
own history. If it can be shown
that it is false, there is an end of
it; false it is, and n# man is bound
to believe it. The foundation of
Protestantism, as Mr. Froude very
rightly says, stands " on the truth
of the Gospel history " — that is, on
the Bible, and the Bible alone.
Christ, however, did not build his
church on the Bible, but on Peter,
the chief of the apostles : " I say to
thee, Thou art Peter, and upon this
rock I will build my church, and
the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it." Those are very plain,
strong, and unmistakable words ;
and in their comprehension lies
.a fundamental difference between
Catholics and Protestants.

Out of this difference comes a
singular effect, more noticeable in
these than in former days. Ca-
tholics reverence the Bible more
really because more truly than do
Protestants. Over-reverence is ir-
reverence. They never made the

mistake of accepting the Bible as
the foundation of Christ's church,
any more than in human affairs we
should take a history of a common-
wealth, with the digest of its laws,
the sayings of some of its wise
men, their documents to their con-
temporaries and to posterity, as
the common \vealth itself. Protes-
tants withdrew from the body or'
the church, which may have had,
and had, sore spots and diseased
members; they took up the writ-
ten record and said : Here are the
laws ; here are the words of Christ ;
here are the sayings of the fathers ;
here is truth ; here let us build our
church anew — each one judging
for himself as to what the church
was and ought to be. Difficulties
that were essential to such a posi-
tion and that are obvious at sight
arose at once and continued all the
way down, until at last, in these
days of all others, there sprang up
in the very bosom of Protestantism
a school of assailants of the Bible
itself. This is the school of mo-
dern scientists, which rejects reve-
lation, rejects God, rejects the
truth of the Bible history, rejects
Christ — rejects, in a word, every-
thing, save what approves itself to
it by so-called positive testimony.
Hence arises the perplexity of the
"intellectual position" of Protes-
tant divines, which Mr. Froude
notices. The very foundation of
their creed is questioned, and ques-
tioned at every inch. So, until
everything is satisfactorily cleared
up and the "scientists" absolutely
refuted, Protestantism is in a state
of dissolution. It has no foun-
dation on which to stand, while
Catholics have their living church,
to which they adhered steadfastly
from the very beginning, which ex-
isted, and was called into being, en-
tirely independent of the Bible,

Mr. Froude en the Decline of Protestantism.

473

and which would have been what
it is had the Bible never been writ-
ten at all. So that, per impossibile,
even were the Bible shown to be
false, it would not affect the fun-
damental Catholic position. Of
course we do not intimate for a
moment that the Bible is false, and
that the scientists can prove any-
thing against it. We only bring
forward this instance of an essen-
tial difference between Catholics
and Protestants, and the effect of it
on their minds, as showing the rea-
son why Catholics take the criticism
of the new school of inquirers very
calmly, while the result of this criti-
cism on Protestants is disastrous.

Catholics are just as steadfast in
their belief as they ever were; Pro-
testants are daily becoming less
and less so. Inquiry, or "criti-
cism," as it is called, while it
strengthens, if possible, Catholicity,
destroys Protestantism. Truth can
stand all things. " Science and his-
torical criticism have shaken posi-
tions which used to be thought
unassailable " by Protestants, who
find themselves in the false position
of being compelled to question or
reject as false what their fathers
pinned their faith to — Germany al-
ways excepted, according to Mr.
Froude. It is a hard tiling indeed
to preach and teach as divine truth
a doctrine, or by our very profes-
sion to subscribe to a doctrine,
which in our heart we doubt about
or disbelieve. This is a moral
phenomenon which Protestantism
presents to us every day, and in
no one of its infinite branches more
.conspicuously than in the Anglican.

If men are preaching what they
disbelieve or are in grave doubt
about, it is simply natural that
" where truth " (or what was taken
for truth) " was once flashed out
like lightning, and attended with

oratorical thunders, it is now ut-
tered with comparative feebleness."

"The most honest, perhaps, are the
most uncomfortable and most hesitating,
while those who speak most boldly are
often affecting a confidence which in
their hearts they do not feel " (p. 99).
" From some cause, it seems they" (Pro-
testant preachers) "dare not speak, they
dare not think, like their fathers. Too
many of them condescend to borrow the
weapons of their adversaries. They an:
not looking for ivhat is true ; they me look-
ing for arguments to defend positions -which
they know to be indefensible. Their ser-
mons are sometimes sophistical, some-
times cold and mechanical, sometimes
honestly diffident. Any way, they are
without warmth and cannot give what
they do not possess " (p. 100).

This is a very heavy indictment ;
AVC leave to others to judge of its
truth. It is a mistake, however, to
.draw the line at "their fathers."
These men are what their fathers
have made them. The character-
istics that mark the present teach-
ers of Protestantism run down the
whole line of the Protestant tradi-
tion. Incoherency and inconsis-
tency, not to use harsher terms,
necessarily stamped Protestantism
fro.m the first.* These character-
istics are only more apparent to-
day because the constant fire of
criticism has exposed and brought
them more prominently into view.

The practical results of teaching
what is necessarily and inherently
contradictory scarcely need to be
pointed out. "The Protestant,"
says Mr. Froude, " finding three
centuries ago that the institution

* We cannot, in the space of an article of this
kind, give chapter and verse for every statement we
may make. Limits forbid this. In saying that in-
coherency and inconsistency mark the Protestant
tradition throughout, we are aware that we make a
very large and very grave assertion. To those who
feel inclined to doubt its truth we would recom-
mend as the readiest and fullest confirmation of it
the very able series of articles on the Protestant
tradition which appeared last year in the London
Tablet— a. series that, enlarged and carried further,
we should like to see published in book-form.

474

Mr. Fronde on. the Decline of Protestantism.

called the Church was teaching
falsehood, refused to pin his faith
upon the Church's sleeve thence-
forward. He has relied on his own
judgment, and times come when he
is perplexed." The whole story is
told here. It was too late in the
day to find that " the Church was
teaching falsehood." The Chris-
tian Church can err or it cannot
err. There is room for no via me-
dia here. If it can err, it could
have erred just as easily in the
first century as in the fifteenth or
sixteenth. If it could err at all
there is no necessary reason to sup-
pose that ft ever was right ; there
is no belief to be placed in the
promise of Christ ; there is no be-
lief to be placed in Christ himself
more than in any other man. And
again, if it could err, who was
right, and who was going to set it
right? The church being aban-
doned as a teacher of falsehood,
there is no hope of escape from
constant perplexity to the Chris-
tian mind; for the Bible itself, being
left to private judgment, is of course
open to any interpretation that pri-
vate judgment may be pleased to
extract from it. And this in itself
is destruction, quite apart from the
assaults of hostile criticism. To
make the church at all, or at any
time, or by any possibility a teacher
of falsehood is to strike the divinity
from it and convert it into a human
institution of the most monstrous
assumptions and absurd preten-
sions.

Tins is Protestantism, which
never had any spiritual life in it-
self. It was from the beginning,
as it still is, a convenient and very
powerful political agent, as was
Mahometanism. Mr. Froude says
very truly, what all men are com-
ing to say, that " there is no real
alternative between the Catholic

Church and atheism " (p. 100),
which leaves Mr. Froude and his
fellow-Protestants in a pleasant po-
sition.

In the general perplexity of the
Protestant mind "the Romanist,"
as Mr. Froude graciously puts it,
" has availed himself of the oppor-
tunity."

" His church stands as a visible thing,
which appears [appeals?] to the imagina-
tion as well as the reason. The vexed
soul, weanr of its doubts, and too impa-
tient to wait till it pleases God to clear
away the clouds, demands a certainty on
which it can repose — never to ask a ques-
tion more. By an effort of will which,
while claiming the name of faith, is in
reality a want of faith, it seizes the Ca-
tholic system as a whole.' Foregoing
the use of the natural reason for ever-
more, it accepts the word of a spiritual
director as an answer to every difficulty,
and finds, as it supposes, the peace
for which it longed, as the body which is
drugged with opium ceases to feel
pain " (p. 101).

Such is Mr. Froude's picture of
conversion to the Catholic faith.
A man is drugged into Catholicity,
and remains drugged to the end of
the chapter. Whenever a gleam of
his lost reason returns he hurries
to the confessional box ; his "spir-
itual director " administers another
dose, and the drowsy patient slum-
bers away again content. We do
not pretend to Mr. Froude's singu-
lar gift of prescience which enables
him to read so readily the hearts of
thousands of men and women who
to all the world save Mr. Froude
are intellectually and morally
strong. He has traced their secret
emotions and followed them up
even into the confessional box. He
has seen the opiate administered
and satisfied himself of the process.
To ordinary persons the conversion
of a man to the Catholic faith is
the result of a long and most pain-
ful struggle which only the strong-

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

47 S

est conviction of right can bring
about. Leaving him there, depriv-
ed of " the use of the natural reason
for evermore," let us see what be-
comes of those who retain the use
of their natural reason and all the
noble gifts and faculties that ac-
company it. Protestants alone
see clearly the roads to heaven
and hell, according to Mr. Froude;
which road do they take ?

We have seen the position of
their preachers. Were we not de-
prived of " our natural reason for
evermore," we should describe that
position as most pitiable, where it
is not dishonest and intellectual-
ly immoral. The God of Protes-
tantism, if we believe its expound-
ers, is truly a strange being. He
teaches everything, or he teaches
nothing, with equal facility and
pleasing variety. He teaches that
there are three persons in one God;
he teaches no such doctrine. He
teaches that Christ is truly God
and truly man ; he is rather doubt-
ful about the matter. He teaches
the eternity of punishment ; he
teaches no such monstrous doc-
trine. He commands that all men
be baptized in the name of the Fa-
ther, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost, if they would enter
the kingdom of heaven ; he does
not know of the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Ghost. His views
of baptism and its necessity are ra-
ther mixed. There is no baptism
unless a man is wholly immersed.
It is just as good a baptism if a
man's feet be immersed. It is
equally good if water be poured on
a man's head. A man is just as
fit for the kingdom of heaven, and
just as good a Christian, if he be
not baptized at all. God teaches
that the Blessed Sacrament is really
and truly the body and blood of
Christ, and to be adored. He

teaches that it is only a figure of
Christ, and that to adore it is to
commit the sin of idolatry. He
teaches that man has free-will ; he
teaches that man has not free-will,
and that all he can do is worthless,
heaven or hell being portioned out
for him from all eternity quite apart
from his own endeavor. He teach-
es that good works as well as faith
in him are necessary for salvation ;
he teaches that faith alone is neces-
sary, and that provided a man be-
lieve right he may do wrong. And
so on aa infinitum down to the
grossest and most abhorrent ten-
ets.

But this is Protestantism, or reli-
ance on one's " own judgment."
One's own judgment is very apt to
favor one's own self. One's own
judgment makes a god of self, and
right and wrong matters of whim,
appetite, and inclination. Let us
see its outcome as pictured by Mr.
Froude.

In section iv. of his study he
considers the " Causes of Weakness
in Modern Protestant Churches."
The words " modern " and "church-
es " are themselves contradictory
of unity and of a church built on
Christ. He sets out by drawing
a glowing picture of what the early
" Reformers " did and what they
were, which we may let pass as not
immediately bearing on our present
purpose. " After the middle of the
seventeenth century," he says (p.
in), " Protestantism ceased to be
aggressive."

. . . "As it became established it
adapted itself to the world, laid aside its
harshness, confined itself more and more
to the enforcement of particular doc-
trines, and abandoned, at first tacitly and
afterward deliberately, the pretence to
interfere with private life or practical
business."

Is this true ? Did Protestant-

4/6

Mr. Fronde on tJie Decline of Protestantism.

ism cease to be aggressive after the
middle of the seventeenth century?
We have already said that Mr.
Froude \vas generally the best refu-
tation of Mr. Froude. He shall
be his own judge.

Did Protestantism cease to be
aggressive in Ireland, for instance,
after the middle of the seventeenth
century? We might bring many
unimpeachable witnesses on the
stand to prove our point. Mr.
Froude will suffice for us, and we
quote him at some length because
his words here set forth in the
strongest contrast what Protestant-
ism can do to degrade a people,
and what Catholicity can do to lift
a people out of the slough of deg-
radation. Herein we see the spi-
rits of both in deadly conflict, and
the lesson of the struggle is a les-
son for to-day, when the same
spirits are locked again in strife.

Writing not of the middle of the
seventeenth, but of the beginning
of the eighteenth, century (1709),
Mr. Froude thus describes the se-
cond Act against Popery in Ire-
land :

" The code of law which was designed
to transfer the entire soil of Ireland to
members of the Established Church, and
reduce the Catholics to landless depen-
dents, was finally completed. ... By
the new act every settlement, every
lease on lives, every conveyance made
by a Catholic owner since 1704. by which
any Protestant or Protestants had been
injured,* was declared void, and the
loop-holes were closed by which the act
of that year had been evaded. To de-
feat Protestant heirs, Catholics had con-
cealed the true value of their property.
Children were now enabled to compel
their fathers to produce their title-deeds
and make a clear confession. Catholic

* Mr. Froude probably means the children of
Catholic parents, who were encouraged by the
state to apostatize, and thereby enter into the pos-
session of their family estates ; as otherwise there
was no legal possibility of a Protestant being injur-
ed by a Catholic.

gentlemen had pretended conversion to
qualify themselves for being magistrates
and sheriffs, for being admitted to the
bar, or for holding a seat in Parliament,
while their children were being bred up
secretly in the old faith. The education
of their families was made a test of sin-
cerity, and those whose sons were not
brought up as churchmen remained
under the disabilities.

" Nor, if words could hinder it, were
the acts directed against the priests to be
any more trilled with. Fifty pounds re-
ward was now offered for the conviction
of any Catholic archbishop, bishop, or
vicar-general ; twenty pounds reward for
the conviction of friar, Jesuit, orunregis-
tered parish priest. ... It was now made
penal for a priest to officiate anywhere
except in the parish church for which he
was registered, and the last rivet was
driven into the chain by the compulsory
imposition of the Abjuration Oath,
which every priest was made to swear
at his registration. As if this was not
enough, any two magistrates received
power to summon any or every Irish
subject above the age of sixteen, to offer
him the oath, and to commit him to pri-
son if he refused it. They might also, if
he was a Catholic, ask him where he
last heard Mass, and by whom it was
celebrated. If the priest officiating was
found to have been unregistered he was
liable to be transported.

''A fatal clause was added that any
Protestant whatever who discovered and
was able to prove before a Protestant
jury the existence of any purchase or
lease of which a Catholic was to have se-
cretly the advantage, should himself be
put in possession of the property which
was the subject of the fraud " (pp. 332-
334).*

Even Mr. Froude cannot help
remarking on this last clause that
" the evasion of a law so contrived
that every unscrupulous scoundrel
in Ireland was its self-constituted
guardian became impossible "; and
he adds with gratifying frankness :
" That it was unjust in itself never
occurred as a passing emotion to

* The English in Ireland -in the Eighteenth
Century. By James Anthony Froude, M.A. Vol.
I. London : Longmans, Green & Co. 1872.

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

477

any Protestant in the two king-
doms, not even to Swift, who speaks
approvingly of what he deems must
l)e the inevitable result."

Writing still of the Penal Laws,
he says that " the practice of the
courts " in regard to them " was a
very school of lying and a disci-
pline of evasion. No laws could
have been invented, perhaps, more
ingeniously demoralizing" (p. 374).

Writing of a period still later in
the eighteenth century, after the
Protestant emigration and the ruin
of Irish trade and industry had been
brought about by English legisla-
tion, he thus describes the condition
of the Irish peasant class, who com-
posed the bulk of the population :

" The tenants were forbidden in their
leases to break or plough the soil. The
people, no longer employed, were driven
aw.iy into holes and corners, and eked
out a wretched subsistence by potato
gardens, or by keeping starving cattle
of their own on the neglected bogs.
Their numbers increased, for they mar-
ried early, and they were no longer lia-
ble, as in the old times, to be killed off
like do:;s in forays. They grew up in
compulsory idleness, encouraged once
more in their inherited dislike of labor,
and enured to wretchedness and hun-
ger ; and, on every failure of the potato
crop, hundreds of thousands were starv-
ing."

Horrible as such a picture is, it
is but a faint sketch of the reality.
All readers of Irish history know
it, and no student of English legis-
lation should forget or pass over
that dark chapter in England's his-
tory. Our own readers have seen
the whole system vividly sketched
in these pages recently in the series
of papers on " English Rule in Ire-
land." What, in human nature and
human possibilities, was to become
of a people thus submitted to so
long and unbending and systema-
tic a course of degradation ? They

had nothing left but their faitl1,
and the eternal truth of the prom-
ise that this is the victory which
overcometh the world ; and that
our faith shall make us free was
never more gloriously and won-
drously made manifest than in the
case of the Irish people.

Ignorance was made compulsory
by this Protestant government.
The statute law of Ireland forbade
Catholics to open schools or to
teach in them. The Irish people,
of all peoples, have ever had a
craving for knowledge. What was
left to them to do ?

" The Catholics," says Mr. Froudc,
" with the same steady courage and un-
remitting zeal with which they had main-
tained and multiplied the number of
their priests, had established open
schools in places like Killarney, where
the law was a dead-letter. In the more
accessible counties, where open defiance
was dangerous, they extemporized class
teachers under ruined walls or in the
dry ditches by the roadside, where rag-
ged urchins, in the midst of their pover-
ty, learnt English and the elements of
arithmetic, and even to read and construe
Ovid and Virgil. With institutions
which showed a vitality so singular and
so spontaneous repressive acts of Par-
liament contended in vain."

Ignorance is esteemed to be the
prolific mother of vice. The social
condition of the Irish people was
made as bad as legislation could
make it. Where was the room for
morality in such a case ? In vainly
trying to explain away that most
brutal project of la\v for the mu-
tilation of the Irish priests, Mr.
Fronde says (vol. i. p. 557) : " They
(the Lord Lieutenant and Privy
Council) did propose, not that all
the Catholic clergy in Ireland, as
Plowden says, but that unregistered
priests and friars coming in from
abroad, should be liable to castra-
tion "; and he adds in a note :

.]//-. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism,

" Not, certainly, as implying a charge
of immorality. Amidst the multitude of
accusations which I have seen brought
against the Irish priests of the last centu-
i \. 1 have never, save in a single instance,
encountered a charge of unchastity. Ra-
ther the exceptional and signal purity of
Irish Catholic women of the lower class,
unparalleled probably in the civilized
world, and not characteristic of the race,
which in the sixteenth century was no
less distinguished for licentiousness,
must be attributed wholly and entirely
to the influence of the Catholic clergy."

Mr. Froude cannot be wholly
generous and honest in a matter of
this kind, but what is true in this
is sufficient for our purpose with-
out inquiring into what is false.
It is plain from his own words
that the one thing that saved
the Irish people from perdition,
body and soul, was their Catholic
faith. Yet this is the man who, hav-
ing thus testified to the rival effects
of Catholicity and Protestantism
on a people, has the effrontery to
tell us in the '"Revival of Roman-
ism " that

" If by this [conversions] or any other
cause the Catholic Church anywhere
recovers her ascendency, she will again
exhibit the detestable features which
have invariably attended her supremacy.
Her rule will once more be found in-
compatible either with justice or intel-
lectual growth, and our children will be
forced to recover by some fresh struggle
the ground which our forefathers con-
quered for us, and which we by our pu-
sillanimity surrendered " (p. 103).

With his own testimony before
us we may well ask in amazement,
Of which church is he writing ? It
would seem as though Heaven,
which through all ages has looked
down upon and permitted martyr-
dom for the faith, had in this in-
stance called upon, not a tender
virgin or a strong youth, not an old
man tottering into the grave or an
innocent child, to step into the

arena and offer up their life and
blood for the cause of Christ, but a
whole people. And the martyrdom
of this people was not for a day or
an hour ; it was the slow torture of
centuries. A legacy of martyrdom
was " bequeathed from bleeding
sire to son." Life was hopeless to
the Irish people under the Penal
Laws ; the world a wide prison ; the
earth a grave. They could only-
lift their eyes and hearts to heaven
and wait patiently for merciful
death to come. This was the su-
preme test of faith to a noble and
passionate race, as it was faith's
supremest testimony. No work of
the saints, no writings of the fa-
thers, no Heaven-illumined mind
ever brought to the aid of faith
stronger reason for conviction than
this. As words pale before deeds,
as the blood of a martyr speaks
more loudly to men, and cries more
clamorously to heaven, than all that
divine philosophy can utter or in-
spired poet sing, so the attitude
of the Irish people, so opposed to
all the instincts of their quick and
passionate nature, bore the very
noblest testimony to the reality of
the Christian religion. A world
looked down into that dark arena
and waited for some sign of faltering
in the victim, for some sign of pity
in the persecutor. Neither came.
The victim refused to die or sacri-
fice to the gods ; the persecutor to
relent. The struggle ended at
length through the sheer weariness
of the latter, and brighter times
came because darker could not be
devised.

Faith conquered. The Irish peo-
ple arose from its grave, and at
once spread abroad over the world
to preach the Gospel and to plant
the church which for two centuries
it had watered with its blood. The
Act of Catholic Emancipation was

Mr. Fronde on the Decline' of Protestantism.

4/9

the first real sign of resurrection,
and that \vas only passed in 1829.

So much for Protestantism hav-
ing " ceased to be aggressive after
the middle of the seventeenth cen-
tury." How aggressive are certain
Protestant powers to-day all men
know.

Another thing happened to Pro-
testantism after the middle of the
seventeenth century :

" It no longer produced men conspi-
cuously nobler and better than Roman-
ism," says Mr. Froude, " and therefore it
no longer made converts. As it became
established, it adapted itself to the
world, laid aside its harshness, confined
itself more and more to the enforcement
of particular doctrines " (of no doctrines
in particular, we should be inclined to
say), "and abandoned, at first tacit'y and
afterward deliberately, the pretence to
interfere with private life or practical
business."

In plainer words, Protestantism,
having secured its place in this
world, left the next world to take
care of itself, and left men free to
go to the devil or not just as they
pleased. Mr. Froude faithfully
pictures the result :

" Thus Protestant countries are no
longer able to boast of any special or re-
markable moral standard ; and the effect
of the creed on the imagination is ana-
logously impaired. Protestant nations
show more energy than Catholic nations
because the mind is left more free, and
the intellect is undisturbed by the au-
thoritative instilment of false principles "
p. in).

This strikes us as a very easy
manner of begging a very impor-
tant question. However, we are
less concerned now with Mr.
Froude's Catholics than with his
Protestants.

" But," he goes on, " Protestant na-
tions have been guilty, as nations, of
enormous crimes. Protestant indivi-
duals, who profess the soundest of

creeds, seem, in their conduct, to have
no creed at all, beyond a conviclion that
pleasure is pleasant, and that money
will purchase it. Political corruption
grows up ; sharp practice in trade
grows up — dishonest speculations, short
weights and measures, and adulteration
of food. The commercial and political
Protestant world, on both sides of the
Atlantic, has accepted a code of action
from which morality has been banished ;
and the clergy have for the most part
sat silent, and occupy themselves in
carving and polishing into completeness
their schemes of doctrinal salvation.
They shrink from offending the wealthy
members of their congregation." (We
believe we heard concordant testimony
to this from distinguished members of
the late Protestant Episcopalian Con-
vention and Congress.) " They with-
draw into the affairs of the other world,
and leave the present world to the men
of business and the devil."

Mr. Froude having thus placidly
handed Protestantism over to the
devil, we might as well leave it
there, as the devil is proverbially
reported to know and take care of
his own. And certainly, if Protes-
tantism be only half what Mr.
Froude depicts it, it is the devil's,
and a more active and fruitful
agent of evil he could not well de-
sire. One thing is beyond dispute :
if Protestantism be what so ardent
an advocate as Mr. Froude says it
is, it is high time for a change. It
is time for some one or something
to step in and dispute the devil's
absolute sovereignty. If this is
the result of the Protestant mind
being " left more free " than the
Catholic, the sooner such freedom
is curtailed the better. It is the
freedom of lethargy and license
which has yielded up even the lit-
tle that it had of real freedom and
truth to its own child, Materialism,
the modern name for paganism.

" They" (the Protestant clergy), says Mr.
Froude, '' have allowed the Gospel to be
superseded by the new formulas of po-

48 o

J/V. b'ronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

litical economy. This so-called science
is the most barefaced attempt that has
rver fH been openly made on this earth
to regulate human society without God
or recognition of the moral law. The
clergy have allowed it to grow up, to
t ike possession of the air, to penetrate
schools and colleges, to control the ac-
tions of legislatures, without even so
much as opening their lips in remon-
strance."

Yes, because they had nothing
better to offer in its place. And
this Mr. Froude advances with
much truth as one of the causes of
the " Revival of Romanism " :

" I once ventured," he tells us, " to
say to a leading Evangelical preacher in
London that I thought the clergy were
much to blame in these matters. If the
diseases of society were unapproachable
by human law, the clergy might at least
keep their congregations from forgetting
that there was a law of another kind
which in some shape or other would en-
force itself. He told me very plainly
that he did not look on it as part of his
duty. He couldt not save the world, nor
would he try. The world lay in wicked-
ness, and would lie in wickedness to
the end. His business was to save out
of it individual souls by working on
their spiritual emotions, and bringing
them to what he called the truth. As to
what men should do or not do, how they
should occupy themselves, how and how
far they might enjoy themselves, on what
principles they should carry on their
daily work — on these and similar sub-
jects he had nothing to say.

" I needed no more to explain to me
why Evangelical preachers were losing
their hold on the more robust intellects,
or why Catholics, who at least offered
something which at intervals might re-
mind men that they had souls, should
have power to win away into their fold
many a tender conscience which needed
detailed support and guidance" (pp.
112-113).

One ray of light in the universal
darkness now enshrouding Protes-
tantism shines before the eyes of
Mr. Froude. It falls on the pre-
sent GeniKin Empire. Here at least

the weary watchman crying out the
hours of heaven may call " All is
well " to the sleepers. Here Pro-
testanti>ni had its true birth ; here
it finds its true home. In this
blessed land lies hope and salva-
tion for a lost world. But the pic-
ture is so graphic that we give it
in Mr. Fronde's own words :

" As the present state of France," he
says, " is the measure of the value of the
Catholic revival, so Northern Germany,
spiritually, socially, and politically, is the
measure of the power of consistent Pro-
testantism. Germany was the cradle of
the Reformation. In Germany it moves
forward to its manhood ; and there, and
not elsewhere, will be found the intel-
lectual solution of the speculative per-
plexities which are now dividing and
bewildering us" (pp. 130-131).

" Luther was the root in which the in-
tellect of the modern Germans took its
rise. In the spirit of Luther this men-
tal development has gone forward ever
since. The seed changes its form when
it develops leaves and flowers. But the
leaves and flowers are in the seed, and
the thoughts of the Germany of to-day
lay in germs in the great reformer. Thus
Luther has remained through later his-
tory the idol of the nation whom he sav-
ed. The disputes between religion and
science, so baneful in their effects else-
where, have risen into differences there,
but never into quarrels " (p. 132).

" Protestant Germany stands almost
alone, with hands and head alike clear.
Her theology is undergoing change.
Her piety remains unshaken. Protes-
tant she is, Protestant she means to be.
... By the mere weight of superior
worth the Protestant states have estab-
lished their ascendency over Catholic
Austria and Bavaria, and compel them,
whether they will or not, to turn their
faces from darkness to light.* . . . Ger-
man religion may be summed up in
the word which is at once the founda-
tion and the superstructure of all
religion — Duty ! No people anywhere
or at any time have understood better
the meaning of duty ; and to say that is
to say all " (pp. 134-135).

* Herein is plainly confirmed the view we took
of Mr. Froude's theory of might and right in our
last article, "Mr. Froude on the Revival of Roman-
ism," Dec., 1877.

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

481

These glowing periods are very
tempting to the critic ; but it is a
mark of cruelty and savagery to
gloat over an easy prey. We for-
bear all verbal criticism, then, and
simply deny in toto the truth of
Mr. Fronde's statement. It is so
very wrong that we can only think
lie wrote from his imagination — a
weakness from which he suffers
oftenest when he wishes most to be
effective. Had he searched the
world he could not have found a
worse instance to prove his point
than North Germany.

Prussia is the leading North Ger-
man and Protestant state, and in
various passages Mr. Fronde shows
that he takes it as his beau-ideal of
a Protestant power. How stands
'rotestantism in Prussia to-day ?

The indications for more than a
quarter of a century past have been
that Protestantism in Prussia was
little more than the shadow of a
once mighty name. These indica-
tions have become more marked of
late years, especially since the con-
solidation of the new German Em-
pire. Earnest German Protestants
are continually deploring the fact;
the press proclaims it ; the Protes-
tant ministers avow it, and all the
world knew of it, save, apparently,
Mr. Froude. " Protestantism in
Prussia " formed the subject of a
letter from the Berlin correspondent
of the London Times as recently as
Sept. 7, 1877. His testimony on
such a subject could scarcely be
called in question, but even if it
could be the facts narrated speak
for themselves.

" Forty years ago," he says, " the
clergy of the Established Church of this
country, including the leading divines
and the members of the ecclesiastical
government, almost to a man were un-
der the influence of free-thinking theo-
ries.

VOL. XXVI. — 31

" It was the time when German criti-
cism first undertook to dissect the Bible.
History seemed to have surpassed theo-
logy, and divines had recourse to ' inter-
preting ' what they thought they could no
longer maintain according to the letter.
The movement extended from the clergy
to the educated classes, gradually reach-
ing the lower orders, and ultimately
pervaded the entire nation. At this
juncture atheism sprang forward to reap
the harvest sown by latitudinarians.
Then reaction set in. The clergy revert-
ed to orthodoxy, and their conversion to-
the old faith happening to coincide with
the return of the government to political
conservatism, subsequent to the troub-
lous period of 1848, the stricter princi-
ples embraced by the cloth were syste-
matically enforced by consistory and
school. . . .

" The clergy turned orthodox twenty-
five years ago ; the laity did not. Tlio-
servants of the altar, having realized the
melancholy effect of opposite tenets, re-
solutely fell back upon the ancient dog-
mas of Christianity ; the congregations de-
clined to follow suit. Hence the few 'lib-
eral ' clergymen remaining after the ad-
vent of the orthodox period had the con-
solation of knowing themselves to be in
accord, if not with their clerical brethren,
at least with the majority of the educat-
ed, and, perhaps, even the uneducated,
classes."

He proceeds to mention various-
cases of prominent Lutheran clergy-
men who denied the divinity of
Christ, or other doctrines equally
necessary to be maintained by men
professing to be Christians, and
of the unsuccessful attempts made
to silence them. As the corre-
spondent says "irreverent liberali
opinion on the case is well reflected
in an article in the Berlin Volks-
Zeitung" which is so instructive
that we quote it for the especial
benefit of Mr. Froude :

" As long as Protestant clergymen are
appointed by provincial consistories
officiating in behalf of the crown our
congregations will have to put up with
any candidates that may be forced upon
them. They may, perhaps, be allowed

482

Mr. Fronde on 'the Decline of Protestantism,

to nominate their pastors, but they will
be impotent to exact the confirmation of
their choice from the ecclesiastical au-
thorities. Nor do we experience an)' par-
ticular curiosity as to the result of the
inquiry instituted against Herr Hossbach.
In matters of this delicate nature judi-
cious evasions have been too often resort-
ed to by clever accused, and visibly favor-
ed by ordained judges of the faith, for us
to care much for the result of the suit
opened. A sort of fanciful and imagi-
native prevarication has always flourish-
ed in theological debate, and the old ar-
tifice, it is to be foreseen, will be employ-
ed with fresh versatility in the present
instance. Should the election of Herr
Hossbach be confirmed, the consistorial
decree will be garnished with so many
" ifs' and ' althoughs' that the brilliant ray
of truth will be dimmed by screening as-
sumptions, like a candle placed behind a
colored glass. Similarly, should the con-
sistory decline to ratify the choice of the
vestry, the refusal is sure to be rendered
palatable by the employment of particu-
larly mild and euphonious language.
In either case the triumph of the victori-
ous party will be but half a triumph. . . .
It is not a little remarkable that the
Protestant Church in this country should
ibe kept under the control of superim-
posed authorities, while Roman Catho-
lics and Jews are free to preach what
'they like. The power of the Catholic
hierarchy has been broken by the new
laws. Catholic clergymen deviating from
the approved doctrine of the Church are
protected by the Government from the per-
secution of their bishops. Catholic congre-
gations are positively urged and instigated to
Profit by the privileges accorded them, and
assert their independence against bishop
and priest. Jewish rabbis, too, are free to
disseminate any doctrine without being
responsible for their teaching to spiritual
•or secular judges. Only Protestant con-
gregations enjoy the doubtful advantage

• of having the election of their clergy con-

• trolled, and the candor of their clergy
made the theme of penal inquiry. . . .
And yet Protestant congregations have a
ready means of escape at their disposal.
Let them leave the church, and they are
free to elect whomsoever they may
choose as their minister. As it is, the
indecision of the congregations main-
tains the status quo by forcing libeial
clergymen into the dogmatic straight-
waistcoat of the consistories."

" In the above argument one im-
portant fact is overlooked," says
the Times' correspondent.

"Among the liberals opposed to the
consistories there are many atheists,
but few sufficiently religious to care for
reform. Hence the course taken by the
consistories may be resented, but the
preaching of the liberal clergy is not
popular enough to create a new denomi-
nation or to compel innovation within
the pale of the church. The fashionable
metaphysical systems of Germany are
pessimist."

A week previous to the date of
this letter the Lutheran pastors held
their annual meeting at Berlin.
The Rev. Dr. Gran, who is referred
to as " a distinguished professor of
theology," speaking of the task of
the clergy in modern times — cer-
tainly a most important subject
for consideration — said :

"These are serious times for the
church. The protection of the temporal
power is no longer awarded to us to any-
thing like the extent it formerly was.
The great mass of the people is either indif-
ferent ot openly hostile to doctrinal teaching.
Not a few listen to those striving to
combine Christ with Belial, and to recon-
cile redeeming truth with modern science
and culture. There are those -who dream
of a future church erected on the ruins of
the Lutheran establishment, which by these
enterprising neophytes is a'ready rega dcd
as dead and gone."

" The meeting," observes the
correspondent, "by passing the re-
solutions proposed by Dr. Grau,
endorsed the opinions of the prin-
cipal speaker." And he adds :

"While giving this unmitigated ver-
dict upon the state of religion among the
people, the meeting displayed open an-
tagonism to the leading authorities of the
church. To the orthodox pastors the
sober and sedative policy pursued by the
Ober Kirchen Rath is a dereliction ev«n
more offensive than the downright apos-
tasy of the liberals. To render their op-

Mr. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

433

position intelligible the change that has
recently supervened in high quarters
should be adverted to in a few words.
Soon after his accession to the throne the
reigning sovereign, in his capacity as
summits rpiscopus, recommended a lenient
treatment of liberal views. Though
himself strictly orthodox, as he has re-
peatedly taken occasion to announce,
the emperor is tolerant in religion, and
too much of .a statesman to overlook the
undesirable consequences that must en-
sue from permanent warfare between
church and people. He therefore ap-
pointed a few moderate liberals mem-
bers of the supreme council, accorded an
extensive degree of self-government to
the synods, at the expense of his own
episcopal prerogative, and finally sanc-
tioned civil marriage and 'civil bap-
tism," as registration is sarcastically
called in this country, to the intense as-
tonishment and dismay of the orthodox.
The last two measures, it is true, were
aimed at the priests of the Roman Ca-
tholic Church, who were to be deprived
of the power of punishing those of their
flock siding with the state in the ecclesi-
astical war ; but, as the operation of the
law could not be restricted to one
denomination, Protestants were made
amenable to a measure which, to the or-
thodox among them, was quite as objec-
tionable as to the believing adherents of
the Pope. The supreme council of the
Protestant Church, having to approve
these several innovations adopted by
the crown, gradually accustomed itself
to regard compromise and bland pacifi-
cation as one of the principal duties
imposed upon it."

The correspondent ends his let-
ter thus :

"When all was over orthodoxy was at
feud with the people as well as with the
authoritative guardians of the church.
Yet neither people nor guardians re-
monstrated. For opposite reasons both
were equally convinced they could afford
to ignore the charges made."

So important was the letter that
the London Times made it the sub-
ject of an editorial article, wherein
it speaks of " the singular revival
of theological and ecclesiastical
controversy, which is observable in

all directions," having "at last
reached the slumbering Protest-
antism of Prussia." It confesses
that

"The state of things as described by
our correspondent is certainly a very
anomalous one. The Prussian Protis-
tant Church has, of late years at least,
had but little hold on the respect and af-
fections of the great majority of the peo-
ple ; they are at best but indifferent to
it when they are not actively hostile.
We are not concerned to investigate the
causes of this lack of popularity ; we are
content to take it as a fact manifest to all
who know the country and acknowledg-
ed by all observers alike."

" German Protestantism was a
power and an influence," it says,

" To which the modern world is deeply
indebted, and with which, now that ul-
tramontanism is triumphant in the Church
of Rome and priestcraft is again striv-
ing in all quarters to exert its sway, the
friends of freedom and toleration can ill
afford to dispense. There is no more
ominous sign in the history of an estab-
lished church than a divorce between in-
telligence and orthodoxy. This is what,
to all appearances, has happened in
Prussia."

We could corroborate this by
abundance of testimony from all
quarters; but surely the evidence
here given is sufficient to convince
any man of the deplorable state
of Protestantism in Prussia. Why
Mr. Fronde should have chosen
that country of all others for his
Protestant paradise we cannot
conceive, unless on the ground
that he is Mr. Froude. " The
world on one side, and Popery on
the other," he says, " are dividing
the practical control over life ;nui
conduct. North Germany, manful
in word and deed, sustains the
fight against both enemies and
carries the old flag to victory. A
few years ago another Thirty Years'
War was feared for Germany. A

484

Air. Fronde on the Decline of Protestantism.

single campaign sufficed to bring
Austria on her knees. Protestant-
ism, as expressed in the leadership of
J'russia, assumed the direction of
the German Confederation " (pp.

And whither does this leadership
tend ? To the devil, if the Lon-
don Times, if Dr. Grau, if every
observant man who has written or
spoken on this subject, is to be be-
lieved. The only religion in Prus-
sia to-day is the Catholic; Protes-
tantism has yielded to atheism or
nothingism. The persecution has
only proved and tempered the Ca-
tholic Church ; not even a strong
and favoring government can in-
fuse a faint breath of life into the
dead carcase of Prussian Protes-
tantism. It is much the same
story all the world over. Mr.
Fronde sees clearly enough what
is coming. Protestantism as a re-
ligious power is dead. It has
lost all semblance of reality. It
had no religious reality from the
beginning. It will still continue
to be used as an agent by poli-
tical schemers and conspirators ;
but in the fight between religion
and irreligion it is of little worth.
The fight is not here, but where
Mr. Froude rightly places it —
between the irreligious world and
Catholicity, which " are dividing

the practical control over life and
conduct."

And thus heresies die out ; they
expire of their own corruption.
Their very offspring rise up against
them. Their children cry for
bread and they give them a stone.
The fragments of truth on which
they first build are sooner or later
crushed out by the great mass of
falsehood. The few good seeds
are choked up by the harvest of
the bad, and only the ill weeds
thrive, until all the space around
them is desolate of fruit or light
or sweetness, or anything fair un-
der heaven. Then comes the hus-
bandman in his own .good time,
and curses the barren fig-tree and
clears the desolate waste. It will
be with Protestantism as it has
been with all the heresies ; Chris-
tians will wonder, and the time
would seem not to be very far dis-
tant when they will wonder that
Protestantism ever should have
been. It will go to its grave, the
same wide grave that has swallow-
ed up heresy after heresy. Gnos-
ticism, Arianism, Pelagianism, Nes-
torianism, Monophysitism, Protes-
tantism, all the isms, are children
of the same family, live the same
life, die the same death. The ever-
lasting church buries them all, and
no man mourns their loss.

A Ramble after the Waits.

A RAMBLE AFTER THE WAITS.

*' CHRISTMAS comes but once a year,
So let us all be merry,"

saith the old song. And now, as
the festal season draws nigh, every-
body seems bent on fulfilling the
behest to the uttermost. The
streets are gay with lights and
laughter; the shops are all a-glitter
with precious things ; the markets
are bursting with good cheer. The
air vibrates with a babble of merry
voices, until the very stars seem to
catch the infection and twinkle a
thought more brightly. The faces
of those you meet beam with joy-
ous expectation ; huge baskets on
their arms, loaded with good things
for the morrow, jostle and thump
you at every turn, but no one
dreams of being ill-natured on
Christmas Eve ; mysterious bun-
dles in each hand contain un-
imagined treasures for the little
ones at home. And hark ! do you
not catch a jingle of distant sleigh-
bells, a faint, far-off patter and
scrunching of tiny hoofs upon the
snow ? It is the good St. Nicholas
setting out upon his merry round;
it is Dasher and Slasher and Pran-
cer and Vixen scurrying like the
wind over the house-tops. And
high over all — "the poor man's
music " — the merry, merry bells of
Yule, the solemn, the sacred bells,
peal forth the tidings of great joy.
Is it not hard to conceive that
the time should have been when
Christmas was not ? impossible to
conceive that any in a Christian
land should have wished to do
away with it — should have been will-
ing, having had it, ever to forego a
festival so fraught with all holy and
happy memories ?

Yet once such men were found,
and but little more than two cen-
turies ago. It was on the 241)1 day
of December, 1652 — day for ever
to be marked with the blackest of
black stones, nay, with a bowlder
of Plutonian nigritude — that the
British House of Commons, being
moved thereto " by a terrible re-
monstrance against Christmas day
grounded upon divine Scripture,
wherein Christmas is called Anti-
christs masse, and those masse-mon-
gers and Papists who observe it,"
and after much time "spent in
consultation about the abolition of
Christmas day, passed order to that
effect, and resolved to sit upon the
following day, which was common-
ly called Christmas day." Whe-
ther this latter resolution was
carried into effect we do not know.
If so, let us hope that their Christ-
mas dinners disagreed with them
horribly, and that the foul fiend
Nightmare kept hideous vigil by
every Parliamentary pillow.

But think of such an atrocious
sentiment being heard at all in
Westminster ! How must the very
echoes of the hall have shrunk from
repeating that monstrous proposi-
tion— how shuddered and fled away
into remotest corners and crevices
as that

" Hideous hum
Ran through the arch'd roof in words deceiving '"!

How must they have disbelieved
their ears, and tossed the impious
utterance back and forth from one
to another in agonized questioning,
growing feebler and fainter at each
repulse, until their voices, faltering
through doubt into dismay, grew

486

A Ramble after the Waits.

dumb with horror! How must
" Rufus' Roaring Hall " * have
roared again outright with rage and
grief over that strange, that unhal-
lowed profanation ! What wan
phantoms of old-time mummeries
and maskings, what dusty and
crumbling memories of royal feast
and junketing, must have hovered
about the heads of those audacious
innovators, shrieking at them
what unsyllabled reproaches from
voiceless lips, shaking at them what
shadowy fingers of entreaty or men-
ace ! And if the proverb about ill
words and'burning ears be true,
how those crop-ears must have
tingled !

Within those very walls England's
kings for generations had kept their
Christmas-tide most royally with rev-
elry and dance and wassail. There
Henry III. on New Year's day, 1236,
to celebrate the coronation of Elea-
nor, his queen, entertained 6,000 of
his poorer subjects of all degrees ;
and there twelve years later, though
he himself ate his plum-pudding
at Winchester, he was graciously
pleased to bid his treasurer " fill the
king's Great Hall from Christmas
day to the Day ofCircumcision with
poor people and feast them." There,
too, at a later date Edward III. had
for sauce to his Christmas turkey —
not to mention all sorts of cates
and confections, tarts and pasties
of most cunning device, rare liquors
and spiced wines — no less than two
captive kings, to wit, David of
Scotland and John of France.
Poor captive kings ! Their turkey —
though no doubt their princely en-
tertainer was careful to help them
lo the daintiest tidbits, and to see
that they had plenty of stuffing and
cranberry sauce — must have been

* The Great Hall at Westminster, so called from
William Rufus, who built it (1097) for a banqueting-
hall— and kept his word.

but a tasteless morsel, and their
sweetbreads bifter indeed. An-
other Scottish king, the first James,
of tuneful and unhappy memory,
had even worse (pot) luck soon
after. Fate, and that hospitable
penchant of our English cousins in
the remoter centuries for quietly
confiscating all stray Scotch princes
who fell in their way, as though
they had been contraband of war,
gave him the enviable opportunity
of eating no less than a score of
Christmas dinners on English soil.
But he seems to have been left to
eat them alone or with his jailer
in "bowery Windsor's calm retreat"
or the less cheerful solit-ude of the
Tower. It does not appear that
either the fourth or the fifth Henry,
his enforced hosts, ever asked him
to put his royal Scotch legs un-
der their royal English mahog-
any. Had Richard II. been in the
place of " the ingrate and canker-
ed Bolingbroke," we may be sure
that his northern guest would not
have been treated so shabbily. In
his time Westminster and his two
thousand French cooks (shades of
Lucullus ! Avhat an appetite he
must have had, and what a broiling
and a baking and a basting must
they have kept up among them ;
the proverb x>f "busier than an
English oven at Christmas " had
reason then, at least) were not long
left idle; for it was their sovereign's
jovial custom to keep open house
in the holidays for as many as ten
thousand a day — a comfortable ta-
bleful. It was his motto plainly to

" Be merry, for our time of stay is short."

Such a device, however, the
third Richard might have made his
own with still greater reason. That
ill-used prince, who was no doubt a
much better fellow at bottom than
it has pleased Master Shakspere to

A Ramble after the Waits.

represent him — if Richmond had
not been Queen Bess' grandpapa,
we should like enough have had a
different story and altogether less
about humps and barking dogs —
made the most of a limited oppor-
tunity to show what he could do in
the way of holiday dinner-giving.
The only two Christmases he had
to spend as king at Westminster —
for him but a royal stage on his
way to a more permanent residence
at Bosworth Field — he celebrated
with extraordinary magnificence, as
became a prince " reigning," says
Philip de Comines, " in greater
splendor than any king of England
for the last hundred years." On
the second and last Christmas of
his reign and life the revelry was
kept up till the Epiphany, when
" the king himself, wearing his
crown, held a splendid feast in the
Great Hall similar to his corona-
tion." Wearing his cYown, poor
wretch ! He seems to have felt
that his time was short for wearing
it, and that he must put it to use
while he had it. Already, indeed,
as he feasted, rapacious Fortune,
swooping implacable, was clawing
it with skinny, insatiable claws, es-
timating its value and the probable
cost of altering it to fit another
wearer, and thinking how much
better it would look on the long
head of her good friend Richmond,
who had privately bespoken it.
No doubt some cold shadow of
that awful, unseen presence fell
across the banquet-table and poi-
soned the royal porridge.

What need to tell over the long
roll of Christmas jollities, whose me-
mory from those historic walls might
have pleaded with or rebuked the
sour iconoclasts planning gloomily
to put an end to all such for ever;
how even close-fisted Henry VII. —
no fear of his losing a crown, if

gripping tight could keep it — feast-
ed there the lord-mayor and alder-
men of London on the ninth Christ-
mas of his reign, sitting down him-
self, with his queen and court and
the rest of the nobility and gentry,
to one hundred and twenty dishes
served by as many knights, while
the mayor, who sat at a side-table, no
doubt, had to his own share no fewer
than twenty-four dishes, followed,
it is to be feared, if he ate them all,
by as many nightmares; how that
meek and exemplary Christian mo-
narch, Henry VIII., " welcomed the
coming, sped the parting" wife at
successive Christmas banquets of as
much splendor as the spoils of some-
thing over a thousand monasteries
could furnish forth ; * how good
Queen Bess, who had her own pri-
vate reading of the doctrine " it is
more blessed to give than to re-
ceive," sat in state there at this fes-
tival season to accept the offerings
of her loyal lieges, high and low,
gentle and simple, from prime min-
ister to kitchen scullion, until she
was able to add to the terrors of
death by having to leave behind her
something like three thousand dress-
es and some trunkfuls of jewels in
Christmas gifts; or what gorgeous
revels and masques — Inigo Jones
(Inigo Marquis Would-be), Ben Jon-
son, and Master Henry Lawes (he
of "the tuneful and well-measured
song") thereto conspiring — made

* See, for the true character of this much-ma-
ligned and really lamb-like sovereign, Froude's His-
tory of England. Yet— so harsh is the judgment
of men— it is this very prince of whose robber — we
should say resumption of the church lands the
Protestant antiquary, Sir Henry Spelman, writes :
" God's blessing, it seemeth, was not on it ; for with-
in four years after he had received all this, and had
ruined and sacked three hundred and seventy-six
of the monasteries, and brought their substance to
his treasury, ... he was drawn so dry that Par-
liament was constrained to supply his wants with
the residue of all the monasteries of the kingdom,
great ones and illustrious, ... by reason whereof
the service of God was not only grievously wounded
and bleedeth at this day, but infinite works of cha-
rity were utterly cut off and extinguished.'1

488

A Ramble after Ike Waifs.

the holidays joyous under James
and Charles. Some ghostly savor
of those bygone banquets might,
one would think, have made even
Praise-God Barebone's mouth water,
and melted his surly virtue into
tolerance of other folks' cakes and
ale — what virtue, however ascetic,
could resist the onslaught of two
thousand French cooks ? Some
faint, far echo of all these vanished
jollities should have won the ear,
if not the heart, of the grimmest
"saint" among them. Or if they
were proof against the blandish-
ments of tire world's people, if they
fled from the abominations of Baal,
could not their own George Wither
move them to spare the cheery,
harmless frivolities, the merry
pranks of Yule ? Jovially as any
Cavalier, shamelessly as any Malig-
nant of them all, he sings their
praises in his

"CHRISTMAS CAROL.

" So now is come our joyful' st feast,

Let every man be jolly ;
Each room with ivy leaves is drest,

And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine,
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,

And let us all be merry.

" Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning ;

Their ovens they with bak'd meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.

Without the door let sorrow lie ;

And if for cold it hap to die,

We'll bury 't in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry.

" Now every lad is wondrous trim,

And no man minds his labor ;
Our lasses have provided them

A bagpipe and a tabor.
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another's joys ;
And you anon shall by their noise

Perceive that they are merry. . . .

" Now poor men to the justices

With capons make their errants ;

And if they hap to fail of these,
They plague them with their warrants:

But now they feed them with good cheer,

And what they want they take in beer ;

For Christmas comes but once a year,
And then they shall be merry. . . .

" The client now his suit forbears.

The prisoner's heart is eased,
The debtor drinks away his cares,

And for the time is pleased.
Though others' purses be more fat,
Why should we pine or grieve at that ?
Hang sorrow ! care will kill a cat,

And therefore let's be merry. . . .

" Hark ! now the wags abroad do call

Each other forth to rambling ;
Anon you'll see them in the hall.

For nuts and apples scrambling.
Hark ! how the roofs with laughter sound ;
Anon they'll think the house goes round,
For they the cellar's depths have found.

And there they will be merry.

" The wenches with the wassail-bowls

About the streets are singing ;
The boys are come to catch the owls,

The wild mare * in is bringing.
Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box,
And to the kneeling of the ox
Our honest neighbors come by flocks,

And here they will be merry.

" Now kings and queens poor sheep-cotes have,

And mate with everybody ;
The honest now may play the knave,

And wise men play at noddy.
Some youths will now a-mumming go,
Some others play at Rowland-boe,
And twenty other gambols moe,

Because they will be merry.

" Then wherefore, in these merry days,

Should we, I pray, be duller?
No. let us sing some roundelays,

To make our mirth the fuller ;
And, while we thus inspired sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring —
Woods and hills and everything

Bear witness we are merry."

Or Master Milton, again, Latin
secretary to the council, author of
the famous Iconoclastes, shield (or,
as some would have put it, official
scold) of the Commonwealth, the
scourge of prelacy and conqueror
of Salmasius — he was orthodox sure-
ly; yet what of Arcades and Co-
mus? Master Milton, too, had
written holiday masques, and, what
is more, they had been acted; nay,
he had even been .known more than
once, on no less authority than his
worshipful nephew, Master Philips,
"to make so bold with his body as
to take a gaudy-day " with the gay
sparks of Gray's Inn. Alas ! such

* Riding the -wild mare— i.e., playing at see-saw.
The kneeling of the ox refers to an old English
superstition that at midnight on Christmas Eve the
oxen would be found kneeling in their stalls.

A Ramble after the Waits.

489

carnal-minded effusions belonged
to the unregenerate days of both
these worthy brethren, when they
still dwelt in the tents of the un-
godly, before they had girded on
the sword of Gideon and gone
forth to smite the Amalekite hip
and thigh. Vainly might the men-
aced festival look for aid in that
direction. So far from saying a
word in its favor, they would now
have been fiercest in condemnation,
if only to cover their early back-
sliding; if only to avert any suspi-
cion that they still hankered after
the fleshpots. Poor Christmas was
doomed.

So, by act of Parliament, " our
joyful'st feast" was solemnly strick-
en out of the calendar, cashiered
from its high pre-eminence among
the holidays of the year, and de-
graded to the ranks of common days.
All its quaint bravery of holly-berries
and ivy-leaves was stripped from it,
its jolly retinue of boars' heads and
wassail-bowls, of Yule-clogs and
mistletoe-boughs, of maskers and
mummers, of waits and carols,
Lords of Misrule and Princes of
Christmas, sent packing. Then be-
gan " the fiery persecution of poor
mince-pie throughout the land ;
plum-porridge was denounced as
mere popery, and roast-beef as anti-
Christian." 'Twas a fatal, a per-
fidious, a short-lived triumph. The
nation, shocked in its most cherish-
ed traditions, repudiated the hide-
ous doctrine ; the British stomach,
deprived of its holiday beef and
pudding, so to speak, revolted.
The reign of the righteous was
speedily at an end. History, with
her usual shallowness,- ascribes to
General Monk the chief part in the
Restoration; it was really brought
about by that short-sighted edict
of the 24th of December, 1652.
Charles or Cromwell, king or pro-

tector— what cared honest Hodge
who ruled and robbed him? But
to forego his Christmas porridge —
that was a different matter; and
Britons never should be slaves.
So, just eight years after it had
been banished, Christmas was
brought back again with manifold
rejoicing and bigger wassail-bowls
and Yule-clogs than ever; and, as
if to make honorable amends for
its brief exile, the Lord of Misrule
himself was crowned and seated on
the throne, where, as we all know,
to do justice to his office, if he
never said a foolish thing he never
did a wise one.

And from that time to this
Christmas has remained a thor-
oughly British institution, as firm-
ly entrenched in the national affec-
tions, as generally respected, and
perhaps as widely appreciated as
Magna Charta itself. Sit on Christ-
mas day ! A British Parliament
now would as soon think of sitting
on the Derby day. To how many
of their constituents have the two
festivals any widely differing signi-
ficance perhaps it would be wise
not to inquire too closely. Each
is a holiday — that is, a day off work,
a synonym for " a good time," a
little better dinner than usual, and
considerably more beer. Like the
children, "they reflect nothing at
all about the matter, nor under-
stand anything in it beyond the
cake and orange." " La justice
elle-meme," says Balzac, "se tra-
duit aux yeux de la halle par le
commissaire — personage avec le-
quel elle se familiarise." His epi-
gram the author of Ginx's Baby
may translate for us — English epi-
grams, like English plays, being
for the most part matter of im-
portation free of duty ; e.g., that
famous one in Lothair about the
critic being a man who has failed in

490

A Ramble after the Waits.

literature or art, another consign-
ment from Balzac — when he makes
Ginx's theory of government epito-
mize itself as a policeman. So
Ginx's notion of Christmas, we
suspect, is apt to be beef and beer
and Boxing-night — with perhaps a
little more beer.

Certainly the attachment of the
British public to these features of
the day — we are considering it for
the moment in the light in which
a majority of non-Catholics look
upon it, apparently, as a merely so-
cial festival, and not at all in its
religious aspect (though to a Ca-
tholic, of course, the two are as in-
distinguishably blended as the rose
and the perfume of the rose) — has
never been shaken. If one may
judge fiom a large amount of the
English fiction which at this season
finds its way to the American mar-
ket— and the novels of to-day,
among a novel-reading people, are
as straight and sure a guide to its
heart as were ever its ballads in
the time of old Fletcher of Saltoun
— if one may judge from much of
English Christmas literature, these
incidents of the day are, if not
the most important, certainly the
most prominent and popular.
What we may call the Beef and
Beer aspect of the season these
stories are never tired of glorifying
and exalting. Dickens is the arch-
priest of this idolatry, which, in-
deed, he in a measure invented,
or at least brought into vogue ;
and his Christmas Stones, as most
of his stories, fairly reek with
the odors of the kitchen and the
tap-room. Material comfort, and
that, too, usually of a rather ccarse
kind, is the universal theme, and
even the charity they are sup-
posed to inculcate can scarcely be
called a moral impulse, so much
as the instinct of a physical good-

nature well fed and content with
itself and the world — of a good-
humored selfishness willing to make
others comfortable, because thereby
it puts away from itself the dis-
comfort of seeing them otherwise.
It is a kind of charity which, in
another sense than that of Scrip-
ture, has to cover a multitude of
sins.

One may say this of Dickens,
without at all detracting from his
many great qualities as a writer,
that he has done more, perhaps,
than any other writer to demoral-
ize and coarsen the popular notion
of what Christmas is and means ; to
make of his readers a*t best but
good-humored pagans with lusty
appetites for all manner of victuals
and an open-handed readiness to
share their good things with the first
comer. These are no doubt admi-
rable traits; but one gets a little
tired of having them for ever set
forth as the crown and completion
of Christian excellence, the sum
and substance of all that is noble
and exalted in the sentiment of the
season. Let us enjoy our Christ-
mas dinner by all means ; let the
plum-pudding be properly boiled
and the turkey done to a turn, and
may we all have enough to spare a
slice or two for a poorer neighbor !
But must we therefore sit down
and gobble turkey and pudding
from morning till night? Should
we hang up a sirloin and fall down
and worship it? Is that all that
Christmas means ? Turn from the
best of these books to this exqui-
site little picture of Christmas Eve
in a Catholic land :

" Christmas is come — the beautiful
festival, the one I love most, and which
gives me the same joy as it gave the
shepherds of Bethlehem. In real truth,
one's whole soul sings with joy at this
beautiful coming of God upon earth — a

A Ramble after the Waifs.

coming which here is announced on all
sides of us by music and by our charm-
ing nadalct * Nothing at Paris can give
you a notion of what Christmas is with
us. You have not even the midnight
Mass. We all of us went to it, papa at
our head, on the most perfect night pos-
sible Never was there a finer sky than
ours was that midnight — so fine that
papa kept perpetually throwing back the
hood of his cloak, that he might look up
at the sky. The ground was white with
hoar-frost, but we were not cold ; besides,
the air, as we met it, was warmed by the
bundles of blazing torchwood which our
servants carried in front of us to light us
on our way. It was delightful, I do as-
sure you ; and I should like you to have
seen us there on our road to church, in
those lanes with the bushes along their
banks as white as if they were in flower.
The hoar-frost makes the most love-
ly flowers. We saw a long spray so
beautiful that we wanted to take it
with us as a garland for the commu-
nion-table, but it melted in our hands ;
all flowers fade so soon f I was very
sorry about my garland ; it was mournful
to see it drop away and get smaller and
smaller every minute."

It is Eugenie de Gue"rin who
writes thus — that pure and delicate
spirit so well fitted to feel and
value all that is beautiful and
touching in this most beautiful and
touching service of the church.
To come from the one reading to
the other is like being lifted sud-
denly out of a narrow valley to the
free air and boundless views of a
mountain-top; like coming from
the gaslight into the starlight; it
is like hearing the song of the sky-
lark after the twitter of the robin
— a sound pleasant and cheery
enough in itself, but not elevating,
not inspiring, not in any way satis-
fying to that hunger after ideal
excellence which is the true life of
the spirit, and which strikes the
true key-note of this festal time.

* A peculiar peal of bells rung at Christmas-tide
on the church-bells in Languedoc— doubtless, like
Noel, from nntalis.

But Eugenie de Guerin is perhaps
too habitual a dweller on those se-
rene heights to furnish a fair com-
parison ; let us take a homelier pic-
ture from a lower level. It is still
in France ; this time in Burgundy,
as the other was in Languedoc :

" Every year, at the approach of Ad-
vent, people refresh their memories, clear
their throats, and begin preluding, in
the long evenings by the fireside, those
carols whose invariable and eternal
theme is the coming of the Messias.
They take from old pamphlets little col-
lections begrimed with dust and smoke,
. . . and as soon as the first Sunday of
Advent sounds they gossip, they gad
about, they sit together by the fireside,
sometimes at one house, sometimes at
another, taking turns in paying for the
chestnuts and white wine, but singing
with one common voice the praises of the
Little Jestts. There are very few villages,
even, which during all the evenings of
Advent do not hear some of these curi-
ous canticles shouted in their streets to
the nasal drone of bagpipes.

" More or less, until Christmas Eve,
all goes on in this way among our de-
vout singers, with the difference of
some gallons of wine or some hun-
dreds of chestnuts. But this famous eve
once come, the scale is pitched upon a
higher key ; the closing evening must
be a memorable one. . . . The supper
finished, a circle gathers around the
hearth, which is arranged and set in or-
der this evening after a particular fash-
ion, and which at a later hour of the
night is to become the object of special
interest to the children. On the burn-
ing brands an enormous log has been
placed; ... it is called the Suche (the
Yule-log). ' Look you,' say they to the
children, ' if you are good this evening
Noel will rain down sugar-plums in the
night.' And the children sit demurely,
keeping as quiet as their turbulent little
natures will permit. The groups of old-
er persons, not always as orderly as the
children, seize this good opportunity to
surrender themselves with merry hearts
and boisterous voices to the chanted
worship of the miraculous Noel. For
this final solemnity they have kept the
most powerful, the most enthusiastic, the
most electrifying carols.

492

A Ramble after the Waits.

'•This last evening the merry-making
is prolonged. Instead of retiring at ten
or eleven o'clock, as is generally done
on all the preceding evenings, they wait
for the stroke of midnight ; this word suf-
ficiently proclaims to what ceremony
the}' are going to repair. For ten min-
utes or a quarter of an hour the bells
have been calling the faithful with a triple-
bob-major ; and each one, furnished with
a little taper streaked with various col-
ors (the Christmas candle), goes through
the crowded streets, where the lanterns
are dancing like will-o'-the-wisps at the
impatient summons of the multitudinous
chimes. It is the midnight Mass."

There you have fun, feasting, and
frolic, as, indeed, there may fitly be
to all innocent degrees of merri-
ment, on the day which brought re-
demption to mankind. But there
is also, behind and pervading all this
rejoicing and harmless household
gayety, the religious sentiment
which elevates and inspires it,
which chastens it from common-
place and grossness, which gives it
a meaning and -a soul. The En-
glish are fond of calling the French
an irreligious people, because
French literature, especially French
fiction, from which they judge, takes
its tone from Paris, which is to a
great extent irreligious. But out-
side of the large cities, if a balance
were struck on this point between
the two countries, it would scarcely
be in favor of England.

This, however, by way of episode
and as a protest against this grovel-
ling, material treatment of the most
glorious festival of the Christian
year. As we were about to say when
interrupted, though Christmas re-
gained its foothold as a national
holiday at the Restoration, it came
back sadly denuded of its follow-
ing and shorn of most of its old-
time attractions. So it fared in
old England. In New England it
can scarcely be said ever to have
won a foothold at all, or at best no

more than a foothold and a sullen
toleration. Almost the first act of
those excellent Pilgrim Fathers who
did not land at Plymouth Rock
was to anticipate by thirty years
or so the action of their Parliamen-
tary brethren at home in abolishing
the sacred anniversary, which must,
indeed, have been a tacit rebuke to
the spirit of their creed. They
landed on the i6th of December,
and " on ye 25th day," writes Wil-
liam Bradford, " began to erect ye
first house for comone use to re
ceive them and their goods." And
lest this might seem an exception
made under stress, we find it record-
ed next year that " on ye day caled
Christmas day ye Gov'r caled them
out to worke." So it is clear New
England began with a calendar
from which Christmas was expung-
ed. In New England affections
Thanksgiving day replaces it — an
" institution " peculiarly acceptable,
we must suppose, to the thrift which
can thus wipe out its debt of grati-
tude to Heaven by giving one day
for three hundred and sixty-four — li-
quidating its liabilities, so to speak,
at the rate of about three mills in the
dollar. In the Middle States and in
the South the day has more of its
time-old observance, but neither
here nor elsewhere may we hope
to encounter many of the quaint
and cheery customs with which our
fathers loved to honor it, and which
made it for them the pivot of the
year. Wither has told us some-
thing of these ; let a later minstrel
give us a fuller picture of what
Merry Christmas was in days of
yore :

" And well our Christian sires of old

Loved, when the year its course had rolled,

And brought blithe Christmas back again,

With all its hospitable train.

Domestic and religious rite

Gave honor to the holy night :

On Christmas Eve the bells were rung ;

On Christmas Eve the Mass was sung ;

A Ramble after the Waits.

493

That only night of all the year

Saw the stoled priest the chalice tear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ;

The hall was dressed with holly green ;

Forth to the wood did merry men go

To gather in the mistletoe.

Then opened wide the baron's hall

To vassals, tenants, serf, and all.

The heir, with roses in his shoes.

That night might village partner choose ;

The lord, underogating, share

The vulgar game of ' post and pair.'

All hailed with uncontrolled delight,

And general voice, the happy night

That to the cottage, as the crown,

Brought tidings of salvation down.

' The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide ;
The huge hall-table's oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn
By old blue-coated serving-man ;
Then the grim boar's head frowned on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary. . . .
The wassail round in good brown bowls,
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by
Plum-porridge stood and Christmas pye.
Then came the merry masquers in
And carols roared with blithesome din ;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery. . . .
England was merry England then —
Old Christmas brought his sports again ;
' fwas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ;
"Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ;
A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
A poor man's heart through half the year."

Let Herrick supplement the pic-
ture with his

"CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMASSE.

'• Come, bring with a noise,

My merrie, merrie boyes.
The Christmas log to the firing ;

While my good dame, she

Bids ye all be free
And drink to your hearts' desiring.

" With the last yeeres brand

Light the new block, and
For good successe in his spending

On your psaltries play,

That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a-teending.

>l Drink now the strong beere,

Cut the white loafe here,
The while the meate is a-shredding

For the rare mince-pie,

And the plums stand by
To fill the paste that's a-kneading."

Does tlie picture please you?
Would you fain be a guest at the
baron's table, or lend a hand with

jovial Herrick to fetch in the
mighty Yule-log ? Are you longing
for a cut of that boar's head or a
draught of the wassail, or curious
to explore the contents of that
mysterious "Christmas pye," which
seems to differ so much from all
other pies that it has to be spelled
with a y ? Well, well, we must not
repine. Fate, which has denied us
these joys, has given us compensa-
tions. No doubt the baron, for all
his Yule-logs, would sometimes have
given his baronial head (when he
happened to have a cold in it) for
such a fire — let it be of sea-coal in
alow grate and the curtains drawn — •
as the reader and his humble ser-
vant are this very minute toasting
their toes at. Those huge open
fireplaces are admirably effective
in poetry, but not altogether satis-
factory of a cold winter's night,
when half the heat goes up the
chimney and all the winds of hea-
ven are shrieking in through the
chinks in your baronial hall and
playing the very mischief with your
baronial rheumatism. Or do we
believe that boar's head was such
a mighty fascinating dish after all,
or much, if anything, superior to
the soused pig's head with which
good old Squire Bracebridge re-
placed it? No, every age to its
own customs ; we may be sure that
each finds out what is best for it
and for its people.

Yet one custom we do begrudge
a little to the past, or rather to the
other lands where it still lingers
here and there in the present.
That is the graceful and kindly
custom of the waits. These were
Christmas carols, as the reader no
doubt knows, chanted by singers
from house to house in the rural
districts during the season of Ad-
vent. In France they were called
noels, and in Longfellow's transla-

494

A Rainble after the Waits.

tion of one of these we may see
what they were like :

" I hear along our street

Pass the minstrel throngs ;

Hark ! they play so sweet,
On their hautboys, Christmas songs !

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire ! . . .

" Shepherds at the grange

Where the Babe was born

Sang with many a change
Christmas carols until morn.

Let us, etc.

" These good people sang

Songs devout and sweet ;

While the rafters rang,
There they stood with freezing feet.

Let us, etc.

" Who by the fireside stands

Stamps his feet and sings ;

But he who blows his hands
Not so gay a carol brings.

Let us, etc."

In some parts of rural England,
too, the custom is still to some ex-
tent kept up, and the reader may
find a pleasant, and we dare say
faithful, description of it in a charm-
ing English stofy called Under the
Greenwood Tree, by Mr. Thomas
Hardy, a writer whose closeness of
observation and precision and deli-
cacy of touch give him a leading
place among the younger writers
of fiction.

Very pleasant, we fancy, it must
be of a Christmas Eve when one
is, as aforesaid, toasting one's toes
at the fire over a favorite book,
or hanging up the children's stock-
ings, let us say, or peering through
the curtains out over the moonlit
snow, and wondering how cold it
is out-doors with that little perfunc-
tory shiver which is comfort's hom-
age to itself — there should always
be snow upon the ground at Christ-
mas, for then Nature

" With speeches fair
Woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ";

but let us have no wind, since

" Peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the world began.

The winds, with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kist,
Whispering new joys to the wild ocean.

Who now hath quite forgot to rave.
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed
wave " —

at such a time, we say, it would
be pleasant to hear the shrill voi-
ces of the Waits cleaving the cold,
starlit air in some such quaint old
ditty as the "Cherry-tree Carol"
or " The Three Ships." No doubt,
too, would we but confess it, there
would come to us a little wicked
enhancement of pleasure in the re-
flection that the artists without
were a trifle less comfortable than
the hearer within. That rogue Ti-
bullus had a shrewd notion of what
constitutes true comfort when he
wrote, Quam juvat immitcs ventos
audireeubantem — which, freely trans-
lated, means, How jolly it is to sit by
the fireside and listen to other fel-
lows singing for your benefit in the
cold without ! But that idea we
should dismiss as unworthy, and
even try to feel a little uncomforta-
ble by way of penance ; and then,
when their song was ended, and
we heard their departing footsteps
scrunching fainter and fainter in
the snow, and their voices dying
away until they became the merest
suggestion of an echo, we should
perhaps find — for these are to be
ideal Waits — that their song had
left behind it in the listener's soul
a starlit silence like that of the
night without, but the stars should
be heavenly thoughts.

These are ideal Waits ; the real
ones might be less agreeable or
salutary. But have we far to look
for such ? Are there not on the
shelves yonder a score of immortal
minstrels only waiting our bidding
to sing the sacred glories of the
time ? Shall we ask grave John

A Ramble after the Waits.

495

Milton to tune his harp for us, or
gentle Father Southvvorth, or im-
passioned Crashaw, or tender Fa-
ber ? These are Waits we need not
scruple to listen to, nor fail to hear
with profit.

Milton's Ode on the Nativity is, no
doubt, the finest in the language.
Considering the difficulties of a sub-
ject to which, short of inspiration,
it is next to impossible to do any
justice at all, it is very fine indeed.
It is not all equal, however ; there
are in it stanzas which remind one
that he was but twenty-one when he
wrote it. Yet other stanzas are
scarcely surpassed by anything he
has written.

" Yea, Truth and Justice then

Will down return tc ( icn,
OrVd in a rainbow ; ana. like glories wearing

Mercy will sit between,

Thron'd in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering,

And heaven, as at some festival.

Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

" But wisest Fate says, No,

It must not yet be so ;
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss,
So both himself and us to glorify ;

Yet first to those ychamed in sleep
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder thro*
the deep,

" With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang,

While the red fire and smould'ring clouds out-
brake.

The aged earth, aghast
With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake ;
When at the world's last session
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread
his throne.

" The oracles are dumb ;

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Dclphos leaving.
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic
cell.

" The lonely mountains o'er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament.
From haunted spring, and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale.
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
With flower-inwoven tresses torn.
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled
thicket mourn."

Seldom has Milton sung in loftier
strains than this. What a magnifi-
cent line is that :

" The wakeful trump of doom shall thunder through
the deep."

The poet evidently had his eye on
that wonderful verse of the Dies
Ira :

" Tuba minim spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum,
Cogit omnes ante thronum,"

but the imitation falls little short
of the original. Dr. Johnson char-
acteristically passes this ode over in
silence — perhaps because of his
opinion that sacred poetry was a
contradiction in terms. His great
namesake, and in some respects
curious antitype, was more gene-
rous to another poem we shall
quote — Father Southwell's " Burn-
ing Babe." " So he had written it,"
he told Drummond, " he would have
been content to destroy many of
his."

" As I, in hoary winter's night, stood shivering in

the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat which made

my heart to glow ;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was

near,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air

appear,
Who, scorched with exceeding heat, such floods

of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames

with what his tears were fed ;
' Alas !' quoth he, ' but newly born, in fiery heats

I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel

my fire but I.

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wound-
ing thorns ;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes

shames and scorns ;
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the

coals ;

The metal in this furnace wrought are men's de-
filed souls ;
For which, as now in fire I am to work them to

their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my

blood.'
With this he vanished out of sight, and swiftly

shrank away,
And straight I called unto mind that it was

Christmas day."

The fire is getting low in the
grate, the stars are twinkling pak-,

496

7 he Descent of

and though the minstrels are many
we should have been glad to intro-
duce to the reader — grand old St.
Thomas of Aquin ; silver-tongued
Giacopone, whose lately-discovered
Stabat Mater Speciosa is one of the
loveliest of the mediaeval hymns ;
rapturous St. Bernard — they must
wait a fitter time. AVe can hear
but another of our Christmas waits
— one of the most effective English
poems on the Nativity, considered
as mere poetry, it has been our for-
tune to meet. The author is the
hero of Browning's verses, "What's
become of Waring?" — Alfred H.
Dommett ; a poet who, perhaps,
would be better known had he
been a worse poet. And with this
we must wish our readers "Merry
Christmas to all, and to all a good-
night."

" It was the calm and silent night !

Seven hundred years and fifty-three

Had Rome been growing up to might,

And now was queen of land and sea.

No sound was heard of clashing wars ;

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago.

" 'Twas in the calm and silent night !

The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient urged his chariot's flight,

From lonely revel rolling home.
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell

His breast with thoughts of loundless

sway ;

What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago ?

' Within that province far away

Went plodding home a weary boor ;
A streak of light before him lay,

Fallen through a half-shut stable-door,
Across his path. He passed ; for naught

Told what was going on-within.
How keen the stars ! his only thought ;
1 he air how calm and cold, and thin !
In the soiemn midnight
Centuries ago.

' O strange indifference ! Low and high

Drowsed over common joys and cares ;
The earth was still, but knew not why ;

The world was listening unawares.
How calm a moment may precede

One that shall thrill the world for ever !
To that still moment none would heed ;
Man's doom was linked, no more to sever,
In the solemn midnight
Centunes ago.

' It is the calm and solemn night !

A thousand bells ring out and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite

The darkness, charmed and holy now !
The night, that erst no name had worn,

To it a happy name is given ;
For in that stable lay, new-born,

The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago."

THE DESCENT OF MAN.

MR. CHARLES DARWIN, in his
Descent of Man, proposes to himself
to show that man is nothing more
than a modified beast, and that his
remote ancestors are to be found
among some tribes of brutes. A pa-
radox of this kind, in a work of fic-
tion such as Ovid's Metamorphoses,
would not offend an intelligent rea-
der ; but in a work which professes
to be serious and scientific it is ex-
tremely offensive, for it amounts to a
deliberate insult to all humanity in
general and to every human being
in particular. Mr. Darwin's work

violates the dignity of human na-
ture, blots out of our souls the
image and likeness of our Creator,
and totally perverts the notions
most cherished by civil and Chris-
tian society. This effort does cer-
tainly not entitle him to credit for
wisdom. A man of ordinary pru-
dence, before he undertakes to
maintain in the face of the public
a theory which conflicts with a doc-
trine thoroughly established and
universally received, would exam-
ine both sides of the case, and as-
certain that he is in possession or

The Descent of Man.

497

sufficient evidence to make good
liis assertions and to defend them
against the arguments of the oppo-
site side. Mr. Darwin, on the con-
trary, seems to have satisfied him-
self that a man of his eminence in
natural history had a right to be
believed, whatever he might ven-
ture to say, even though he was to
give no satisfactory evidence in
support of his views, and no an-
swer to the objections which he
ought to refute.

We do not say that Mr. Darwin
did not do his best to prove his
new doctrine on man; we only say
that he has signally failed in his
attempt, and that his failure is as
inexcusable as it is ignominious.
A man of his ability should have
seen that the origin of man was
not a problem to be solved by phy-
siology ; and he ought also to have
considered that a man of science
could only stultify himself by sub-
mitting to the test of science a his-
torical fact of which science, as
such, is entirely incompetent to
speak. Indeed, we scarcely know
which to admire most in Mr. Dar-
win, the serenity with which he
ignores the difficulty of his philoso-
phic position, or the audacity with
which he affirms things which he
cannot prove. What a pity that a
man so richly endowed by nature
has been so entirely absorbed by
the study of material organisms as
to find no time for the more impor-
tant study of philosophy, especially
of psychology, without which it is
impossible to form a rational
theory respecting the origin and
the destiny of man ! Shall we add
that a sound scientific theory can-
not be the outcome of illogical rea-
soning? And yet it is a plain fact,
though our advanced thinkers will
deny it, that Mr. Darwin's logic, to
judge from his Descent of Man, is

VOL. XXVI. 32

as mischievous as most of his as-
sumptions are reckless.

It would be impossible within
the limits of our space to enter
into a detailed examination of the
logical and metaphysical blunders
to which the Darwinian theory
owes its existence. We shall, there-
fore, at present confine ourselves to
a short criticism of the first chapter
of the work in question ; for, if we
are not mistaken, every impartial
reader will be able, after a suffi-
cient analysis of this first chapter,,
to judge of the kind of logic tliac
characterizes the whole treatise.

Mr. Darwin begins thus :

" He who wishes to decide whether
man is the modified descendant of some
pre-existing form would probably first
inquire whether man varies, however
slightly, in bodily structure and in men-
tal faculties ; and, if so, whether the va-
riations are transmitted to his offspring
in accordance with the laws which pre-
vail with the lower animals. Again, are
the variations the result, as far as our
ignorance permits us to judge, of the
same general causes, and are they gov-
erned by the same general laws, as in
the case of other organisms — for instance,,
by correlation, the inherited effects of
use and disuse, etc.? Is man subject to
similar malconformations, the result of:
arrested development, of reduplication
of parts, etc., and does he display in any
of his anomalies reversion to some for-
mer and ancient type of structure? It
might also naturally be inquired whether
man, like so many other animals, has-
given rise to varieties and sub-races,
differing but slightly from each other,
or to races differing so much that the}'
must be classed as doubtful species ?'
How are such races distributed over the-
world ; and how, when crossed, do they
react on each other in the first and suc-
ceeding generations? And so with
many other points."

This preamble, which superficial
readers may have considered per-
fectly harmless, contains the seed
of all the mischievous reasonings
scattered through the rest of the

493

TJie Descent of Ulan.

work. It comes to this : " If we
find that man varies, however
slightly, according to the same laws
which prevail with the lower ani-
mals, we shall be justified in con-
cluding that man is a modified
descendant of some pre-existing
form." Now, this assertion is evi-
dently nothing but clap-trap for
the ignorant. In the first place, Mr.
Darwin takes for gran ted that man-
kind wishes to decide whether man
is the modified descendant of some
pre-existing form. This gratuitous
supposition implies that mankind
is still ignorant or doubtful of its
rtrue origin ; which is by no means
rthe case. We have an authentic
record of the origin of man; and
we know that the first man and the
first woman were not the descend-
ants of any lower pre-existing form.
The Bible tells us very clearly that
God created them to his own image
.and likeness; and so long as Mr.
Darwin does not demolish the
^Biblical history of creation he has
;no right to assume that there may
,be the least reasonable doubt re-
igarding the origin of man. Mr.
Darwin, it is true, makes light of
-the Biblical history ; but contempt
•is no argument. On the other
hand, philosophy and common
sense, and science, if not perverted,
unanimously agree with the- Mosaic

• record in proclaiming that the ori-
gin of man must be traced to a
special creation. Thus there has

mever been, nor is there at present,
among thinking men, any real

• doubt as to the origin of our race ;
whence we infer that the question

• raised by the Descent of Man is a
mere fiction which would deserve
no answer but a smile of pity.

In the second place, granting
for the sake of argument that
there may be an honest doubt
about the origin of .man, and that

physiology and other kindred sci-
ences are competent to answer it.
would the inquiry suggested by
Mr. Darwin convince an honest
doubter that man is the descen-
dant of a lower animal ? Suppose
that " man varies, however slightly,
in bodily structure and in mental
faculties"; suppose that "such va-
riations are transmitted to his off-
spring in accordance with the laws
which prevail with the lower ani-
mals "; and suppose that all the
other conditions enumerated by
Mr. Darwin are verified — would
we then be justified in concluding
that " man is a modified descen-
dant of some pre-exis-ting form"?
Evidently not. The utmost that
logic would allow us to grant is
that the present form of human be-
ings, owing to the slight variations
transmitted to us by our human
ancestors, may exhibit some acci-
dental features slightly different
from those which were possessed
by the primitive men, yet without
any change of the specific form,
which must always remain essen-
tially the same. But Mr. Darwin
is not content with this. His pe-
culiar logic allows him to confound
the accidental and unimportant
variations that occur within the
limits of any single species with a
gradual transition from one spe-
cies to another — a transition which
science no less than philosophy ut-
terly rejects. Nowhere in nature
do we find an instance of such a
pretended transition. Varieties
are indeed very numerous, but
none of them show the least de-
parture from the species to which
they belong. The oak emits every
year thousands of leaves, of which
each one differs from every other
in some accidental feature; but
who has ever seen the oak-leaves
change into fir-leaves, or fig-leaves,

The Descent of Man.

499

or maple-leaves, or any other leaves?
If nature admitted such a specific
change, a thousand indications
would awaken our attention to
the fact. The transition, being
gradual, would leave everywhere
innumerable traces of its reality.
There would be all around us a host
of transitional forms from the fish
to the lizard, from the lizard to the
bird, from the bird to the ape,
and from the ape to man. But
where do we find such transitional
forms ? Science itself proclaims
that they have no existence. Hence
to affirm the transition from one
species to another is a gross scien-
tific blunder, whatever Mr. Dar-
win and his eminent associates may
say to the contrary.

In the third place, even admit-
ting that a gradual transition from
one species to another were not re-
jected by science, Mr. Darwin's
view would still remain a ludicrous
absurdity. In fact, the pretended
transition from a form of a lower
to a form of a higher species would
be an open violation of the princi-
ple of causality ; and therefore, if
any transition were to be admitted
at all, it could only be a transi-
tion from a higher to a lower spe-
cies. Thus, the transition from a
human to a brutish form by con-
tinual deterioration and degrada-
tion, though repugnant to other
principles, would not conflict with
the principle of causality, inas-
much as deterioriation and degra-
dation are negative results, which
may be brought about by mere
lack of intellectual, moral, and so-
cial development. But the transi-
tion from a brutish to a human
form would be a positive effect
without a positive proportionate
cause. The lower cannot generate
the higher, because to constitute
the higher something is necessary

which the lower cannot impart.
Just as a force — 10 cannot pro-
duce an effect = 20, so cannot
the irrational brute produce the
rational man. To assume the
contrary is to assume that the less
contains the greater, that empti-
ness begets fulness — in a word,
that nature is a standing contra-
diction.

A full development of this last
consideration would lead us too far
from our line of argument, as it
would require a psychological
treatment of the subject. We will
merely remark that rational and ir-
rational differ not only in degree
but in kind ; that the human soul
is not produced by the forces of
nature, but proceeds directly and
immediately from God's creative
action ; and that Darwinism, which
ignores the soul's spirituality and
immortality, is, on this account
also, a monument of philosophical
ignorance.

But let us proceed. The au-
thor considers it an important
point to ascertain "whether man
tends to increase at so rapid a rate
as to lead to occasional severe
struggles for existence, and con-
sequently to beneficial variations,
whether in body or in mind, being
preserved, and injurious ones eli-
minated." This is another of Mr.
Darwin's delusions. It is not in
the nature of man that the stron-
ger should murder the weaker.
Man, as a rule, is benevolent to-
wards his kind, and even savages
respect the life of the weak ; where-
as it is always the stronger that go
to battle and fall in the struggle.
Thus a struggle for existence, oc-
casioned by a too rapid increase,
would deprive the race of its best
men and mar its further develop-
ment. On the other hand, if at
any time or in any place there has

5oo

The Descent of Man.

been a struggle for existence, it is
in our large cities that we can best
study the nature of its results. Is
it in London, Paris, Berlin, or Vi-
enna that we meet the best speci-
mens of the race ? Surely, if there
is a tremendous struggle for exist-
ence anywhere, it is in such capitals
as these ; and yet no one is igno-
rant that such proud cities would,
in a few generations, sink into in-
significance, were they not continu-
ally refurnished with new blood
from the country, where the best
propagators of the race are brought
up in great numbers and without
any apparent struggle for existence.
But we need not dwell any further
on this point. A struggle for
existence presupposes existence ;
and if man existed before strug-
gling, the origin of man does not
depend on his struggle. Hence
the so-called " important point "
has really no . importance what-
ever.

Then he asks : " Do the races
or species of men, whichever term
may be applied, encroach on and
replace one another, so that some
finally become extinct ?" and he
answers the question in the af-
firmative. To this we have no
objection. We only remark that
" races " and " species " are not
synonymous ; hence it is surprising
how a naturalist of Mr. Darwin's
celebrity could show the least hesi-
tation which of the two terms he
ought to apply to mankind.

He proceeds to examine "how
far the bodily structure of man
shows traces, more or less plain, of
his descent from some lower form,"
and he contends that the existence
of such " traces " can be proved,
first, from the similarity of bodily
structure in men and beasts; sec-
ondly, from the similarity of their
e.nbryonic development ; thirdly,

from the existence of rudimentary
organs, which show that man and
all other vertebrate animals have
been constructed on the same gen-
eral model.

Bearing in mind that Mr. Dar-
win's object is to prove that there
are " traces," more or less plain, of
man's descent from some lower
form, we cannot help expressing our
astonishment when we find that he
has failed to see the necessity of
grounding his proofs on a secure
foundation. That the bodily
structure of man hss some resem-
blance to the structure of other
mammals; that all the bones of
his skeleton can be compared with
corresponding bones in a monkey,
bat, or seal; that this comparison
may be extended to his muscles,
nerves, blood-vessels, and internal
viscera; that the brain, the most
important of all organs, follows the
same law, etc., etc., are indeed
well-known facts, from which we
rightly infer that man is construct-
ed on the same general type as oth-
er mammals. But can these same
facts be considered as "traces,"
more or less plain, of man's descent
from any lower form ? Mr. Darwin
says Yes; but instead of giving any
conclusive reason for his assertion,
he loses his time in accumulating
superfluous anatomical and physio-
logical details which, however in-
structive, have no bearing upon
the thesis he has engaged to prove.

To prove his assumption he
ought to have made a syllogism
somewhat like the following :

Wherever there is similarity of
bodily structure or development
there are " traces " of a common ori-
gin or descent ;

But man and other mammals
have similar bodily structures and
a similar development;

Therefore man and other main-

The Descent of Man.

501

rials show " traces " of a common
origin or descent.

This argument would have left
no escape to the most decided ad-
versary of the Darwinian view, if
its first proposition had been sus-
ceptible of demonstration. But
Mr. Darwin, seeing the utter im-
possibility of demonstrating it, and
yet being unable to dispense with
it, resorted to the ordinary trick of
his school, which consists in assum-
ing latently what they dare not
openly maintain; and thus he turn-
ed the whole attention of his read-
er to the second proposition, which
had no need of demonstration, as
it was not questioned by instructed
men. Thus the twenty pages of
physiologic lore with which Mr.
Darwin in this chapter distracts
and amuses his readers may be
styled, in a logical point of view, a
prolonged ignoratio elenchi — an ef-
fort to prove that which is conced-
ed instead of that which is denied
— a blunder into which men of sci-
ence of the modern type are sure
to fall when they presume to med-
dle with matters above their reach.

There is one sense only in which
it may be affirmed that the similar-
ity of bodily structure in men and
lower animals proves their common
origin, and it is this : that men and
animals have been made by the
same Creator on a similar ideal
type of homogeneous organic ar-
rangements ; in other terms, that
their organic similarity proves them
to be the work of the same Maker.
Man was destined to live on this
earth among other inferior animals
nnd surrounded by like conditions.
His animal life was therefore to be
dependent on similar means of sup-
port, exposed to similar influences,
and subject to similar needs. It is
not surprising, then, that he should
have received from a wise Creator

an organic constitution similar to
that of the inferior creatures that
were placed around him. This
fully accounts for the similarity of
the human organism with that of
other mammals. But to say that
because the bodily structure of
man is similar to that of the ape,
therefore man is the descendant of
the ape, is as nonsensical as to say
that because the bodily structure
of the ape is similar to that of man,
therefore the ape is the descendant
of man. How was it possible for
Mr. Darwin to lay down such an
absurd principle, and not foresee
how easily it might be turned
against his own conclusion ?

Thus the argument drawn from
the similarity of bodily structure is
a mere delusion. It avails nothing
to say that man is liable to receive
from the lower animals, and to
communicate to them, certain dis-
eases, as hydrophobia, variola, the
glanders, syphilis, cholera, herpes,
etc. This fact, says Mr. Darwin,
"proves the similarity of their tis-
sues and blood, both in minute
structure and composition, far
more plainly than does their com-
parison under the best microscope
or by the aid of the best chemical
analysis." But this is a mistake ;
for the evidence afforded by the
microscope as to existing diversi-
ties cannot be negatived by any
guesses of ours respecting the com-
munication of diseases and its con-
ditions ; it being evident that what
is obscure and mysterious is not
calculated to weaken the certitude
of a fact which we see with our
own eyes. Nor does it matter that
" medicines produce the same effect
on them [monkeys] as on us," or
that many monkeys "have a strong
taste for tea, coffee, and spirituous
liquors," oreven that a certain mon-
key " smoked tobacco with plea-

502

The Descent of Man.

sure" in Mr. Darwin's presence.
These and other details of the
same nature may be interesting,
but they are no indication of a
common origin, except in the sense
which we have pointed out — viz.,
that they are the work of the same
Maker.

But, says Mr. Darwin, "the ho-
mological construction of the whole
frame in the members of the same
class is intelligible, if we admit
their descent from a common pro-
genitor, together with their subse-
quent adaptation to diversified
conditions. On any other view
the similarity of pattern between
the hand of a man or monkey, the
foot of a horse, the flipper of a seal,
the wing of a bat, etc., is utterly
inexplicable. It is no scientific ex-
planation to assert that they have
all been formed on the same ideal
plan." These words, which occur at
the end of the chapter we are examin-
ing, show how little Mr. Darwin un-
derstands the duty of his position as
author of a new theory. To say
that an explanation is not scientific
is a very poor excuse for setting it
aside. Science, if not perverted,
is an excellent thing, but it does
not profess to give an explanation
of every subject we may think of.
Its range is co-extensive with the
material world, but only with re-
spect to matter and its modifica-
tions as known by observation and
experiment. This means that there
are numberless things about which
science is altogether incompetent
to speak, because such things do
not fall under observation and ex-
periment. To pretend, therefore,
that an explanation which is not
scientific has no claim to be heed-
ed by a man of science, is like pre-
tending that a man of science, as
such, must remain in blissful igno-
rance of everything which tran-

scends experiment and observation.
Will Mr. Darwin reject historical
explanations of historical events,
philosophical explanations of phi-
losophical conclusions, mathemati-
cal explanations of mathematical
questions? The origin of things is
not a scientific but a philosophic
problem. Science cannot speak of
creation, of which it can have no
experimental knowledge ; it gives
it up to the philosopher and the
theologian, who alone know the
grounds on which it must be de-
monstrated. The question, then,
whether mammals have all been
formed on the same ideal plan, is
not scientific, and therefore it
needs no scientific explanation.
The plea that the explanation is
not scientific might be held valid,
if Mr. Darwin had humbly acknow-
ledged his inability to rise above
matter, and his incompetency to
give a judgment in philosophic
matters ; but his disregard of the
explanation shows that, when he
calls it not scientific, he desires his
reader to believe that it is anti-sci-
entific or irreconcilable with sci-
ence; and this is as absurd as if
he pretended that reason and sci-
ence destroy one another.

On the other hand, what shall
we say of the pretended " scien-
tific " explanation offered by Mr.
Darwin ? " The homological con-
struction of the whole frame in the
members of the same class is intel-
ligible, if we admit their descent
from a common progenitor." Is
this appeal to a common progeni-
tor ascientific explanation of the fact
in question ? If a common proge-
nitor accounts scientifically for the
fact, why should not a common
Creator account scientifically for
it ? Science — that is, Mr. Darwin's
science — does not know a common
Creator; it knows even less of a

The Descent of Man.

503

common progenitor; and yet it sets
up the latter to exclude the former,
and boasts that its gratuitous and
degrading hypothesis is a " scien-
tific " explanation ! Yet all true
scientists aver that no instance has
ever been found of a transition
from one species to another; phi-
losophers go even further, and
show that such a transition is
against nature. Hence Mr. Dar-
win's hypothesis, far from being
scientific, contradicts science and
philosophy, observation and expe-
riment, reason and fact. The de-
scent from a common progenitor,
even if it made "intelligible" the
similarity of different mammals,
would still be unscientific. The
ancients accounted for the move-
ment of the heavenly bodies by
putting them under the control of
intellectual agents. This hypothe-
sis made the astronomical pheno-
mena intelligible. The fall of heavy
bodies was accounted for by as-
suming that all such bodies had a
natural intrinsic tendency to a cen-
tral point. This hypothesis, too,
made the fall <of bodies intelligible.
Even in modern physics a number
of hypotheses have been proposed
regarding light, magnetism, elec-
tricity, chemical changes, etc., to
make phenomena intelligible. But
hypotheses, however satisfactory at
first, are soon discarded when a
deeper study of the facts reveals
new features and new relations for
which such hypotheses cannot ac-
count. This is why the hypothesis
of the descent of all mammals from
a common progenitor, even if it
seems to make their homological
construction intelligible in a man-
ner, must be rejected. For in
every species of mammals we find
features for which the hypothe-
sis cannot account, and relations
of genetic opposition by which

the hypothesis is reduced to noth-
ing.

Mr. Darwin says that, " on any
other view, the similarity of pat-
tern between the hand of a man or
monkey, the foot of a horse, the
flipper of a seal, the wing of a bat,
etc., is utterly inexplicable." We
do not see any great similarity be-
tween the hand of a man and the
foot of a horse or the flipper of a
seal, etc. We would rather say,
with Mr. Darwin's permission, that
we see in all such organs a great
dissimilarity. Each of them has a
special adaptation to a special end,
and each of them is constructed
on a different specific pattern.
Their similarity is therefore gene-
ric, not specific ; and, accordingly,
each species must have its own
distinct progenitors. We might
make other remarks, but we are
afraid that we have already taxed
the patience of the reader to a
greater extent than the case re-
quires ; and therefore we will now
pass to the second argument of the
author.

This second argument is drawn
from the consideration of the em-
bryonic development. "Man," says
Mr. Darwin, " is developed from
an ovule about the 1251)1 of an
inch in diameter, which differs in
no respect from the ovules of other
animals." This is a very reckless
assertion. For how does Mr. Dar-
win happen to know that the hu-
man ovule " differs in no respect "
from the ovules of other animals ?
When a man of science lays down
an assertion as the groundwork of
his doctrine, he must be able to
show that the assertion is true.
Hence we are entitled to ask on
what foundation our great scientist
can maintain his proposition. Will
he appeal to the microscope ? Pro-
bably he will, but to no purpose ; for

504

The Descent of Men.

he has just declared, as we have seen,
that the best microscope does not
reveal everything with sufficient
distinction. On the other hand, if
he resorts to the mode of reasoning
which he lias just employed while
speaking of diseases — that is, if he
argues from the effects to the caus-
es— he cannot but defeat himself;
for, as similarity of diseases was, in
his judgment, a proof of similar
organic structure, so no\v the dis-
similarity of the final development
of two ovules will be a proof that
the two ovules are really dissimilar.
One ovule constantly develops into
a monkey, another constantly de-
velops into a dog, and a third
constantly develops into a man.
Is it conceivable that the three
ovules are identically the same, so
as to " differ in no respect " ? We
do not know what Mr. Darwin will
reply. At any rate he cannot reply
on scientific grounds ; for science
neither knows the intimate consti-
tution of the ovules, nor is it likely
ever to know it, as the primordial
organic molecules baffle the best
microscopic investigations.

" The embryo itself," he adds, "at a
very early period can hardly be distin-
guished from that of other members of
the vertebrate kingdom. . . . At a some-
what later period, when the extremities
are developed, 'the feet of lizards and
mammals,' as the illustrious Von Baer
remarks, ' the wings and feet of birds, no
less than the hands and feet of man, all
arise from the same fundamental form. '
It is, says Prof. Huxley, 'quite in the
later stages of development that the
young human being presents marked
differences from the young ape.' "

If these assertions and quota-
tions are intended asaproof that the
human ovule " differs in no respect"
from the ovules of lower animals,
we must confess that our advanced
scientific thinkers are endowed
with a wonderful power of blinding

themselves. We have two ovules :
the one develops into hands and
feet ; the other develops into wings
and feathers; and yet we are told
that they are both "the same fun-
damental form " ! What is the
fundamental form ? Who has seen
it ? We are sure that neither Prof.
Huxley nor the illustrious Von
Baer has had the privilege of in-
specting and determining the prop-
er form of the mysterious organism
known under the name of ovule.
Much less have they, or has Mr.
Darwin, discerned what is funda-
mental and what is not in its con-
stitution. They are, therefore, not
more competent to judge of the
fundamental sameness of two
ovules than is the blind to judge of
colors ; and their view, as founded
on nothing but presumption and
ignorance, must be considered al-
together unscientific.

The same view is also, as we
have already shown, eminently tin-
philosophic. If two ovules are es-
sentially the same and ''differ in
no respect" from one another, what
is it that causes them invariably to
develop into different specific or-
ganisms? Does a constant differ-
ence in the effects countenance the
idea that they proceed from identi-
cal causes ? It is evident that a
theory which resorts to such ab-
surdities for its support has no
claim to be accepted, or even toler-
ated, by lovers of reason and truth.
The very boldness of its affirma-
tions, its air of dogmatism, its allega-
tion of partisan authorities, and its
contempt of fundamental princi-
ples prove it to be nothing but a
flippant attempt at imposition.

Although Mr. Darwin has insist-
ed so strongly on the similarity
between our bodily structure and
that of the lower animals, and
although he has endeavored to con-

The Descent of Man,

505

vince us that the human ovule dif-
fers in no respect from the ovules
of other animals, yet he is compel-
led by abundant evidence to admit
that there is something in man
which does not exist in the lower
animals, and something in the low-
er animals which does not exist in
man. How does he account for
these organic differences ? Men of
science, only twenty years ago,
would have explained the fact by
the old philosophical and scientific
axiom, Omne animal generat simile
sibi, which means that each species
of animals has progenitors of the
same species ; whence they would
have inferred by legitimate deduc-
tion that animals of different spe-
cies owe their specific differences
to their having issued from progeni-
tors of different species. This ex-
planation was universally received,
as it was supported by an induc-
tion based on centuries of obser-
vation, without a single example
to the contrary. It was, there-
fore, a truly scientific explanation.
But twenty years are passed, and
with them (if we believe Mr. Dar-
win) the axioms, the logic, and the
experimental knowledge of all cen-
turies have disappeared from the
world of science, to make room
for higher and deeper conceptions.
It was not an easy task, that of giv-
ing the lie to a uniform and perpet-
ual experience ; but to Mr. Darwin
nothing is difficult. He needs
only a word. With one word,
" Rudiments," he is confident that
lie will transform the objections of
the old science into arguments in
his favor, just as King Midas by
the touch of his hand transmuted
everything into shining gold.

The world has hitherto believed
that man has only two hands,
whereas the monkey has four. But
we must not say this in Mr. Dar-

win's face. If we did, he would in-
form us that we are strangely mis-
taken. Man, lie pretends, belongs
to the order of quadrumana ; hence
he has four hands no less than the
monkey, though two of them are
used as feet, which may be consid-
ered as rudimentary or undevelop-
ed hands. If we were to remark in
his presence that monkeys have a
tail, whilst man can boast of no
such elegant appendage, he would
immediately confound our igno-
rance by informing us that we all
possess a rudimentary tail, which
might be made to develop and
grow by mere local irritation.

In this way he explains all
the organic differences which sep-
arate one species from another.
Every difference is made to depend
either on the development in man
of an organ which is undeveloped
and rudimentary in lower animals,
or on the development in lower
animals of some organ which is
rudimentary and undeveloped in
man. To explain this theory he
reasons as follows :

" The chief agents in causing organs
to become rudimentary seem to have
been disuse at that period of life when
the organ is chiefly used (and this is gen-
erally during maturity), and also inheri-
tance at a corresponding period of life.
The term ' disuse ' does not relate mere-
ly to the lessened action of muscles, but
includes a diminished flow of blood to a
part or organ from being subjected to
fewer alterations of pressure, or from be-
coming in any way less habitually active.
Rudiments, however, may occur in one
sex of those parts which are normally
present in the other sex ; and such rudi-
ments, as we shall hereafter see, have
often originated in a way distinct from
those here referred to. In some cases
organs have been reduced by means of
natural selection, from having become
injurious to the species under changed
habits of life. The process of reduction
is probably often aided through the two
principles of compensation and economy

The Descent of Man.

of growth ; but the later stages of reduc-
tion, after disuse has done all that can
fairly be attributed to it, and when the
saving to be effected by the economy of
growth would be very small, are difficult
to understand. The final and complete
suppression of a part already useless
and much reduced in size, in which case
neither compensation nor economy can
come into play, is perhaps intelligible by
the aid of the hypothesis of pangenesis."

On this passage, which forms the
main foundation of the Darwinian
theory of rudiments, much might
be said ; but we must limit our-
selves to the following obvious re-
mark. Science and philosophy rea-
son on ascertained facts, but do
not invent them ; whereas Mr.
Darwin in this very passage, as in
many others, not only invents with
poetic liberty all the facts which he
needs to build up his theory, but
also violates the laws of reasoning
by drawing from his imaginary
facts such conclusions as even real
f.icts would not warrant. Philoso-
phy would certainly not allow him
to assume without proof that " or-
gans become rudimentary " ; for this
is not an ascertained fact. Nor
would philosophy permit the gra-
tuitous introduction of rudiments
derived " from the corresponding
organs of other more developed
animals " ; for there is no evidence
that such has ever been the case.
Nor would philosophy sanction
" the final and complete suppres-
sion of a part already useless " ;
for on the one hand we have no
means of knowing whether a part
be really useless, and on the other
no total suppression of organic
parts has ever been known to oc-
cur (except in monsters) within the
range of any given species. Nor
would philosophy permit an appeal
lo the hypothesis of pangenesis or
to the principle of compensation to
evade the difficulties of which the

new theory cannot give a solution ;
for the hypothesis of pangenesis is
itself in need of proof, and the
principle of compensation involves,
in our case, a begging of the ques-
tion, inasmuch as it assumes the
mutability of species — the very thing
which the theory is intended to
demonstrate.

But, says Mr. Darwin, perhaps
the hypothesis of pangenesis would
make " intelligible " the suppression
of a useless part. Let it be so,
though we hold the contrary to be
true; what then ? Is all hypothe-
sis to be accepted which would
make a thing " intelligible " ? The
succession of days and* nights was
intelligible in the Ptolemaic hypoth-
esis ; the loss of a battle becomes
inteUigible by the hypothesis of
treason ; the death of an old wo-
man is intelligible by the hypothe-
sis of starvation; but no man of
sense would mistake the hypothe-
sis for a fact. The truth is that
Mr. Darwin, before attempting the
explanation of what he calls " the
final and complete suppression of a
part," was bound to prove that the
absence of such a part was a real
suppression of the pre-existing part.
This he has not done ; in fact, he
had no means of doing it. Hence
all his reasonings on this subject
are paralogistic, and his theory of
rudiments is a rope of sand.

The preceding remarks are fully
applicable to the other examples of
rudiments given by the author in
the fourteen remaining pages of the
chapter. Thus, " rudiments of va-
rious muscles have been observed
in many parts of the human body."
We flatly deny the assertion. " Not
a few muscles which are regularly
present in some of the lower ani-
mals can occasionally be detected
in man in a greatly-reduced condi-
tion." We answer that such mus-

The Descent of Man.

507

cles are not at all in a reduced con-
dition, but in the condition origi-
nally required by the nature of the
individual. " Remnants of the
pantiu'itlus carnosus in an efficient
state are found in various parts of
our bodies ; for instance, the muscle
on the forehead by which the eye-
brows are raised." On what ground
can this muscle be called a rem-
nant? " The muscles which serve
to move the external ear are in a
rudimentary condition in man. . . .
The whole external shell (of the
ear) may be considered a rudiment,
together with the various folds and
prominences which in the lower
animals strengthen and support the
ear when erect." Where is the
proof of such rudimentary condi-
tion ? " The nictitating membrane
is especially well developed in
birds, . . . but in man it exists as
a mere rudiment, called the semi-
lunar fold." How is it proved that
the semilunar fold is a mere rudi-
ment, and not .a special organism,
purposely contrived by the hand
of the Creator at the first produc-
tion of man ?

Mr. Darwin goes on making any
number of assertions of the same
kind, not one of which is or can
be substantiated, and yet at the
end of the chapter closes his argu-
mentation in the following trium-
phant words :

"Consequently, we ought frankly to
admit their community of descent [of
man and other vertebrate animals]. To
take any other view is to admit that our
own structure, and that of all the ani-
mals around us, is a mere snare laid to
entrap our judgment. This conclusion
is greatly strengthened, if we look to the
members of the whole animal series, and
consider the evidence derived from their
affinities or classification, their geogra-
phical distribution and geological succes-
sion. It is only our natural prejudice,
and that arrogance which made our fore-
fathers declare that they were descended

from demi-gods, which leads us to de-
mur to this conclusion. But the time
will before long come when it will be
thought wonderful that naturalists who
were well acquainted with the compara-
tive structure and development of man
and other mammals should have be-
lieved that each was the work of a sepa-
rate act of creation."

This conclusion, though well
known, and already famous through-
out the scientific world, is here
given in the proper words of the
great naturalist, that the reader
may see what unbounded confi-
dence a man of science can place
in himself and in his speculations.
All the scientific world, excepting
a few sectarian unbelievers, is
against him ; he knows it, and he
is not dismayed. If you listen to
him, his opponents are "arrogant ";
they demur to his conclusion only
because they pretend to be "the
descendants of demi-gods." He
alone is right, he alone understands
science. Buffon, Cuvier, Quatre-
fages, Agassiz, Elam, Fredault, and
a host of other naturalists are evi-
dently wrong. In fact, all philoso-
phers are wrong; Mr. Darwin alone
knows how to interpret scientific
results; and he is so sure of this
that he ventures to prophesy his ap-
proaching triumph over those be-
nighted naturalists who, though
" well acquainted with the compa-
rative structure and development
of man and other mammals," are
nevertheless so foolish as to be-
lieve that each species is the work
of a separate act of creation. Such
is his modesty !

Perhaps we, too, may be allowed
to venture a little prophecy. Mr.
Darwin is not young, and before
many years, we are sorry to say,
death will snatch him from us ; his
scientific friends in England and
in Germany will shed a cold tear on
his dead " mammalian structure,"

<;oS

The Dcsctnt of Man.

while his spiritual and immortal
soul will be summoned before the
God he has insulted in the noblest
of his creatures, to account for the
abuse of his talents, and to receive
the sentence due to those who
know and disregard truth. Then
the Descent of Man will soon be a
thing of the past; and those who
now sing its praises in all tunes,
and feign such an enthusiastic con-
viction of its coming triumph, will
become the laughing stock of culti-
vated society, unless they put a
timely end to their " scientific "
jugglery. This is the fate which
the common sense of mankind
keeps in store for the Darwinian
theory.

Mr. Darwin, in formulating his
conclusion, sums up the whole dis-
cussion in a single sentence: "To
take any other view is to admit
that our own structure, and that of
all the animals around us, is a mere
snare laid to entrap our judgment."
No doubt a "snare "is laid; not,
however, by the Author of nature,
but by the author of the Descent
of Man. The homologousness of
animal structures does not prove
a common genetic descent : it only
proves, as we have shown, that all
such structures are the work of the
same Maker; hence the arbitrary
substitution of a common progeni-
tor for a common Creator is " a
mere snare " laid by Mr. Darwin to
entrap the judgment of the igno-
rant. We say of the ignorant ; for
he who knows anything about phi-
losophy will simply wonder at the
audacity of a writer who derives
reason from unreason, and intellect
from organism; and he who knows
anything about divine revelation
u'ill rebuke him for his disregard
of the Mosaic history, than which
no document has greater antiquity
or higher authority ; whereas he

who knows anything of zoology
will be scandalized at the impu-
dence of a man who dares to con-
tradict in the name of science what
he knows to be an unquestionable
fact and a fundamental principle of
science — viz., the unchangeableness
of species.

To "strengthen" his worthless
conclusion Mr. Darwin bids us
look to "the members of the whole
animal series" and consider "the
evidence derived from their affini-
ties or classification, their geograph-
ical distribution and geological suc-
cession." But it must be evident
to every intelligent reader that the
considerations here suggested by
Mr. Darwin are not calculated to
" strengthen " his position. Be-
tween the members of the animal
series there are not only affinities,
but also specific differences and
incompatibilities, which a man of
science ought not to ignore, were
they ever so embarrassing to his
inventive genius. And as to the
"geological succession" of animal
forms, need we remind Mr. Darwin
that the geological remains and
their succession afford the most per-
emptory refutation of his theory?
He himself acknowledges that no
transitional forms from one species
to another have been dug up from
the bowels of the earth ; whereas
his theory requires a succession of
animal remains of all transitional
forms and in all stages of develop-
ment. It would have been wiser
for him to have kept back all men-
tion of geology; but, alas! those
who lay snares for others some-
times succeed also in entrapping
themselves.

This may suffice to give an idea
of the first chapter of the Descent of
Jlfa/i, and even of the whole work.
Everywhere we find the same
want of rigorous logic, the same

TJic Descent of Man.

509

nbrence of method, the same disre-
gard of principles, and the same
abundance of fanciful assumptions.
Such is not the proceeding of
science. " I believe," says Prof.
Agassiz, "that the Darwinian sys-
tem is pernicious and fatal to the
progress of the sciences." " This
system," says Dr. Constantin
James, " starts from the unknown,
appeals to evidences which are no-
where to be found, and falls into
consequences which are simply
absurd and impossible. One would
say that Darwin merely undertook
to blot out creation and bring back
chaos."* We cannot, without
trespassing on the limits prescribed
to this article, give the scientific
arguments by which these and
other eminent writers set at naught
the assumptions, the reasonings, and
the conclusions of our eccentric
"mammalian," i»ut we venture to
say that if the reader procures a
copy of Dr. James' work, and ex-
amines the Darwinian theory in the
light of the facts that the learned
author has culled from physiology,
palaeontology, and other branches of
science connected with the history
of the animal world, he will be fully
satisfied that the Descent of Man is
nothing but a congeries of blun-
ders.

But we may be asked : How is it
possible to admit that a theory so
manifestly absurd should have been
received with enthusiasm and laud-
ed to the skies by men of recogniz-
ed ability and scientific eminence ?
The answer is obvious. Scientific
eminence, as now understood,
means only acquaintance with the
materials of science, and is no
warrant against false reasoning.
" There can be fools in science as
well as in any other walk in life,"

* />« Darminisine : ou riiommt tingt: Paris,
'877, page 170.

says a well-known English writer ;
" in fact, in proportion to the small
aggregate number of scientific men,
I should be disposed to think that
there is a greater percentage in
that class than in any other." But
the same writer gives us another re-
markable explanation of the fact.

" I have read," says he, " the writings
of Mr. Darwin and Prof. Huxley and
others, and had the advantage of per-
sonal talk with an eminent friend of
theirs who shares their views, and I
have read without prejudice, but failed
to find that they advanced one solid ar-
gument in support of their views. I am
quite certain that, if this controversy
could be turned into a law-suit, any
judge on the bench would dismiss the
case against the evolutionists with costs,
without calling for a reply. The emi-
nent friend 1 allude to, himself one of
the first ofliving mathematicians, and an
intimate associate of Tyndall, Huxley,
Spencer, etc., and sharing their views,
was candid enough to admit that the
theory was beset with difficulties, that
quite as many facts were against it as for
it, that it hardly seemed susceptible of
proof. And when I asked why he held
the theory under such a condition of the
evidence ; why, on the assumption of this
law, Dr. Tyndall chaffed and derided
prayer, and Prof. Huxley gnashed his
teeth at dogma and chuckled over the
base descent of man, his reply was : ' \\ e
are bound to hold it, because it is the
only theory yet propounded which can
account for life, all we see of life, without
the intervention of a God. Nature must
be held to be capable of producing
everything by herself and within herself,
with no interference ab cxha, and this
theory explains how she may have done
it. Hence we feel bound to hold it, and
to teach it.' Shade of Bacon ! here is
science !" *

These words need no comment
of ours. We knew already from
other evidences that a conspiracy
had been formed with the aim of

* On the Intrusion of certain Professors of
Physical Science into the Rtgicn of Faith and
Mi rnls : An address delivered to the members cf
ihe Manchester Acadcmia of the Catholic Religion
L-_- J. Stores Smith, Esq.

The Descent of Man.

turning science against religion,
and we now see its work. We have
here a candid avowal that the en-
thusiasm of certain scientists for
the new theory has its root in mal-
ice, not in reason, and is kept up,
though with ever-increased difficul-
ty, in the interest not of science
but of a brutal atheism. In fact,
science has nothing to do with the
origin of man; and the very at-
tempt at transforming a historical
event into a scientific speculation
clearly reveals the wicked deter-
mination of obscuring, corrupting,
and discrediting truth. To carry
out their object the leaders of the
conspiracy organized a body of in-
fidel scientists, doctors, professors,
lecturers, and journalists ; they took
hold of the scientific press, which
was to illustrate the names and
magnify the merits of such men as
Moleschott, Louis Buchner, Wolff,
Von Baer, or suc.h men as Clausius,
Tyndall, Spencer, and Comte, or as
Huxley, Draper, and Hackel — a
task not at all difficult, as these
men, and others whom we might
name, were all bound together in a
mutual-admiration society, in which
the celebrity of each member was
an honor and an encouragement
for all the other members, and the
praises lavished upon each one
were repaid with interest to all the
others. Thus they have become
great scientific oracles, each and
all ; and by ignoring as completely
as possible the writings, the dis-
coveries, and even the existence of
those men of science who did not
fall on their knees before the new
ideas, they succeeded in creating a
belief that they alone were in pos-
session of scientific truth, and they
alone were enlightened enough to
point out with infallible certainty
the hidden path of progress.

Their success, to judge from the

number and tone of their scientific
publications, must have been very
flattering to their vanity. It is prc-
bable, however, that their noise is
greater than their success. The
profligate and the sceptic may, of
course, relish a theory which assim-
ilates them to the ape or the hog,
makes the soul a modification of
matter, and suppresses God ; but
the honest, the pure, the thought-
ful are not easily duped by the low
hypotheses of these modern think-
ers. Society in general rejects witli
disgust a doctrine which aims at
degrading humanity and destroying
the bases of morality, religion, and
civilization. If there «is no God,
rights and duties, the main ties of
the social body, must be given up ;
justice will become an unmean-
ing word, and civil and criminal
courts a tyrannical institution. If
man is only a modified beast, if his
soul is not immortal, if his end is
like that of the dog, then why
should the stronger refrain from
hunting and devouring the weaker ?
Do we not hunt and kill and eat
other animals ? Alas! the progress
of humanity towards barbarism and
cannibalism is so intimately and
inevitably connected with Darwin-
ism that even the most uncivilized
of human beings would protest
against its admission.

That society is still unwilling to
submit to the dictation of this ad-
vanced science, and that common
sense is yet strong enough to si-
lence the present scientific bluster-
ing, is a fact of which we find an
implicit confession in the writings
and addresses of anti-Christian
thinkers. Nature, a weekly illus-
trated journal of science, the Pop-
ular Science Monthly, and other
publications of the infidel party, do
not cease to inculcate the introduc-
tion of science (materialism, evo-

The Descent of Man.

lution, pantheism, etc.) into the
schools frequented by our children.
They have found that our schools
are not godless enough to secure
the triumph of unbelief: they are
godless in a negative sense only,
inasmuch as they ignore God ; but
now they must be made positively
godless by teaching theories which
do away with creation, which deny
providence, which leave no hope
of reward, and ridicule all fear of
punishment in an after-life ; and
they must be made positively im-
moral by teaching that man is al-
ways right in following his animal
proclivities, as all other animals do,
and that no human being can be
justly called to account for his
doings, it being demonstrated by
science that what we call "free-
will " is an organic function sub-
ject to invariable laws, like every-
thing else in the material world,
with no greater freedom to choose
its course than a stone has under
terrestrial attraction. These doc-
trines are widely circulated in
printed works, but make few con-
verts, owing to the fact that they
come too late, and find the minds
of men already imbued with prin-
ciples of an opposite nature ; and,
therefore, it is now proposed to in-

stil all this poison into the minds
of the young, who have no antidote
at hand to counteract its destruc-
tive action. We hope that this
new attempt will be defeated; but
when we see that the attempt is
considered necessary for a suc-
cessful diffusion of the false scien-
tific theories of the day, we can-
not be much mistaken if we infer
that the success of such theories
up to the present time has been
less satisfactory to the infidel
schemers than their publications
pretend.

As for the Descent of Man, how-
ever, no amount of sophistry, in
our opinion, will succeed in mak-
ing it fashionable. The Darwinian
theory is utterly unscientific and
unphilosophical. Common sense,
geology, and history condemn it ;
logic proclaims it a fraud ; and
human dignity throws upon it a
look of pity and dismisses it with
ineffable contempt. Mr. Darwin
may yet live long enough to see his
theory totally eclipsed and forgot-
ten, when he will ask himself
whether it would not have been
better to devote his talents, his
time, and his labor to striving to
elevate rather than striving to de-
base his kind.

512

Mickey Casey s CJiristmas Dinncr-Party.

RICKEY CASEY'S CHRISTMAS DINNER-PARTY.

IN a large, gloomy, bald-looking
house in Merrion Street, Dublin,
lived a red-faced, red-haired little
attorney rejoicing in the name of
Mickey Casey. There is no man
better known in Green Street than
Mickey, and no member of the pro-
fession whose services are more
eagerly retained by the luckless
ones whose "misfortunes" have
brought tl>em within range of the
" blessing of the recorder." Mickey
knows the exact moment to bully,
concede, or back out ; and as for
the law, it has been said of him
that there is not a dirty lane or alley
in the whole of the Acts of Par-
liament in which he has not men-
tally resided for the benefit of
his clientele^ as well as to his own
especial emolument. When Mr.
Casey was put up for membership
of the Law Club, there was much
muttering and considerable frown-
ing in the smoking-room of that
legally exclusive establishment
while his chances of success were
being weighed in the balance and
found wanting; but the election
being judiciously set down for the
long vacation, and Mickey having
offered several of the leading mem-
bers unlimited shooting over his
trifle of property in the neighbor-
hood of Derrymachulish — which, as
all well-informed people are aware,
lies in the very heart of the County
Tipperary — somehow or other he
pulled through by the "skin of his
teeth," and became socially, as he
was by act of Parliament, a gentle-
man in the profession.

Mickey was a cheery little man,
who loved a drop of the " crayture "
not wisely but too well, and whose

whole soul was wrapped up in his
only child, a daughter, a mincing
young lady, who was now close
upon her nineteenth birthday, and
who bore a most unmistakable re-
semblance to her sire in the color
of her hair, her " chancy blue "
eyes, and a bulbous-shaped — vulgar-
ly termed thumbottle — nose.

"I've spent oceans of money
on me daughter's education, sir,"
Mickey would exclaim. " Oceans
— Atlantic and Pacific* She's had
masters and mistresses, and tutors
and governesses, and short lessons
and long .lessons, some at a guinea
apiece, sir — yes, begar, a guinea
for thirty minutes' jingling on a
piana. But she's come out of it
well ; I've got her through, and the
sentence of the court is that she's
as fine a performer as there is in
Dublin in- the way of an amatewer."

Mrs. Casey was a very stout,
very florid, very untidy lady, whose
face never bore traces of any re-
cent lavatory process, and whose
garments appeared to have dropped
upon her from the ceiling by
chance, retaining their original
pose. The parting of her hair bore a
strong resemblance to forked light-
ning, and her nails reminded the
visitor of family bereavement, so
deep the mourning in which they
were invariably enshrined. She,
in common with her husband, was
wrapped up in her daughter, and
lost to every consideration other
than the advancement of her child's
welfare and happiness.

Matilda Casey was spoiled in
her cradle, spoiled at school, spoil-
ed at home. Her word was law,
her every whim gratified, her every

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

513

wish anticipated. Her parents were
her slaves. Dressed by Mrs. Man-
ning, the Worth of Dublin, at fancy
prices, the newest Parisian toilettes
were flaunted upon Miss Casey's
neat little figure, whilst her mother
went in greasy gowns of antiquat-
ed date and old-\rorld pattern.
The brougham was at her beck,
and Mrs. Casey was flattered be-
yond measure when offered a seat in
it. She asked whom she pleased to
Merrion Street, and many people
came and went whom her mother
never even saw. In furtherance of
her musical talents she had boxes
at the Theatre Royal and Gaiety for
any performance it pleased her
Serene Highness bo select, while she
forced her father to run the gaunt-
let of musical societies in order to
ensure the necessary vouchers of
admission.

And yet Matilda Casey was by
no means a bad sort of girl. Her
heart was in the right place, but
her brains were blown out — to use
a homely metaphor — by the flat-
tery and incense which were being
perpetually offered up at her shrine,
until she was seized with a mad
craving to enter the portals of the
best society.

Hitherto she had but stood at the
gate, like the Peri, gazing through
the golden bars, and was more or
less inclined to accept her position ;
but there came a time when she re-
solved upon endeavoring to force
her way through.

The task that lay before her was
a terrible one — a task full of weep-
ing, and wailing, and mortification,
and heart-burning, and gnashing of
teeth. Society in Dublin is as ex-
clusive as in the Faubourg St. Ger-
main. The line is so distinctly
drawn that no person can cross it
by mere accident. " No trespas-
sers admitted " is written up in let-
VOL. xxvi. — 33

ters of cold steel. The viceregal
" set " won't have the professional
set, save those whose offices entitle
them to the entrle, and then they
are but tolerated. The profession-
al set won't know the mercantile
set, and here society stops short.
A shopkeeper, be his store as large
as Stewart's and be he as wealthy as-
Rothschild, has no chance. He is-
a Pariah, and must pitch his tent
out in that wilderness peopled by
nobodies. The great struggle lies;
with the mercantile people to be-
come blended with the profession-
als. This is done by money. Of
course there are exceptional cases,,
but such a case is rara avis in-
ter r is.

Matilda Casey was in no set..
The people with whom she was ac-
quainted, though not amongst the-
outcasts, held no position whatso-
ever. Clerks in the Bank of Ireland!
residing at Rathmines ; commercial',
travellers; custom-house employes;
attorneys of cadaverous practice, ©r
of a practice that meant no weight
in the profession ; needy barristers,
perpetually kotowing to her father
for business, and obsequiously civil
to her as business — these people
with their wives formed her sur-
roundings, and she was sick of
them, tired, disgusted, bored to-
death. Why should she not be ac-
quainted with the daughter of Mr.
Bigwig, Q.C., who resided next
door? Surely she played better
than Miss Bigwig, and dressed bet-
ter, and rode in her brougham,,
while Miss B. trudged in thick-
soled boots in the mud. She had
left cards on the Bigwigs upon;
their coming to Merrion Street, but
her visit had never been returned,,
while that shabby little girl, Miss
Oliver, was for ever in and out there;.
and what was Miss Oliver's papa
but an attorney ?

Mickey Casey s CJiristmas Dinncr-Farty.

Why was she not at some of the
balls perpetually going on around
her ? — the rattling of the cabs to and
from which, during the night and
morning, kept her awake upon her
tear-bedewed pillow.

Why did the Serges, of the firm
•of Serge & Twist, the linen-drapers
in Sackville Street, leave her out of
their invitations to their afternoon
teas? Assuredly they were no
great swells, and she had driven
Miss Serge on more than one occa-
sion in her brougham, and had sent
Mrs. Serge a bouquet of hot-house
•flowers when that lady was laid up
with the measles.

How came it that their social
•circle never increased save in the
wrong direction ? Had she not
persuaded her papa to give a brief
to young Mr. Bronsbill, who was
possessed of as much brains as a
nutmeg-grater, and whose advoca-
cy cost Mr. Casey's client his cause,
in order to become acquainted
with his family ? — Mr. B. having
informed her — the treacherous vil-
lain ! — that his mother and sisters
intended to call upon her.

Had she not thrown open the
house to Mr. and Mrs. Minnion,
whom she had met at the Victo-
ria Hotel, Killarney, the preceding
summer, in the hope of those de-
.lightful introductions which the
artful Mrs. M. had held out
:like a glittering jewel before her
• entranced and eager gaze? Had
not Mr. and Mrs. Minnion eaten,
drunk, and slept in Merrion Street ?
And whom did they introduce ? A
.little drunken captain of mili-
tia, who insisted upon coming
.there at unlawful hours of the
might, and in calling for brandy
and soda-water, as if the establish-
ment was a public-house, and not
even a respectable hotel !

But Fortune is not for ever cruel,

and the wheel will turn up a pri/e
at possibly the least expected mo-
ment.

Mickey Casey knew his daugh-
ter's heart-burning, and strove
might and main to ease it by even
one throb. He gave dinner-par-
ties to the best class of men with
whom he was acquainted, feeding
them like " fighting-cocks " upon
petit diners served by Mitchell, of
Grafton Street, and giving them
wines of the rarest vintages from
the cellars of Turbot & Redmond.

"Ye'll come to see us again,
won't ye ?" he would say to his
guest. " And I say, just bring your
wife the next time. Me daughter
will send the brougham — cost a
hundred and fifty at Hutton's —
say Monday next."

The guest would declare how
delighted his wife would be to
make the acquaintance of so charm-
ing a young lady as Miss Casey ;
but when the Monday came round,
and with it a dinner fit for the
viceroy, the guest would arrive
wifeless, the lady being laid up
with a cold, or " that dreadful
baby, you know," or " visitors from
the country," and the banquet
would be served in a lugubrious
silence, save when the daughter of
the house ventured upon some cut-
ting sarcasm anent snobbery and
stuck-up people.

Matilda Casey could make such
a guest wish himself over a mutton-
chop in his own establishment, in-
stead of the salmi of partridge or
plover's eggs served in silver dishes
at Number 190 Merrion Street: and
she did it, too.

" I've news for ye, Matilda,"
exclaimed Casey one evening as he
took his seat at the dinner-table.
" I've news for ye, pet. I defended old
Colonel Bowdler in a case in which
a servant sued him for wages, and

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

515

got him off at half-price. He's on
half-pay, lives with his wife in
Stephen's Green, and is a tip-top-
per, mixing with the lord-lieuten-
ant's household as if they were his
pwn."

" Well, and what is that to me ?"
exclaimed Miss Casey with consid-
erable asperity.

" This, me darling : he was so
pleased at the way I got him out
on half-pay — ha! ha! ha! — that
he and his wife — wife, mind ye
— are coming to call on you to-
morrow."

Mrs. Casey was never taken into
account, Matilda being the central
figure.

" Pshaw ! I wonder you can be
such a fool, papa. It's the old
story," retorted his daughter.
" This colonel will come here, eat
our dinners, drink our wine, and
perhaps drop his wife's card with-
out her knowledge, as Mr. Neligan
did — as we found out to our morti-
fication when we went to return a
visit that was never paid, and were
politely told by Mrs. Neligan that
her husband had never even men-
tioned our names to her."

" Never fear, Matilda. We're in
the right box this time. They'll
be here to-morrow, you may de-
pend upon it."

Casey had his own good reasons
for believing that the colonel would
bide tryste — of which more anon.
The morrow came, and with it
Colonel and Mrs. Bowdler.

The colonel was a chatty, elderly
gentleman of imposing aspect and
dyed hair ; his wife a tall, gaunt
female, with a vulture-like appear-
ance, and a sort of sergeant-major-
in-petticoats look — the outcome
of many a hard-fought campaign.
The colonel had sketched Casey
and Casey's social desires, and Mrs.
Bowdler, like the shrewd veteran

that she was, took in the situation
at a glance.

The flutter of excitement at 190
Merrion Street was intense when
the thundering knock came to the
door, accompanied by a crashing
pull at the bell.

" Be awfully civil to these people,
Jemima," whispered the colonel as
he entered, " and we can forage
here three times a week. Promise
them the moon."

• Mrs. Casey fled to her bed-
room for the purpose of arranging
her person in a gorgeous mauve
moire-antique all over grease-spots,
and Matilda rushed frantically to
the drawing-room, in order to
be en pose to receive the welcome
visitors.

The coachman, who acted also in
Ahe capacity of butler, was feverish-
ly hurried from his den at the
back of the house, bearing with
him a gentle aroma of the stable,
and, even while opening the hall-
door, was engaged in thrusting his
arms into the sleeves of a coat —
a perfect suit of mail in buttons.

"Mrs. Casey at home?" asked
Mrs. Bowdler.

" I dunno whether the misthris
is convaynient, ma'am, but Miss
Casey is above in the dhrawin'-
room. Won't yez come in any-
how?" And the man motioned
them to ascend with considerable
cordiality and welcome.

"Take these cards, please."

" Well, ma'am, me hands is a
thrifle dirty ; but av it obliges ye — "
and hastily brushing the fingers of
his right hand upon the legs of his
trowsers, he took the extended
pasteboard in as gingerly a manner
as if he expected it to explode
there and then.

The visitors stood in the hall,
and so did Luke Fogarty.

" What am I for to do wud this

5l6

Mickey Casey s Christinas Dinner-Party.

ma'am?" lie asked, eyeing it with a
glance full of concern.

" Hand it to Miss Casey," re-
plied Mrs. Bowdler.

" Oh ! that's it, is it ?" And he
darted up-stairs with an alarming
alacrity.

" This is a charming manage"
said Mrs. Bowdler.

" A fine open country, my .dear ;
no concealed enemy."

" Yez are for to folly me," shout-
ed Fogarty from the top of the
stairs.

Matilda \vas enchanted to see
them, and ordered sherry and cake.
Mrs. Bowdler professed herself
charmed to make Miss Casey's
acquaintance, and declared she
quite resembled the lord-lieutenant's
youngest daughter " And in man-
ner, too, Miss Casey, you quite re$
mind me of her. We are perpetually
at the Viceregal Lodge, and very in-
timate with the Abercorns. We are
asked to everything, and — he ! he !
he ! — it costs us a small fortune for
cabs."

" You can have my brougham,
Mrs. Bowdler."

"Oh ! dear, no, my- dear young
lady, that would never do ; but if
you lend it to me occasionally to
take out dear Lady Maude La-
seilles, who is such an invalid. Do
you know her ?"

Matilda replied in the negative.

As a matter of fact, no such per-
son existed, but it suited Mrs. Bow-
dler to create her, Mrs. B. be-
ing a lady who would make a shil-
ling do duty for half a crown. She
was a veteran of infinite resources,
who had borne the burden and heat
of the day, and who was now bent
upon taking her change out of the
world. She had heard of the crav-
ing to enter the portals of society
that was devouring Matilda Casey
— the attorney had openly confided

the fact to the colonel — and was
resolved upon making the most of
the situation. The Bowdlers were
hangers-on at the Castle, mere
hacks, who attended the drawing-
rooms, the solitary state ball to
which they were annually invited,
and St. Patrick's ball with unde-
viating punctuality. They resided
in a pinched-looking house in Ste-
phen's Green, where Mrs. Bowdler
" operated " the colonel's half-pay
with the financial ability of a Dude-
lac, stretching every sixpence and
racking the silver coin to its final
gasp. They went everywhere, ac-
cepting every invitation, "foraging
on the enemy " as the colonel ex-
pressed it, giving no return. Trad-
ing upon his military rank, they
managed to go about a good deal
amongst very third-rate people,
who were glad to have a colonel to
dinner, and a lady who could talk
so familiarly of half the peerage as
his wife. A more singularly worth-
less or selfish pair was not to be
found, or a pair who better knew
how " to work the oracle," than
Colonel Brownlow Bowdler, late of
Her Majesty's Fifty-ninth Regi-
ment of Infantry, and Jemima, his
consort.

Mrs. Casey came smilingly into
the drawing-room and almost em-
braced Mrs. Bowdler.

"What will ye take, now ? Sure
ye must take something. Matilda,
make Mrs. Colonel Bowdler take
something. Colonel, you'll take a
bottle of champagne — do, now, that's
right ; and I'll get a little jelly for
Mrs. Colonel Bowdler, and then
Matilda will play for ye. She
plays lovely."

" O mamma !" exclaimed Ma-
tilda.

" Now, ye know ye do, dar-
ling." And Mrs. Casey, who is the
soul of hospitality, joyously deseed-

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

517

ed to the lower regions, in order to
send up the delicacies she so
temptingly set forth.

"Are you going to the ball the
Twelfth are giving at the Royal
Barracks ?" asked Mrs. Bowdler.

" I am not, Mrs. Bowdler, but I
wish I was," replied Matilda.

" Colonel, do you hear that ? Miss
Casey has not received a card for
the Twelfth ball. You must take
care that she gets one."

" I'll go to Major McVickers at
once — the old rascal and I served
in India together — and see what
can be done."

He had been to Major McVickers
five times already to secure invita-
tions for himself and wife, but with-
out success.

Luke Fogarty entered with an
enormous silver salver bearing the
champagne, jelly, fruit, and cake.
He would have preferred to have
been behind a runaway horse, ay,
and down-hill to boot. He regard-
ed the jelly with a savage eye, mut-
tering " Woa ! woa!" in an under-
tone as it shook from the movement
of the tray, accompanying the excla-
mation by that purring sound so
dear to grooms when closely ap-
plying the curry-comb.

" Open the champagne, Fogarty,"
said Matilda in a tone of lofty com-
mand.

" To be shure I will, miss," re-
plied the willing retainer, diving
into the pockets of his trowsers in
search of an iron-moulded cork-
screw, which he eventually brought
to the surface after considerable
effort. " I'll open it in a jiffy."

He tortured and twisted the
wires until he was nearly black in
the face from sheer exertion, but,
although yielding to his pressure,
they still clung perplexingly to
the cork.

"Bad cess to thim for wires!

but they have the fingers nearly
cutaffo'me. Curse o' the crows
on them !" making another de-
spairing effort ; " but I'm not bet
yit."

The wire, slipping suddenly aside,
gave freedom to the cork, which
bounded gaily against the colonel's
nose, and, ricochetting, lodged in
the bosom of Mrs. Bowdler's dress,
while the froth spurted high in the
air, descending in seething showers
upon the gallant warrior's head,
disarranging the few brown hairs
which were carefully laid across his
bald, shining pate, resembling cracks
upon an inverted china bowl, and
causing him to utter maledictions
strong and deep.

" See that, now !" exclaimed
Fogarty, clapping his hand on the
opening of the bottle. " It's livelier
nor spirits. Hould yer glass, col-
onel, or the lickher 'ill be lost in-
tirely."

" Champagne is my favorite
wine," said Mrs. Bowdler, tossing
off her glass without winking.

" And mine," added the colonel,
filling it for her again, and then re-
plenishing his own.

" Oh ! dear me, I'm so glad to know
that. Fogarty, bring another bottle.
We've heaps of it in the cellar
at ninety-six shillings a dozen — a
top price. You'll always get good
wine here," said Mrs. Casey.

" The man who would give his
guest bad wine ought to be blown
.from flie muzzle of a gun," observed
the colonel, plunging at the jelly.

This came strangely from an in-
dividual who, whenever he gave a
visitor a drink, gave it of a liquor
warranted to kill at fifty yards.
Young Bangs, of the Tenth, whose
father instructed him to visit
Bowdler, was laid up for an entire
week after a teaspoonful of the col-
onel's tap.

5I8

]\Iickey Cascys Christmas Dinner-Party.

The second bottle of champagne
appeared.

" Ye'd betther open this combus-
ticle yerself, gineral," suggested
Fogarty ; "an mind ye hould on to
the cork, or it 'ill give ye the slip as
shure as there's a bill on a crow. "

" I must introduce your dear
daughter here to the Dayrolles,"
exclaimed Mrs. Bowdler, "and to
the Fitzmaurices. You will like
Lady Fitzmaurice, Miss Casey, and
I know she will like you"

" Do you hear thai, Matilda ?
Now, won't ye play for Mrs. Col-
onel Bowdle"r ?"

" I'm a very poor player," sim-
pered Matilda.

Nevertheless, she proceeded to
the piano and dashed off a morceau
of Chopin with considerable vigor,
during which the colonel improved
the occasion by pocketing a bunch
of grapes and a good-sized cut of
seed-cake.

" Bravissima f" he cried, as if in
rapture. " Lord St. Lawrence mast
hear that, Jemima ; we must try and
get him to name a night."

"We can reckon on Lady
Howth."

" Certainly. She's always too
glad to be asked."

"And the Powerscourts ?"

" By the way, that reminds me :
we owe a visit at Powerscourt, do
we not ?"

"I can't say, colonel, until I look
at n«y list. We have such an
enormous visiting-list, Mrs. Casey,",
turning to that lady, who was nearly
caught in a feeble attempt at wink-
ing at her daughter, in order to
beget that young person's special
attention to the delightful conver-
sation going on between the visi-
tors, and who was perfectly 'over-
whelmed with dismay and appre-
hension lest she should have been
perceived. " I put my engage-

ments down alphabetically, and —
he ! he ! he ! — I'm so glad to think
thatjw* are so high on our list."

The Bowdlers took their depar-
ture, after having promised to dine
in Merrion Street on the follow-
ing day.

" To-morrow will be Thursday,
and we dine with the Commander
of the Forces. Friday we dine at
Lord Newry's."

"Never mind, my dear," inter-
posed the colonel, "I'll come here.
I'm heartily sick of those fearfully
ceremonious banquets ; besides,"
he added, " we are not asked here
every day, and Newry or Strath-
nairn will be glad to get us when
they can."

When Mickey Casey returned
that evening from his office he
found his wife and daughter in
ecstasies over their newly-made ac-
quaintances. There were no words
in the English language sufficiently
strong to convey a tithe of the ad-
miration they entertained for them.
Such elegance, such urbanity, such
distinguished manners, such amia-
bility !

" I'm going to the Twelfth ball,"
cried Matilda, " and to be intro-
duced to Lady Fitzmaurice and the
Dayrolles, and dear Mrs. Bowdler
is going to give a party for me, and
to ask Lady Howth and Lord St.
Lawrence and Lord Powerscourt all
to hear me play. What shall I play ?
I must begin to practise at once.
I'll go to Pigott's Jo-morrow for
something new — ///^newest thing —
and I'll get Mrs. Joseph Robinson
to give me six lessons."

u I've asked them to dinner
here," said Mrs. Casey; "and only
to think, Mick, I — "

" I do wish you'd say Mr. Casey,
or at all events Michael, mamma,"
burst in Matilda. " You see how
dear Mrs. Bowdler addressed her

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

519

husband. You'll find it much more
genteel."

" Whatever you say, me darling.
Well, Mister Casey — oh ! I can't do
that after Micking him for twenty
years," she cried. "Well, Mick,
what do you think, but the colonel
gave up a dinner at the Comman-
der of the Forces' to come to us on
Thursday."

" Thursday, did ye say, Mary ? "

"Yes."

" That's awkward ; that's to-mor-
row, and your brother Tim Rooney
comes up in the morning to stop
for a month."

Mrs. Casey glanced timidly at
her daughter, who gave a little
shriek.

" It will never do, mamma. Un-
cle Timothy is too rough, too vul-
gar, and too careless of what he
says and does, to meet Colonel and
Mrs. Bowdler. It would destroy
us at once. You must telegraph
him, papa, not to come till Friday
or Saturday."

" I can't, me honey, for he started
this morning; and may be it's in
Tullamore he is while I'd be wir-
ing to Inchanappa."

Matilda clasped her hands in a
sort of mute despair.

" He cannot dine at this table to-
morrow," she cried. " I'd rather
put off the Bowdlers, first."

" Suppose ye give him an early
dinner and plenty of liquor, and
send him with Fogarty to the play."

" We will want Fogarty, papa.
His livery opening the door looks
very genteel."

" It won't do to insult him. Tim
has twenty thousand pounds, and
you're his goddaughter, me dar-
ling," said Casey.

" I wonder, if we told him that
these people were very ceremonious
and very grand, if he'd consent to
dine alone," suggested Matilda.

" That would only rouse Tim, my
pet," observed Mrs. Casey. " He'd
just come in on purpose then, and
if he got a sup in there would be
no holding him."

"What is to be done?" cried
Matilda, starting from her chair and
pacing the floor with long and
hasty strides.

At this moment a short, sharp
double knock was heard at the
hall-door.

"That's Tim," groaned Mrs.
Casey.

"A telegraph!" roared Fogarty,
bursting into the room as if a hu-
man life depended upon his celerity.

" Yer in luck, Matilda, my pet ;
it's from your uncle. Read it."

It ran thus :

"From Tim Rooney, ' The Ram's Tail,1
Inchanappa, County Tippetary, to Mickey
Casey, 190 Merrion Street ', Dublin :

" I can't stir for a couple of days. I
have to bolus a horse, and Phil Dempsey
is after drinking a cow on me, the
blackguard !"

"What a relief!" cried Matilda
Casey, throwing herself into an easy-
chair.

The dinner at 190 was supplied
by Murphy, of Clare Street, the
Gunter, the Delmonico of Dublin.

" I don't care a farden about the
price," said Mickey to the smiling
caterer. " I want it done tip-top,
and let the ongtrays be something
quite out of the common ; for Colo-
nel and Mrs. Colonel Bowdler are
to dine with us, and me wife is
very anxious to have everything
spiffy."

Mrs. Casey was in a fever of
preparation the livelong day, wash-
ing glasses, getting out wine, lay-
ing the table, while Matilda with
her own fair hands fitted up the
fyergne with rare hot-house plants
and crystallized fruits.

520

Mickey Casey s Christinas Dinner-Part}1.

" Papa will take Mrs. Colonel
Bowdlcr in to dinner, and Colonel
Bowdler will take you, mamma."

" Oli ! no, me pet ; I'd rather he'd
take you."

" But it's not etiquette."

" Oh ! bother etiquette, "exclaim-
ed Mrs. Casey, wiping her face in a
napkin.

"It's all very fine to say bother
etiquette ; but if we do not show it
now, what will Colonel and Mrs.
Colonel Bowdler think of us ?"

The appalling consequences at-
tendant upon her refusal to be led
to the banquet by the gallant colo-
nel smote the mind of Mrs. Casey
with such considerable force that
she at once assented to the pro-
posal, lauding her daughter's fore-
sight to the very skies.

" You're a wonderful child, dear ;
'pon me word, you think of every-
thing."

" The colonel will sit here, and
I'll put this bouquet opposite his
chair with the menoo card; and
Mrs. Bowdler will sit here, Fogarty,"
addressing Luke, who was standing
by with a portion of harness about
his neck. " Take care that Colonel
Bowdler gets enough of champagne."

"Be me faix, thin, Miss Matilda,
ye'd betther lave out a dozen any-
how, for he lapped it up yistherda
like wather," replied that function-
ary with a broad grin.

" And see that Mrs. Colonel
Bowdler's glass is always full."

" I'm thinkin' she'll see to that
herself wudout thrubblin'me," mut-
tered Fogarty.

"Ask Colonel Bowdler if he'll
take sherry or Madeira with his
soup."

" To be sure he will, miss."

" I say ask him which he'll take."

" I'll make bould to say he'll take
the both o" thim," grinned Fogarty,
who, with that quick perception

characteristic of his race, had al-
ready " measured his man."

" Be very particular about the
ongtray."

" I will, miss, an" the tay-thray
too."

" And above all things keep
sober, Fogarty."

"He's a teetotaler," chimed in
Mrs. Casey. "Aren't ye a teeto-
taler, Luke ?"

There was a comical expression
upon Luke's face as he stoutly re-
plied : " I am, ma'am ; but /';// not a
bigoted wan,"

At about four o'clock a note ar-
rived from Mrs. Bowdler.

" 'Oh ! my gracious, I hope there's
no disappointment," cried Matilda,
turning very pale, while dire appre-
hension was written in the pallid
features of her mamma.

" I hope not ; that would be aw-
ful, me pet."

The note ran thus :

"292 STEPHEN'S GREEN, 3.30 o'clock.

" MY DEAREST Miss CASEY : Our dear
friend Major Beamish and his charming
daughter, nearly related to the Beamishes
of Cork, have just written to say that
they will dine with us to-day. I must,
therefore, with the MOST painful reluc-
tance, ask of you to allow us to cancel
our engagement to you. I cannot tell
ypu howr sincerely this grieves me, but
the B'.'s, though very old friends, are
people of that haute distinction that one
cannot treat as one possibly could wish.

"With kindest regards to your dear
mamma, and with united kind regards
from the colonel to all chez vows, I am,
my dearest Miss Casey, yours affection-
ately, JEMIMA BOWDLER."

"This is agonizing!" cried Ma-
tilda, ready to burst into tears.

"Our lovely dinner!" moaned
Mrs. Casey.

" There is some fatality about
us."

" Wan pound five a head with-
out wine, and seventeen and six
extra for a pineapple."

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

521

"Was ever anything so provok-
ing? It's enough to drive one
mad !"

" I suppose Mick must ask in
the apprentice to eat the dinner,
as we've to pay for it. Such food
for to cock up an apprentice with !"
sighed Mrs. Casey.

Miss Casey perused the letter
again, and finding P. T. O. in the
corner, turned the page and read a
postscript as follows :

" P. S. — The colonel has just come in,
and what do you think he has the auda-
city to suggest ? — that we ask your permis-
sion to bring the Beamishes to your din-
ner to-day. The colonel has taken such
a fancy to you, dearest young friend, that
he treats you as if he had been on inti-
mate terms for years. He insists upon
my writing this, but please to blame him
for this piece of audacity. J. B."

Miss Casey's joy knew no bounds.
The Beamishes of Cork, one of the
oldest families in Ireland — such a
charming addition to the party.
She would order round the brough-
am; and drive over to dear Mrs.
Colonel Bo-.vdler's at once to thank
her for such a signal mark of kind-
ness; as for the colonel, she could
have hugged the gallant veteran
from sheer gratitude.

She did not know that the Bow- .
dlers wished to shelve the hungry
major and his daughter in a polite
way, and provide them with a
sumptuous repast at the expense of
Mickey Casey. Not she, indeed ;
so she stepped into her carriage,
and having driven, first, round to
the caterer's to order reinforcements,
proceeded to Stephen's Green, where
she was received by Mrs. Bowdler
in a small, dingy front room minus
a fire, although it was late in De-
cember and bitterly raw and cold.

Mrs. Bowdler kissed her, and
gushed over her, and begged to be
excused for hurrying her away for

the tyrant post, as she was com-
pelled to finish a letter to her
dearest friend, the wife of the gov-
ernor-general of India. Miss Ca-
sey cut short her stay, as in duty
bound, and Mrs. Bowdler ascended
to the drawing-room, where three
or four visitors were assembled
around a fairly decent fire — one of
the ladies, during the temporary ab-
sence of the hostess, having sur-
reptitiously stirred it up — to whom
she imparted the intelligence that
she had just parted from the gov-
erness to Mrs. Geoffrey Ponsonby,
whom that aristocratic personage
had sent over in the Ponsonby
brougham with a request that she
and the colonel would dine in Fitz-
william Place upon that day, where-
at the visitors declared that Mrs.
Geoffrey Ponsonby was evidently
very desirous of Mrs. Bowdler's com-
pany, and that it was a very remarka-
ble instance of her esteem and re-
gard.

At 6.30, military time, the com-
pany arrived, and were ushered
into Mickey Casey's study in order
to uncloak. Major Beamish wore a
short brown wig on the top of a very
high, a very bald, and very shiny
head. His eyes were small and
water}', and his moustache, greased
with a cheap ointment, lay like a
solid cushion of hair beneath a
nose with nostrils as expansive as
those of a rocking-horse. He was
attired in a faded suit of evening
clothes, his shirt-bosom bearing the
indelible imprint not only of the
hand of Time, but of the hand of a
reckless laundress, who hesitated
not to use her nails upon the sierras
of its coy and threadbare folds.

Miss Beamish was a gushing
maiden of twenty anything, pos-
sessed of a profusion of frizzly fair
hair, done in a simple and child-
like fashion, and bound by a fillet

522

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinncr-Party.

of blue ribbon over a vast ex-
panse of forehead. Her eyes were
greenish gray, and not quite free
from a suspicion of a squint. Her
nose resembled that of her sire,
and her mouth was almost con-
cealed by her thin and bloodless
lips. Her gaunt frame was envel-
oped in a gauzy substance over a
pink silk, which betrayed the re-
cent presence of the smoothing-
iron. Bog-oak ornaments rattled
around her neck, at her ears, and
upon her lean and sinewy arms.

" Colonel an' Missis Bowhow-
dler," roared Fogarty, as the
guests entered the drawing-room.
" Major an' Missis Baymish."

" Miss, fellow, Miss," impatiently
cried the major.

" Miss Baymish, I mane," adding
in an undertone : "It's not but she's
ould enough and tough enough for
to be a missis tin times over."

" This is so good of you," said
Matilda, shaking hands all round,
'" and so good of dear Mrs. Bowdler
to give us the pleasure of having
you."

" Monstrous fine gal. Right
good quarters," observed the major
to the colonel, glancing round the
room at the superb mirrors, buhl
cabinets, inlaid tables, rich hang-
ings, and furniture upholstered in
yellow satin.

" You might do worse than take
this girl. Casey's good for twenty
thousand," suggested the colonel.

" If Tibie was once quartered on
the enemy I'd enlist again — I would,
sir, by George ! I'd take the shil-
ling from that seductive and dan-
gerous recruiting sergeant, Hymen,"
exclaimed the major, wagging one
soiled white glove and posing him-
self after a gratified and prolonged
glance in the mirror.

"Miss Matilda," whispered Fo-
garty, who had just entered, and

who was endeavoring to attract
her attention. " Miss Matilda !
Miss Tilly!"

"What is it, Fogarty?" asked
Miss Casey at length ; and upon
perceiving him, " What is it ?"
she repeated somewhat testily, as
Mrs. Bowdler was engaged in nar-
rating a delightful conversation
with the lady-lieutenant.

" The masther's clanin' himself,
an' he wants a lind av yer soap,
miss, as there's not a screed in the
house, be raisin' av the misthris
washin' the glass an' chany wud
the rest av it."

The guests filed down in the or-
der prescribed by Matilda, save
that she fell to the arm of Major
Beamish, who overwhelmed her
with compliments, which only last-
ed until the soup was served, as
from that moment his attention be-
came concentrated upon the deli-
cacies placed before him, on which
he opened so murderous and effect-
ive a fire as almost to paralyze the
energies of the ubiquitous and per-
spiring Fogarty, and the solicitous
attentions of a young lady from the
kitchen, whose stertorous breath-
ing made itself heard above the
din and clatter of knives, forks,
and conversation, in a distinct and
somewhat alarming manner.

" Hi ! some more soup. An-
other cut of fish. I'll try that en-
trfa again. Let me have that last
entree once more. Some turkey
and ham. Why don't you look
alive with the champagne? A slice
of roast beef — underdone. Some
pheasant ; ay, I'll try the wood-
cock. Jelly, of course." And the
gallant major kept the servants
pretty busily engaged during the
entire repast.

Matilda was in a shimmer of de-
light. Her darling hopes were be-
ing realized at last, and society

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

523

was budding for her. A colonel
and his wife, a major and his
daughter — why, what higher rank
need any person desire? How
friendly, how gracious, and how
charmingly they ate and drank and
praised everything! This was life —
a life worth living; this was that
delicious glow of which she had
read in Lothair and other novels
portraying fashionable existence.

While these rosy thoughts were
coursing through her brain a noise
was heard in the direction of the
hall, and a man's voice in tones of
angry expostulation.

" Your servants are quarrelling,
Mrs. Casey," observed Mrs. Bowdler,
holding up her hand to enjoin si-
lence.

" It's that Luke Fogarty ; he can't
keep his fingers off the dishes, and
the girl is — "

At this moment the individual in
question burst into the apartment
with an expression as if some fear-
ful catastrophe had just happen-
ed.

" What is the matter, Fogarty ?"
demanded Mrs. Casey, glancing
at her retainer with an inquiring
eye.

" We're bet, ma'am," responded
Fogarty in a half-whisper.

" What do you mean ?"

" We're bet up intirely. Misther
Tim has came."

Mrs. Casey felt as if she would
have fainted, while Matilda bit
her lips till the blood came ; and
us they were still gazing at each
other in the direstconsternation, Mr.
Timothy Rooney entered the apart-
ment, clad in a bulgy Ulster that
had known fairs and markets -and
race-courses for several previous
years, a felt hat of an essentially
rakish and vulgar description, his
pants shoved into his muddy boots
after the fashion of a Texas ranger,

while his hands were swollen and
the color of beet-root.

"Company, be the hokey crik-
ey !" he exclaimed, as he advanced
to embrace the reluctant hostess.
" Ah ! Mary, ye didn't expect me,"
giving her a kiss that made the glass
drops upon the chandelier jingle
again.

" No, we didn't expect you, Tim,"
gasped his sister.

" No, of course not. Shure I sent
ye a telegraph that that villyan of a
Phil Dempsey drank me best cow
on me — tellin' ye that — "

" Won't you take some dinner in
your own room ?" interposed his
niece, now the color of a peony.

" Come over here and kiss your
uncle, ye young rogue. Up-stairs,
indeed ! What would I do that for ?"

"You are not exactly dressed for
dinner."

" Oh ! I've a shirt on under this
Ulster, and I'll show a bit of the
bussom, as the man said, never
fear. Well, Mickey, me hearty,
how goes it? Put it there," extend-
ing his beet-root fist to his brother-
in-law.

" My brother, a regular charac-
ter, immensely wealthy ; obliged to
put up with his ways," explained
Mrs. Casey, while her daughter re-
tired with Mr. Rooney, with a view
to inducing that gentleman to re-
frain from again putting in an ap-
pearance.

" A very fine, joyous son of the
Emerald Isle," cried the colonel,
helping himself to champagne.

" When I was quartered at Dum
Dum," observed the major, follow-
ing the good example of his sen-
ior officer, "we had just such a
joyous, devil-may-care fellow in the
Tenth. He resided in the bunga-
low with me, the compound being
in common. One morning, while en-
joying chotohassary " — the major

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party,

:iired his Indian experiences and
Hindoo acquirements upon all oc-
< asions — " I happened to call my
kitmagar as well as my consu-
m a r, who was — "

The narrative was interrupted by
the entrance of Mr. Rooney and
his despairing niece. Tim had
given his face what is commonly
known as a " Scotch lick," causing
it to shine again. He was about
forty years of age, rough-looking
as a Shetland pony, and a " warm
man " — i.e., the possessor of a few
thousands in the bank and of a
well-to-do,, well- stocked farm.

"I'm tidy enough now, I think;
at all events, yer friends will be
aisy en a traveller. Why don't ye
introduce us, Mick ? Where are yer
manners?"

He was presented in due form
by the abashed Casey, and, after
having shaken hands with all round,
commenced a vigorous attack upon
a slice of tul'bot with his knife,
plunging that useful instrument
two or three inches into his mouth
at every helping, until Miss Bea-
mish, who was seated opposite,
shuddered with apprehension.

"Is there anything the matter
with ye, ma'am ?" he demanded, upon
observing a ghastly contraction of
the muscles of her face.

" N-nothing," she stammered.

" Ye haven't got a pain ?"

" Uncle, help yourself to cham-
pagne," shrilly interposed Matilda.

" Pshaw ! get me some whiskey,
me pet," adding, as he winked fa-
cetiously upon Mrs. Bowdler, "cham-
pagne is taydious"

" By and by, uncle," said the
agonized girl.

" A little drop wouldn't harm
Miss Baymish there, Matty; she
looks as if — "

"Take some more beef, Tim,"
put in Mrs. Casey.

'• \Vcll, just iv an skelp more, Mary.
Room fur wan inside, as the man
said." •

When the ladies had retired Mr.
Rooney stretched his legs beneath
the table and his body on the chair
until liis chin was nearly on a level
with the table.

" Now, Mickey, in with the hot
water, and let the girl put a kettle
under the pump. Are ye fond of
sperrits, major?"

"Well, the fact is that spirits
don't agree with me."

" Oh, then, Mickey Casey has
some that will oil the curls of yer
wig for ye."

" When I was quartered at Dum
Dum," observed the major hastily,
" there happened to be a very rol-
licking, gay, charming fellow of our
mess, who shared my bungalow
with me — the compound being in
common. One morning I was en-
gaged at chotohassary and —

" What the dickens is chotohas-
sary ?"

" Breakfast, Mr. Rooney."

" I never heard it called by that
name before. Go on, you old son
of a gun."

" Well, sir," continued the major
somewhat stiffly, " I had occasion
to call my kitmagar."

" Kit who ?" asked Tim.

"Kitmagar, one of my servants."

"An Irishman, of course. "

"No, sir, a Hindoo."

" Well, this flogs ; are ye listening
to this, Mickey ?" addressing Casey,
who had drawn off the colonel.

" Am I listening to what ?" asked
the host rather gruffly.

" To this old fogy here."

".Really, Mr. Rooney — " began
the offended major.

" Don't mind him, Major Bea-
mish," cried Casey, "but pitch in-
to the claret ; it's Chateau Lafitte of
a comet vintage. At least, Red-

Mickey Casey s Christinas Dinner-Party.

525

mom! told me so, and lie ought to
know."

" It's a very fine wine, Casey — a
soft wine, sir, in superb condition,
and heated to perfection," observed
the major, tossing off a glassful and
quickly replacing the goblet.

"Goes down like mother's milk,"
added the colonel, following suit.

" Well, major, go on about Kit
Megar," urged Rooney.

" Coffee is in the dhrawin'-room,
jintlemin," yelled Fogarty, entering.

"Well, let it stay there, Luke."

" Shall we join the ladies ?" asked
Casey, with a society air.

The colonel looked at the ma-
jor, the major looked at the colo-
nel, and both looked at the claret
jugs.

"Oh ! hang it all, no," responded
the major ; " this wine is too good —
much too good."

" More power to yer elbow, Bay-
mish ! An old dog for a hard road,"
laughed Tim Rooney. " Eh, Luke,
this is a knowing old codger."

Mr. Fogarty, being thus appealed
to, gave a willing assent : "Up to
every trick in the box."

After the gallant warriors had
sufficiently punished Casey's cellar
they repaired to the drawing-room.
As they ascended the stairs they
compared notes.

" Did you ever meet such a queer
customer as this brother-in-law ?"

" Never. He's the most vulgar,
insolent blackguard I ever encoun-
tered."

" He has lots of money."

" I wonder does he play loo?''

" We can ask him."

" He'd play a lively game."

" And could be plucked like a
green gosling."

* To the intense relief of the Casey
family, Mr. Rooney stoutly refused
to adjourn to the upper regions,
but remained in the dining-room

smoking a short clay pipe and
drinking whiskey-punch.

Miss Beamish, upon hearing that
he was enormously wealthy and
unmarried to boot, began to build
a castle in Spain, in which she
figured as chatelaine, while the
uncultured proprietor was gradual-
ly toned down by those feminine
influences which smooth the an-
gles of the most rugged natures.

" I do like this child of nature.
Miss Casey," she gushed; "it is
sweet to hear the wild bird in the
full, untutored sweetness of its note.
Shall we see your uncle again to-
night ?"

" I hope .not," was Matilda's
reply.

"Oh! why? He reminds me so
much of an arriere pens/c, a bright
oasis in the desert of my life, that
I feel%s if I could — but why recall
recollections that are fraught with
bitterness, why strike a chord which
produces but — discord ?" letting her
pointed chin drop upon the bog-
oak necklet, which responded by a
dull rattle.

Matilda played for the major—-
who marked her as the successor of
the late Mrs. B — , wagging his be-
wigged pate to the music and ap-
plauding with maudlin vigor.

"Exquisite! Divine! When I was
quartered at Dum Dum — " And he
jogged over the same road, to ar-
rive as far as the consumar, when
Mrs. Bowdler intimated that it was
time to leave.

"But ye won't go without sup-
per ? Just a sandwich and a glass
of wine," entreated Mrs. Casey.

Of course they wouldn't go, and
they didn't go until they had par-
tnken largely of both.

" Never was more charmed in
my life," exclaimed the colonel, as
he bade good-night. " Right glad
I refused Lord Howth."

526

Mickey Casey s Christinas Dinner-Party.

" I thought it was the comman-
der-in-chief," said Mrs. Casey art-
lessly.

" Ahem ! of course, and so it
was; but I have so many invites,
you see, that I forget."

Gentlemen who draw upon their
imagination for their facts must
needs possess accurate memories.

"You'll all dine with us on
Christmas day," said Mrs. Casey.

" Oh ! yes, do, please," added
Matilda.

" Do, colonel ; do, major, like
good fellows," urged Casey.

" Well, really, my dear, I don't
know what to say," exclaimed Mrs.
Bowdler, " but I fear we cannot
get out of going to Lady Meath's."

" Oh ! hang Lady Meath ; you
may go to her, I'll come here,"
laughed the colonel.

"It's fixed," said Casey ;•" and
you, major ?"

"I couldn't say no to such a
good offer. When I was quartered in
Dum Dum — "

"Is this old fogy at it still?"
asked Tim Rooney, emerging from
the dining-room into the hall where
they were now all assembled.

"We are coming to dine here on
Christmas day, Mr. Rooney," said
Miss Beamish, casting a languishing
look at him.

" Are ye ? Thin upon me con-
science ye'll git a tail end of beef
that will feed you for a fortnight —
wan of me own cows. And all
Mary here has to do is see
that the wisps of cabbage is plen-

*:".

With great hand-shaking, and a

general buzz of pleased excite-
ment, the guests took their depart-
ure.

" WThat a success !" exclaimed
Matilda, throwing herself on a
sofa that had been wheeled out of
the dining-room into the hall in

order to make room, "except for " —
nodding towards Tim, who was en-
deavoring to light a bedroom can-
dlestick with a singularly unsteady
hand.

" They all took to him," whisper-
ed Mrs. Casey.

" I never got such a turn as when
he came in. O mamma ! I thought
I should have died."

" Well, aren't the Bowdlers nice,
agreeable people, Matilda?" de-
manded Mr. Casey.

" Delightful, exquisite ! Such ele-
gant refinement. And the Beamishes
are equally well bred."

" That major is a downy old
bird."

" He is a most perfect gentle-
man. How he did praise my play-
ing!"

The Caseys did not see much of
the Bowdlers during the next few
days, the colonel having over-eat-
en himself, smd his wife being laid
up with an attack of bronchitis; but
Major Beamish and his daughter
were most constant in their atten-
tions, calling, staying to dinner, go-
ing to the theatre — Casey paying
for all, cabs included — coming home
to supper, and other attentions
equally delicate and one-sided.
The major was very prononcc in
his manner toward Matilda, who,
while she accepted his homage,
did not for a moment imagine it
meant more than that excessive
and chivalrous politeness which
distinguishes the vieux militairc of
any nationality.

Miss Beamish lay in wait for
Tim Rooney, and spun her web as
deftly as the uncouth movements of
this desirable fly permitted. She
adroitly learned his hours for going
out, and invariably intercepted him.

" I'm always meeting that wan,"
he observed to his sister. " She's
for ever in the street."

Mickey Casey $ Christmas Dinner-Party.

527

" She's a very elegant lady, Tim."

" Elegant enough, but, as tough as
shoe-leather."

By degrees, however, the fair
Circe interested him, and when the
others were engaged in listening
with rapt attention to the major's
oft-repeated story commencing,
"When I was quartered at Dum
Dum," Tibie Beamish, eyes plung-
ed into those of the Tipperary farm-
er, would hang upon his accents as
he detailed his own "cuteness" in the
purchase of a drove of heifers at the
great fair of Ballinasloe, or how he
palmed off a spavined pony upon
a neighboring but less wide-awake
grazier.

If a woman wants to win a man,
let her listen to him, if he be fond
of narrating his personal experien-
ces ; and what man does not revel
in ego ?"

;'She is a. nice little girl. Mary,
andisnot above learning a trifle. I'll
be bail she could go into Ballinasloe
fair next October and finger a baste
as well as thatvillyan Phil Dempsey,
from the knowledge I give her."

The spell was working.

Christmas day came, bright, crisp,
and joyous. Snow had fallen for
the previous few days, and was now
hard and shining in the streets,
rendering walking somewhat haz-
ardous and sliding almost unavoid-
able.

Colonel and Mrs. Bowdler arriv-
ed very early at Merrion Street — in
fact, just in time for luncheon — and
by a strange coincidence Major
Beamish and his daughter dropped
in almost at the same moment. A
walk was proposed, but abandoned,
and the party, broken up into two
camps, sat chatting around the fires
in the back and front drawing-
rooms.

Everybody is hungry on Christ-

mas day. Everybody thinks of the
boiled turkey, Limerick ham, roast
beef, plum-pudding, and minct-
pies. Why, then, should the guests
of Mickey Casey prove an excep-
tion to the rule ?

Fogarty announced the dinner
in a voice that savored of a joyous
anticipation. He had had a private
and confidential snack with the
cook, but merely enough to make
him wish for more.

"That's me tail end of beef,"
exclaimed Tim Rooney, as the
huge mound of golden fatted meat
was uncovered, behind which the
host sat in a state of total eclipse —
" that's me tail end, and a lovelier
baste never nipped grass, nor
the—"

" Will you carve this turkey,
Tim ?" interrupted his sister.

" To be sure I will, Mary; but ye
must let me do it me own way,"
divesting himself of his coat ami
proceeding to work with a will.

" O Tim !"

"O uncle!"

" Let him alone," exclaimed Mrs.
Bowdler, whose teeth were water-
ing for a slice of the breast. " Such
a gigantic bird requires to be
carved sans cfremonie"

" When I was quartered at Dum
Dum — " began the major.

" See here, now, me ould codger,
we've had enough of that sing-
song."

The major smiled grimly and
tossed off a glass of Amontillado.

" You are a character, Rooney,"
he said.

Tim acquitted himself admirably,
cutting the bird and innumerable
jokes at the same time, many of
them of a personal nature, such ;;s
allusions to the gallant major's
wig, which he called a " jasey," the
scragginess of Mrs. Bowdler, ai.l
the rosy tip at the extremity of t r

528

Mickey Casey s Christmas Dinner-Party.

colonel's nasal appendage. How-
ever, as everybody was in good-hu-
mor, his facetice passed off without
exciting ill-feeling, and all we'ht as
merry as a marriage-bell.

The dinner had disappeared, and
the company sat tranquilly over
the dessert. Tim, having resigned
his post of honor, returned to his
chair beside Miss Beamish, to whom
he whispered' a good deal, to the
intense amusement of his brother-
in-law, who declared that Tim
Rooney. had been hit at last.

" There's many a true word said
in jest, Mick, "retorted Tim. Miss
Beamish hung down her head and
tried to blush, and, failing in this,
essayed a cough, which proved
more successful.

" Oh ! Tim is an old bachelor,"
cried Mrs. Casey, " and a most de-
termined one."

" It's never too late to mend,
Mary."

" You'll never mend, Tim."

"Don't be too sure of that,"
ogling his fair neighbor, who again
tried a cough, which, however, ter-
minated in a hoarse gurgle.

Tim Rooney was possessor of
t.venty thousand pounds, all in the
Bank of Ireland. His farm was
valued at ten thousand, and his
stock at five thousand more. He
was Matilda's godfather, and, as a
matter of course, all these good
things would revert to her in time.
It was a standing joke at Merrion
Street that Tim should get mar-
ried without delay.

" Not a bit of it," he would re-
tort. " I'll keep looking at them
during the winter, and I'll take
another summer out of myself."

His joking now on the subject of
Miss Beamish was exquisite fun to
the family of Casey, who enjoyed it
only as family jokes can be enjoy-
ed.

"You'll ask me to the wedding,
uncle ?" said Matilda.

" Sure you'll be a bridesmaid,
Matty."

"And you'll have to give me a
new dress, a real Parisian one;
won't he, Miss Beamish ?"

Miss Beamish bashfully tittered.

" When is it to be, Tim ?" asked
Mr. Casey.

" Next Thursday, then," he grin-
ned.

" That's mighty quick."

" Delays is dangerous."

" Right, Tim," cried Casey. " If I
hadn't asked your sister on the
Friday, Joe Mulligan, the tailor
would have — "

" Papa, do see that Colonel Bow-
dler takes his wine," almost shriek-
ed Matilda.

O agony ! he was about inform-
ing their patrician guests that his
rival had been a — tailor !

" Well, see here, Mickey, and see
here, Mary, and see here, Matty,"
said Mr. Rooney, rising, " I'll give
ye all a toast."

"Oh ! toasts are vulgar; are they
not, Colonel Bowdler ?" interposed
Matilda.

" Well, ahem ! except upon spe-
cial occasions they are not in
vogue," replied that gallant warrior.

" Well this is a special occasion,
arid ayvrv special occasion " — Hear !
hear! from the host — "and wan
that calls for particular mention ;
an' it's health, long life, and happi-
ness to Mrs. Tim Rooney that is
for to be. Ye must all drink it on
yer legs."

Anything to humor Tim, now
that the Bowdlers and Beamishes
tolerated him. So with much
laughing on the part of the gentle-
men, and much giggling on the
part of the ladies, the toast was
drunk with all honor.

" And now, Mick, Mary and

Catholic "Circles" for Working-men in France.

529

Matty," cried Tim, " I may as well let
the cat out of the bag. Me and Miss
Tibie is to be married on Thursday."

Had a bombshell fallen in their
midst greater consternation could
not have shown itself upon the
countenances of the Casey family.

" Yer not in airnest, Tim," said
Casey, endeavoring to smile a sick-
ly smile.

" Tim must have his joke," ob-
served Mrs. Casey, her face as
white as a sheet.

" Uncle is so full of fun," titter-
ed Matilda, dire apprehension in
every lineament.

" It's no jest ; is it, Tibie ?" asked
Tim of his fiancfa.

" No, Timothy, I am proud to say
it is not," responded Miss Beamish,
placing her hand in the arm of her
lover.

" And to think I gave that Bow-
dler a hundred pounds for to lose r.s
forty thousand," groaned Casey, as,
seated with his weeping wife and
daughter, he grimly surveyed the
wedding-cards of Mr. and Mrs. T.
Rooney. "This comes of yer in-
fernal tomfoolery wan tin' to get
into society that wouldn't touch ye
with a forty-foot pole. Serve ye
right."

"Serve us right indeed !" echoed
the two ladies.

CATHOLIC " CIRCLES " FOR WORKING-MEN IN FRANCE.

IMMEDIATELY after the German
invasion and the Paris Commune
there existed already at Paris a
Catholic " Circle " of working-men,
distinct, if not in appearance, yet
in reality, from the associations of
young apprentices called by this
name, or tinder the more appropri-
ate one of Patronages. It was, in
fact, a working-men's association —
a little Christian republic ; self-
governing, by means of a council
chosen from among its own num-
ber, the members of which council
were considered as irremovable.
On its festivals the whole associa-
tion assembled in the chapel be-
longing to the circle ; there its
elected functionaries were received
into office at the foot of the altar,
there they made frequent commu-
nions, and thence, in accordance
with the customs of the ancient
confraternities of craftsmen, they
bore in procession the banners of
VOL. xxvi. — 34

their patron saints. There were
formed earnest men, accustomed to
hear the language of duty, and
ready to make the sacrifices it de-
mands, as those of their number
who died in the war had testified,
as well as the many -more who did
not cease to incur, with patience
and steadfastness, the persecutions
of their scoffing companions in the
ateliers.

This association was the work of
a religious of the Institute of St.
Vincent de Paul — M. Maignen, Di-
rector of the Circle of Montpar-
nasse. The subscriptions of the
circle, however, which had previ-
ously sufficed for its support, were
unequal to the burden incurred by
its installation, and the external
subscriptions which had hitherto
aided it had become few in num-
ber and small in amount.

M. Maignen then resolved to
assemble in council, on the even-

53O Catholic "Circles" for Working-men in France.

ing of Christmas day, a group of
capitalists, among whom were three
deputies, three well-known writers,
and three military officers, scarce-
ly known to each other except by
name ; but they were all good and
earnest Catholics, and had, more-
over, suffered and fought for their
country. After uniting in prayer
they resolved to seek, in the defini-
tions of the church in regard to her
relations to civil society, the germ
of the sole social force capable of
saving France from the consequen-
ces of her errors; and this force,
they decided, should be constitut-
ed in the form of Catholic Circles
for Working-men, similar to the one
in which they were met together.

They began, in the first place,
by addressing to the Holy Father
the expression of their resolution,
to which he granted his benedic-
tion. In the next they sent, by
thousands of copies, an energetic
appeal to all " men of good-will."
" The revolution," they said, "has
descended from the brains of (so-
called) philosophers into the minds
of the people. Are we to leave
our misguided working-men to
perdition — a perdition in which
they will also involve their coun-
try— or, by drawing a supernatu-
ral strength from the heart of Je-
sus — himself a working-man —
shall we not oppose the associations
of men who love darkness rather
than light by the Catholic Associa-
tion, and meet the lessons of mate-
rialism by those of the Gospel, and
a cold cosmopolitanism by the love
of our country ?"

Then the little group of men
who signed the engagement fur-
ther united themselves by a reli-
gious bond — the daily recital of a
prayer, and an annual communion
for the intentions of the work, the
duties of which the members dis-

tributed among themselves accord-
ing to their respective facilities.

Each section set to work under
the direction of a chief: the first
for the general promulgation of the
work, the second for its founda-
tions, the third for the creation of
resources, and the fourth for the
popular diffusion of its teaching.
The sections worked independent-
ly of each other, but met in com-
mittee when there was any need
for arranging or deciding as to any
general plan of action. For the
purpose of directing and control-
ling the action of the fourth section
the committee also appointed a
council under the name of Je'sus-
Ouvrier. Thus the work was con-
stituted in its first committee — that is
to say, the first association of the
directing class — on the principle of
its first " circle," the Catholic de-
claration and the division of re-
sponsibilities, and, lastly, as a sign
and pledge of the union of the ac-
tive members of the work, the reli-
gious bond.

The association thus organized
bore marvellous fruit, and in a few
months the committee found itself
able to relieve the Cercle Mont-
parnasse by creating two similar
ones in the quarters (of evil no-
toriety) of Belleville and Mont-
martre, which were chosen with
the intention of a public expiation,
and to furnish each of the circles
with a council of its quarter.

This was the golden age of the
work, which was, as it were, crown-
ed by the high testimony it receiv-
ed at the Congress of Directors of
the Catholic Working-men's Asso-
ciations assembled at Poitiers un-
der the auspices of Mgr. Pie. It
obtained also an exceptional e"clat
from the remarkable eloquence of
one of its initiators at the Cercle
Montparnasse — the intrepid Count

Catholic "Circles" for Working-men in France.

531

Albert de Man — as well as from
the fact of there being several other
military officers among them. The
work appeared to be marked with
a providential character, having at
its outset the stamp of trial, fol-
lowed by that of rapid expansion,
and possessing another in the saint-
ly character of its first founder;
for, although God may be pleased
to employ unworthy instruments to
promote his merciful designs, it
will always be found that, in the
first instance, they have been de-
posited, as in a chalice, in a holy
and devoted soul.

The impetus was given. The
large towns of France answered
the appeal by requesting the ini-
tiators to form, within them, com-
mittees like the Directing Com-
mittee at Paris. The principles of
the constitution never varied ; i.e.,
Catholic affirmation by the accep-
tance of the religious bond, and
the general bases of the work, divi-
sion of labor among the members
of the local association, and perio-
dic communication with the secre-
tariate general.

This in a short time was carried
out at Lyons, Bordeaux, Marseilles,
Lille, and many other places of im-
portance, numerous smaller towns,
and even villages, asking for the
same institution. And everywhere
it bore fruit, the formation of a
committee being in every instance
followed by the opening of a
circle.

At the same time the Council of
Jtsus-Ouvrier, and, following its
example, the committees of the
large tosvns, opened public confer-
ences in popular quarters, where
the people were addressed in frank
and energetic language, inspired
by the intimate union of religious
and social faith, and the doctrines
of liberalism boldly denounced,

which substitute for the precepts
"Love one another" and "Bear
ye one another's burdens " that of
" To each according to his work :> —
a maxim good enough in itself, but
which the employer translates into
" Each one for himself," and the
employed into " My turn next for
enjoyment." These declarations,
repeated simultaneously in all parts
of France, gave the work a remark-
able unity of spirit, which was
amply manifested at the first gen-
eral assembly of its members, held
in the spring of 1873.

Difficulties, however, arose in
proportion to the progress made.
Few adherents were obtained from
among the manufacturing chiefs,
on whom depends the whole eco-
nomy of the working-classes ; while
the committees, formed of men
little accustomed to study the laws
of labor, did not well observe its
divisions, and thus dwindled away.
That of Paris, to which had been
allotted the most complete autono-
my, and which was more especially
devoted to the general propagation
of the work, gave way beneath its
accumulated burden.

" We then " (to quote the words
of one of the members in his ad-
dress to the Congress at Rheims) —
"We then turned our eyes with
confidence to her who is the help
of Christians, our ever Blessed
Lady, resolving to go all together
and invoke her aid in one of the-
sanctuaries of France where she
has most anciently manifested her
powe/*, and where formerly the
kingdom was dedicated to her by a.
solemn vow — Notre Dame de Liesse.
The funds of the Paris committee
were already exhausted and the
year only half over. We collected
ten thousand francs, and unhesi-
tatingly devoted them to defray the
expenses of this distant pilgrimage

532

Catholic "Circles" for Working-men in France.

"The committees of the north
were invited to join it at the head
of the circles they had formed, and
on the lyth of August, 1873, twen-
ty-five hundred pilgrims arrived
from their respective towns to form
one procession to Notre Dame de
Liesse. Half of the number, in
spite of the fatigues of the way,
there received Holy Communion,
and we returned with renewed
strength and confidence to our
posts."

We will not here give a detailed
account of the toils and progress
of the year which succeeded the
pilgrimage. A brief of the Holy
Father confirmed the constitution
of the work by the grant of duly
specified indulgences attached to
it; it also received the canonical
protection of a cardinal of the
church.

These favors brought a timely en-
couragement to the promoters of the
work ; for with its progress its trials
also increased. Among the most
painful were those of seeing it mis-
understood by many persons who
might have been expected to prove
its warmest advocates. Some of
these lost sight of its social char-
acter, and preferred to seek the
good of a few individual souls in-
stead of helping forward a Chris-
tian restoration of society ; while
others, again, mistook the part to
be taken in the committees by the
upper classes. " Of what use," they
asked, " is a committee, unless to
provide resources for an ecclesias-
tical director ?"

This is a question which has
been frequently asked. But it
must be borne in mind that if the
circle establishes among its mem-
bers social fraternity, the director
could not himself alone represent
its paternity. To do this would be
to deter other Christians of the

upper classes from the unmistak-
able command they have received
to exercise this social paternity
which they have from God in the
very advantages of their social con-
dition.

For why are riches and honors
bestowed upon the few — why the
benefits of education, of leisure, of
cultivation of the mind — unless it
be that they are to be consecrated
to the moral guidance and material
assistance of the classes who are
deprived of such advantages? In
regard to this social paternity, as
in regard to that which creates the
family, the priest must be the con-
secrator : but, in his turn, the father
who would abandon to the priest
the charges and responsibilities of
the dignity which, by divine right,
is his own, would only disappear
from among his fellow-men to be
confounded before the Eternal Fa-
ther— he and the two complaisant
accomplices of his culpable abdica-
tion.

After establishing social fraterni-
ty by the circles, and social pater-
nity by the committees, it remained
to restore the social family — that
is, to associate Christian families in
the benefits of the work, after hav-
ing associated in it the Jieads of
families of various conditions.

The family is, in fact, the first
association by natural right, and
therefore every constitution which
embraces it and does not take it
for its foundation is vitiated and
sterile. The founders of the work
knew this, and -were, moreover, not
allowed to forget it by the daily re-
proaches they received — "You are
destroying the family ; you are
destroying the parish !" — and what
not. But how to reach the family
so as to be of service to it instead
of injurious was not for some time
made clear. The Circle of Mont-

Catliolic "Circles" for ^Working-men in France.

533

parnnsse, the prototype of the rest,
bad avoided rather than faced the
difficulty by disposing of its active
functions in favor only of its un-
married members. But this was
plainly not the solution.

The solution had, however, been
discovered, at no great distance
from Rheims, in the great manufac-
turing region which has for the
motive power of its machines the
waters of the Suippe, for its boun-
dary the extensive woods which
form an oasis of verdure in the
burning plains of Champagne, and
for its population factory-men, who
wander, at the bidding of the indus-
trial fluctuations of the time, to and
from the looms of the north, of
Rheims, or of St. Quentin — a popu-
lation exceptionally indigent, since
the struggle between capital and
wages, inaugurated by liberalism,
has become the normal condition
of the producer and the consumer.

In the hamlet of Val-des-Bois, in
the centre of this district, an indus-
trial family settled about half a
century ago, and brought with it
the example of every Christian
virtue. Kind towards their work-
men, generous even beyond their
gains, Messieurs Harmel assem-
bled around their vast establish-
ment all the religious and philan-
thropic institutions by means of
which it has hitherto been attempt-
ed to re-establish harmony in the
world of labor.

As is but too frequently the case,
they failed in this attempt com-
pletely. But they were not daunted,
nor did they rest satisfied with
their past endeavors; for, if they
loved the working-men, they loved
their Lord still more, and desired
as earnestly as ever that he should
reign in the hearts of those in their
employ.

Not many years ago it occurred

to one of them to introduce among
the population of their factories —
which did not count a single prac-
tising Christian — the principle of
the Catholic Association. He de-
termined to ask four men to join
together to form the nucleus of a
circle, and three young girls to be
received as Enfants dc Marie and
wear the badge. In proportion as
the associations developed them-
selves he multiplied them accord-
ing to the sex, age, and condition
of each individual ; and this with
such success that at the present
time the twelve hundred souls who
people Val-des-Bois are united in a
marvellous aggregation of pious
confraternities, among whose mem-
bers are made, in the course of a
year, more than ten thousand com-
munions, in the intention of mak-
ing reparation to our Lord for the
outrages he receives in the modern
factory.

Then, also, as earthly goods are
often increased abundantly to those
who seek first the kingdom of God,
the principle of Catholic Associa-
tion applied to the families of the
Factory of the Sacred Heart
(I'Usine du Sacre-Coeur) — for it
bears this name — has realized there
innumerable economical benefits,
a fact which will not surprise those
who know the power of this princi-
ple. Assistance of every kind,
clothing, food, and fuel at very rea-
sonable prices, schools free of ex-
pense to the parents, and occa-
sional holidays for recreation, have
brought with them, together with
economy, the comfort also and
prosperity of the families. All
these institutions, economic, chari-
table, and religious, are governed
by those personally interested.
The circle, which brings together
the fathers of families, is, as it were,
the centre of this machinery ; and

534

Catholic "Circles" for Working-men in France.

the master, who is its motive power,
associates with himself not only all
the members of his own family and
the chaplain of the factory, but
also his principal employes, to ful-
fil the paternal function of a pro-
tecting and directing committee,
and so to secure to the association
the chances of continuance as well
as the fruits of example. To this
end delegates are annually ap-
pointed, who, under the presidency
of the master, are the guardians of
the corporation.

We will give the result of all
these well-considered combinations
in M. Harmel's own words :*

" By the persevering endeavors
of many years we have attained
the end at which we aimed. Fami-
lies are reconstituted, peace and
love have taken the place of quar-
rels and disorder around the do-
mestic hearth ; the mother rejoices
at the change wrought in her hus-
band and children ; the father finds
in a new life the courage and hap-
piness of labor ; his home is delight-
ful to him from the respect of his
children, the ready cheerfulness of
his wife, and the love of all. Eco-
nomy has put an end to debts and
created savings ; the anniversary
festivals of the family bring back
that affectionate gayetyand warmth
which give repose amid the fatigues
of life, and inspire fresh ardor to
go bravely on the way. When we
are in the midst of these good and
honest faces, transformed by Chris-
tian influences, we read there con-
fidence and love, and thank the
good God who has made the large
family of Val-des-Bois." Such are
the experiences there obtained, as
if to complete those of the Cercle
Montparnasse.

* Manuel <fune Corf-oraiien Chrltienne, par
Lfton HarmeL Tours, Marne, Paris: au Secreta-
riat de 1'CEuvredesCercles Catholiques d'Ouvriers,
10 Rue du Bac. 187;.

Alone among the many excellent
men who, after the war and Com-
mune, arose to attempt some means
of -healing the internal wounds of
France, the members of the CEuvre
Ouvriere took a solemn engagement,
the terms of which were marked
out with precision. Each member
affixes his signature to an indivi-
dual and public act of devoted ad-
hesion to the doctrines defined by
the Syllabus of the Errors of Mo-
dern Society. Preserved, therefore,
from the liberalism which in reality
puts oppression into the hands of
the strongest, and the socialism
which demands it for the masses,
they will pursue more 'efficaciously
than either of these the vindica-
tion of the popular interests, such
as the due observance of the Sun-
day and the protection of the fami-
ly and home, and, guided by grace
and supported by prayer, will find
Christian solutions for all the so-
cial questions of labor.

The work of the Catholic circles
has set on foot a periodical for the
study and discussion of these ques-
tions— namely, the review which
borrows its title from one of the
principles of the work : L' Associa-
tion Catholique, It is open to all
questions, but not to all doctrines,
for a work which, at the head of
its statutes, invokes the definitions
of the Catholic Church cannot ad-
mit the errors which she has con-
demned. It numbers among its
contributors some of the best so-
cial economists and solid Christian
writers of the time, and thus pro-
vides weapons of proof to the po-
lemics of the Catholic press, be-
sides furthering the great social
effort made by the association,
which now reckons three hundred
circles in all parts of France.

In conclusion, we would men-
tion that it must be borne in mind

The River s Voice.

535

that the important part in this good
work is not the exclusive institution
of circles, this being only the first
and one of the different forms un-
der which the principle is brought
to act. That principle is the di-
rection and protection of the work-
ing-class'es by the higher and more
educated, and the association of
the interests of both, as opposed to
the lamentable antagonism of the
same different classes which is, in
our times, the great difficulty of so-
cial government and the source of
increasing disorder and conflict.
These associations are intended to
react, by every possible means,
against the erroneous social theo-
ries so numerous and so impotent
for good, and to bring into practice
the only true and effectual social
law — namely, conformity to the so-
cial duties of Catholics. Our reli-
gion has remedies for all evils; its
practice is supreme political and

social wisdom, and in the alarming
state of society among the working-
classes there cannot be, nor ever
will be, found any other course to
be adopted than to return to the
rules of Christian life. It is evi-
dent, then, how wide a field is open-
ed by such a desire breaking forth
in the hearts and minds of fervent
Christians such as M. de Mun and
his friends, and it would be impos-
sible to show in few words all that
it has produced and is producing
by the grace of God ; and although
this work of charity has originated
in France, and at present exists
only in France, it may, it is to be
hoped, give rise to similar laudable
efforts in all countries, where also,
among their associations of Catho-
lic circles for the working-classes,
shall, as in this country, be raised
the labarum of Constantine and
its sacred motto : " In hoc signo
vinces."

THE RIVER'S VOICE.

THROUGH the long hours the day's strong life had flowed
In sunshine, working good deeds silently,
In clouds whose shadows set new harmony

Among the hills — God's justice' old abode.

Through mountain hollows had the wind swept down,
Turning green leaves to silver in the sun,
Winning the meadows in broad waves to run

Where still unlevelled shone their grassy crown.

The troubled river had no vision borne

Of gleaming hill and tree-o'ershadowed shore;
The birches, bending their lost mirror o'er,

Met but the driven waves' unwilling scorn ;

Yet heaven's blue the broken waters bore,

The breeze but strengthened as it hurried o'er.

536 The River s Voice.

Lightening their labor with a careless song,
Birds o'er the meadow swept with busy wing,
Flashed in and out the forests' sheltering,

While clamorous council held the crickets' throng.
Swift fell the grass beneath the mower's stroke
To win its perfect ripeness 'ere day's end,
When should, the harvest bearing, meekly bend

The mild-eyed oxen 'neath the unwieldy yoke.

Broken with sound was even the noonday rest —
Shrill-piping locust called imperiously,
Impetuous bee proclaimed its industry,

And blue-mailed flies pursued an endless quest ;

Only from throbbing river rose no song

Blending its music with life's murmuring throng.

in.

Day closed, and busy life lay down to rest.
A shade that moved not held in cold embrace
The yielding meadows and the hills' calm face,

About whose silence burned the cloudless west.

No leafy murmur rose from darkening wood,
Hushed the pure gladness of the robins' trill ;
Called from low covert some lone whip-poor-will

Only to heighten eve's still solitude.

The wind asleep, the quiet waters bore

Vision of sky and mountains' deepening shade,
And touch of bending birches, softly laid,

As the still stream gave back their glance once more.

Clear, through the silence, drifted rippling tones —

The patient river singing to the stones.

IV.

So, through the day, had flowed the river's song,
So borne the stream its burden of strong life
Spite of its troubled waters' windy strife —
Heaven in its breast — and, as it sped along,
Bearing its loyal service to the sea,

Praising the stones that gave it voice to sing,
With constant sweetness, whose soft murmuring,
Unwearying ever in its melody,
Was hidden in life's song that filled the day
With chords confused of labor manifold.
Only with evening's peaceful skies of gold
Came the lost music of the river's lay —
Like some brave life whose sweetness but is known
When holy silence doth world-sounds dethrone.

Papal Elections.

537

PAPAL ELECTIONS.

THE succession of the Roman
pontiffs rests on the word of God ;
other lines of princes may fail, their
line shall last until the end of the
world. Still, although there will
ever be a series of legitimate suc-
cessors in the Papacy, the manner
of succession has varied, being left
to human prudence, which accom-
modates itself to times and places,
yet ever under an overruling
Providence that directs to its own
ends no less the vices than the vir-
tues of men.

The election of a pope is the
most important event that takes
place in the world. It affects im-
mediately several hundred millions
of Catholics in their dearest hopes
of religion, and it touches indirect-
ly the interests of all other people
on the earth besides. In the pope
the world receives a vicar of Christ,
a successor of St. Peter, and an in-
fallible judge in matters of faith
and morals. The Papacy was al-
ways conferred regularly by way
of election — from the chief of the
apostles, chosen by our Lord him-
self, to Pius IX., now reigning, who
was selected by the cardinals of
the Holy Roman Church on the
1 7th of June, 1846. Between these
there have been two hundred and
sixty popes, if we follow the num-
ber given by the Gerarchia Catto-
lica, which is published annually at
Rome.

On the 25th of July, 1876, our
Holy Father, in a discourse to the
students of the several colleges in
Rome subject to the Propaganda,
took occasion to speak quite ear-
nestly of attempts that were being
made in Italy to unsettle the minds
of Catholics on papal elections by

teaching that they were originally
popular ones, and that the natu-
ral right of the laity in them
(which, it was asserted, had been
exercised without question for
twelve hundred years) was arbitra-
rily and unlawfully taken away
by Pope Alexander III. The
errors of this new schismatical
party may be reduced to two
points — viz., that the share which
the people were once usually al-
lowed to take in the election of
sacred ministers was a right and
not a privilege accorded by the

visible head of the church to ages

• °

of faith and fervor ; and that Alex-
ander HI. deprived the Romans of
this right in the election of their
chief pastor.

Let us state, in the first place,
that it is heretical to maintain that
the laity have a strict — i.e., inherent
or divine — right to elect their pas-
tors, and historically false to assert
that such a right was ever allowed
by the rulers of the church or was
ever exercised by the Christian
people. The authorities to con-
firm our statement are so numer-
ous as to cause almost an embarras
de richesses. Besides the great col-
lections which are the common
sources of ecclesiastical erudition —
the Fathers, the councils, annals,
papal bulls ; the Bollandists, and
particularly, as regards papal elec-
tions, the Propylceum ad septem ta-
mos Maji ; the works of Thomas-
sin, Gretser, Bellarmine, and others
— we may cite here Selvaggio's An-
tiqiiitatum Christianarum Institutio-
nes, lib. i. par. i. cap. xxi. ; Mamac-
chi's Or i«ines et Antiquitatcs Chris-
tiana, torn. iv. lib. iv.; and Colenzio's
Dissertation! intorno varic Controller-

533

Papal Elections.

sie di Storia ed Archeologia Eccle-
siastica, diss. vi. Del preteso dritto
del popolo cristiano nell' clczione dei
Sacri Ministri.

The earliest manner of electing
the popes was by the votes of the
Roman clergy cast in the pre-
sence of the faithful, who assisted
as witnesses to the godliness of the
subject proposed, and to testify
that besides his personal merits he
was an acceptable person on ac-
count, perhaps, of his birth, his
nationality, his appearance, or of
some other adventitious circum-
stance which enhanced his popu-
larity with the great body of the
people, and would cause him, also,
to be looked upon with less dis-
favo r by them who are without. * Al-
though these elections belonged to
the clergy and laity of the Ro-
man Church — or we should say,
rather, to the higher clergy and the
representatives of the laity — the re-
lative rights or parts of each class
of electors were not apparently de-
termined by express enactment, but
upon grounds of common sense and
equity ; such, for instance, as that
Episcopus deligatur, plebe prczsente,
qua singulorum vitam plenissime no-
rit, et uniuscujusque actum de ejus
conversations prospexit,\ or that
Nullus invitis detur episcopus.\
Bellarmine,§ Sixtus Senensis,| Pe-
trus de Marca,^[ and Thomassin **
prove that the people's part in
such elections was more perfunc-
tory than real, since testimony of a
man's good repute could be other-
wise obtained, and that even an ex-
pression of preference was not al-
ways heeded ; as we learn from the

* i Tim. iii. 7.
t Cyprian, Epist. Ixvii.
% Celestine, Epist. ii. 5.
§ De Clericis^ lib. i , cap. vi.
|| Lib. v. Bibliotk. ad. not. 118.
1 De Concord, Sacerd. et /«/., lib. viii. cap. ii.
** l^et. et Nov. Ecclesice Discipl., par. ii. lib. ii.
cap. i.

same Pope Celestine, who wrote to
the bishops of Apulia and Cala-
bria: Docendus est populus, non se-
qucndus ; nosque si nesciunt, eosquid
liccat quidve non liceat, commoners
non his consensum prtzbere dcbemus*
The Roman people, then, did not
and could not have, except by
usurpation and abuse, a decisive
voice in the election of the pope ;
for such an act is by God's ordinance
placed beyond the jurisdiction of
the laity.

After the martyrdom of St. Fa-
bian, in January, A.D. 250, the Holy
See remained vacant for a year
and a half, until in the month of
June, 251, Cornelius was raised to
that post of perilous dignity under
a tyrant like Decius, who had de-
clared that he would sooner see a
new pretender to the empire than
another bishop of Rome. This
election, although made almost
unanimously by all orders, gave
rise to the first schism, because
Novatian, who headed the rigorous
party in the affair of the Lapsi, was
consecrated bishop and set him-
self up as anti-pope. We have
an invaluable testimony to the
election of St. Cornelius from the
pen of St. Cyprian : Factus est autcm
Cornelius episcopus de Dei et Christi
ejus judicio, de clericorum pane om-
nium testimonio, de plebis, quiz tune
adfuit, suffragio ct de sacerdotum an-
tiquorumetbonorum virorum collegia,
cum nemo ante se factus esset, cum
Fabiani locus id est cum locus Petri et
gradus cathedra sacerdotalis vaca-
ret.\ From this passage of the
great Bishop of Carthage we can
obtain, says Baronius,J a tolerably
good idea of a papal election in
the early ages. Prayers were first
offered up to God to obtain his as-

* Epist. v.

t Epist. Iv. No. vii., ed. Tauchnitz, Lipsiac. 1^38.
t Apud Wroulers^ Hist. Eccl. Camp. , vol. i. p.
65.

Papal Elections.

539

sistance in making a choice ; the
desire of the faithful, or rather of
their representatives, and such tes-
timony to the worth of the subjects
proposed as they were prepared to
give was heard ; the wish of the
Roman clergy, and their willing as-
sent to the proceedings, were in-
quired into and sought ; and after
maturely weighing the for and
against, the bishops of the vicinity,
with any others in communion
with the Holy See who happened
to be in Rome at the time, went
into executive session and gave the
decisive votes — in commitiis suffra-
gia ferebant. With regard to those
among the laity who took part in
these elections, we must observe
that in the beginning, as long as
the majority of Christians was com-
posed of persons who had embrac-
ed the faith from pure and un-
worldly motives, whose aim was to
behold the church prosperous and
glorious, and whose charity, being
yet warm, sought not their own
end but that which is another's* the
whole body of Christians who had
reached mature years and belong-
ed to that sex which alone had a
voice in the church f gave their
testimony and assent in favor of
that one whom it was proposed to
elect;! but tne evils of anything
like a popular election in a great
city were so manifest § that at-
tempts were soon made to leave
the choice of such on the part both
of clergy and laity — but earlier in
the case of the latter order — to a
select body or committee, a gene-
ral suffrage being gradually super-
seded by the votes of approval
given by the rich only and the
high in station.,

• i Cor. x. 24.
ti Tim. ii n.

JCfr. Alzog's Churck Hist., Papisch & Byrne,
vol. i. p. 396.
§ See Chryscstom, De Sacerdotio, iii. 15.

We find, perhaps, a germ of this
even in the earliest times.* The
Council of Laodicea (A.D. 365)
clearly desired that the choice
should be made by some definitely-
organized body, and not by a mere
mass-meeting ; St. Leo and the
Roman council of A.D. 442, and
again the former in Epist. Ixxxix.cvi.,
expressly mention the " Honorati,'
the magnates at such elections, f
The influence of the principal per-
sonages in a city was not to be
ignored through the clamor of
those who too often formed only a
mob. | A letter of Pope Cornelius
to Fabius, Bishop of Antioch, has
fortunately been preserved by Eu-
sebius, § which gives us the exact
number of the Roman clergy of
every grade, and a clue || to what
may have been the Christian popu-
lation of Rome, in the middle of
the third century. According to
these precious statistics, there were
then belonging to the Roman cler-
gy 46 priests, 7 deacons, 7 subdea-
cons, 42 acolytes, 52 exorcists, rea-
ders, and ostiarii. Fifteen hundred
widows and orphans were provided
for by the church, whose children
composed an immense population
in the capital of the empire. Hence
we may rest assured that delibera-
tions for the election of the Roman
pontiff could not have been open
to all of either clergy or laity, but
must necessarily, in the interests of
good order, and by reason of the
small size of places of public meet-
ings then possessed by the Chris-
tians, have been confined to a se-
lect number.

* See Graziani, Letttra di S. Clemente Prime
Pafa e Martire at Ctrrinti, . . . corredata di
note criticke e filologicke, Rome, 1832.

t Cfr. Devoti, lint. C«*., lib. i. tit. v. sect. i.
par. vii., in note.

$ See Augustine, Epist. civ ; Synesius, Epist.
Ixvii. ; liaronius, ad an. 304; Baluze, Muceli., ii.

103.

$ H. E., vi. 43-

| Compare Tertullian, Apol., xxxvii.

540

Papal Elections.

The ancient records of the Ro-
man Church reaching back to the
beginning of the early middle ages,
which have been published by Ma-
billon and Galletti, show us its
clergy divided into three distinct
classes — viz., priests, dignitaries,
and inferior ministers. The priests
were the seven cardinal suburbican
bishops and the twenty-eight car-
dinal-priests; the dignitaries were
the archdeacon and the seven pa-
latine judges (prothonotaries-apos-
tolic) ; the inferior ministers were
the subdeacons, acolytes, and no-
taries without office at court. The
laity was likewise divided into three
classes — viz., citizens, soldiers, and
commoners; />., the nobility, the
army, and the Third Estate.*

After the death of Pope Zozimus,
on the 26th of December, 418, a
majority of the clergy and people
elected the cardinal-priest Boniface
to succeed him. A serious dispute
immediately arose. Eulalius, the
archdeacon, who, as such, had been
practically the most important per-
sonage of the Holy See after the
pontiff himself, and felt indignant
at having been passed over in the
election, held possession of the
Lateran Palace, where he was cho-
sen pope by a few of the clergy, to
whose faction, however, all the
deacons and three bishops be-
longed, f The fear of future con-
tests suggested to Pope Boniface
I., who is described by Anastasius
as unambitious, of mild character;
and devoted to good works, to ob-

• Cfr. Novaes, whose voluminous, erudite, and
orthodox work, the Lives of the Popes, is enriched
with preliminary dissertations on every subject re-
lating to the Papacy and the Cardinalate.

t De Rossi, in his Bullettino di Archeologia
Ci-istiana, Anna iv., Jan. -Feb., 1866, has given
the reasons for the preponderating influence which
the cardinal-deacons had in the affairs of the church,
and for their frequent succession to the Papacy.
Indeed, it became in the third and fourth centuries
an almost invariable rule to elect the archdeacon to
succeed to the chair of St. Peter.

tain from the Emperor Honorius,
in the year 420, a rescript by which
it was decreed that, in the contin-
gency of a double election, neither
rival should be pope, but that the
clergy and people should proceed
to another choice. The decree was
almost textually inserted in the
canon law. * This difference be-
tween St. Boniface and Eulaliu?,
or rather the latter's schism, gave
occasion to the first interference of
the secular arm in the election of
the Roman pontiffs. St. Hilary,
who was elected in the year 461,
convened a council of forty-eight
bishops at Rome, and, among other
provisions for filling worthily the
Holy See, declared that no pope
should ever appoint his oivn successor.
Despite this recent enactment, Bo-
niface II. — in whose favor, however,
it must be said that he sought to
preclude, as even a greater evil
than a passing violation of the ca-
nons, the threatened interference
of the Gothic king, who wanted to
put a partisan on the papal throne —
called a council at St. Peter's in
the year 531, and there designated
the celebrated deacon Vigilius as
his coadjutor with future succession.
Subsequently, repenting his action,
he called another council, and with
his own hand burned the paper ap-
pointing him. f

Although the actual naming of
his successor by the pope has never
been tolerated, there have been
several, and some very opportune,
cases in which a pope on the point
of death has recommended a par-
ticular person, more or less effica-
ciously, to the body of electors as
one well fitted to succeed to the
vacant throne. This was done by

* Cap. Si duo, viii. dist. Ixxix.

t Strange to say, Vigilius did, although not imme-
diately succeed to the Papacy, and is reckoned the
sixty-first in the series of pontiffs.

Papal Elections.

541

St. Gregory VII., who proposed
three candidates to the cardinals —
namely, Desiderius, Cardinal-Abbot
of Monte Casino; Otho, Cardinal-
Bishop of Ostia; and Hugh, Arch-
bishop of Lyons — and particularly
recommendad the election of the
first as the only one of the three
who was in Italy at the time. De-
siderius became Pope Victor III.
Other similar, but not always
equally successful, recommenda-
tions were made by popes of that
era. In order finally to put the
strongest official check upon the
election of his own successor by a
pope, Pius IV., after exposing in
consistory his age and infirmities,
reminded the cardinals that he was
well aware how under his prede-
cessor, Paul IV., the question was
mooted whether this could be done,
and that some theologians and car-
dinals held to the affirmative, * but
that he would pronounce in the
negative, and intended to issue a
bull — as in fact he did, on the 22d of
September, 1561 f — declaring that
no pope could do so, even with the
consent of the Sacred College. His
immediate predecessor had reaf-
firmed in 1558 an ordinance in-
creasing the penalties of its viola-
tion, which had originally been
passed over a thousand years before
by Pope Symmachus in a council of
seventy-two bishops convened at
Rome in the year 499, forbidding,
under pain of excommunication
and loss of all dignities, to treat of
a successor during the lifetime of
the reigning pontiff.J From this
we learn how some of the best and
greatest popes have tried to frame
such wise provisions as might

* See the controversy apud Ferraris, Bibliotheea,
Art. '' Papa."

t Const. Prudentcs Bullar. ROM., torn. iv. par.
8. page 90.

t Pagi, Bre-'iirium RR, fP., vol. i. p. 129, in
v.'ta Symmachi.

assure an untainted election to the
Papacy; yet they could not succeed
in every case, because even the
most stringent laws must be well
executed to be effective, and must
find docile subjects to obey them.
The Romans do certainly appear to
have been a stiff-necked people
during many generations; and
while we think it ungenerous con-
tinually to throw in their teeth the
wretched opinion St. Bernard must
have had of them, as we see by
his treatise De Consideratione, ad-
dressed to Pope Eugene III., and
hardly fair in the annalist Mura-
tori to transfer so much of the
blame for factious elections from
the German emperors to the Ro-
man populace, the least that even
their best friend can honestly say is
that they might have done better*

The election of the pope, says
Cardinal Borgia,f was perfectly free
during the first four centuries,
being made by the clergy in pres-
ence of the people; but in process
of time, as the papal dignity in-
creased in wealth and splendor of
temporal authority, it often became
an object of human ambition, of
which secular rulers were not slow
to avail themselves, that by iniqui-
tous bargains and preconcerted
plans they might bind, if possible,
the priesthood to the empire, and
derive the immense advantage of
the spiritual power administered by
a subject or a dependant. The
first instance of direct interference
by the state in a papal election —
for the decision in the case of Boni-
face and the anti-pope was an arbi-
tration invited by the church — ap-

* In a curious old ballad sung in low French by
the Scotch in the king's service occurs the con-
temptuous line, Les Remains bien taut villai*
mutina.il. Francisque-Michel, Les Eccssais tn
France.

t Apologia del Pontificate di Benedetto X., par.
i. cap. ii. num. 2.

542

Papal Elections.

pears towards the close of the fifth
century. Odoacer, a Gothic chief
of the tribe of the Heruli, having
deposed Romulus Augustulus, in
whom the Western Empire came to
an end, was proclaimed King of
Italy, rejecting the imperial style of
Caesar and Augustus for a title which
he expressly created for himself. It
would seem — although even this is
not beyond dispute — that Pope Sim-
plicius had requested Odoacer, in
whom the powers of the state were
now vested, to stand ready, in the
common interests of order and good
government; to repress the civil
commotions which he foresaw were
likely to arise after his death on the
election of a successor. However
this may be, the king went beyond
a merely repressive measure, and,
pretending that Simplicius had
commissioned him to do so, pub-
lished an edict on the pope's death
in 483, forbidding the clergy and
people of Rome to elect a successor
without his intervention or that of
his lieutenant, the prefect of the
praetorium. When, therefore, the
elective assembly met in St. Peter's
to fill the vacant see, Basil the
patrician came forward and claimed
in his master's name, and by virtue
of the dying wish and even com-
mand of Simplicius, the right of
regulating its acts and of confirm-
ing the election it might make.
This pretension was firmly repelled,
and, disregarding the tyrant, Felix
III. was elected on March 8, 483.
Baronius is of opinion that Simpli-
cius never addressed such a requi-
sition to the king, but that the story
of his having done so was fabricat-
ed a few years later by the party
of Lawrence, the anti-pope. The
document purporting to emanate
from Simplicius was rejected by a
Roman council in 502 without fur-
ther investigating its genuineness,

than by exposing that it lacked the
pope's signature, and was in any
case opposed to the sacred canons
and ipso facto null and void.* On
November 22, 498, St. Symmachus
was elected pope, but a minority
set up a certain Lawrence, and both
were consecrated on the same day.
Civil strife was imminent, and, al-
though the most regular mode of
action would have been to call a
council of the provincial bishops,
delay was too dangerous, and the
prompt interference of Theodoric
was asked and submitted to.

Although this monarch was an
Arian, he had protected the Catho-
lics on many occasions,- and had
for prime minister the celebrated
Cassiodorus, whose virtues, justice,
and wisdom were renowned
throughout Italy. Such considera-
tions as these must have led the
Roman clergy to submit a purely
ecclesiastical matter to the court of
Ravenna. On the advice of his
minister the king decided that the
one who had been first elected and
had received the greatest number
of votes should be recognized as the
legitimate pope. Both conditions
were verified in Symmachus. His
first pontifical act was to summon a
council in the basilica of St. Peter
on March i, 499, to regulate more
effectively the mode of future elec-
tions. Seventy-two bishops, sixty-
seven priests, and five deacons com-
posed the council. Three canons
were drawn up relative to this mat-
ter. By the first it;was ordained
that if any clergyman be convicted
of having given or promised his
suffrage for the pontificate to any
aspirant during the pope's lifetime
he shall be deposed from his office ;

* Odoacer, the first king of Italy in olden times,
become so by violence and usurpation like the first
king of Italy of modern times, and the first to inter-
fere in a papal election, was captured in March, 493,
and put to death by his victorious rival, Theodoric.

Papal Elections.

543

by the second it was provided
that if the pope die suddenly, and
a unanimous election cannot be
reached, the candidate receiving
a majority of the votes shall be
declared elected ; by the third im-
munity from prosecution was pro-
mised to accomplices who should
reveal the intrigues of their princi-
pals to obtain an unfair election.*

Theodoric the Goth, having
once been appealed to, now
thought to take the initiative in the
election of a successor to John I.,
whom he had left to die of starva-
tion and neglect on his return from
Constantinople, where he had spo-
ken rather according to his con-
science than in favor of the Arians,
as the king expected. On his re-
commendation St. Felix IV. was
elected pope on the i2th of July,
526. The Roman clergy and
senate protested against this stretch
of royal authority, although they
had no objection to ttte nominee,
who was simple, mild, and chari-
table. The affair was not adjusted
until a compromise was effected
under Athalaric, whereby the Ro-
man clergy by their votes, and the
Roman people by their assent, were
to elect the Roman pontiff, who
would then be confirmed by the
king as a matter of course. The
popes were elected in this way
until the extinction of the Gothic
kingdom of Italy in the person of
Teias, who was defeated and killed
by Narses, general of Justinian, in
the year 553. The Greek empe-
ror, having recovered his sway in
Italy, continued the abuse, to
which the Romans had submitted
only through fear of the barbarians,
and arrogated to himself and suc-
cessors the right of confirming the
election of the pope. Hence, as

*Darras, Central Hittory of the Catholic
Church, vol. ii. p. 6f.

Baronius remarks, arose the pru-
dent custom at Rome of electing to
the Papacy those members of the
clergy who had been Apocrisiarii —
i.e., agents or nuncios of the Holy
See at Constantinople, where it was
presumed they had Avon the favor
of the court and become versed in
matters of state. Thus the right of
confirmation was reduced in prac-
tice to a mere formality, although
in principle ever so wrong. In this
way were elected Vigilius in 550,
St. Gregory I. in 590, Sabinian in
604, Boniface III. in 607, and
others who were personally known
to the Byzantine rulers.

Avarice, or a love of money un-
der some pretext or another, was a
besetting sin of the Greeks, and
from it arose a new and more de-
grading condition imposed on papal
elections. The imperial sanction
was given only on payment by the
Holy See of a tax of 3,000 golden
solidi, a sum equal to thirteen
thousand dollars of our money.*
The Emperor Constantine Pogo-
natus, at the request of the papal le-
gates to the Fourth General Council
of Constantinople in 681, exempted
the Holy See from the further pay-
ment of the tax. He was moved to
do so by the sanctity of St. Agatho ;
but he still retained the assumed
right of forbidding the pope's con-
secration until his election had been
confirmed. A few years later, how-
ever, he granted a constitution to
Benedict II., his personal friend,
and to whose guardianship he left
his two sons, Justinian (II.) and
Heraclius, in which he for ever
abrogated this arbitrary law. The
concession was ungratefully revok-
ed by Justinian ; and Conon, who

* Some writers, it must be said, attribute the im-
position of this odious burden to the Gothic kings.
Graveson, who agrees with them, says (Hist. Eccl.^
torn. ii. page 62) that the money was always dis-
tributed in alms to the poor.

544

Papal Elections,

was elected on October 21, 686,
was obliged to ask the consent of
the exarch of Ravenna, viceroy
of the emperor, to his consecra-
tion. This necessity generally
occasioned a delay of from six weeks
to two months. The exarchs of
Ravenna, having command of the
troops and the key to the imperial
treasury in the west, felt themselves
in a position to abuse authority
and try to set up creatures of their
own in Rome. Often did the Ro-
man clergy and many popes protest
against their irregular acts. The
choice of Pelagius II., in 578, was
not submitted to the customary
ratification, because the Lombards
around Rome had cut off all com-
munication with the outer world.

The historian Novaes says that
although the Holy See resisted the
interference of secular princes, yet
the turbulent spirit of the Romans,
often stirred up by unscrupulous
ministers or by the sovereigns them-
selves, obliged the popes to have
recourse to these same princes to
maintain order at their consecra-
tion. Nothing, we think, better
confirms the necessity of a tem-
poral dominion whereby the popes
can exclude the exercise of foreign
influence in Rome, and themselves
vindicate the character of good
government for which they are
responsible. Papal elections were
of an absolutely peaceful nature
only after Goths, Lombards, Greeks,
and Germans ceased to support an
armed force in Rome or its vici-
nity. Guarantees are deceitful ;
and a mere personal sovereignty of
the pope without a territory attach-
ed would be insufficient to assure
the independence of the Holy See.

A very remarkable law found its
way into Gratian's decree, under
the name of Pope Stephen, by
which it is ordained that the newly-

elected pontiff shall be consecrated
in presence of the imperial ambas-
sadors.* The learned are divided
in their opinion about which pope
passed this law. Baronius, Pape-
broch,Natalis Alexander, and others
attribute it to Stephen IV., elected
in 816; Pagi inclines to Stephen
VI., alias VII. ; Mansi to Deusde-
dit, elected in 615 ; while some
think that it belongs to John IX.,
because it is found among the acts
of a council held by him in 898.
Novaes suggests that this council
may only have given a more solemn
sanction to an older law. When
Eugene II. was elected on the 51)1
of June, 824, he concerted with
Lothair, son of the Emperor Louis,
who had named him King of
Italy and his colleague in the em-
pire, to put a stop to cabals and
disorders among the Roman people.
He issued a decree enjoining upon
the Roman clergy to swear fealty
to the Frarilcish emperors, but with
this significant reservation: "saving
the faith that I have pledged to the
successor of St. Peter " — Salva
fide quam repromisi Domino Apos-
tolico \ — and not to consent to an
uncanonical or factious election of
a pope. The same pope also
voluntarily offered to bind the
Roman pontiffs to be consecrated
in the presence of the so-called Rex
Romanorum, if he were in the city,
otherwise of his envoy.J Pagi thinks
that this was done to propitiate in
advance these growing monarchs
of the north, and distract them
from the idea of continuing the
policy of the Eastern emperors,
who, as we have seen, would not
allow the popes to proceed to con-

* Cap. Quid Sancta, xxviii. Dist Ixiii.

t Paul the Deacon, apud Pagi (Breviarium,
KR. PP., torn. i. p. 350).

\ When a successor to the throne was elected or
appointed during the emperor's lifetims he was
called King of Rome or of the Romans.

Papal Elections.

545

secration until their election had
been confirmed. Eugene's act
seems to us to have been a sub-
tle stroke of diplomacy. While
it flattered, by conveying the im-
pression that the presence of Caesar
(as he was pompously called) or of
his legates gave splendor and mag-
nificence to the ceremony of conse-
cration, it disarmed the emperor by
implying the right of the popes to
be consecrated at their own con-
venience; for if his meaning had
been that the presence of the king
or of his ambassadors were a ne-
cessary condition to the legality of
the act, he would have deliberately
placed himself and successors in
the same relation to these new
rulers that his predecessors had
been obliged, though under protest,
to assume toward the emperors of
the East — which is manifestly ab-
surd.

Nevertheless, both the Frank
and Saxon emperors frequently
claimed the right to something
more than a mere honorary part
in papal elections, which led to
long years of party strife and dis-
rord between church and state.
Leo IV., in 847, confirmed the de-
cree of Eugene, although, on ac-
count of the Saracens around
Rome, he was consecrated without
waiting for the imperial ambassa-
dors; and the same was the case,
but without any ostensible reason,
with Stephen V., alias VI. This
shows that the presence of the en-
voys was an honorary privilege,
which conferred no authority to go
back of or revise the election itself,
as Hadrian III., Stephen's imme-
diate predecessor, expressly affirm-
ed in a decree given by Martinus
Polonus,* Mabillon,f and Pagi.J

* Ad an. 884.

•*• In Ord. Rom. cap. xvii. page 114.

* A'd an. 884.

VOL. xxvi. — 35

It is but fair to confess that this de-
cree is not considered authentic by
all; but what historical document
has not been called in question by
some hypercritic or other, espe-
cially in Germany ? That it is not
apocryphal is shown by the fact
that one of Hadrian's successors —
John IX., elected in 898 — annulled
it in view of the peace ensured by
the presence of the ambassadors,,
and restored the earlier ordinance
of Eugene.

The text of the canon law, andf
especially the passage Canonico ritu
ct consuetudine, has been often ap-
pealed to by Csesarists and Protes-
tant historians, as though it demon-
strated that a papal election not
made according to its requirements-
was uncanonical and invalid. In.
the first place, Cardinal Garampi *
remarks that Eugene's decree was a
personal privilege Advocaticc given
to the princes of the Carlovingian
line ; and in the second place
Thomassin observes upon John's
decree f that the imperial ambassa-
dors were not admitted to the
election, but only to the subsequent
consecration ; that they were there
to overawe the turbulent ; and
that in time their presence became
a custom and was looked on as a
part, so to speak, of the external
rite of consecration. It had, be-
sides, become so useful as a repres-
sive measure against the enemies-
of the Holy See that it received the
high sanction of being countenanc-
ed by the canon law itself. Pope
Nicholas II., in the eleventh century,
explained the text Quia Sancta in the
same sense. It must be said, to the
discredit of the Othos and the
Henrys, that they too often slipped
from the inch of privilege to the ell

* De Nummo Argtnteo Benedicts ///., pag. 22
ct scq.

t yet. et Nov. Eccl. Disci/>I., part ii. lib. ji. cap.
xxvi par. 6.

546

Papal Elections.

of (pretended) right, and went so far
as to interfere in a direct and abso-
lute sense at papal elections, intrud-
ing some less worthy subjects into
the Papacy ; but when once these
occupied the seat of Peter they
were to be recognized and respected
on the same principle that the high-
priests were in the irregular age of
*he Seleucidse and the Romans
when they sat upon the chair of
Moses. Yet even the imperial in-
.fluence, says Kenrick,* was bene-
.ficially exercised in several instan-
ces, particularly those of Clement
II. and SU Leo IX. Dr. Constan-
tine Hofler has written a work f re-
plete with information about the
German popes and the physical as-
pect, the morals, manners, and cus-
toms of the Romans in their time.
•Charles Hemans' books (we can-
not seriously call them works) on
Ancient and Medieval Christianity
mid Sacred Art in Italy, while they
show considerable acquaintance
with the best authorities on the
subject, manifest a detestable ani-
mus against the Holy See, which
.shows their writer to be as great an
adept in the " art of putting things"
as the far more learned author of the
eight-volume History of tJie City of
Rome in the Middle Ages, Ferdinand
Gregorovius. While the corruption
of some popes and the depravity of
the tenth century have been exag-
gerated by many historians, the
• condition of the Papacy at that
time is certainly a warning against
the interference of secular princes
in the elections; for, as the great
Baronius remarks (ad an. 900),
. Nihil penitus Ecclesice Romana con-
.tingere potest funestius, tetrius nihil
atque lugubrius, quam si principes se-

* Primttcy ef the Apostolic Sef, p. 743.
t Die Deutschen Piiptte, 2 vols., Regensburg,
1839-

culares in Romanornm Pontifuuin
dectiones manus iinmittant*

In the middle of the eleventh
century a movement was begun to
reform the method of conducting
papal elections, which eventually
limited them within the legitimate
circle of ecclesiastical prerogatives,
totally excluding the direct influ-
ence of the inferior clergy and the
aristocratic and popular element of
the laity. Pope Nicholas II., hav-
ing assembled a synod of one
hundred and thirteen bishops in
the Lateran Palace in the month
of April, 1059, passed a law
to the following effect : On the
death of the pope the .cardinal-bi-
shops shall first meet in council
and with the utmost diligence treat
of a successor ; they shall next take
joint action with the cardinal-
priests, and finally consider the
wishes of the rest of the clergy and
of the Roman people. If a worthy
subject can be found among the
members of the Roman (higher)
clergy itself, he is to be preferred,
otherwise a foreigner shall be elect-
ed ; so that, however, the honor
and regard due to our beloved son
Henry, now king, and soon, God
grant, to be emperor, which we
have seen proper to show to him
and to his successors who may
personally apply for it, be not di-
minished. If a proper election
cannot take place in Rome, it may
be held anywhere else.f In the
year 1061 another synod was held,
in which it was distinctly stated
that the mere fact of election in
the foregoing manner placed the
elect in possession of plenary apos-

* Sec a long and interesting note to the point
headed, Qunli consequenze discendano dalia con-
dizione delta china rontana al secolo jr. in Moz-
zoni's Tavolt Cronclogiche critiche della Storia
delta Chiesa Universale. Secolo Decimo^ Rome
1865.

t Cap. In Nomine Domini, i. dist. xviii.

How Stcemvykerwold was Saved.

547

tolic authority ; consequently, the
emperor's confirmation was exclud-
ed, in the sense that without it the
election was invalid. From this
period, although the struggle was
not yet over, the Papacy was com-
pletely emancipated from any kind
of subjection to the empire. Alex-
ander II., successor to Nicholas,
did not communicate his election
to the court; and although St. Gre-
gory VIL, glorious Hildebrand,
did do so, it was partly from pru-
dence in view of the excitement in
Germany occasioned by the setting
up of the anti-pope Cadolaus in
resentment for his predecessor's
neglect, and partly from his sense
of honor, lest it should be thought
(since he had taken a principal part
in enacting the statute of Pope
Nicholas) that he availed himself
of an advantage which he had him-
self created — artfully, as suspicious-
minded persons might think — in an-
ticipation of one day ascending the

papal chair. He was the last pope
who ever informed the emperor of
his election before proceeding to
be consecrated and enthroned.
The great Catholic powers still
continue to exercise a measure of
influence in these elections, but of a
purely advisory character, except
in the case of those fe\v which en-
joy the privilege of veto, or the
esclusiva, as the Romans say. At
the Third General Council of the
Lateran, held in the year 1179 by
Alexander III., a most important
advance was made in the manner of
holding the elections. The right of
the cardinals to elect, without refe-
rence to the rest of the Roman
clergy or of the people, was affirm-
ed, and a majority of two-thirds of
their votes required for a valid
election. This law was readily ap-
proved by the bishops and members
of the council, and incorporated in
the canon law. where it is found
among the decretals of Gregory IX.*

HOW 3TEENWYKERWOLD WAS SAVED.

A FEW straggling lights gleamed
pale and fitfully through the stormy
mist as the travellers came to the
foot of the principal street in Steen-
wykervvold on the night of Decem-
ber 23, 1831. The wind howl-
ed fiercely and the place was ap-
parently deserted ; no one was
found to brave the force of the
sleety tempest save Floog and his
companion, and the weather-beaten,
broken-nosed "Admiral " that once
did duty as figure-head for a Baltic
trader of that name, and now stood
sentinel at the door of Mathias
Pilzer, the innkeeper, scowling de-

fiance at the elements. The hail
had drifted and accumulated in
heaps against outlying angles of
walls, and filled the narrow gutters.
The progress of the travellers,
which the storm had impeded, was
now interrupted altogether and
they came to a dead halt. The
prospect was indeed discouraging,
and the cheerless gloom of the situ-
ation seemed to enter into the soul
of the boy; for he made a sudden
movement towards a street doorway
which afforded a little shelter, and,
pulling his woollen cap tightly down
over his eyes, began to cry.

* Ix., cap. Licet, 6. tie Elect.

548

How Stccnii'ykerivold was Saved.

" Ferret," said his companion,
" if you don't stop that blubbering
I'll take you back again to-morrow
to paint dolls at Mine. Geinmel's ;
and see," he added somewhat more
soothingly, as he caught the flicker
of a candle through Pilzer's win-
dow, " here we are at the inn."

The Ferret, thus threatened and
consoled, brushed away his tears with
his sleeve, emitting a muffled grunt.
He had commenced with a howl,
but, as if finding the pitch too high,
he lowered it suddenly and ended
with a sort of guttural, fractured
sob; then seizing the other by the
skirt, in this order of procession
they reached Pilzer's.

Boreas, Euroclydon, Eolus !
whew, you gusty deities, your rude
familiarities are the reverse of en-
dearing, and we, alas! have not
discovered the secret of propitiat-
ing you. Yet you deepen the en-
chanted halo encircling the ruddy
fireside by the very force of con-
trast, as you wail dismally at the
door, rattle the window-pane, or
shriek down the chimney in your
baffled efforts to effect an entrance.
The fatigue of their journey was
soon forgotten by the wayfarers,
their misery giving way to the pla-
cid emotions caused by an antici-
pated enjoyment of the warmth and
well-earned repose so near at hand.
There was much to study in
these two, because there was so
little to discover. The elder was
a man whose appearance guard-
ed with sphinx-like obstinacy the
secret of his age. He might be
thirty or he might be sixty — no one
could tell, and it was abundantly
evident that few cared. He was
tall and spare, with features which,
if remarkable at all, were rendered
negatively so by the absence of all
salient characteristics, except a
certain peculiarity about the eyes,

one of which was brown, and the
other, the left, a weak, watery gray.
Such was Floog, the only name by
which he was known; if he ever had
any other it is buried with him.

The other member of the due,
of whom you have had a glimpse
already, was nicknamed " The Fer-
ret," by what authority I cannot
say — probably according to the
accommodating law of contrariety,
for there was nothing pertaining to
him at all suggestive of that spright-
ly little quadruped. The ideal curve
of beauty was straightened and flat-
tened into obtuse angles in his con-
tour in a way to make old Apelles
or Phidias lament, how-ever prized
he might be as a subject for the
pencil of Teniers. His features,
too, were wanting in the seraphic
beam of Fra Bartolomeo's cherubs.
Nevertheless, in form and feature
he was sufficiently quaint to make
one laugh at and love him. At a
little distance he resembled a well-
stuffed pillow on short legs. On
closer view a head was discernible,
something like those sometimes
seen on old-fashioned door-knock-
ers. Large, puffy cheeks, half-hid-
ing a pretty little turn-up nose, a
pair of small but bright blue eyes,
no eyebrows, but an enormous
mouth, and still more enormous
chin — these belonged to a face in
hue and texture very like putty,
and formed altogether a combina-
tion which, if not very beautiful, had
this counterbalancing attraction :
that it was somewhat out of the
commonplace.

But no delineation of pen or pen-
cil could do justice to his expres-
sion. The wells of laughter and of
tears, assuredly close beneath the
surface, were for ever commingling
in his organization ; and so evenly
were the external symptoms bal-
anced that my grandaunt, a close

Hoiv Stcemvykerwold was Saved.

549

observer, who had seen him often
(and from whom, by the way, we
had most of these details), could
not for the life of her tell whether
he was going to laugh or to cry at
times when, in fact, he had no desire
or intention to do either, so inde-
terminate was his habitual and pas-
sive expression.

The wooden hands of Pilzer's
Dutch clock pointed twenty-five
minutes past eleven as these itine-
rants entered. Mine host was half-
sitting, half-reclining in a large,
square, straw-bottomed chair just
inside of and facing the glass door
that separated the travellers' parlor
from the front part of his premises.
On hearing them enter he slowly
roused from his semi-lethargy, and,
taking his long pipe from between
his lips, eyed the new-comers with
a dubious glance, as if not quite
satisfied whether they were cus-
tomers or cut-throats, when Floog,
drawing nearer to the glass door,
brought him within range of that
gentleman's mild eye and reassured
him. Floog on his part hesitated
with an embarrassed air, and looked
cautiously around, as if he had got
into a coffin-maker's shop by mis-
take. Presently he plucked up
courage, and beckoning The Ferret,
who stood sniffling at the front
door, to follow him, advanced and
knocked timidly at the dividing
door.

The presiding genius of the " Ad-
miral " was a very Machiavel of inn-
keepers. An experience of twenty-
seven years had taught him a system
of deportment toward, and treat-
ment of, his customers measured
and regulated — a sort of mental gra-
dient, of which the gauge was the
prospective length of his guest's
purse; and, to do him justice, he
seldom erred in his calculations.
On opening the door and confront-

ing the strangers it was plainly visi-
ble that he was about to commence
at zero in his welcome; for there
was little prospect of pecuniary re-
ward in the appearance of the man,
his speculative gains being ren-
dered still more doubtful by the
additional allowance of a liberal
discount for the appearance of the
boy. His first word of chilly greet-
ing removed all misgiving at one
fell swoop; for, true to his system,
at zero he began.

"What do you want at this time
o' night?" Just then he caught
sight of a large portmanteau or
travelling-wallet which Floog on
entering had deposited on the floor.
It was a favorable diversion, for no
sooner had Pilzer espied it than his
scale ascended two or three de-
grees, and, without waiting for an
answer to his first inquiry, he added
in a slightly altered tone: "What
can I do for you?"

"I want lodging for me and
my nephew," said Floog bravely,
and with a cheerful disregard of
syntax. " We can pay for it ; we're
not tramps."

"This is a lovely night, and a
pretty hour of this lovely night to
come looking for lodging," said the
innkeeper, with facile irony, at
which he was an adept ; " but if ye
are respectable, and can prove it,
and let me know what brings ye
here when all honest folk is abed,
I'll see what I can do."

If Floog considered the last part
of this speech with reference to its
applicability to the maker of it, he
kept his thoughts discreetly to him-
self.

" We are strangers in the town.
We arrived from Arnhem an hour
ago, and this is the only public-
house we can find open. This
boy's father, Mynheer Underdonk,
the merchant, died in Amsterdam

550

Hoit' Stcemvykerwold was Saved,

last Thursday, and they sent me a
letter to bring the boy, and make
no delay, as they want to make a
settlement tor him. You see," he
went on, growing confidential, "my
brother left home eight years ago
find no one knew what became of
him. His poor forsaken wife died,
and I took care of the orphan."

All this he uttered rapidly, with
few pauses, as if he had learnt it by
heart. So he had. Alas ! poor
Floog, thou wert no hero, not even
morally ; but shall we, entrenched
in a castle of virtue, thrown stones
at thee ? No, albeit there was no
more truth in thy story than suited
thy own purposes.

The Ferret was of ancient and
noble lineage. There, that secret
is out. Frank like himself, his his-
torian scorns the subterfuge of
keeping it till the end for the pur-
pose of giving Mat to his exit, as
they do in romances and on the
stage. He was descended from
Adam and Eve. This I am pre-
pared to maintain in the face of the
world, learned or unlearned. If
any one wishes to be considered as
descended from an oyster or an atom,
we who are not so ambitious shall
not cavil at their genealogy, but
hope they find their protoplasms sub-
jects of pleasant reflection. As for
my hero, he was of a different breed.
Whether the bars in his escutch-
eon were dexter or sinister did not
concern him and need not concern
us. Heraldry, in fact, disowned
him; therein, however, heraldry was
no worse than his own father. In
his tenth year he was taken from
the Asylum for Foundlings and
indentured to Mme. Gemmel, who
kept a manufactory of toys at
Arnhem. On the day of his de-

parture he went out into the large
paved yard surrounded by an un-
broken line of low stone buildings
— his well-known and familiar play-
ground, the only Arcadia lie had
ever known. Now that he was to
bid it and his childish companions
a long good-by, he felt irresolute
and the farewell stuck in his throat.
He tried hard to be brave, while
little Hans, his inseparable play-
mate and bedfellow, stood regard-
ing him with a sullen scowl, as if
he considered it a personal insult
to be thus suddenly left alone.
The poor Ferret was entirely at his
wits' end and quite dumbfounded.
Another look at Hans broke the
unutterable spell; for he saw stealing
down the chubby cheek of that
smirched cherub a big tear, mark-
ing its course by a light streak on
his smutty little face. Gulping
down his sobs and forcing back
the tears that now suffused his own
eyes, he laid his hand lovingly on
the shoulder of little Hans, and,
bending down until their faces were
on a level, he looked at him, and
said in a voice broken by varying
emotions and the poignant sorrow
of childhood :

"Don't — don't cry, Hans; and
when — and when I earn a hundred
guilders I will come back for you,
and we will have lots of puddin'
and new clothes, and I will buy
you a pair of new skates."

Then taking from his trousers'
pocket all his treasures — a large
piece of gingerbread and a small old
knife with a broken blade — he press-
ed his little friend to take them, forc-
ing them into his unresisting hand,
looked around once by way of final
adieu, and ran through the passage
that led to the front hall, where Mme.
Gemmel's man was waiting for him,
and left poor little Hans bellowing
as if his heart would break.

How Steenwykerwold was Saved.

551

The moral supervision exercised
by Mme. Gemmel over her new
charge was radical. Its cardinal
principles were, first, the duty of
obedience and gratitude, and, se-
condly, the healthfulness of absti-
nence. These principles she in-
culcated by precept and enforced
in practice by prescribing due pe-
nalties for their infraction. The
good lady taught her apprentice, by
every means within her power, that
his life-long devotion to her service
would ill repay her for the inesti-
mable blessing she conferred in
removing him from the Foundling
Asylum and taking him under her
own fostering roof. She was mind-
ful of his health, too, for among her
sanitary tenets was one to the effect
that butter is injurious to imma-
ture years ; and this she was in the
habit of persistently enforcing for
the special benefit of her charge.
Inasmuch as temptation is dan-
gerous, especially to the weak, she
prudently adopted preventive mea-
sures by removing at once the
temptation and the butter when-
ever he appeared at meals. So
well did he profit by her discipline
that after six months' involuntary
practice of it he determined to run
away.

In spite of these drawbacks, in
spite of the discipline and the dry
bread, he made famous progress at
his trade, and felt an artist's glow
of enthusiasm whenever he finished
to his satisfaction the staring blue
eyes and carmine cheeks of his
waxen beauties. He felt, Pygma-
lion like, able to fall in love with
them, could he but find the Pro-
methean secret — not, indeed, that
his thoughts ever took the classic
shape, for he had never heard of
the old Grecian fable ; these were
only the vague and undefined feel-
ings of his heart. True it is he

had little else to love, so that his
affections, being narrowed down to
the dolls, increased for them in the
ratio that it diminished for their
owner.

Yet there was one golden hour
in his leaden existence — the hour of
nine post meridian, when he was
dismissed to bed. Although be-
hind her back he sometimes made
faces at madame, and even went so
far as to set up an image of her for
the perverse pleasure of sticking
pins in it, he forgave all at bed-
time. After saying his prayers he
would, with all the ecstasy of which
his phlegmatic nature was capable,
jump into his straw pallet, bound
to solve an abstruse but agreeable
problem which had engaged his
thoughts nightly since his advent
in his new home — viz., What to do
with his first hundred guilders when
he had earned them? But he never
got much beyond the disposal of a
twentieth part of the sum. That
much he generously devoted to lit-
tle Hans ; but before he could de-
cide whether the latter should have
the skates, a miniature ship, a
new jacket, or unlimited ginger-
bread, or all of these good things
together, his fancies and finances
became entangled. Hans' face
shone with guilders; gingerbread
sailors, in blue jackets, floated se-
renely away in a big ship till quite
out of sight ; anon they trooped
rapidly past his entranced eyes,
now scurrying all together, now
slowly one by one ; then there was
a blank; again starting into view,
the last fleeting image swept softly
down the dim vista, fading — fading
— gone ! and he was a king in hap-
py oblivion.

Thus time passed tardily enough
with The Ferret, the all-absorbing
thought of his waking hours now
being how to escape.

552

How Steenwykerwold ivas Saved.

Among the customers of Mme.
Gemmel was one who had had several
business transactions with her. This
was a peripatetic showman, the de-
light of gaping children at country
fairs. His entertainment consisted of
music (mangled fragments of opera
airs on a weazened key-bugle) and
his wonderful and versatile pup-
pets. These latter, when they had
become too well known as hunters
and huzzars, he would transform
into knights and ladies, or Chinese
mandarins, as circumstances might
require or fancy suggest. The
transforming process was very sim-
ple ; it consisted merely of supply-
ing them with new costumes and
coats — of paint — at Mme. Gem-
mel 's.

This worthy was none other than
our friend Floog. Even such as
he have their place in art. They
are pioneers who lead to the base
of an aesthetic temple whose dome
is elevated in circling azure, sur-
rounded by golden stars.

In the practice of his art, The
Ferret it was on whom now de-
volved the duty of transforming
Floog's automatons and kindred
jobs. Whether owing to the satis-
faction he gave, or to the occult,
and often unaccountable, influences
governing our sympathies and an-
tipathies, certain it is that Floog
had taken a violent fancy to him,
and determined to entice him away
at the first opportunity. The show-
man's moral sensibilities were, as
has already been intimated, some-
what flexible, and yielded too rea-
dily, I am afraid, to the exigencies
of the situation.

Alas ! how rigid are the inexor-
able verities of history. I cannot
picture him as I would — not even
as a half-formed Bayard, who, if
not quite sans peur, might be at
least sans reproche ; but as I had no

hand in the formation of his charac-
ter, I am not the apologist of his
delinquencies. Did he recognize
the violation of a right in his con-
templated procedure? Oli ! no; he
placed his motive on a high moral
pedestal, triumphant, unassailable —
the interests of humanity, the wel-
fare of the boy. He never told us
how far his own welfare entered
into his calculations. He felt,
therefore, no scrupulous qualms as
to the rectitude of his determina-
tion. What puzzled him was the
how- Of that, however, he had no
notion. Indeed, his thoughts upon
the subject, so far from assuming a
practical shape, were ^rather the
pleasant emotions experienced in
the contemplation of a cherished
project, leaving out of sight the
means of its attainment, even the
possibility of its realization. A few
days previous to his appearance in
Steenwykerwold he left his puppets
to undergo the customary meta-
morphosis at Mme. Gemmel's, his
head full of the pleasing fancy
of securing The Ferret as a travel-
ling companion and assistant. Mure
than all this, he came to regard him
with a rapture akin to that of an
enamored lover for the mistress of
his heart.

The short winter day was closing
in misty and chill around Arnhem.
Away in the northwest the sun
was setting through yellowish fog
into the gray cold sea; the restless
wail of the wind was heard now and
again, presaging a storm. It was
about half-past four o'clock in the
afternoon of this same clay that
Floog, undaunted by the threaten-
ing aspect of the weather, and pen-
sively whistling his musical pro-
gramme by way of rehearsal, arriv-
ed at Mme. Gemmel's. He found,
upon inquiry, that his puppets were
not quite finished. Wouldn't he

How Steenwykerwold was Saved.

553

wait? She expected them ready
in a few minutes, and escorted
him to the workshop in the third
story, where they found The Ferret
as busily engaged as his chill nose,
his numb fingers, and the light of
t\vo tallow candles would allow.
His mistress, after an authoritative
command to her subordinate to
make haste and finish his work,
went down-stairs, leaving Floog to
direct the work as he might see fit.
The Ferret was shy by nature and
by reason of his forced seclusion,
and though the interruption discon-
certed him a good deal, he made
pretence of continuing labor with-
out appearing to notice his visitor,
whom he had several times seen,
but never spoken to. Floog, after
eyeing him a moment, asked if he
was cold. The answer, though not
quite courtly, was sufficiently ex-
plicit : " Yes, I am." "Why don't
you work down-stairs in the back
room, where 'tis warmer? " A frown
passed over the boy's face, but he
made no reply. " Here," said
Floog in a kindlier tone, and, tak-
ing from his pocket a handful of
lozenges, offered them to The Fer-
ret, who hesitated a moment, look-
ing at the donor, and then took
them with a "Thank you, sir." In
that moment the child's heart was
gained and a deep sympathy estab-
lished between the two, reciprocal,
self-satisfying.

Floog was no more a diplomat
than a hero ; for his next proposal
was illogical, and would have been
startling but for the peculiar cir-
cumstances that rendered it accep-
table. " Run away from Mme.
Gemmel and come with me," he
said. The Ferret did not hesitate
this time, but answered eagerly : " I
will; I hate Mme. Gemmel. Let
us go away now." This ready ac-
quiescence staggered Floog, who,

not being prepared for it, was at a
loss how to proceed. Gathering all
his faculties to meet the require-
ments of the crisis, he tried to de-
vise some means of escape for The
Ferret; but the more he pondered
the more undecided he became, till
at length, in sheer desperation, he
said: "When Mme. Gemmel
sends you home with the puppets
to-night we will go away together."
With that he hurried down-stairs,
paid for the puppets, asked Mme.
Gemmel if she would send them to
his lodging, stating that he would
want them for an exhibition early
the next day. This the obliging
lady promised to do, whereupon
Floog took his departure, his agi-
tated manner escaping the notice
of the doll-maker, who, although
she had the vision of a lynx for
money, to everything into which
money did not enter as a factor
was as blind as Cupid. Less than
two hours after The Ferret, Floog,
and the precious puppets were all
in the mail-coach, rattling along for
freedom and Steenwykerwold.

As not un frequently happens,
mere chance afforded a better op-
portunity than elaborately-concoct-
ed plans would have done ; for
when, by appointment, The Ferret
came, Floog precipitately, and with-
out taking time to think of their
destination, hurried with him to the
coach-yard, where he learned that
the night coach going north was
ready to start, and secured passage
for Steenwykerwold, whither Mme.
Gemmel would be little likely to
follow. So they arrived in the
manner already related, amid hail
and storm.

in.

After a storm comes a calm.
Who was it that enshrined that re-
mark in the sanctity of a proverb?

554

How Stecnwykerivold was Saved.

This is like saying that day conies
after night — a truism that most of
us will believe without the aid of
any proverbial philosophy. If the
calm comes not after the storm, a
person disposed to be critical might
ask, When does it come ? We will
leave the solution of this problem
to interpreters as profound as the
proverb-maker, and follow the for-
tunes of Floog and The Ferret.

Calm had succeeded storm as
they turned their backs to the hos-
telry of Mynheer Pilzer and bade
adieu to its professional hospitali-
ties. Not the listless calm of sum-
mer skies, of dreamy fields and
waters. Clear and cutting, the icy
air of morning quickened the nerves
and caused the blood in livelier
currents to tingle in the veins, so
that even the sluggish Ferret, winc-
ing, heightened his pace to a sturdy
trot to keep abreast of Floog. The
sun was up, burnishing the chimney-
pots and sharp gables of the tall,
bistre-colored houses, and convert-
ing into rare jewelry the fan-
tastic frost-wreaths that adorned
their eaves. Early as it was, the
Nieu Strasse was astir with pedes-
trians. The shop-windows, already
unshuttered, were decorated gaily
with ivy and palm. Unusual bustle
and activity were everywhere dis-
cernible; and why not? Was it
not Christmas Eve and fete-day at
Van der Meer Castle?

It was a beautiful and time-hon-
ored custom at Van der Meer Cas-
tle on every Christmas Eve to give
a party to all the children of the
neighborhood. Rich and poor, lofty
and lowly, all were welcome. But
although all were welcome, all did
not come. The children of the
rich, and those who had the means
of indulging in the season's festivi-
ties at home, mostly kept aloof, or
were made to keep aloof, lest they

should incur by implication a suspi-
cion of that fearful malady, poverty ;
for the light of nineteenth-century
civilization had penetrated the by-
ways of the world, and even Steen-
wykerwold had caught some of its
oblique rays — those that distort
instead of illuminating, by which
poverty is made to appear as the
sum of all social crime. Well, then,
the poor children for many years
had had the party and banquet all
to themselves, and such, in fact, was
the desire of their present enter-
tainer.

The proprietor of the place and
inheritor of its wealth and traditions
was Leopoldine Van der Meer, who
had been left an orphan in early
childhood. I saw her once, and
can never forget that sweet, serene
face; for it is ineffaceably stamped
on my memory. Although time
had then added another score of
years to her term of life, and sprin-
kled with silver the bands of dark-
brown hair smoothed on either
side of her placid forehead, still it
dealt gently with that gentle lady,
as if the old reaper had thrown
down his reluctant sickle, unwilling
to mark his passage by any tell-tale
furrow, but softly breathed on her
in passing, lulling her into a more
perfect repose. At the time when
the incidents I am relating took
place, however, she was young and
fresh and fair beyond expression.
Her features, clear and well defined,
possessed the delicate tracery and
perfection of outline that sculptors
dream of. Her air and carriage,
her every gesture, from the move-
ment of her shapely head to the
light footfall, all queenly yet unaf-
fected, might have inspired the
genius of Buonarotti when he
painted his wonderful Sibyls, while
the gentle, half-shy, liquid gray
eyes, tenderly glancing from behind

Hoiv Steenwykerivold ?L>CIS Saved.

555

their silken-fringed lids, would have
graced the canvas of Murillo.

These external graces were but
tokens of a kindly heart and true
soul — a nature that imparted a
breath of its own sweet essence to
all who came within the charmed
sphere of its influence. The festi-
val looked forward to with such
ardent longings by the young ones
was now near at hand. It was
Christmas Eve.

The festival was held in the spa-
cious banqueting-hall of the castle —
an oblong apartment, across the
upper end of which extended a
gallery for musicians, reached by a
balustraded stairway on either side.
The walls were gracefully festoon-
ed with wreaths of bright ever-
greens1 gemmed with haws and scar-
let berries. In the centre stood a
large table, upon which was placed
a gigantic Christmas tree, spark-
ling with a thousand colored crys-
tals and loaded with every variety
of toy.

Floog, who was acquainted with
the annual custom, desirous of re-
compensing his youthful friend,
made haste to conduct him thither.
The Ferret needed neither intro-
duction nor credential, his age and
appearance being sufficient pass-
ports. He was kindly welcomed
and ushered in. The grand hall,
beaming with lustrous lamps and
adorned with varied decorations,
dazzled his eyes. The splendor,
the music, and the toys nearly over-
powered him, and he stood as if
fixed in a trance, so like a brilliant
dream did it all seem, which a stir,
a breath might dispel. Gradually
recovering his dazed faculties, he
began to revel in the thrilling sense
of its reality — yes, real for himself
as well as for the rest.

When the children were all as-
sembled they were marshalled into

ranks two deep, the girls first, and
marched twice round the room,
singing. It was a simple Christ-
mas carol, the refrain familiar to
most of them ; for it had been sung
on similar occasions by similar
choirs from time immemorial, and
is, I hope, sung there yet :

" Christmas time at Van der Meer,
Love, and mirth, and pleasant cheer ;
Happy hearts from year to year
iJail each coming Christmas.''

If any misgivings had crept into
their minds that they were to un-
dergo the trying ordeal of a regu-
lar school drill for the delectation
of patronizing visitors, their appre-
hensions were soon quieted. With
the song ended all the formality.
They appreciated their freedom,
made the most of it, and abandon-
ed themselves to unrestrained fun
in uproarious hilarity. The Ferret
caught the infection. Though not
quite recovered from the fatigue of
the last twenty-four hours, he for-
got it, forgot his little cares, forgot
his solitude, forgot all in the blessed
dissipation of the hour. Unfortu-
nately, he outdid himself.

Floog had meanwhile betaken
himself to the nearest tavern, in-
tending to come for his little friend
when the festivities were over.
He did not retire to bed, but paid
for a lodging on a settee in the tap-
room. In a few minutes he was
sound asleep. How long he slept
he did not know, but some time
during the night he awoke with a.
sudden start. A bell was pealing
wildly in the still night air. A
man partially dressed, his heavy
shoes in his hand, dashed past and
out into the street. Immediately
there was commotion, and the sound
of voices was heard in loud and ea-
ger discussion. "In another moment
the tap-room was full of men.
Floog hurriedly arose, and, joining

556

How Stecnivykcrwold was Saved.

the excited group, they all went
out. When they came to the tri-
angular opening formed by the
confluence of three streets — The
Square, as it was rather inappro-
priately called — they were met by a
crowd of men and women as anx-
ious and excited as themselves,
and all evidently at a loss what
to do or whither to proceed.

Louder and more clamorous the
bell rang out its portentous notes;
fitfully and frantically it rang in
the ears of the now aroused popu-
lace. All at once it would stop
suddenly, but for a moment only,
as if pausing to take breath and
gather fresh strength ; then it would
recommence wilder than before,
producing an effect weird and ter-
rifying. It was the old alarm-bell
at Van der Meer Castle.

This bell was very ancient, and
it hung in a tower behind the cas-
tle, connected with it by an arched
causeway. It was placed there in
feudal times to call together the
vassals and adherents of the place
in cases of raid or invasion, if for
no worthier purpose ; and in later
times a superstition attached to it
that its reawakening portended
some calamity, the nature of which,
not being specifically stated, was
left to conjecture, and gave scope
to the prognostications of the wise-
acres. Yes, these would say,
with the self-complacent air of ora-
cles, when the bell rings it will
ring the death-knell of our liber-
ties, and Holland will pass to an
alien race. This was the interpre-
tation generally received and ac-
credited by those who had faith in
the tradition — a goodly number,
which included almost all the old
inhabitants. On the other hand,
many among the junior members
of the community ridiculed the
whole thing, scoffed at the prophet-

ic legend as an old woman's tale,
and, spurred perhaps by what they
termed the foolish credulity of the
elders, who professed an abiding
belief in it, they rushed to the op-
posite extreme, even to the extent
of doubting, at least of denying,
the very existence of the bell. At
any rate it had long ago fallen into
disuse, and those who heard it now
heard it for the first time.

In the market square this old
civic story was anxiously revived
and earnestly discussed, while the
ominous import of the ringing was
speculated upon with troublous
forebodings, even by the sceptical,
and its inharmonious clangor add-
ed tenfold significance to its his-
tory. In the midst of the tumult
the crowd swayed with a sudden
movement, and presently began to
waver and divide, as a stalwart
form appeared, forcing a passage,
and shouting with a persuasive
vigor heard above the din : " To
the dike! to the dike!" It was
Peter Artveldt, the ship-carpenter.
His words and example had the
effect of an electric shock on the
panic-stricken multitude. Shaking
off their stupor, they followed him
through the town, echoing his cry,
"To the dike! to the dike!" and,
gathering strength as they proceed-
ed, soon reached the dike, half a
mile beyond the northern limit of
the town.

Imagination had diverted their
fears, not allayed them ; and, sin-
gular as it seems, no one thought
of the dike until the voice of the
ship-carpenter like a thunder-clap
sounded a warning of the real dan-
ger. Up to that moment the dike
was to them, as it had been for
generations, the firm and effective
bulwark of the land.

Their worst fears were realized.
The water was flowing through sev-

How Stecnivykcrii'old was Saved.

557

eral fissures in the dike, noiselessly
stealing in upon the land, until it
had flooded the ground up to the
cemetery palings. This was not all
nor the worst. A hasty survey dis-
closed the appalling fact that at
one point the force of the storm
had sapped the foundation ; some of
its stones, having been displaced,
were lying loose in the soft sand and
ooze. An instant revealed their
peril and the imminence of the
danger ; had they been but half an
hour later nothing could have
averted their fate — Steenwykerwold
would have been as effectually and
irretrievably swallowed up by water
as old Herculaneum was by fire,
and sadder the story of its chroni-
clers.

However, it was not a time for
reflection, but for action. With
such implements as in their haste
they had been able to provide
themselves after the real nature of
the danger became known, they set
to work with a will, aided by the
invigorating example of Artveldt,
who with heroic energy put forth
his strenuous powers and directed
all their movements. In less than
ten minutes they had felled four or
five of the cemetery trees ; breaking
through the gate, they dragged these
to the dike, making an effective
temporary barrier to the advance
of the cruel waters. Yet to guard
against a possible recurrence of
danger from a renewal of the storm
or any untoward accident, until the
damage should be permanently re-
paired, an organized force was ap-
pointed, divided into squads of
eight, whose duty it was to watch
constantly, relieving each other
every six hours. These precau-
tions completed, the multitude, in
the delirious joy of their deliver-
ance, grew wild with delight and
manifested symptoms of frantic

disorder. Here again the ascend-
ent spirit of Artveldt made itself
felt. "Brothers," said he, "we
have finished a brave night's work ;
let us not undo it by making fools
of ourselves. No ; we will go
peaceably to our homes, ;md a
grateful country will say: 'They
were as orderly in the hour of tri-
umph as they were brave in the
hour of peril.' Posterity will keep
sacred your memory and look back
with grateful eyes to this day, and
every future Christmas will be hap-
pier for your deed."

After this speech they were
ready and willing to obey him. He
now ranged the men in line of march,
requesting them not to break rank
until they reached Van der Meer
Castle, where it was agreed they
should disperse ; then, with a long,
full cheer, they returned triumph-
antly through the town, and Steen-
ivykerwold was saved.

After having been hospitably en-
tertained at the castle, and thank-
ing Lady Leopoldine for the timely
warning whereby the threatened
disaster was averted, they gave a
parting salute — three hearty cheers
— and then, as agreed upon, quietly
dispersed.

At that very time there was com-
motion within the castle. The
eventful night was yet to be made
memorable by another incident, as
yet known only to its inmates, hav-
ing been wisely withheld from the
knowledge of the men who stem-
med the fateful waters.

The ringing had some time ceas-
ed. Now, every one supposed that
Lady Leopoldine had caused the
bell to be rung, knowing or divin-
ing their danger; but such, in fact,
was not the case. She no more
than the rest mistrusted the safety
of the dike. You may imagiiif,
then, her terror when first she heard

553

How Stct)iicykcrii<old ivas Saved.

the appalling sound. Like a sum-
mons from the grave it smote her
ear. Was it a summons from the
grave ? At first she could scarce
refrain from thinking that it was,
so strange and startling on the
pulseless air of night fell the unfa-
miliar peal. Again she believed
herself the victim of some wild hal-
lucination. She rose at once and
summoned the servants.

It was no illusion — they had all
heard it ; they could not choose
but hear, and it was while listen-
ing in agonizing suspense that the
summons of their mistress reached
them. It was obeyed with more
than customary alacrity. They all
rushed pellmell into the hall. Lady
Leopoldine instantly dismissed her
own fears and allayed theirs, and
caused a vigorous search to be
made.

The astonishment and alarm of
the household will perhaps be more
readily understood when it is re-
membered that the bell was entire-
ly inaccessible. The tower was
about sixty-five feet high, of some-
what rude construction. Walls of
large, rough stones to an altitude
of sixteen feet formed the base.
Inside of these walls heavy oaken
buttresses were placed, which had
the appearance of strengthening
them, but which in reality formed
the support of the bell suspended
above and hidden in a curious
network of trellised beams. No
appliances for reaching it were
visible ; and how it got there was
a mystery. Indeed, the ringing of
the bell on that night, as well as
the bell itself and all its appurten-
ances, were regarded as very mys-
terious ; and we may well excuse
the simple-minded people, not yet
imbued with modern materialism,
if they conceived the whole affair to
be the work of superhuman agency.

Xo one had entered the cause-
way from the house, it was evident ;
no trace of disturbance could any-
where be discovered. Two of the
men, the coachman and his assist-
ant, braver than the rest, volun-
teered to go into the passage and
thoroughly examine the premises.
Providing themselves with lanterns,
they went round to the old door in
the rear of the tower. One glance
convinced them that no one had
recently gone in that way. The
bolts were firm in the sockets,
wedged tight by the rust of a cen-
tury. With much exertion they
were forced back, the door was
unfastened, and the men entered-
The damp, chill air caused them to
shudder, and their first impulse was
to beat a precipitate retreat. Paus-
ing in doubtful perplexity of their
next movement, afraid to advance,
and ashamed to go back, they stood
near the door, which they had con-
siderately left ajar, fearing, yet hop-
ing for some perceptible excuse to
run. None came. The silence
was broken only by the flutter of
some startled bats aloft ; the dingy
walls alone met their scrutinizing
gaze as they peered cautiously
around, the glare of the lanterns
shooting sharply-defined rays of
yellowish gray light through the
humid gloom. The first feeling of
nervous trepidation past, reason
asserted itself; they grew accus-
tomed to the gloom and began to
explore the passage deliberate-
ly and carefully. After having
traversed it the entire length with-
out making any discovery, they
were about to retrace their steps
when their attention was arrested
by some fragments of mortar or
plaster lying loosely on the flagged
pavement about four feet from the
further end next the house. These
had the appearance of having re-

How Stccmvvkcru'old was Saved.

cently fallen from the wall. Here
was a probable clue. With renew-
ed interest they now proceeded to
examine the wall, and were reward-
ed by finding a small door, level
with its surface and nearly conceal-
ed by a thin coating of plaster.
On forcing it open they were sur-
prised to find another passage, par-
allel with the main one, but so nar-
row as to admit of entrance only
by single file. Another door, as se-
cret as the first, opened from this
narrow passage into a sort of re-
cess behind the stairway, which, it
will be remembered, led to the gal-
lery in the banqueting-hall. The
recess was known to the occupants
of the castle, but never used by
^hem. Its original purpose may
have been a subject of momentary
conjecture, but they did not trou-
ble themselves much about it, be-
ing content, if they thought of it at
all, to consider it an eccentricity
of some former proprietor. Least
of all did they dream of its com-
munication with a hidden passage
to the bell-tower. Following the
passage back to the other end, their
surprise was greatly augmented by
the further discovery that, instead
of opening into the main enclosure,

like the large passage, as they na-
turally expected, it terminated in a
sort of square sentry-box, enclosed
at all sides except thetop — in reali-
ty a large wooden shaft. It was
no other than what appeared from
without to be a combination of four
solid beams. In it hung the bell-
rope. At the bottom lay the bell-
ringer, The Ferret, exhausted and
insensible.

They carried him out into the
hall. The mistress of the mansion
sent at once for a physician, and,
gently lifting his head, with deli-
cate hand she chafed the poor pale
brow and applied restoratives.
Soon the doctor came, but his ser-
vices were not needed.

Another morning dawned. Again
the slanting daybeams pierced the
misty levels. The vapor of earth,
as it felt the ray, was dissolved into
purest ether, and, restoring to earth
its grosser particles, ascended calm-
ly to its native sky. Thus, too,
The Ferret's Christmas carol, begun
on earth, was finished in heaven,
and another voice on that happy
Christmas morning was added to
the celestial choir singing, " Glory
to God on high, and on earth peace
to men of good will."

5 Co

The Year of Our Lord iS//.

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1877.

THERE is little beyond the Russo-
Turkish war that will mark this year
apart from others in the annals of uni-
versal history. Questions, national and
international, that we have touched upon
time and again come up now unsettled
as ever. It is tedious and profitless to
go over well-trodden ground ; to repeat
reflections that have already been repeat-
ed ; and to attempt a solution of prob-
lems, social, political, and religious, that
are still working themselves out. We
purpose, therefore, in the present review
to follow up a few of the broad lines that
have marked the year and given to it
something of an individual and special
character. If these are very few, perhaps
it is the better for mankind. The more
nations are occupied with their own af-
fairs the better it is for the world at
large.

To begin with ourselves. We had a
very vexed and very delicate problem to
solve — no less than to determine, on
the turn of a single disputed electoral
vote, who was to be our President. The
circumstances that created this difficulty
were dealt with in our last year's review ;
they are in the recollection of our readers.
On the casting of a single disputed vote
lay the election to the Presidency of the
United States. Such a contingency, ac-
companied as it was by peculiarly aggra-
vating circumstances, had never before
arisen in the history of this country. The
wisest were in doubt what to do ; the coun-
try was in a fever of expectation. The
republic was on trial in itself and before
the world. The written lines of the Con-
stitution were found inadequate to
meet so unlooked-for and peculiar a
matter. It was not the mere fact of one
disputed vote that was to turn the scale.
There were many disputed votes, which
rested with States whose administration
was not above suspicion. Only in the
event of all of these turning in favor of
one of the candidates could the Presiden-
cy be awarded to him. Any one of them
going to his opponent — who, as far as the
votes of the people went, had a decid-
ed and unmistakable majority — would
have settled the question at once.
There was room and occasion for grave

doubt on both sides. By mutual agree-
ment of the representatives of the two
parties that divide the country, a nation-
al court of arbitration, supposed to be,
and doubtless with reason, above sus-
picion, was appointed to inquire into
and decide upon the electoral returns.
The court was chosen from both par-
ties. It so turned out that a preponde-
rating vote lay with one party. It might
have rested with the other. It was a
matter of accident ; and it is to be hoped
that, if not exactly a matter of accident,
it was a matter of honesty that divided
the court on each moot point into strict
party lines, with, as final result, an award
of the Presidency to Mr. Hayes, the Re-
publican candidate. There the mattft"
rested. The court had discharged il-
self of the very delicate task imposed
upon it, and there was nothing left the
country and the rival parties to do but
accept a decision of its own creation,
which might have gone the other way,
but did not. It was the shortest way,
perhaps, out of an immediate and p:e ;s-
ing difficulty. It was none the less a
strain on the Constitution and on the
conscience of the people — a strain that
could not well be stood a^ain. The re-
public cannot afford to hand this settle-
ment down to posterity as a lawful and
satisfactory precedent. The right way
in which to regard it is as one of those
unforeseen accidents that occur in the
history of all peoples, that adjust them-
selves somehow for the time being, and
that stand as a warning rather than a
guide to future conduct.

The country honestly and wisely ac-
cepted the decision. Of course ihere
were sore feelings ; there would have
been sore feelings in any case ; yet men
breathed freely when what was a real, a
painful, and a dangerous crisis was
over. There are men — sensible and pa-
triotic men: too, as well as a vast multi-
tude neither patriotic nor sensible — who
are ever ready to despair of the republic
when events do not turn out exactly as
they had predicted or desired. Let them
take comfort. The republic is not yet
dead ; and it seems to us very far from
dying. In other days, and perhaps in

TJic Year of Our Lord 1877.

561

other peoples to-day who enjoy the privi-
lege of a monarchical government, such
a question would have resulted in a war
of dynasties. The dynasty of Mr. Hayes
or of Mr. Tildcn troubles us but little.
The disaffected ma}' bide their time. They
still hold their votes, and it is for them
to see that they are not robbed of them.
Mr. Hayes has taken to heart the lesson
of the last elections, which pronounced
not so much against a party as against
the administration of his predecessor.
The present administration has thus far,
in the main, contrasted well with that
which went before it. The President
seems to be a man of right impulses
and feeling and possessed of a good
judgment. He has discarded many
embarrassing associates and evil allies —
political parasites who battened on the
life-blood of the state. If his moral
vision is only broad enough to see that
he is the President not of a party, but of
a great people, with varied wants and
some sore troubles and internal difficul-
ties that need very cautious and delicate
adjusting; if he honestly and persist-
ently aims at doing right, the people, re-
gardless of party, will be with him and
support him. Thus far he has manifest-
ly striven to do well. His beginning
has been good. Trials will doubtless
come. He has already shown himself
too good for many influential men in the
party that voted for him. If he only con-
tinues to disregard and brave all petti-
ness, he can safely turn from partisans
to the people, and the people know how
to judge and value honesty— a quality
that it was coming to be thought had
almost died out of politics.

There have been some indications of
a revival of business ; but such a revival,
to be sure and general, must be slow.
Our people have not yet recovered from
the demoralizing effect of the rush
of good-fortune which they so foolishly
squandered. They look for miracles in
finance and business,for a revival in aday.
This cannot well come. The way for
general prosperity, and that even of
very moderate dimensions, must be pav-
ed by a return to general honesty in
commercial dealings and in private life.
Public honesty can alone restore public
confidence, and public honesty is a mat-
ter of growth, education, and the appre-
hension and following of right principles.
It can only come from faith in God and
;i sense of personal responsibility to
VOL. XXVI. — 36

God, as true faith in man can only come
from true faith in God. The religion
that constantly impresses this upon
men's minds is the religion that will pre-
serve and save from all dangers not this
republic only but every government.
These feelings, penetrating the hearts of
the people, will best solve the vexed ques-
tions between labor and capital, between
black and white and red and yellow.
For a right sense of personal responsi-
bility to God necessarily involves a right
sense of personal responsibility to one
another, of the duties we owe to society,
of the duties we owe to the state. This
country of all others is open to the free
workings of religion. Indeed, it is as
open to the devil as to God ; and if the
devil, according to some, seems to get
the best of the battle, it can only be be-
cause "the children of darkness are
wiser in their generation than the chil-
dren of light"; because Christians are
not really and wholly true to Christ, and
by their lives do not show forth the faith
that is in them.

THE RUSSO-TURKISH WAR.

In Europe the event of the year that
calls for most attention is the war be-
tween Russia and Turkey. On this sub-
ject we can say little or nothing proba-
bly that will not have already suggested
itself to others. All have watched the
progress of the painful struggle from day
to day; have formed their own conclusions
as to the manner in which it has been
carried on on both sides ; as to the ne-
cessity of such a war having taken place
at all ; as to its probable results to both
parties and to Europe at large.

At the time of our last review war be-
tween Russia and Turkey was thought
imminent. We then wrote — and we may
be pardoned for quoting our own words,
as some of them, at least, seem to us to
apply equally well to the present situa-
tion— as follows :

" If we may hazard an opinion, we
believe that there will be no war, at
least this winter. As for the alarm at
the anticipated occupation of Constanti-
nople by Russia, while — if the Russian •
Empire be not dissolved before the close
of the present century by one of the
most terrific social and political con-
vulsions that has ever yet come to pass —
that occupation seems to lie very much
within the order of possibilities, we

562

TItc Ycc.r of Oar Lord 18;;.

doubt much whether it will occur so
soon as people think. ... It would
seem to us difficult for Russia to occupy
Constantinople without first mastering
and garrisoning Turkey, and Turkey is
an empire of many millions, whom fa-
naticism can still rouse to something
like heroic, as well as to the most cruel
and repulsive deeds."

Those words seem to us to have fore-
cast fairly enough the general aspects
of the war. The war was declared be-
cause Russia burned to go to war — Rus-
sia, or the Russian administration. The
invasion of Turkey by Russia was not a
thing of the past year. It was foreor-
dained. It was dreaded from the close
of the war in the Crimea. The only
question with the other powers was how
long or by what means could it be staved
off. That Russia would invade Turkey
as soon as she thought she could do so
without much danger of outward inter-
ference and with good prospects of suc-
cess was probably a fixed thought in the
minds of all men who chose to give a
thought to the matter. For almost a
quarter of a century has Russia been
girding herself for a fight that had be-
come an essential part of her national
policy. Within that period, under the
wise guidance of Prince Gortschakoff,
she has more than repaired the terrible

ilosses sustained in the Crimean war.

.She grew stealthily up to a power and a
status unexampled in her history. She
guarded her finances, lived within her

.means, prospered, refused steadily to
enter into any embarrassing European
complications. She saw the European

.alliance that had crushed her in 1854
hopelessly dissolve, and a new and
friendly power rise up and take the lead
in European affairs. As a military power
she was looked upon as having only one
superior, or rival perhaps, in the world,

. and that her friendly neighbor. So strong
was she, and so singularly had every

• change in European politics told in her

, favor, that when her opportunity came,
with a word, a beck, a stroke of her

.chancellor's pen, she snapped asunder

.the iron gyves forged for her and laid on
her by a united Europe, and no power
dared whisper a protest. All the world
saw whither she was drifting. She was
drifting to the sea, stretching out her
giant arms to clasp for ever those golden
shores that she claimed as hers by desti-
ny. The hour of destiny struck at last.

The strifes of exhausted nations and
the jealousies of others left her alone to
deal with the power that held those
shores and that to Russia was an heredi-
tary foe. She proceeded cautiously to
the last. She did all things with becom-
ing decorum. She invited the nations
to a conference, held in the Turkish
capital, to determine once for all what
was to be done with the Turk, while she
mobilized her armies in order to give ef-
fect to her peaceful protest.

What the conference of European di-
plomatists did, or rather did not do, is
now matter of picturesque history.
" Death before dishonor !" was the ulti-
matum of the Turk. " Death, then, be
it," said Russia, and the new " crusade"
began.

It has been a sad •' crusade " for both
parties, a disastrous one for Russia and
the Romanoffs, even though there can
be little doubt as to the final victory of
Russia. What we may call the great
Russian illusion has been dispelled by
this war. It was speedily discovered
that the feet of the giant who was run-
ning so swiftly and surely to the goal of
his ambition were of clay. Why, vic-
tory invited him, danced before him,
strewed flowers in his path. It was a
very race with fortune. To a great mili-
tary power half the battle was won be
fore a single engagement worthy of the
name had been fought. But it has stop-
ped at that half. Russia is still knock-
ing at the gates of Plevna, and even when
Plevna is opened, as it will be probably
soon, the inglorious victory will have
been so dearly won that Russia herself
may, with too much reason, be anxious
for the peace which she wantonly broke.

Fortune was too good to Russia at
the opening of the war. Her smiles
begat an overweening confidence. The
destruction of a stubborn and warlike
race was looked upon as a thing of a
few months, as a game of war. Reverses
came fast and thick — reverses that were-
invited. Comparative handfuls of splen-
did soldiers were sent to destroy armies
entrenched in natural fortresses. Then
leaked out a fatal secret. Russia had
everything but generals and competent
military officers, or, if she had them, they
were not with her armies, or were not
allowed to take the lead. The dress pa-
rade to Constantinople was speedily
and effectually checked, and Russia is
to all intents and purposes as far from

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

that city to-day as she was in the sum-
mer.

The details of the campaigns must be
looked for elsewhere. We can here
only look at results. There are two or
three reflections regarding the war itself
which seem to us worthy of attention as
affecting other interests than those im-
mediately engaged in the contest.

In the first place, the fact of the war
having been declared at all showed the
powerlessness of Europe to shape or
deal with grave questions of interna-
tional interest when any one strong
power chooses not to be advised, coerc-
ed, or led. This practically places the
peace of Europe in the hands of any
power. For instance, there is no means
of preventing Germany from declaring
war against France to-morrow, should the
German government so will. Early in
the year, and at the invitation of Russia,
the leading European powers sent their
representatives to Constantinople to
prevent, if possible, the outbreak of this
war. These were doubtless experienced
diplomatists. There is no reason to
doubt that all of them — save, perhaps,
tlie Russian representative, General
Ignatieff — wished honestly and strove
by every means in their power to prevent,
or at least stave off, the war. They failed,
because it was meant by the strongest
there that they should fail. The only argu-
ment to sway Europe to-day is the sword.

Thus the representatives of united
Europe, backed by all the vast resources
of their empires, could do nothing to
prevent a war which at the outset look-
ed as though it incurred the gravest con-
sequences to Europe ; and it may incur
them still. Why was this? Simply be-
cause there is no such thing as a united
Europe. The family and comity of
European nations was, as we pointed
out last year in dealing with this very
subject, broken up by the Protestant
Reformation. The catholicity of nations,
which in the order of events would have
become an accomplished and saving
fact, from that date yielded to selfish and
narrow nationalities which made a sepa-
rate world of each people, bounded by
their own domain. But humanity is
greater than nationality, and the world
wider than a kingdom — a tiuth that will
never be felt until one religion plants
again in the leading nations of the world
the great unity of heart and soul that
God alone can give.

As for Russia, however, the tide of
events may turn ; she has lost more than
she will probably gain even by victory.
Not in men and money and material
alone has she lost, but in morale and
prestige. The czar may return in tri-
umph to St. Petersburg, but his victori-
ous ranks will show a grim and ominous
gap of something like a hundred thou-
sand of his bravest men, lost in less
than a year against a foe whom Russia
despised, and thousands of whom were
sacrificed to incapacity. A careful esti-
mate made in September last set the
daily cost of the Russian army at about
$750,000. That figure must have since
increased ; but take it as an average,
and spread it over eight months, and we
have the enormous sum of $184,500,000
as the cost of the campaign from May to
December. Loans must be raised to
meet such expenditure, and loans are
only obtained at high interest.

Victories bought at such prices are
dear indeed. Taking the Russian vic-
tory for granted it is likely after all to
prove a barren one. The Turk is an
impracticable foe, and, though the signs
of his exhaustion are multiplying, he has
made such a fight as. by force of arms at
least, to vindicate his title to national ex-
istence. Indeed, his terms are apt to go
up instead of down. Loss of money is
nothing to him, for he has none to lose.
His empire was bankrupt before the war.
For trade or commerce he cares little.
His life is easy and simple. He cares
for little more than enough to eat, and
a little of that seems to satisfy him. His
fatalism robs life of the charm it has for
other men. He would as lief die fighting
as not, and he would sooner fight the Rus-
sian than any other foe. You cannot
reason with men of this kind. They see
one thing: that single-handed they made
a very good fight against a most power-
ful antagonist; that they have hurt him
badh', even if they have been worsted.
The whole struggle can only be likened
to an attack by a giant on a poor little
wretch who was thought to be hall-dead.
If it takes the g:ant six months to thrash
such an antagonist ; and if during the
fight the giant gets something very like
a sound thrashing himself from his
puny foe ; and if, when both are pretty
well exhausted, he succeeds in throttling
the pugnacious little chap at list, the
verdict of the world will be that there is
something the matter with the giant, and

564

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

the self esteem of the little fellow will
rise proportionately.

Of course it is idle to speculate on the
end. Russia has lost so heavily that she
may insist upon very tangible fruits of
victory. On the other hand, the war has
been such a butchery that humanity cries
out against it, and the European pow-
ers will undoubtedly strive at the first
opportunity to make a more effectual
appeal than before to both the combat-
ants. Peace rests on this : How much
will Russia ask ? How much will Tur-
key concede? How much will the jea-
lousies of other powers allow Russia to
tike? — questions all of them that are
sure to be asked, but which we confess
our inability to answer.

FRANCE.

The armed struggle in the East has
scarcely attracted more universal atten-
tion than the civil struggle in France.
France is trying to solve problems that
touch her very life, and they are prob-
lems in which all men have a personal
interest. The French questions are emi-
nently questions of the day and of the
age. The struggle going on there is
one between the elements of society.
MacMahon, Gambetta, " Henri Cinq,"
"Napoleon Quatre " — these are but
names. The fight is not on them and
their personal merits or demerits. It is
at bottom between the men who find the
" be-all and the end-all here " in this
world,* and the men who believe that
there is a God who made this world for
his own purposes, who is to be obeyed,
loved, and served, and according to
whose law human society must conform
itself, if it would fulfil the end for which
it was created, have happiness in this
world, and eternal happiness in the
next.

The first class is not restricted to the
men and women who figured in the
Commune. These only compose its rank
and file, and their sin is less, for multi-
tudes of them sin through ignorance. It
embraces also the men of the new sci-
ence, the professors in the atheistic
universities ; statesmen of the Falk and
Lasker type ; preachers of the Gospel as
expounded by Dean Stanley ; philoso-
phers and scientists, like Darwin or Her-
bert Spencer, like Huxley and Tyndall,
like, descending a grade, Professor Fisk
or Youmans ; women like some we know

here aJ home, who tread the platform
with so masculine a stride ; the men of
"progress" such as Brigham Young
was, such as, in a more intellectual sense,
John Stuart Mill was, such as " tribunes
of the people" like Charles Bradlaugh,
or his friend M. Gambetta, or Garibaldi,
are ; poets like Victor Hugo or Algernon
Swinburne. The men who have the
teaching power in the secularized and
secular universities of the day, who
shape a purely secular education, who
edit too many of our leading newspapers,
who preach atheism or blasphemy from
pulpits supposed to be consecrated to
the service of Christ, are equally mem-
bers of this party with the outcasts of
society and the avowed conspirators
against order. This it was that gave its
significance to the late French elections ;
that induced men to study so cartfully
the name, character, antecedents, and
political color of each man elected ; that
caused to be telegraphed on the very
da\' of the elections the long files of the
deputies to England, to Germany, to
Austria, to Italy, even to these distant
shores. Why, such a fact as that last
mentiqned is unexampled. For the time
being the world centred in France.

This is a dangerous pre-eminence for
France. The country is for ever in a
fever. It is in a constant state of crisis.
Ministry after ministry is tried, found
wanting, and thrown aside. The truth
is the parties cannot coalesce. There is
a barrier between them that it seems
cannot be overthrown. The elections
decided nothing. They left the country
and parties in much the same condition
as before. As a matter of fact the con-
versatives, if any, gained, but the gain
was too small to indicate the will of the
country. We doubt if the country has a
will beyond the desire to be at peace,
which the contentions of its own parties
alone threaten. M. Gambetta, the lead-
er of the radicals, is for ever clamoring
for a republic. Well, he has a republic ;
why not make the most of it? He has
certainly as good a republic as he could
make. The difficulty with him is that
the republic which he wishes to lead
must be founded on the negation of
Christianity. In France the dividing
lines between creeds are very clearly
drawn. Protestantism counts for no-
thing there, and the little that there was
of it has gone to pieces. Gambetta's
betc-noit is "clericalism" — i.e., Catholi-

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

505

city. He would abolish the Catholic
Church, not merely as an adjunct of the
state but altogether. No Catholicity
must be taught in the schools ; that is a
vital principle with him. The pope
must have nothing to say to Catholics in
France. The clergy must receive no
pav, scanty as it is, from the state. No
such thing as a free Catholic university
is to be tolerated. The children of
France are to be brought up and edu-
cated free-thinkers, and be made to
turn out true Gambeitists. In a word,
the foundation of M. Gambetta's scheme
for the regeneration of France is to abol-
ish the Christian religion there. Irreli-
gion is to be the corner-stone of his re-
public.

This is a pleasing prospect for French
Catholics, and it may be necessary to re-
mind our able editors who denounce
"clericalism" so lustily, and see no
hope for France but in the republic of
M. Gambetta, that there are still Cath-
olics in France ; that the bulk of the
nation is Catholic. It is a pleasing
prospect, we say, for them to contem-
plate the suppression of their religion
at the word of M. Gambetta. Is it very
surprising that the oracle of the new re-
public should only bring hatred on the
very name of republic to men who can
see in it, as expounded by its oracle, no-
thing but the most odious tyranny ? It
was John Lemoinne, if we remember
rightly, who in the anti-Christian Jour-
nal des Debats said, on the retirement of
Mr. Gladstone from office, that religion
lay at the bottom of all the great ques-
tions that move the world. If that be so,
and it is so, why not recognize the fact ?
Must the French republic which M.
Gambetta advocates and our republican
editors on this side advocate be first
and above all an irreligious despotism?
Must it begin with religious persecution ?
M. Gambetta says that it must.

We are not accusing him wrongful-
ly. His own words express his mean-
ing plainly enough. It must be borne
in mind that the epithet "clericalism,"
in the mouths of French radicals, means
Catholicity. Every French Catholic
who believes in and practises his reli-
gion is a "clerical "; so every Catholic
who believes and does the same all the
world over is, in the mouths of anti-Ca-
tholics an " ultramontane." If there is
one lurid page in all history that scars
the eyes of humane and sensible men, it

is that of the French Revolution — the
most awful revolt, save its offspring, the
Commune, against all order, human and
divine, that the world has witnessed.
Yet "the French Revolution," and none
other, is M. Gambetta's orijlannn,-.

Just on the eve of the elections he
addressed an immense meeting at the
Cir.jne Am'ricain in Paris. "Amongst
those present," says the correspondent
of the London Daily Telegraph, "I ob-
served the most prominent members of
the various groups of the Left When
the great orator of the evening (M. Gam-
betta) appeared, he was received with a
shout of welcome, renewed and contin-
ued for several minutes. There were only
two cries issued from every lip : ' Vive
la Republique /' and ' Vive Gambetta /'
. . . On the latter rising to speak he
was received with another storm of
cheers."

Well, and what had he to say to
this enthusiastic assembly and to the
leading deputies of the Left ? We can
only tind space for a few sentences,
though the whole speech is instructive,
as giving the character and aims of the
man :

" What is at stake ?" he asked. " The
question is the existence of universal
suffrage and of the French Revolution
(Loud cheers). That is the question."
This declaration, which was so uproari-
ously cheered, needs no comment. He
made a little prophecy, that was unfortu-
nate for him, regarding the returns of
the elections. The prophecy turned out
to be false, even though M. Gambetta
assured his friends by saying: '• I should
not risk my credit with you five days
before the event on a rash statement."
''The country will say," he thundered
on, " at the forthcoming elections that
she wants the republic administered by
republicans, and not by those who obey
the voice of the Vatican." He appealed
to the example of this country, where he
said, with brilliant vagueness, " law has
taken the place of personal vanity, and
conscience that of intrigue." We ac-
cept the example. There are millions
of good enough republicans in this coun-
try who certainly ' obey the voice of the
Vatican " as faithfully as any " clerical "
in all France, and who find that voice
agreeing admirably with the r republi-
canism. Indeed, that same voice has re-
cently, with justice and openly, proclaim-
ed that in the republic the Pope is

;66

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

more Pope than in any other country ;
and we have yet to le;irn that the repub-
lic has suffered any hurt from that de-
claration.

'•There is no principle," said M. Gam-
betta, " that binds together the three
parties which are now opposed to us,
and the nation will do justice to their
monstrous alliance. There is but one
binding force, and that is called cleri-
calism. Those parties wanted a word
of order to rally a formidable army
against us; they found it in Jesuitism."
And he closed his speech by saying :

" I feel that what Europe fears most is
that France should again fall into the
hands of the Ultramontane agents. I
fear that the universal suffrage may not
take su/Ecient account of surprise and
intimidation. We must look this ques-
tion in the face, and be able to say to
Europe, pointing to clericalism, Behold
the vanquished !"

As we said, M. Gambetta made a little
mistake in his prophecy. Catholicity is
not dead in France ; Catholics are not a
small fraction of the people, and in the
government of the country of which
tuey form so important a part they must
be taken into account. They will not
and cannot submit to have convictions
which are sacred to them disregarded,
to have necessary and national rights
trampled under foot at the will either of
M. Gambetta or of anybody else. He
assumes altogether too much. What did
the figures of the election show? As
M. de Fourtou pointed out in his speech
in the Chamber of Deputies, November
14, 1877: The Opposition had flattered
itself that it would return with four hun-
dred, and yet it lost fifty votes. " It re-
quired an astonishing amount of assur-
ance for the Opposition, after such a
check, to pretend to claim power in de-
fiance of the rights of the Senate."

" The Opposition," he continued, " had
obtained 4,300,000 and the Government
3,600,000 votes. France thus dividing her-
self into two almost equal parties. In-
stead of striving to oppress the one by
the other, it would be better to seek a
common link to bind themselves togeth-
er. Candidates presented themselves
to be elected in the name of a menaced
Constitution, the public peace in jeop-
ardy, and in the name of modern liber-
ties and civil societies. But if (he Op-
position only asked for that, it had no
adversaries; if it asked for something

else it had no mandate. (Applause from
the Right.)"

There is no denying the force of this
reasoning. The parties in France
show themselves almost equal, and the
only hope of governing the country is by
mutual concession and good-will. M.
Gambetta must let the church alone, if
he is so very anxious for peace.

Frenchmen not blinded by passion
might have taken warning from the atti-
tude of Germany and Italy previous to
and during the elections. These two
powers — for Italy has now become a sort
of tender to Germany — were earnest for
the success of the party led by Gam-
betta. Why so ? What sympathy can
Prince Bismarck possibly have with
Gambetta? What sympathy could he be
supposed to have with a republic of the
Gambetta stripe, of the red revolution-
ary stripe, as his next-do6r neighbor,
while he so dreads his own socialists ?
The cause of his new-born sympathy
for a red republic, or a republic of
any color, is not far to find. It was the
same sympathy that he had with the
Commune during the siege of Paris.
He knows Gambetta, and has had a taste
of " the tribune's" effective generalship
and governing qualities. He was in
France when M. Gambetta made that
famous " pact with death" of which we
heard so much and so little came. He
knows thoroughly -the elements that
make up the strength, the very explosive
strength, of M. Gambetta's party, and
there is probably nothing he would bet-
ter enjoy than to see the fou furitiix at
the helm of state once more. A few
months of the Gambetta regime, and
Prince Bismarck might say of France, as
he said of Paris, " Let it fry in its own
fat." France is now a most dangerous
foe to Germany — negatively so, at least.
She is growing more dangerous every
year. Every year of quiet is an enor-
mous gain to her. She is vastly richer
than Germany. She can stand the strain
of her immense army far more easily
than Germany. She is winning back
something of the old love and admira-
tion of the outer world, which she had lost
on entering into the war with Germany.
She is patient, laborious, industrious,
desirous of peace with all the world, and
day by day becoming more able to main-
tain that peace even against Germany.
But a revolution in France would de-
stroy all this and throw the nation years

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

567

behind. And so sure as Gambetta at-
tained to power a revolution would fol-
low ; i.e., if he adhered — and there is no
doubt that he would — to the programme
of a republic which he has sketched in
such bold colors. Once in power, once
the strong but quiet hand of Marshal
MacMahon was removed from the helm,
the ship of the French state, with or
without Gambetta's will, would go to
speedy wreck.

That is why Prince Bismarck so care-
fully encouraged the Gambetta faction.
That is why his press thundered against
a "clerical" government in France.
That is why the Italian press took up
the cry, as it explains in great measure
the mysterious comings and goings be-
tween the courts of Berlin and the Qui-
rinal. That is why, if France would
abide in safety, she must retain her sol-
dier at the head of affairs, and hasten
during the next few years of his term to
heal her internal discords and become
one heart and one soul. Marshal Mac-
Mahon has attempted nothing against
the republic that was confided to his
safe-keeping. There is yet time, before
his term of office expires, for all French-
men to come together and shape their
government so as to ensure peace, free-
dom, and order in the future. If they
cannot do this, the republic is hopeless
in France. It will go out as its prede-
cessors have gone out within a century,
only to make room for a new usurper.

GERMANY.

There is every year less likelihood of
a renewal of the dreaded war between
(ierm.iny and France. France does not
want to fight. Even if Germany did want
to fight she must reckon on a far stron-
ger and more dangerous foe than she en-
countered in 1870. Competent military
critics, like the writer in Blackwood's
Magazine, whose articles on the French
army attracted such wide and deserved
attention, asfert that France, though pro-
bably unequal to an attack on Germany,
is rather more than able to hold her own
against attack. A stronger critic yet es-
tablishes this fact In his famous speech
in the German Parliament last April, in
favor of the increase of one hundred and
five captaincies in the army — an increase
that was bitterly opposed — Count Von
Moltke said :

" What the French press does not

speak out, but what really exists, is the
fear lest, since France has so often at-
tacked weaker Germany, strong Ger-
many should now for once fall upon
France without provocation. This ac-
counts for the gigantic efforts France
has made in carrying through within a
few years the reorganization of her army
with so much practical intelligence and
energy. This explains why, from the
recent conclusion of peace till to-day, an
unproportionately large part of the
French army, chiefly artillery and ca-
valry, is posted, in excellent condition,
between Pa^s and the German frontier —
a circumstance which must sooner or
later lead to an equalizing measure on
our part. It must also be taken into
consideration that in France, where the
contrast of political parties is even
stronger than with us, all parties are
agreed on one point — viz., in voting all
that is asked for the army. In France
the army is the favorite of the nation, its
pride, its hope ; the recent defeats of the
army have been condoned long since."

" The total strength of all these [the
French] battalions," he said in the same
speech, " in times of peace amounts to
487,000 men ; whilst Germany, with a
much larger population, has but little
over 400,000 under arms. The French
budget exceeds the German by more
than 150,000,000 marks (shillings), not
including considerable supplementary
sums that are there required. Even
so wealthy a nation as the French are
will not be able to bear such a burden
permanently. Whether this is done at
present for a distinct purpose, in order
to reach a certain goal placed at not too
great a distance, I must leave unde-
cided."

That speech alarmed Europe at the
time. Yet it was only a plain statement
of facts which it is as well for Europe to
look in the face. It may seem strange
that under the circumstances we should
feel so sanguine about the preservation
of peace between these two armed and
hostile nations. But both want peace,
and both are too strong to fight. Of
course the unexpected may always oc-
cur. France does not disguise her pur-
pose of revenge, and she means 10 " mak
siccer" next time. But the gentle hand
of Time softens the deepest hatreds ; and
if even this enforced peace can only be
prolonged the war-fever may die away.
Politics and administrations will change

568

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

in both countries. Prince Bismarck
will not live for ever. The French had
just as bitter a resentment against Eng-
land after Waterloo. The resentment
died with the generation that bore it;
and only for the evil legacy left by
Prince Bismarck to the empire — the pro-
vinces of Alsace and Lorraine — we could
fairly hope for better feeling between the
two peoples at least within a generation.

The smoke of battle cleared away,
Germans are beginning to look around
them and investigate civil affairs in a
spirit not at all pleasing to a military
administration. The word of command
is no longer obeyed so blindly as be-
fore. Even the cabinet does not move
to the tap of Prince Bismarck's drum as
promptly as it was wont. Perhaps, after
all, the chancellor did not gain so very
much by his bitter prosecution of Count
Arnim. There have been some notable
resignations within the year, and rumors
even, partially confirmed, and again re-
newed, of the chancellor's own resigna-
tion. The opposition increases at every
election ; and the response of Catholics
to the men who make vacant the sees of
their bishops is to return a stronger
number of representatives to the Parlia-
ment at each new election. The social
democrats do the same, and altogether
the policy of blood and iron appears to
be in strong disfavor.

Even the "orthodox Protestants"
have at last openly revolted against the
Falk laws, which were good enough for
Catholics, and right in themselves so
long as the orthodox Protestants did
not feel them pinch. They see at last
that such laws strike at all religion ; that
a generation brought up under them
would have no religion at all ; and that
if they would retain the congregations
who are so rapidly slipping from their
grasp and melting away, they must
strike out those laws from the calendar.

The persecution of the Catholics goes
on unrelentingly, but we have no doubt
that better times are in store. The Ca-
tholics, as we pointed out, are gaining
in the Parliament. The administration
is weakening in unity and in the confi-
dence of the country. Poverty is press-
ing upon the people. The emperor, in
his speech from the throne early in the
year, was compelled to allude to the con-
tinued depression of trade and industry.
He might very easily have given one
great reason for a large share of that de-

pression in the vast armaments which he
finds it necessary to maintain at a ruin-
ous cost of men, money, and labor to
the country. As recently as last No-
vember the London Times, which is cer-
tainly a friendly critic, in treating of
" Prussian Finance," took occasion to
say: " The exaction of the five milliards
was thought to crush for ever the grow-
ing wealth of France, and to be almost
a superfluous addition to the abundant
exchequer of Germany. . . . At least the
state was rich for a generation to come.
Five years have not yet passed since this
huge mass of wealth was transferred,
and already we find bankruptcy almost
the rule among German traders, and
hear cries rising on all sides of the hard-
ness of the times and the impossibility
of bearing much longer the crushing
weight of taxation. In the hands of the
government the French milliards seem
lor the most part to have melted away
and left budgets which vary only in the
shifts by which expenses are coaxed into
an equality with receipts."

The conclusion at which the writer
arrives is a very suggestive one, and one
that it would be well for Germany to
take to heart :

" It would be better that Germany
should be content to remain for a year or
two not quite prepared to meet the world
in arms rather than that her citizens
should find that the country so impreg-
nably fortified offers them no life worth
living. A man does not buy Chubb's
locks for his stable-door when his steed
is starving."

Granting that the general peace of
Europe is preserved during the next
year, it would not surprise us at all to
see a complete change of administration
in Germany, and a consequent rejaxa-
tion in the laws against Catholics. We
do hope for this. Even Prince Bis-
marck must now see that the persecution
of the Catholics was, in its lowest aspect,
a political blunder. He miscalculated
the faith of these German Catholics.
The beating of his iron hammer has only
welded and proved and tempered that
faith, while the world resounded with
his blows and all men saw that they
were ineffectual. Thus has the very
cradle of the Protestant Reformation
borne noblest witness in our unbe-
lieving age to the greatness, the strength,
the invincibility of the faith and the
church that Luther dreamed he had de-

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

569

stroyed, out of Germany at least. Here
is the result, as pictured by an adversary
of the Catholic faith, within the past
year: "It pleased Prince Bismarck —
whether, as he himself alleged, in conse-
quence of the council or not — to under-
take a crusade against the Roman Ca-
tholic bishops and clergy which, to the
vast body of their co-religionists all the
world over, and to many others also, had
all the look of downright persecution.
They were challenged, not for submitting
to the Vatican dogma, but for maintain-
ing what they had always been accus-
tomed to regard, before just as well as
after the council, as the inalienable
rights and liberties of their church.
Only one course was open to them as
ecclesiastics or as men of honor — to re-
sist and take the consequences. Some
half-dozen bishops have accordingly
been fined, imprisoned, or deprived ;
and several hundred — we believe over a
thousand— priests have incurred similar
penalties. Whether the policy embod-
ied in the Falk laws was or was not a
wise and a just policy in itself is not the
point. If we assume for argument's
sake that it has all the justification
which its promoters claim for it, the fact
remains equally certain that no greater
service could well have been rendered
to the cause of Vaticanism than this op-
portune rehabilitation of the German
bishops. The bitterness of the antagon-
ism provoked by the Falk legislation
may be measured by the startling news
recently given in the German papers,
that an alliance, offensive and defensive,
is being formed between the Catholics
and democratic socialists, who can have
hardly a single idea in common beyond
hostility to the existing state." — Saturday
Jteview, February 24, 1877.

THE CATHOLIC OUTLOOK.

Of other states there is little that calls
for special attention here. Italy is link-
ed with Germany, but Italy can scarcely
be regarded as a very strong ally. Its
alliance, however, is useful and neces-
sary to the leader of the conspiracy
against the Catholic Church — the con-
spiracy of the kings, into which some
have entered in a half-hearted way like
the Emperor of Austria, others with the
most determined resolve like Prince
Bismarck and the German emperor.

These powerful men are doing all they
can to destroy the Catholic Church ; and
undoubtedly they impede her growth,
and harry and harass her in a thousand
ways. It is easy to say that this is the
best thing that could possibly happen to
the church ; that persecution is her very
soul ; that suffering begets repentance,
and chastisement purity of life. That is
all very well and true, but there is an-
other aspect to the matter. Catholics
have worldly rights as well as heavenly.
They are here to live in this world, and
to live happily and freely, and to do
their work in it. No prince or govern-
ment introduced them into life ; no prince
or government escorts them out of life.
No prince, or government, or state can
absolutely claim human life as theirs.
Life is a free gift of God, to be used
freely. Government is not divine, save
in so far as it conforms to the divinity.
Men are not chattels and tools to be
used as things of no volition. The gov-
ernment of a people is only a human in-
stitution erected for the people, by the
people, and of the people. It cannot
lay claim to superhuman power, and
where it does it is an infamous assump-
tion. The niinien impcratorum is more
than a myth ; it is a devil. The " divine
Caesar" is but a man, and generally a
very disreputable man. The assump-
tions of many modern states to absolute
rule over man — states that for the wicked-
ness of those ruling them have been
turned topsy-turvy time and again by
the subjects whom they absolutely ruled
— is a return to paganism, and a very
artful return. Obey us, it says, and we
will set you free — free from the Chris-
tian God and the laws that go against
your nature. Obey us, and you need
bow the knee to no God ; you need have
no religious belief or practice ; we will
abolish sin for you ; you shall marry and
unmarry as you please, and as often as
you please ; you shall do what you like
and have no one to gainsay you. Fall
down and worship us, and all the king-
doms of the world are yours.

This is only a true reading of the pet
measures of modern governments : of
the divorce court, of civil marriage, of
civil baptism, of schools into which
everything but God may enter. And
this is the drifting of the age : the Gam-
betta party in France, the revolutionary
party in Italy, of which Victor Emanuel
is the regal tool and ornament ; the

570

The Year of Our Lord 1877.

Bismarck ian and Falk party in Ger-
many ; the Josephism of Austria ; the
" free" thought of all lands. It is this
that is in conflict, eternal conflict, with
the Catholic Church. It calls itself lib-
eralism ; it is the tyranny cf paganism.
It does not threaten the Catholic Church
alone It only threatens that openly,
because it feels it its necessary foe ; it
threatens the world and carries in its
right hand the social and moral ruin of
nations. There is no possible mcdus
vivendi between it and men who believe
in Christ ; and men who believe in Christ
form the bulk of all civilized peoples.
There will be no peace in the world, no
peace among nations, until religion is
free to assert itself. While the creeds of
Christendom<ire still divided there must
be freedom for all —freedom to adjust
their differences and come back once
again to the lost unity for which all hon-
est men sigh. Politics are the affairs of
a day ; religion an affair of Eternity to
be settled in Time. It must have free-
dom to work; and the attempt to restrict
and restrain that freedom is the secret of
more than half the troubles that afflict
mankind.

This freedom is all that the head of the
Catholic Church demands. He has no
other quarrels with princes than this.
He blesses and loves Protestant England,
for it recognizes this freedom ; he bless-
es and loves this country, for it also
recognizes this freedom. The wonder-
ful reign of Pius IX. will, in aftsr-time, be
most memorable for this : that in a deaf-
ening and confused time, in a time when
all things were called in question and
all rights invaded, his voice and vision
were forever clear in upholding the most
sicred rights of man, in detecting and
exposing what threatened them, and in
maintaining the truth by which the world
lives, at all hazard and in the face of all
sacrifice. The truth of which he is the
oracle is the faith in God that makes men
free — faith in the und)ing church found-
ed by the Son of God, in its work and
its mission among men, in the present
and the future of a human society spread-
ing over the world and built upon that
faith. And the world has recognized
this. It recognizes in the Pope, not be-
cause he is Pius the Ninth, but because
he is Pope and head of the Church Ca-
tholic, the centre of this society, the head

of Christendom ; for Christendom is
wider than nations ; it embraces them in
its arms ; they are children of it, and the
Pope is their spiritual father. Is not
this truth plain ? Whither have the eyes
of the world been turned during the
year? Less to the bloody battle-fields
of the East, less to the hearts of Euro-
pean nations and the courts and cabi-
nets of kings, than to the sick bed
in the Vatican. The gaze of many has
been that of brutal intensity ; the gaze of
many more, and those not all Catholics,
has been one of affectionate and tender
regard. Speculations as to the future
are not in place here. The Pope, of
course, will die some day. He has
stood the brunt of the battle. He has
lived a great life, given a great example,
and done great things for the church
of God. Not a stain, not a breath
or whisper of reproach, mars that long
career of mingjed triumph and suffering.
He has witnessed strange events. He
has seen the church discarded by all the
powers that were once her faithful chil-
dren. He has seen the sacred territory
of the church invaded and torn from his
grasp. He sees himself in his old age
and at the close of a stormy life impris-
oned in his own palace. He has seen
the world and the princes of the world
do their worst against the church of
which he is the earthly guardian. And
yet he sees the church spreading abroad,
growing in numbers and in virtue, borne
on the wings of commerce and carrying
its message of peace and good-will to
all lands. There is no faltering in the
faith. His eyes have been gladdened,
even if saddened, by as noble confessors,
of all grades, rising up to testify to it as
the church in her history of nineteen
centuries has ever known. When he
obeys the last call of the Master he
has served so well, there will pass from
this world the greatest figure of the age,
and as holy a man as the ages ever
knew. But his work will not pass with
him. That will remain, and the lesson
of his life will remain to the successor,
on whom we believe that brighter times
will dawn — a brightness won out of the
darkness, and the sacrifice, and the
storm braved by the good and gentle-
man who so resoluiely bore Christ's
cross to the very hill of Calvary and lay
down on it and died there.

New Publications.

571

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MONOTHEISM . The Primitive Religion of
Rome. By Rev. Henry Formby. i vol.
8vo. London : Williams & Norgate ;
New York : Scribner, Welford & Co.

iS/7-

This is a very interesting and, in some
respects, a learned work ; but we are fain
to confess that we have been disappointed
in it. If the author, instead of attempting
to show that the worship of the one true
God was the early religion of Rome, had
contented himself with proving it to have
been professed by the primitive Gentile
nations in general, we should agree with
him, and thank him for unfolding in our
English language the incontrovertible
truth that polytheism and idolatry are
but corruptions of great primeval tradi-
tions collected, preserved, and handed
down by Noe, and that heathen mytholo-
gy can be made to bear witness to the
original idea of the unity and spirituali-
ty of God. This view of the religious
errors of the ancients has been held up
by several eminent writers, and particu-
larly by two who deserve to be rescued
from an unjust oblivion — by Monsignor
Bianchini (1697) in La Storia Universal^
f ovata con Montttnenti e fignrata co-i Sim-
l>oli dt'gll Antic hi; and by Abbe Bergier
(1773) in his Origine des Dieux du Pa-
ganisme. While we do not accuse our
reverend author of a want of modesty
precisely in stating his prime opinion
about the monotheism of the second
king of Rome, we do think that he
v/rites a little too dogmatically and as
though he had discovered some histori-
cal treasure-trove wherewith to enrich
his arguments ; whereas no new docu-
ments or monuments whatever have been
brought to light to throw a different or
brighter ray upon the character of Numa
Pompilius, in connection with whom,
moreover, he seems to us to confound
idolatry and polytheism. We confidently
believe that the Ca-ltste Numen of Numa,
on which so great stress is laid, like the
Dt-us Cptinnts Maxiwus of Tully, or the
Di'cnni pater <tti/ite honiinum rex of Virgil,
was nothing more than another form of
man's continual, almost involuntary,
protest against the falling away of the
human r.ice from the worship of the

Creator, but practically did not betoken
more than a recognition of one among
many greater than his fellow-gods.
While Numa forbade the worship of
idols in Rome, and consequently pro-
fessed a less corrupt error than did many
contemporary rulers, he never asserted
the unity or, we prefer to say, the out-
ness ot God. He was a prolific polythe-
ist, multiplying divinities and introduc-
ing new superstitions among his people.
Father Formby has brought up noth-
ing in his favor unknown to Arnobius,
Orosius, St. Augustine, and Tertullian.
This last writer, although he absolves
Numa from the crime of idolatry, dis-
tinctly charges upon him a many-parted
god: "Nam a Numa concepta est curi-
ositas superstitiosa " (Ap>l. xxv.)

Our author's present work is an am-
plification of a smaller one published in
pamphlet form two years ago, in which
he shows the " city of ancient Rome" to
have been " the divinely-sent pioneer of
the way for the Catholic Church." On
this subject we cannot too closely agree
with him, or sufficiently thank him for
turning towards our students and illus-
trating for them a side of Roman history
which is so important. Our own studies
have always pointed in the same direc-
tion, and we cannot better conclude this
notice of Father Formby's work and show
our sympathy with him than by a brief
extract from our commonplace book,
made up many years ago in Rome itself:

" The celebrated Gallo-Roman poet
and statesman. Rutilius Numatianus,
was much attached to the false ancient
divinities of Rome and no small help to
the political party of Symmachus, which
so stubbornly fought St. Ambrose and
the Christians. The following lint-s from
his ItincrariiiHi (i. 62 ct set/,) are truly
beautiful and express a grand idea, but
one that is still grander in another sense
than his ; for if a heathen understood it
to be a blessing in disguise upon the
conquered peoples of the eartli to be
brought under the domination of Rome
on account of the prosperity and civili-
zation that accompanied her rule, how
shall not a Christian admire the action
of divine Providence, preparing the

572

civ Publications.

world for the New Law, and applaud
those triumphs that brought so many
countries through the Roman Empire
into the Ciiurch of Christ. Of Christian
less than of pagan Rome we shall inter-
pret the poet's sentiment :

" ' Fecisti patriam diversis gentibus unam ;

Profuic invitis. te dominante, cap! ;
Dumque otfsrs victis patrii consortia juris
Urbem fecisti quod prius orbis erat.' "

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY
ALMANAC for 1878. New York : The
Catholic Publication Society Co.

This annual, neat, compact, and per-
fect in all its mechanical arrangements —
the labor of many busy and well-stored
minds condensed into a portable form —
has just been issued. To say that it
equals its predecessors, which have found
so much favor with the public, would be
doing it great injustice. In every respect
it is far superior, and shows palpable
evidence that its conductors, appreciat-
ing the growth in public taste as well as
the increasing desire for reliable infor-
mation on important Catholic subjects,
have left no effort untried to satisfy the
wishes of their readers. This is particu-
larly noticeable in the illustrations, which
we consider to be not only good pictures
but genuine works of art. The portraits
of Archbishop Bayley, Bishops Von Ket-
teler and De St. Palais, and the vener-
able Jesuit Father McElroy are not
only excellent likenesses of those de-
ceased prelates, but the best specimens
of wood-cut portraiture we have yet seen
on this side of the Atlantic. The other
engravings, of which there are about a
dozen, are alike creditable to the artist
and suitable for the pages of such a pub-
lication. The reading matter, however,
will probably most attract the attention of
the majority of purchasers, many of whom
will doubtless wonder where a great
portion of it could possibly have been
discovered. Thus, in addition to the
lives of the ecclesiastics above mention-
ed, and biographical sketches of the
venerable Sister Mary Margaret Bour-
geois, Frederic Ozanam, Columbus, and
others, we have an elaborate History of
Printing, a description (with fac-similes)
of " The Earliest Irish Madonna," ac-
counts of the Libraries of the Bollan-
dists and of the Eremites of York ; an
archaeological sketch of the oldest church-
es of the world, an explanation of the an-

tique Cross of St.Zachary, a rfsumtrf the
labors of the Franciscans in California,
and a well-digested mass of astronomi-
cal, chronological, and statistical infor-
mation which cannot help proving of
incalculable value as matters of refer-
ence.

EVIDENCES OF RELIGION. By Louis
Touin, S.J. New York: P. O'Shea.
1877.

There is nothing more gratifying to
Catholics who watch the progress of
their religion in this country than to
find that the church in the United States
is beginning to supply her own litera-
ture, and more especially her polemical
literature, which she needs most of all.
Within the last few years several contro-
versial works and books of instruction
have been written in this country which
are far better adapted to our people than
the standard works of foreign authors ;
and the time, we trust, is not far distant
when we shall be fully supplied with a
well-adapted course of polemics of our
own, and be no longer dependent on the
writings of men in lands which are
often more or less out of harmony with
the American mind. The Evidences of
Religion is one of the books of which
we stood most in need, and the wonder
is that it was not written long before.
Perhaps, however, it is as well that no
one attempted it before Father Jouin ;
for we doubt if any other attempt could
have been so entirely successful.

The book is a marvel of condensed
matter and thought and argument. In
its 380 octavo pages are summed up the
philosophical treatise De Certitttdine and
theological tract De Locis Theologicis ;
and it contains in addition a refutation,
short, sharp, and decisive, of the latest
errors in philosophy, politics, and reli-
gion.

Christianity rests on facts, not on mere
theories. The science of the day pre-
tends to deal with facts, and in every case
to accept them, so that in our controver-
sies with the pseudo-science of the times
there is nothing more important than to
bring out clearly and strongly the facts
on which the certainty of the Christian
faith rests. This Father Jouin has done,
and in his book we have the whole
ground-work on which Christianity is
based spread out before us in perspec-
tive ; the outline is complete, though of

New Publications.

573

course, in the limited space which he al-
lowed himself, he has not been able to
bring out each detail in full. Yet
he assures us in his preface that nothing
essential has been left out, and we have
verified his assertion. Altogether this
is just the sort of book, in our opinion,
that is needed to combat the errors of
the age, and to serve as an antidote to
the poison of rank infidelity and materi-
alism with which the very atmosphere
around us is charged.

The author tells us that he designs the
work more especially as a text-book for
students in the higher classes of our Catho-
lic colleges, and we sincerely hope that
it may be adopted in every Catholic col-
lege throughout the country. Our Cath-
olic instructors fully realize the import-
ance of giving their students a thorough
grounding in the evidences of their
religion, and Father Jouin'sbook in the
hands of a good professor can be made
the basis of a thorough course of such
instruction.

Not alone to students in colleges do
we recommend the study of this work,
but to every intelligent educated Catholic,
who should investigate the reasons on
which his religion is founded, and be able
to answer for the faith that is in him. Let
our Catholic lawyers and doctors and
business men take it up, and they will
find in it sufficient to convince them of the
reasonableness of their creed. It will fur-
nish them, moreover, with conclusive ar-
guments against the absurd theories and
false views of religion which are being
advanced every day in their hearing.

The greatest enemy that the Catholic
Church has to contend with, both with-
out and within, at the present day, is
ignorance of her true position and teach-
ing, and we eagerly invite and encour-
age every study and investigation that
may in any way help to dispel it.

It is to be regretted that so valuable a
work has not been brought out in a
worthy manner. It is neither well print-
ed nor well put together.

THE NEW VESPER HYMN-BOOK : A com-
panion to The New Vesper Psalter ;
containing a collection of all the
hymns sung at Vespers throughout
the year (classified according to me-
tre), set to music, either for unison or
four voices, with accompaniment, and
including the best of the plain chant
melodies, together with the words in

full, and the versicies nnd responses
proper to each hymn. The whole
compiled and edited by Charles Lewis,
Director of the Cathedral Choir, Bos-
ton, Mass. Boston : Thos. B. Noonan
&Co.

At the present stage of the revival of
Gregorian Chant, the true song of the
church, we can commend this little work
as one which will doubtless be found
useful in many churches whose organ-
ists are unable to harmonize the chant
or the singers to read its proper nota-
tion. We wish, however, that the edi-
tor had given all the hymns as found in
the Vesperale, as the musical airs which
are substituted are not worthy to sup-
plant the original melodies. The style
of notation is that usually adopted in
translations from the old form of four
lines and square notes. Could not the
editor have done better, so as to give to
those unaccustomed to plain chant some
idea of its movement and expression?
There is no mark given to designate ac-
cented from unaccented notes, and, lack-
ing this, we defy any one who is not
familiar with the traditional movement
of a phrase to give its true expression.

We think the spacing of notes and
phrases as given in the old style should
be preserved — that is, the notes upon
each syllable should be printed close
together, and a wider and distinct space
left between syllables and words. An
intelligent system of writing plain chant
upon the modern musical staff is yet to
be invented. We have been told that in
some places the Tonic Sol-Fa system is
being attempted, with what success we
have not learned.

LOTOS FLOWERS, GATHERED IN SUN AND
SHADOW. By Mrs. Chambers-Ketch-
um. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
1877.

Mrs. Chambers- Ketchum is already
known to the readers of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD through her poems, "Advent"
and "A Birthday Wish" (appearing un-
der the name of "Twenty-one" in
the present collection), published in its
pages during the present year. Her
verse is pure in thought and written out
of a woman's heart full of love and en-
thusiasm. With true Southern fervor
she revels in the luxuriant flora of her
home, and in the landscape of all her
pictures she takes a dear delight. Even

574

Publications*

so unsightly an object as a Mississippi
steamboat-landing grows picturesque
under her hand, and do we not feel soft
Italian air as we read ? —

" Peaceful stand

The sentinel poplars in their gold-green plumes
Bisicle the Enzo bridge. Where late the hoofs
Of flying squadrons scared th' affrighted land
The soft cloud-shadows chase each ether now
O'er violet gardens."

As with many another poet, the ease
with which Mrs. Chambers-Ketchum
writes is at times a snare, leading her
to accept too readily a hackneyed term
or word, surrendering after too slight
a struggle to the tyranny of rhyme. In
her verse, also, there is sometimes a
lack of smoothness that would 'set des-
pair in the hdart of the faithful scanner.

Was it because our ears were sick
with a certain slang of "culture" that,
when we stumbled over Krishna in the
" Christian Legend," we felt a strong
desire to banish these Indian immortals
to that Hades where languished the
gods of Greece until Schiller called
them forth to run riot in the field of reli-
gion as well as of art? And is not the
term "legend "a strange misnomer, for
the New Testament narrative of the rais-
ing of Lazarus? For Mrs. Chambers-
Ketchum's verse is essentially Christian
and womanly, and even so short a no-
tice of it would scarcely be complete
without a mention of "Benny," who,
with his kitten and his " baby's sense of
right," is already dear and familiar to the
mothers and children of our whole coun-
try, whose kindly hearts will surely give
to Benny's mother their sympathy in his
loss.

SURLY TIM, AND OTHER STORIES. By
Francis Hodgson Burnett. New
York : Scribner, Armstrong & Co.
1877.

Unfortunately for our first impression
of the merit of the little volume of which
" Surly Tim " is the initial story, we began
our reading with " Lodusky," attracted
to it by the locality of the tale, its hill
people and dialect being a loadstone to
us, but lately returned from similar sur-
roundings. But as even in our moun-
tain Edens we find the trail of the ser-
pent, so in "Lodusky" we seemed to
be treading the familiar path of moral ir-
responsibility and the tyranny of person-
al magnetism, and we craved the flam-

ing sword of the archangel to put the
evil to flight.

Nor did our impression grow fairer
on turning to " Le Monsieur de la Pe-
tite Dame." But in "One Day at Arle"
and in " Seth " we welcomed truly the
author's strong and exquisite pathos.
In these pictures of the sorrow of the
laboring classes the author draws with a
pencil full of feeling, working under a
sky whose hue is the leaden monotone
of modern French landscape painting ; a
break of sunshine here and there, but
the light seems to fall, after all, on earth-
ly stubble and the dumb, almost soul-
less faces of patient cattle that know no-
thing beyond their daily furrow and the
mute, faithful service they bear a kindly
hand at the plough.

We are reminded of the pathos of
Robert Buchanan's North-Coast verse,
and we close the little volume sadly, al-
most as if all human sorrow wherein is
no Christian joy stood at our thres-
hold, asking from us an alms we had no
power to give.

REPERTORIUM ORATORIS SACRI : Contain-
ing Outlines of Six Hundred Sermons
for all the Sundays and Holidays of the
Ecclesiastical Year ; also for other
solemn occasions. Compiled from the
works of eminent preachers of various
ages and nations by a secular priest.
With an introduction by the Rt. Rev.
Joseph Dwenger, D.D., Bishop of
Fort Wayne. New York and Cincin-
nati : Fr. Pustet, Typographus Seditf
Apostolicse. 1877.

This publication is to be continued in
monthly parts, each part containing the
outlines of two sermons for each Sunday
and holiday for one quarter of the year.
There will be four volumes of four parts
each, so that when the work is completed
there will be eight sermons for each oc-
casion.

It will, if it fulfils the promise of this
first number, be the best and most com-
plete collection of the kind ever pub-
lished so far as we are aware. It hardly
needs to be said that plans of sermons
such as are here given are very much
more valuable to a preacher than the ac-
tual sermons themselves; for there are
few who can give with much effect the
words of another, to say nothing of the
trouble involved in committing them to
memory. The sermons of great puipit

New Publications.

575

orators are indeed extremely useful and
deserving of study as models of style ;
but a few will answer that purpose as
well as a thousand.

The work is in English, being designed
principally for use in this country. It is
most earnestly to be hoped that it will
receive the liberal support which it cer-
tainly deserves.

NICHOLAS MINTURN. A Study in a
Story. By J.G. Holland. I vol. I2mo.
New York : Scribner, Armstrong &
Co. 1877.

We prefer Dr. Holland's stories to his
essays. He possesses fine descriptive
powers ; his genial humor captivates the
reader ; his power of analysis is search-
ing. No one can read Nicholas Minturn
without recognizing the author's ability
to lay bare the vices and follies of the
various classes with whom his hero is
brought in contact. In doing this, how-
ever, Dr. Holland is apt to forget their
redeeming virtues. This is his great
fault as a novelist. He lacks the power
to vitalize the subtle traits that appeal to
our humanity. There is no bond of
union between his people and us. He is
unable to centralize our interest. When
disaster overtakes the ocean steamer
there is not a single figure to start out
from the group and wring a groan of
compassion from us. We listen to the
wailing of despair and the shriek of ter-
ror with as much apathy as if it arose
from a distant battle-field. In all other
respects the story is far superior to the
great mass of light literature.

THE ETERNAL YEARS. By the Hon.
Mrs. A. Montgomery, author of The
Divine Sequence, also The Bucklyn
Sha'g, Mine Own Familiar Friend, The
Wrong Man, On the Wing, etc. With
an introduction by the Rev. S. Porter,
S.J. London : Burns & Gates. 1877.

The Eternal Years is a republication of
a series of articles from THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. A number of thoughtful readers
of our magazine h;>ve expressed the
great interest with which they have read
those articles and their desire to know
the name of the author. They will be
pleased to see that they are now pub-
lished in a volume under their author's
narr.e. On the I I'm:? will be remember-
ed as having been one of the most popu-

lar of the series of sketches taken from
scenes in European life and incidents of
travel which we have from time to time-
published. Mrs. Montgomery possesses
a very versatile talent as a writer, and
passes with facility "from grave to gay.
from lively to severe." Whatever she
writes is always both instructive and
pleasing.

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER'S MAN-
UAL ; or, The Art of Teaching Cate-
chism. For the use of teachers and
parents. By the Rev. A. A. Lambing,
author of 77/<« Orphan's Friend. New
York : Benziger Brothers. 1877.
Father Lambing has done for Sunday-
school teachers what M. Amond, the
cure of St. Sulpice, and Father Porter
have done for those engaged in the sa-
cred ministry of the pulpit.

This manual, written in a clear and
popular style, supplies a need that should
have been more felt than it was. It gives
those in charge of Sunday-schools a true
idea of their very important mission, a
deep sense of the responsibility that
rests upon them, points out the various
qualifications necessary for the faithful
discharge of their duties, and contains
many useful instructions which will aid
them in becoming effective catechisers.

IZA : A STORY OF LIFE IN RUSSIAN PO-
LAND. By Kathleen O'Meara. Lon-
don : Burns & Gates. 1877. (New
York : The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

This book, by a lady who since its
first appearance has become distinguish-
ed in the higher walks of literature, has
been republished at a very seasonable
time, when the Eastern war, and the no-
vel pretensions of Russia to be consid-
ered the friend and protector of oppress-
ed nationalities, have once more called
public attention to her barbarous treat-
ment of the gallant Poles. The scenes
are laid in Poland ; the characters, which
are few and clearly drawn, ate Polish
or Muscovite, and the plot, though sim-
ple and natural, is well and artistically
wrought out. The theme of the whole
story is the oppression of the Polish no-
bility by the shrewd, keen, and unscru-
pulous agents of the czar, wherein ihe
generous, high-spirited and confiding pa-
triotism of the one class is strongly con-
trasted with the accomplished villany of

576

New Publications

the other. Though the superstructure
is. of course, a work of pure fiction, it is
based on well known historical facts.
The entire work is written with great care
and accuracy as to names, places, cos-
tumes, and local customs, the situations
are highly dramatic, and the moral effect
produced on the reader is healthful and
salutary.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

THE attention of readers will be di-
rected to the advertisement of complete
sets of THE CATHOLIC WORLD and THE
YOUNG CATHOLIC as suitable and valu-
able Christmas presents. Bound vol-
umes of THE YOUNG CATHOLIC make
the very best present that could be offer-
ed to children. The reading matter is
interesting, the illustrations are really
excellent, and the puzzles and charades
afford unfailing amusement for the long
winter evenings.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD is now in its
twenty-sixth volume. It constitutes a
library, and a most valuable and varied
library, in itself. In it is everything
that could be desired. Theology and
philosophy have their departments, fill-
ed by men of known and recognized
competence, master minds indeed in
those higher sciences. The literary arti-
cles and reviews are acknowledged by
the secular press to be unsurpassed in
power, grace, and strength. The po-
lemics of the day find their true solution
in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, which has
told upon the non-Catholic mind in this
country as no other magazine or publi-
cation has been able to tell. There is an
abundance of fiction and light literature
in its pages, a fiction that has known

how to be interesting without bring dan-
gerous, and good without being dull.
Many stories that have already made
their mark in the literary world and
won deserved fame for' their authors be-
gan by passing through the columns of
this magazine. All the leading and ab-
sorbing questions of the day arc- taken
up and discussed in it by men tho-
roughly equipped and fitted for so im-
portant a lask. Indeed THE CATHOLIC
WORLD may fairly claim to be a channel
through which the very best Catholic
literature of the day, in all its forms,
passes, a guide to and in all the ques-
tions of the day, and a compendium
from year to year of all that is best and
most worthy of attention in the higher
sciences, in physical science, in politics,
in literature, and in art. His Eminence
the Cardinal has recently kindly taken
occasion to " congratulate the Catholics
in America on possessing a magazine
of which they may be justly proud," and
trusts " that they will contribute their
share to make THE CATHOLIC WORLD
still more useful to themselves and to
the Church at large." No words could
add strength to this commendation and
appeal ; and it is to be hoped that Ca-
tholics will take both to heart. No in-
telligent Catholic in this country should
be without a magazine that is peculiarly
and designedly his own. Yet are there
thousands of intelligent persons who are
without it, who probably do not know of •
its existence. It is for those who do
know it and appreciate it to make it
known among their friends. Taken in
the very lowest sense, no man has yet
complained that in THE CATHOLIC WORLD
he did not receive the full, and more
than the full, value of his money.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVI., No. 155.— FEBRUARY, 1878.

CEADMON THE COW-HERD, ENGLAND'S FIRST POET.

BY AUBREY DE VERB.

THE Venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation contains nothing more touching
than its record of Ceadmon, the earliest English poet, whose gift came to him in a manner so extraordinary.
It occurs in the 24th chapter : '* By his verses the minds of many were often excited to despise the
world, and to aspire to heaven. Others after him attempted in the English nation to compose religious
poems, but none could ever compare with him ; for he did not learn the art of poetry from man, but from
God, for which reason he never would compose any vain or trivial poem." . . . " Being sometimes at
entertainments, when it was agreed, for the sake of mirth, that all present should sing in their turns,
when he saw the instrument come towards him he rose from the table and retired home. Having done so
on a certain occasion, ... a Person appeared to him in his sleep, and, saluting him by his name, said,
' Ceadmon, sing some song for me.' He answered, ' I cannot sing.' " Ceadmon's song is next described :
" How he, being the Eternal God, became the author of all miracles, Who first, as Almighty Preserver of
the human race, created heaven for the sons of men, as the roof of the house, and next the earth."
. . . " He sang the Creation of the world, the origin of man, and all the history of Genesis, . . .
the Incarnation, Passion, Resurrection of our Lord, and His Ascension." * Ceadmon's poetry is referred
to also in Sharon Turner's History of tke Anglo-Saxons ; and Sir Francis Palgrave points out the singu-
lar resemblance of passages in Paradise Lost to corresponding passages in its surviving fragments. 'I o •
the history of Ceadmon Montalembert has devoted some of the most eloquent paragraphs in his admirable
work, Les Afoittes if Occident — see chapter ii., vol. iv., page 68. .

SOLE stood upon the pleasant bank of Esk
Ceadmon the Cow-herd, while the sinking sun
Reddened the bay, and fired the river-bank
With pomp beside of golden Iris lit,
And flamed upon the ruddy herds that strayed
Along the marge, clear-imaged. None was nigh : —
For that cause spake the Cow-herd, " Praise to God !.'
He made the worlds ; and now, by Hilda's hand
He plants a fair crown upon Whitby's height :
Daily her convent towers more high aspire ;
Daily ascend her Vespers. Hark that strain !"
He stood and listened. Soon the flame-touched herd!*
Sent forth their lowings, and the cliffs replied,
And Ceadmon thus resumed : " The music note
Rings through their lowings dull, though keard by few !

* Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, p.. 217, Edited by J. A. .Giles, D.C.L. (Henry G.
Bohn).

Ceadmon the Cow- Herd, England's first Poet.

Poor kine, ye do your best ! Ye know not God,

Yet man, his likeness, unto you is God,

And him ye worship with obedience sage,

A grateful, sober, much- enduring race

That o'er the vernal clover sigh for joy,

With winter snows contend not. Patient kine,

What thought is yours, deep-musing? Haply this —

'God's help ! how narrow are our thoughts, and few !

Not so the thoughts of that slight human child

Who daily drives us with her blossomed rod

From lowland valleys to the pails long-ranged !'

Take comfort, kine ! God also made your race !

If praise from man surceased, from your broad chests

That God would perfect praise, and, when ye died,

Resound it from yon rocks that gird the bay :

God knoweth all things. Let that thought suffice!"

Thus spake the ruler of the deep-mouthed kine :
They were not his ; the man and they alike
A neighbor's wealth. He was contented thus :
Humble he was in station, meek of soul,
Unlettered, yet heart-wise. His face was pale ;
Stately his frame, though slightly bent by age :
Slow were his eyes, and slow his speech, and slow
His musing step ; and slow his hand to wrath,
A massive hand, but soft, that many a time
Had succored man and woman, child and beast ;
Ay, yet could fiercely grasp the sword ! At times
As mightily it clutched his ashen goad
When like an eagle on him swooped some thought :
Then stood he as in dream, his pallid front
Brightening like eastern sea-cliffs when a moon
Unrisen is near its rising.

Round the bay

Meantime with deepening eve full many a fire
Up-sprung, and horns were heard. Around the steep
With bannered pomp and many a dancing plume
Ere long a cavalcade made way. Whence came it ?
Oswy, North umbria's king, the foremost rode,
Oswy triumphant o'er the Mercian host,
To sue for blessing on his sceptre new ;
With him an Anglian prince, student long time
In Bangor of the Irish, and a monk
Of Gallic race far wandering from the Marne :
They came to look on Hilda, hear her words
Of far-famed wisdom on the Interior Life :
For Hilda thus discoursed: "True life of man
Is life within : inward immeasurably
The being winds of all who walk the earth ;

Ceadmon the Cow-Herd, England's first Poet. 579

But he whom sense hath blinded nothing knows
Of that wide greatness : like a boy is he
That clambers round some castle's wall extern
In search of nests — the outward wall of seven —
Yet nothing knows of those great courts within,
The hall where princes banquet, or the bower
Where royal maidens touch the lyre and lute,
Much less its central church, and sacred shrine
Wherein God dwells alone." * Thus Hilda spake ;
And they that gazed upon her widening eyes
Low whispered, each to each, " She speaks of things
Which she hath seen and known."

On Whitby's crest

The royal feast was holden : far below,
A noisier revel dinned the shore ; therein
The humbler guests partook. Full many a tent
Glimmered upon the white sands, ripple-kissed ;
Full many a savory dish sent up its steam ;
The farmer from the field had driven his calf;
The fisher brought the harvest of the sea;
And Jock, the woodsman, from his oaken glades
The tall stag, arrow-pierced. In gay attire
Now green, now crimson, matron sat and maid :
Each had her due : the elder, reverence most,
The lovelier that and love. Beside the board
The beggar lacked not place.

When hunger's rage,

Sharpened by fresh sea-air, was quelled, the jest
Succeeded, and the tale of foreign lands ;
But, boast who might of distant chief renowned,
His battle-axe, or fist that felled an ox,
The Anglian 's answer was "our Hilda " still :
" Is not her prayer puissant as sworded hosts ?
Her insight more than wisdom of the seers ?
What birth like hers illustrious? Edwin's self,
Deira's exile, next Northumbria's king,
Her kinsman was. Together bowed they not
When he of holy hand, missioned from Rome,
Paulinus, poured o'er both the absolving wave
And knit to Christ ? Kingliest was she, that maid
Who spurned earth-crowns !" The night advanced, he rose
That ruled the feast, the miller old, yet blithe,
And cried, "A song!" So song succeeded song,
For each man knew that time to chant his stave,
But no man yet sang nobly. Last the harp
Made way to Ceadmon, lowest at the board :

* This thought is taken from St. Teresa.

5 So Ceadmon the Cow- Herd, England's first Poet.

He pushed it back, answering, " I cannot sing :"
Around him many gathered clamoring, " Sing 1"
And one among them, voluble and small,
Shot out a splenetic speech: " This lord of kine,
Our herdsman, grows to ox ! Behold, his eyes
Move slow, like eyes of oxen !"

Sudden rose

Ceadmon, and spake : " I note full oft young men
Quick-eyed, but small-eyed, darting glances round
Now here, now there, like glance of some poor bird,
That light on all things and can rest on none :
As ready are they with their tongues as eyes ;
But all their songs are chirpings backward blown
On winds that sing God's song, by them unheard:
My oxen wait my service : I depart."
Tlien strode he to his cow-house in the mead,
Displeased though meek, and muttered, " Slow of eye !
My kine are slow : if I were swift my hand
Might tend them worse." Hearing his steps the kine
Turned round their horned foreheads : angry thoughts
Went from him as a vapor. Straw he brought,
And strewed their beds ; and they, contented well,
Down laid ere long their great bulks, breathing deep
Amid the glimmering moonlight. He, with head
Propped on the white flank of a heifer mild,
Rested, his deer-skin o'er him drawn. Hard days
Bring slumber soon. His latest thought was this :
" Though witless things we are, my kine and I,
Yet God it was who made us."

As he slept,

Beside him stood a Man Divine and spake ;
"Ceadmon, arise, and sing." Ceadmon replied,
" My Lord, I cannot sing, and for that cause
Forth from the revel came I. Once, in youth,
I willed to sing the bright face of a maid,
And failed, and once a gold-faced harvest-field,
And failed, and once the flame-eyed face of war,
And failed once more." To him the Man Divine,
" Those themes were earthly. Sing !" And Ceadmon said,
" What shall I sing, my Lord ?" Then answer came,
" Ceadmon, stand up, and sing thy song of God."

At once obedient, Ceadmon rose, and sang,
And help was with him from great thoughts of old
Within his silent nature yearly stored,
That swelled, collecting like a flood that bursts
In spring its icy bar. The Lord of all
He sang ; that God beneath whose hand eterne,

Ceadmon the Cow-Herd, England's first Poet. 581

Then when he willed forth-stretched athwart the abyss,

Creation like a fiery chariot ran,

Inwoven wheels of ever-living stars.

Him first he sang. The builder, here below,

From fair foundations rears at last the roof,

But Song, a child of heaven, begins with heaven,

The archetype divine, and end of all,

More late descends to earth. He sang that hymn,

" Let there be light, and there was light "; and lo !

On the void deep came down the seal of God

And stamped immortal form. Clear laughed the skies,

While from crystalline seas the strong earth brake,

Both continent and isle ; and downward rolled

The sea-surge summoned to his home remote.

Then came a second vision to the man

There standing 'mid his oxen. Darkness sweet,

He sang, of pleasant frondage clothed the vales,

Ambrosial bowers rich-fruited which the sun,

A glory new-created in his place,

All day made golden, and the moon by night

Silvered with virgin beam, while sang the bird

Her first of love-songs on the branch first-flower'd —

Not yet the lion stalked. And Ceadmon sang

O'er-awed, the Father of all humankind

Standing in garden planted by God's hand,

And girt by murmurs of the rivers four,

Between the trees of Knowledge and of Life,

With eastward face. In worship mute of God,

Eden's Contemplative he stood that hour,

Not her Ascetic, since, where sin is none,

No need for spirit severe.

And Ceadmon sang

God's Daughter, Adam's Sister, Child, and Bride,
Our Mother Eve. Lit by the matin star,
That nearer drew to earth, and brighter flashed
To meet her gaze, that snowy Innocence
Stood up with queenly port. She turned : she saw
Earth's King, mankind's great Father. Taught by God,
Immaculate, unastonished, undismayed,
In love and reverence to her Lord she drew,
And, kneeling, kissed his hand : and Adam laid
That hand, made holier, on that kneeler's head,
And spake; " For this shall man his parents leave,
And to his wife cleave fast."

When Ceadmon ceased

Thus spake the Man Divine : " At break of day
Seek thou some prudent man, and say that God
Hath loosed thy tongue; nor hide henceforth thy gift."

582 Ccadmon the Cow- Herd, England's first Poet.

Then Ceadmon turned, and slept among his kine
Dreamless. Ere dawn he stood upon the shore
In doubt : but when at last o'er eastern seas
The sun, long wished for, like a god wpsprang,
Once more he found God's song upon his mouth
Murmuring high joy ; and sought a prudent man,
And told him all the vision. At the word
He to the Abbess with the tidings fled,
And she made answer, " Bring me Ceadmon here."

Then clomb the pair that sea-beat mount of God
Fanned by sea-gale, nor trod, as others used,
The curving way, but faced the abrupt ascent,
And halted not, so worked in both her will,
Till now between the unfinished towers they stood
Panting and spent. The portals open stood :
Ceadmon passed in alone. Nor ivory decked,
Nor gold, the walls. That convent was a keep
Strong 'gainst invading storm or demon hosts,
And naked as the rock whereon it stood,
Yet, as a church, august. Dark, high-arched roofs
Slowly let go the distant hymn. Each cell
Cinctured its statued saint, the peace of God
On every stony face. Like caverned grot
Far off the western window frowned : beyond,
Close by, there shook an autumn-blazoned tree :
No need for gems beside of storied glass.

He entered last that hall where Hilda sat
Begirt with a great company, the chiefs
Down either side far ranged. Three stalls, cross-crowned,
Stood side by side, the midmost hers. The years
Had laid upon her brows a hand serene,
And left alone their blessing. Levelled eyes
Sable, and keen, with meditative strength
Conjoined the instinct and the claim to rule :
Firm were her lips and rigid. At her right
Sat Finan, Aidan's successor, with head
Snow-white, and beard that rolled adown a breast
Never by mortal passion heaved in storm,
A cloister of majestic thoughts that walked,
Humbly with God. High in the left-hand stall
Oswy was throned, a man in prime, with brow
Less youthful than his years. Exile long past,
Or deepening thought of one disastrous deed,
Had left a shadow in his eyes. The strength
Of passion held in check looked lordly forth
From head and hand : tawny his beard ; his hair
Thick-curled and dense. Alert the monarch sat
Half turned, like one on horseback set that hears,

Ceadmon ike Cow-Herd, England's first Poet. 583

And he alone, the advancing trump of war.

Down the long gallery strangers thronged in mass,

Dane or Norwegian, huge of arm through weight

Of billows oar-subdued, with stormy looks

Wild as their waves and crags ; Southerns keen-browed ;

Pure Saxon youths, fair-fronted, with mild eyes

(These less than others strove for nobler place),

And Pilgrim travel-worn. Behind the rest,

And higher-ranged in marble-arched arcade,

Sat Hilda's sisterhood. Clustering they shone,

White-veiled, and pale of face, and still and meek,

An inly-bending curve, like some young moon

Whose crescent glitters o'er a dusky strait.

In front were monks dark-stoled : for Hilda ruled,

Though feminine, two houses, one of men :

Upon two chasm-divided rocks they stood,

To various service vowed, though single. Faith ;

Nor ever, save at rarest festival,

Their holy inmates met.

" Is this the man

Favored, though late, with gift of song?" Thus spake
Hilda with placid smile. Severer then
She added : " Son, the commonest gifts of God
He counts his best, and oft temptation blends
With powers more rare. Yet sing ! That God who lifts
The violet from the grass as well could draw
Music from stones hard by. That song thou sang'st,
Sing it once more."

Then Ceadmon from his knees
Arose and stood. With princely instinct first
The strong man to the abbess bowed, and next
To that great twain, the bishop and the king,
Last to that stately concourse ranged each side
Down the long hall ; and, dubious, answered thus :
" Great Mother, if that God who sent the song
Vouchsafe me to recall it, I will sing ;
But I misdoubt it lost." Slowly his face
Down-drooped, and all his body forward bent
As brooding memory, step by step, retracked
Its backward way. Vainly long time it sought
The starting-point. Then Ceadmon 's large, soft hands
Opening and closing worked ; for wont were they,
In musings when he stood, to clasp his goad,
And plant its point far from him, thereupon
Propping his stalwart weight. Customed support
Now finding not, unwittingly those hands
Reached forth, and on Saint Finan's crosier-staff
Settling, withdrew it from the old bishop's grasp ;

584 Ccadmon the Coiv-Herd, England's first Poet.

And Ceadmon leant thereon, while passed a smile

Down the long hall to see earth's meekest man

The spiritual sceptre claim of Lindisfarne.

They smiled ; he triumphed : soon the Cow-herd found

That first fair corner-stone of all his song ;

Then rose the fabric heavenward. Lifting hands,

Once more his lordly music he rehearsed,

The void abyss at God's command forth-flinging

Creation like a Thought : — where night had reigned,

The universe of God.

The singing stars

Which with the Angels sang when earth was made
Sang in his song. From highest shrill of lark
To ocean's deepest under cliffs low-browed,
And pine-woods' vastest on the topmost hills,
No'tone was wanting ; while to them that heard
Strange images looked forth of worlds new-born,
Fair, phantom mountains, and, with forests plumed,
The marvelling headlands, for the first time glassed
In waters ever calm. O'er sapphire seas
Green islands laughed. Fairer, the wide earth's flower,
Eden, on airs unshaken yet by sighs
From bosom still inviolate forth poured
Immortal sweets. With sense to spirit turned
Who heard the song inhaled those sweets. Their eyes
Flashing, their passionate hands and heaving breasts,
Tumult self-stilled, and mute, expectant trance,
Twas these that gave their bard his twofold might,
That might denied to poets later born
Who, singing to soft brains and hearts ice-hard,
Applauded or contemned, alike roll round
A vainly-seeking eye, and, famished, drop
A hand clay-cold upon the unechoing shell,
Missing their inspiration's human half.

Thus Ceadmon sang, and ceased. Silent awhile
The concourse stood (for all had risen), as though
Waiting from heaven its echo. Each on each
Gazed hard and caught his hands. Fiercely ere long
Their gratulating shout aloft had leaped
But Hilda laid her finger on her lip,
Or provident lest praise might stain the pure,
Or deeming song a gift too high for praise.
She spake : " Through help of God thy song is sound :
Now hear His Holy Word, and shape therefrom
A second hymn, and worthier than the first."

Then Finan stood, and bent his hoary head
Above the Scripture tome in reverence stayed

Ceadmon the Cow- Herd, England's first Poet. 585

Upon his kneeling deacon's hands and brow,
And sweetly sang five verses, thus beginning,
" Cum esset desponsata" and was still ;
And next rehearsed them in the Anglian tongue:
Then Ceadmon took God's Word into his heart,
And ruminating stood, as when the kine,
Their flowery pasture ended, ruminate ;
And was a man in thought. At. last the light
Shone from his dubious countenance, and he spake :
" Great Mother, lo ! I saw a second Song !
T'wards me it came; but with averted face,
And borne on shifting winds. A man am I
Sluggish and slow, that needs must muse and brood ;
Therefore that Scripture till the sun goes down
Will I revolve. If song from God be mine
Expect me here at morn."

The morrow morn

In that high presence Ceadmon stood and sang
A second song, and manlier than his first ;
And Hilda said, " From God it came, not man;
Thou therefore live a monk among my monks,
And sing to God." Doubtful he stood — "From youth
My place hath been with kine ; their ways I know,
And how to cure their griefs." Smiling she answered,
"Our convent hath its meads, and kine; with these
Consort each morning : night and day be ours."
Then Ceadmon knelt, and bowed, and said, " So be it " :
And aged Finan, and Northumbria's king
Oswy, approved; and all that host had joy.

Thus in that convent Ceadmon lived, a monk,
Humblest of all the monks, save him that slept
In the next cell, who once had been a prince.
Seven times a day he sang God's praises, first
When earliest dawn drew back night's sable veil
With trembling hand, revisiting the earth
Like some pale maid that through the curtain peers
Round her sick mother's bed, misdoubting half
If sleep lie there, or death ; latest when eve
Through nave and chancel stole from arch to arch,
And laid upon the snowy altar-step
At last a brow of gold. From time to time,
By ancient yearnings driven, through wood and vale
He tracked Deirean or Bernician glades
To holy Ripon, or late-sceptred York,
Not yet great Wilfred's seat, or Beverley : —
The children gathered round him, crying, " Sing !"
They gave him inspiration with their eyes,
And with his conquering music he returned it.

586 Ceadmon the Cow-Herd, England's first Poet.

Oftener he roamed that strenuous eastern coast
To Yarrow and to Wearmouth, sacred sites,
The well-beloved of Bede, or northward more,
To Bamborough, Oswald's keep. At Coldingham
His feet had rest — there where St. Ebba's Cape .
That ends the lonely range of Lammermoor,
Sustained for centuries o'er the wild sea-surge
In region of dim mist ^nd flying bird,
Fronting the Forth, those convent piles far-kenned,
The worn-out sailor's hope.

Fair English shores,

Despite the buffeting storms of north and east,
Despite rough ages blind with stormier strife,
Or froz'n by doubt, or sad with sensual care,
A fragrance as of Carmel haunts you still
Bequeathed by feet of that forgotten saint
AVho trod you once, sowing the seed divine !
Fierce tribes that kenned him distant round him flock'ed ;
On sobbing sands the fisher left his net,
His lamb the shepherd on the hills of March,
Suing for song. With wrinkled face all smiles,
Like that blind Scian upon Grecian shores,
If God the song accorded, Ceadmon sang ;
If God denied it, after musings deep
He answered, "I am of the kine and dumb "; —
The man revered his art, and fraudful song
Esteemed as fraudful coin.

Music denied,

He solaced them with tales wherein, so seemed it,
Nature and Grace, inwoven, like children played,
Or like two sisters o'er one sampler bent,
One pattern worked. Ever the sorrowful chance
Ending in joy, the human craving still,
Like creeper circling up the Tree of Life,
Lifted by hand unseen, witnessed that He,
Man's Maker, is the Healer too of man,
And life his school, expectant. Parables —
Thus Ceadmon named his legends. They who heard
Made answer, " Nay, not parables, but truths;"
Endured no change of phrase ; to years remote
Transmitted them as facts.

Better than tale

They loved their minstrel's harp. The songs he sang
Were songs to brighten gentle hearts, to fire
Strong hearts with holier courage, hope to breathe
Through spirits despondent, o'er the childless floor
Or widowed bed, flashing from highest heaven

Ceadinon the Coiv-Herd, England's first Poet. 587

A beam half faith, half vision. Many a tear,

His own, and tears of those that listened, fell

Oft as he sang that hand, lovely as light,

Forth stretched, and gathering from forbidden boughs

That fruit fatal to man. He sang the Flood,

Sin's doom that quelled the impure, yet raised to height

Else inaccessible, the just. He sang

That patriarch facing at Divine command

The illimitable desert — harder proof,

Lifting his knife o'er him, the seed foretold :

He sang of Israel loosed, the twelve black seals

Down pressed on Egypt's testament of woe,

Covenant of pride with penance; sang the face

Of Moses glittering from red Sinai's rocks,

The Tables twain, and Mandements of God.

On Christian nights he sang that jubilant star

Which led the Magians to the Bethlehem crib

By Joseph watched, and Mary. Pale, in Lent,

Tremulous and pale, he told of Calvary,

Nor added word, but, as in trance, rehearsed

That Passion fourfold of the Evangelists,

Which, terrible and swift — not like a tale —

With speed of things which must be done, not said,

A river of bale, from guilty age to age,

Along the lamentable shore of things

Annual makes way, the history of the world,

Not of one race, one day. Up to its fount

That stream he tracked, that primal mystery sang

Which, chanted later by a thousand years,

Music celestial, though with note that jarred

(Some wandering orb troubling its starry chime),

Amazed the nations — " There was war in heaven :

Michael and they, his angels, warfare waged

With Satan and his angels." Brief that war,

That ruin total. Brief was Ceadmon's song :

Therein the Eternal Face was undivulged :

Therein the Apostate's form no grandeur wore :

The grandeur was elsewhere. Who hate their God

Change not alone to vanquished but to vile.

On Easter morns he sang the Saviour Risen,

Eden regained. Since then on England's shores

Though many sang, yet no man sang like him.

O holy House of Wliitby ! on thy steep
Rejoice, howe'er the tempest, night or day,
Afflict thee, or the craftier hand of Time,
Drag back thine airy arche's in mid spring;
Rejoice, for Ceadmon in thy cloisters knelt,
And singing paced beside thy sounding sea \
Long years he lived ; and with the whitening hair

588 Ceadmon the Cow-Herd, England's first Poet.

More youthful grew in spirit, and more meek ;

And they that saw him said he sang within

Then when the golden mouth but seldom breathed

Sonorous strain, and when — that fulgent eye

No longer bright — still on his forehead shone

Not flame but purer light, like that last beam

Which, when the sunset woods no longer burn,

Maintains its place on Alpine throne remote,

Or utmost beak of promontoried cloud,

And heavenward dies in smiles. Esteem of men

Daily he less esteemed, through single heart

More knit with God. To please a sickly child

He sang his latest song, and, ending, said,

" Song is but body, though 'tis body winged :

The soul of song is love : the body dead,

The soul should thrive the more." That Patmian Sage

Whose head had lain upon the Saviour's breast,

Who in high vision saw the First and Last,

Who heard the harpings of ihe Elders crowned,

Who o'er the ruins of the Imperial House

And ashes of the twelve great Caesars dead

Witnessed the endless triumph of the just,

To earthly life restored, and, weak through age,

But seldom spake, and gave but one command,

The great "Mandatum Novum " of his Lord,

" My children, love each other !" Like to his

Was Ceadmon's age. Weakness with happy stealth

Increased upon him : he was cheerful still :

He still could pace, though slowly, in the sun,

Still gladsomely converse with friends who wept,

Still lay a broad hand on his well-loved kine.

The legend of the last of Ceadmon's days : —
That hospital wherein the old monks died
Stood but a stone's throw from the monastery :
" Make there my couch to-night," he said, and smiled :
They marvelled, yet obeyed. There, hour by hour,
The man, low-seated on his pallet-bed,
In silence watched the courses of the stars,
Or casual spake at times of common things,
And three times played with childhood's days, and twice
His father named. At last, like one that, long
Begirt with good, is smit by sudden thought
Of greater good, thus spake he : " Have ye, sons,
Here in this house the Blessed Sacrament?"
They answered, wrathful, " Father, thou art strong;
Shake not thy children ! Thou hast many days !"
" Yet bring me here the Blessed Sacrament,"
Once more he said. The brethren issued forth
Save four that silent sat waiting the close.

Ceadmon the Cow-Herd, England's first Poet. 589

Ere long in grave procession they returned,
Two deacons first, gold-vested; after these
That priest who bare the Blessed Sacrament,
And acolytes behind him, lifting lights.
Then from his pallet Ceadmon slowly rose
And worshipped Christ, his God, and reaching forth
His right hand, cradled in his left, behold !
Therein was laid God's Mystery. He spake :

" Stand ye in flawless charity of God

T'wards me, my sons, or lives there in your hearts

Memory the least of wrong or wrath ?" They answered :

" Father, within us lives nor wrong, nor wrath,
But love, and love alone." And he : " Not less
Am I in charity with you, my sons,
And all my sins of pride, and other sins,
Humbly I mourn." Then, bending the old head
Above the old hand, Ceadmon received his Lord
To be his soul's viaticum, in might
Leading from life that seems to life that is,
And long, unpropped by any, kneeling hung
And made thanksgiving prayer. Thanksgiving made,
He sat upon his bed, and spake : " How long
Ere yet the monks begin their matin psalms ?"
"That hour is nigh," they answered; he replied,
"Then let us wait that hour," and laid him down
With those kine-tending and harp-mastering hands
Crossed on his breast, and slept.

Meanwhile the monks

(The lights removed in reverence of his sleep)
Sat mute nor stirred such time as in the Mass
Between " Orate fratres " glides away,
And ''''Hoc est Corpus Afeum." Northward far
The great deep, seldom heard so distant, roared
Round those wild rocks half way to Bamborough Head ;
For now the mightiest spring-tide of the year,
Following the magic of a maiden moon,
Had readied its height. More near, that sea which sobbed
In many a cave by Whitby's winding coast,
Or died in peace on many a sandy bar
From river-mouth to river-mouth outspread,
They heard, and mused upon eternity
That circles human life. Gradual there rose
A softer strain and sweeter, making way
O'er that sea-murmur hoarse ; and they were ware
That in the black far-shadowing church whose bulk
Up-towered between them and the moon, the monks
Their matins had begun. A little sigh
That moment reached them from the central gloom
Guarding the sleeper's bed; a second sigh

590 Confession in the Church of England.

Succeeded : neither seemed the sigh of pain :
And some one said, "He wakens." Large and bright
Over the church-roof sudden rushed the moon,
And smote the cross above that sleeper's couch,
And smote that sleeper's face. The smile thereon
Was calmer than the smile of life. Thus died
Ceadmon, the earliest bard of English song.

CONFESSION IN THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.*

THE subject of confession has of
late been brought prominently be-
fore the British public. We need
hardly say that a storm of indigna-
tion has been raised. Parliament
has been called upon to put a stop
to a practice which is generally be-
lieved to be quite at variance with
the spirit of the Church of England,
and many of the bishops have pub-
licly condemned it. It may, how-
ever, be doubted whether any effect
has really been produced; for as
long as clergy are found who claim
the power of forgiving sin, and as
long as people feel the need of ab-
solution, it is certain that confes-
sion will be practised.

A Catholic must necessarily look
on confession, as existing in the
Anglican communion, with feelings
of a very mixed nature. On the
one hand it is impossible not to
appreciate the sincerity and humi-
lity evinced by those who volun-
tarily seek what they believe to be
a means of grace. It is hard to
doubt that the habit of self-exami-

* One of the most recent and significant signs of
change in the Anglican communion is the move-
ment in favor of confession. It may be well to in-
form our readers that the above article is from the
pen of Mgr. Capel, than whom no man in England
probably is better fitted from his position, know-
ledge, and experience to treat of such a subject.—
ED. C. W.

nation and of watchfulness natu-
rally resulting from confession must
have its value ; above all, it seems
as if we might fairly hope that the
spirit of obedience and the faith-
fulness in acting on conviction will
be rewarded by fuller light and
knowledge.

On the other hand, it is equally
impossible to shut our eyes to the
great dangers which beset confes-
sion among Anglicans. In the first
place, there is the absence of all
sacramental grace; secondly, of
training, and even of theological
knowledge, in the clergy ; and, third-
ly, those who use confession are in
an exceptional position, which of
itself is fraught with peril to the
soul.

Of course no Catholic supposes
Anglican clergymen to have true
orders. Confession in the English
communion is simply a conversa-
tion between two lay people on
some of the most important sub-
jects that can occupy the thoughts
of human beings. There may be
on either side sincerity, piety, and
earnestness, but sacramental grace
there is not. Relations so close
between two souls are certainly not
without peril ; we do not speak of
the danger to morals which the

Confession in the Church of England,

591

Protestant party constantly insists
upon, and whose existence we can-
not altogether deny, but of the
tyranny on the part of the minister,
and of the unreasonable obedience
yielded by the penitent to a self-
appointed guide.

Those who have looked a little
into their own hearts, and who
have reflected on the subtle influ-
ences which have told on their
characters, must feel that dealing
with another soul is no light mat-
ter ; that the chances of doing harm
are many and great ; and that spe-
cial graces are needed by those
who are called to so sacred an
office. The need of training, too,
is obvious ; he who is to be the
physician of the soul ought to be
as well acquainted with moral
theology as a physician should be
with medical science. Among the
clergy of the Church of England
there is an absolute want of theo-
logical knowledge. It would be
hard to mention an Anglican book
on any subject connected with mo-
ral theology. Anglican clergymen,
even where they have learnt to be-
lieve many of the dogmas of the
Catholic faith, are, generally speak-
ing, ignorant of the difference be-
tween mortal and venial sin. Hence
results a spirit of severity on the
part of the confessor which tends
to produce scrupulosity and de-
pression in the penitent. Converts
have declared that the first time
they heard Catholic teaching as to
the nature of sin it seemed to them
the most consoling doctrine pos-
sible.

It is true that of late years some
Catholic manuals have been trans-
lated and "adapted" to the An-
glican use. In the recent contro-
versies regarding the Priest in
Absolution some of the leading
High-Church clergy have proclaim-

ed their ignorance of the book, and
have asserted that experience had
taught them all that they could
learn from its pages ; but while
they were gaining their experience
what became of the poor souls who
were the subjects of their study ?
In the Catholic Church a person
cannot be said in any way to dis-
tinguish himself by going to con-
fession ; he does what has to be
done if he would save his soul.
Among Anglicans, although the
practice is now pretty widely
spread, the case is very different ;
the man or woman who goes to
confession occupies a somewhat ex-
ceptional position, and is more or
less considered as a support of the
church, as one of those through
whose influence that church is gra-
dually to be reformed and restored.

It is hard to get at statistics as
to the actual strength of the ex-
treme High-Church party, and even
among those who call themselves
High Church there are many shades
and differences of opinion ; the
amount of notice which it has at-
tracted is due rather to the adop-
tion of practices unknown in the
Church of England, and to the ear-
nestness and activity of its clergy,
than to the great number of its ad-
herents. If we were to count one-
tenth part of the members of the
Church of England as High Church
we should probably be overshoot-
ing the mark; and of these it is by
no means to be assumed that the
greater number go to confession.
Personal inquiry in at least one so-
called centre of ritualism has led
us to believe that it is the practice
of a mere minority.

We believe that the practice of
confession maybe said to be pretty
nearly universal in the case of the
Anglican religious communities
(which are about thirty in number).

592

Confession in the Church of England.

Many people living in the world
are accustomed to go to confession
weekly or fortnightly, and in some
few London churches the practice
is probably followed by the ma-
jority of the congregation ; children
are trained to it from their ear-
liest years, and it is boldly pro-
claimed to be the " remedy for
post-baptismal sin."

As far as we can gather from the
testimony of those who have con-
fessed and heard confessions as An-
glicans, we should say that confes-
sion is often an actual torture to the
soul ; that penances are often imposed
altogether without proportion to
theircause; that a kind of obedience
unknown among Catholics is claim-
ed and is rendered. This, after all,
is the great danger. It will never
be known till the last day how
many souls have been kept out of
God's church by the authority of
their Protestant " directors." A
director finds that one of his peni-
tents begins to think that the Ca-
tholic Church has claims worthy, at
least, of being examined. At once
active works of charity are propos-
ed as a remedy ; all reading of Ca-
tholic books, or intercourse with
Catholic friends or relations, is for-
bidden ; the director is not afraid
to say that leaving the Church of
England is a sin against the Holy
Ghost, and furthermore will pro-
mise to answer at the last day for
the soul that, in reliance on his
dictum, suspends all search after
truth and blindly obeys. The mo-
ment of grace is too often lost; the
soul holds back and will not re-
spond to God's call. Too often
those things which it had are taken
from it, and the sad result is an
utter loss of faith.

A Catholic's interest in the work-
ing of the Anglican Church is sole-
ly in reference to the work of con-

version. Those who in one sense
are said to come nearest to the Ca-
tholic Church are often in reality
the furthest off; for they believe
Catholic doctrines not because they
are proposed by a divine authority,
but because they consider them
reasonable, or find that they are in
accordance with the testimony of
antiquity. Theirreligion is as much
a matter of private judgment as
that of the Bible Christian; the dif-
ference lies in the fact that the
ritualist exercises his private judg-
ment over a more extended field
than the other.

An Anglican who goes to con-
fession must be an object of great
anxiety to a Catholic friend. In
such a case, at least where the prac-
tice has been voluntarily and ear-
nestly adopted, we feel that God is
calling that soul to his church ;
that he has awakened in it a sense
of need, a craving for the grace
and aid which, generally speaking,
are only to be found in the sacra-
ments. We can hardly doubt that,
if that soul is true to grace, it will
ere long be in the one true fold ;
but the position is one of peculiar
difficulty, and the temptations
which beset it are of no common
kind. Minds of a weak order
naturally yield to anything that
bears the semblance of lawful au-
thority ; the conscientious fear to
go against those whom they believe
to be wiser and better than them-
selves ; a peace of mind often fol-
lows the confession of an Anglican.
Perhaps it is the natural result of
having made an effort and got over
what is supposed to be a painful
duty; perhaps it is a grace given
by God in consideration of an act
of contrition. How is the poor
soul to discern this peace from the
effect of sacramental grace? So
the verv goodness of God is turned

Confession in the Church of England.

593

into a reason for delay and for rest-
ing satisfied.

Hitherto we have looked on the
subject of confession in the Angli-
can communion chiefly from the
side of the penitent ; the case of
the clergy who hear confessions is
widely different and is beset with
many difficulties. Generally speak-
ing, the only question arising in the
mind of the penitent would be:
Can I get my sins forgiven by go-
ing to confession? Of course the
reality of the absolution turns pri-
marily on the validity of orders;
strange to say, a vast number of
the laity of the Church of Eng-
land are contented to take the va-
lidity of the orders of their minis-
ters as an unquestioned fact. The
clergy naturally are most positive
in the assertion that their orders
are valid ; as the nature and the
necessity of jurisdiction are alike
unknown to the ordinary Anglican
mind, the matter seems pretty
clear. The laity in the Anglican
body are not in any very definite
manner bound by the Prayer-book
or by any of the authorized docu-
ments of that body ; there is no-
thing anomalous in the idea of An-
glican lay people, especially women,
going to confession without even
asking themselves whether the
practice is in accordance with the
mind of the communion to which
they belong. Moreover, High-
Church Anglicans are avowedly
bent on improving their church;
their church is not their guide or
their mother, but rather an institu-
tion which has so far fulfilled its
purpose but imperfectly, and which,
by a judicious process of reforma-
tion, they hope to assimilate to an
ideal existing in their own minds.
Many conscientious Anglicans
would therefore deem any objec-
lion founded on the evident want

VOL. XXVI. — 38

of encouragement of their views by
their church as quite irrelevant.
The Church of England does not
forbid such and such a practice,
they would say ; we are convinced
that it is in accordance with the
teaching of antiquity, that it is use-
ful, and therefore we encourage it.
The clergy, however, are bound
not only to follow the voice of indi-
vidual conscience, but to keep cer-
tain solemn promises by which they
have voluntarily bound themselves.
Even if a clergyman be fully con-
vinced that he possesses the tre-
mendous power of the keys, it does
not necessarily follow that he
should feel at liberty to exercise it
at all times or in all places. We
do not go at all into the question
of Anglican orders, except to re-
mark in passing that it seems
strange that the majority of the
clergy should give themselves so
little trouble on the subject; they
know that, to say the least, grave
doubts as to their position are en-
tertained by Christendom in gen-
eral, and yet it is very seldom that
any one of them takes the same
trouble to investigate his orders
that a reasonable man would take
in regard to his title-deeds, if
a doubt were thrown on them.
We believe that the feeling which
we once heard expressed by a
clergyman said to be High Church
is not very uncommon ; being told
by a friend that there were serious
reasons for doubting Anglican or-
ders, and consequently Anglican
sacraments, he made no attempt to
defend them, but simply remarked :
" I don't suppose that God would
let us suffer for such a trifle." To
make the position of the Anglican
clergy clear to our readers, we must
begin by citing from "The Form
and Manner of making Priests "
the solemn words which a Protes-

594

Confession in the Church of England.

tant bishop, "laying his hands up-
on the head of every one that re-
.-civeth the order of priesthood,"
pronounces over him :

" Receive the Holy Ghost for the office
and work of a priest in the church of
God, now committed unto thee by the
imposition of our hands. Whose sins
thou dost forgive, they are forgiven ;
and whose sins thou dost retain, they
are retained. And be thou a faithful
dispenser of the word of God, and of
his holy sacraments : In the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
-Ghost. Amen."

By the thirty-sixth canon of
the Church of England, published
.and confirmed in 1865, it is requir-
ed that the following Declaration
and subscription should be made
by such as are to be ordained min-
isters :

"I, A. B., do solemnly make the fol-
lowing declaration : I assent to the
Thirty-nine Articles of Religion, and to
.the Book of Common Prayer, and of
Ordering of Bishops, Priests, and Dea-
cons ; I believe the doctrine of the
•United Church of England and Ireland,
as therein set forth, to be agreeable to
the word of God ; and in public prayer
.and administration of the sacraments, I
will use the form in the said book pre-
scribed, and none other, except so far as
.shall be ordered by lawful authority."

An Anglican clergyman, again,
pledges himself at his ordina'tion to
minister the doctrine and sacra-
ments and the discipline of Christ
as our Lord hath commanded, and
as this church and realm hath receiv-
ed the same. The subject of confes-
sion is mentioned three times in
the Book of Common Prayer, which,
as our readers may perhaps be
aware, is the only authorized for-
mulary of devotion possessed by the
Church of England. There is no
separate ritual for the clergy ; the
Common Prayer is the one compre-
hensive whole and is in the hands
of everybody.

In the exhortation which is ap-
pointed to be read on the Sunday
immediately preceding the celebra-
tion of the Holy Communion, and
which, by the way, a great many
regular church-goers seldom or
never have heard read, the con-
cluding paragraph runs as follows :

"And because it is requisite that no
man should come to the holy commun-
ion, but with a full trust in God's mercy,
and with a quiet conscience ; therefore if
there be any of you, who by this means,
(i.e., by self-examination and private re-
pentance,) cannot quiet his own con-
science herein but requireth further
comfort or counsel, let him come to me,
or to some other discreet and learned
minister of God's word, and open his
grief; that by the ministry ctf God's holy
word he may receive the benefit of abso-
lution, together with ghostly counsel and
advice, to the quieting of his conscience
and avoiding of all scruple and doubt-
fulness."

The next occasion on which we
find confession in the pages of tht-
Prayer-book is the Visitation of
the Sick. A rubric lays down the
" priest's " duty in these words :

" Here shall the sick person be moved
to make a special confession of his sins,
if he feel his conscience troubled with
any weighty matter. After which con-
fession the priest shall absolve him (if
he humbly and heartily desire it) after
this sort: Our Lord Jesus Christ, who
hath left power to his church to absolve
all sinners who truly repent and believe
in him, of his great mercy forgive thee
thine offences ; and, by his authority com-
mitted to me, I absolve thee from all
thy sins, in the name of the Father, and
of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen."

Lastly, in the twenty-fifth of the
Thirty-nine Articles of Religion,
which are subscribed by all the
clergy, we read :

" There are two sacraments, ordained
of Christ our Lord in the Gospel — that is
to s.iy, baptism and the Supper of the
Lord. Those five commonly called sa-

Confession in the Church of England.

595

craments — that is to say, confirmation,
penance, orders, matrimony, and extreme
unction — are not to be counted for sacra-
ments of the Gospel, being such as have
grown partly of the corrupt following of
the apostles, partly are states of life al-
lowed in the Scriptures ; but yet have
not like nature of sacraments with bap-
tism and the Lord's Supper, for that they
have not any visible sign or ceremony
ordained of God."

As the Church of England has
but one authorized book of devo-
tion, she has but one book of in-
struction ; her Homilies are declar-
ed, in the thirty-fifth of the Thir-
ty-nine Articles, " to contain a god-
ly and wholesome doctrine and ne-
cessary for these times," and it is
directed that they should " be read
in churches by the minister dili-
gently and distinctly, that they may
be understanded of the people."

The Homilies are not read in
churches ; in fact we believe it
would be safe to assert that they
are hardly ever read anywhere, and
we might almost suppose them to
be obsolete, were it not that every
candidate for orders signs the state-
ment that they are "necessary for
these times." The second part of
the Homily on Repentance says :

" And where they (the Roman teach-
ers) do allege this saying of our Saviour
Jesus Christ unto the leper, to prove
auricular confession to stand on God's
word, ' Go thy way, and show thyself
unto the priest,' do they not see that the
leper was cleansed from his leprosy, be-
fore he was by Christ sent unto the
priest for to show himself unto him? By
the same reason we must be cleansed
from our spiritual leprosy — I mean our
sins must be forgiven us — before that we
come to confession. What need we, then,
to tell forth our sins into the ear of the
priest, sith that they may be already
taken away? Therefore holy Ambrose,
in his second sermon upon the iiQth
Psalm, doth say full well : Go s/tow thyself
nnto the priest. Who is the true priest,
biit he which is the priest for ever after
the order of Melchisedech ? Whereby

this holy Father doth understand that,
both the priesthood and the law being
changed, we ought to acknowledge none
other priest for deliverance from our
sins but our Saviour Jesus Christ, who,
being our sovereign bishop, doth with
the sacrifice of his body and blood, of-
fered once for ever upon the altar of the
cross, most effectually cleanse the spiri-
tual leprosy and wash away the sins of
all those that with true confession of the
same do flee unto him. It is most evi-
dent and plain, that this auricular con-
fession hath not the warrant of God's
word, else it had not been lawful for
Nectarius, Bishop of Constantinople,
upon a just occasion to have put it
down.

" Let us with fear and trembling,
and with a true contrite heart, use
that kind of confession which God
doth command in his Word, and then
doubtless, as he is faithful and righteous,
he will forgive us our sins and make us
clean from all wickedness. I do not say
but that, if any do find themselves troub-
led in conscience, they may repair to
their learned curate or pastor, or to
some other godly learned man, and show
the trouble and doubt of their conscience
to them, that they may receive at their
hand the comfortable salve of God's
word ; but it is against the true Christian
liberty, that any man should be bound
to the numbering of his sins, as it hath
been used heretofore in the time of
blindness and ignorance."

Such are the scanty devotional
and dogmatical utterances of the
Church of England on the subject
of confession. The only other in-
struction given to her clergy in
regard to their duties as confessors
is to be found in the one hundred
and thirteenth canon, which treats
of the presentment of notorious of-
fenders to the ordinaries. Parsons
and vicars, or in their absence their
curates, may themselves present to
their ordinaries

" All such crimes as they have in charge
or otherwise, as by them (being tlie per-
sons that should have the chief care for
the suppressing of sin and impiety in
their parishes) shall be thought to re*

596

Confession in the Church of England.

quire due reformation. Provided always,
that if any man confess his secret and
hidden sins to the minister, for the un-
burdening of his conscience, and to re-
ceive spiritual consolation and ease of
mind from him ; we do not any way bind
the said minister by this our Constitu-
tion, but do straitly charge and admon-
ish him, that he do not at any time re-
veal and make known to any person
whatsoever any crime or offence so com-
mitted to his trust and secrecy (except
they be such crimes as, by the laws of
this realm, his own life may be called into
question for concealing the same), under
pain of irregularity."

As far as we can gather, the be-
lief of the. Church of England en
the subject of confession may be
summed up in the following propo-
sitions :

1. Penance is not a sacrament,

but

2. Her'ministers have the power
of forgiving sins.

3. This power is exercised after
confession made by the penitent.

4. But such confession is not to
be made, save in case of serious ill-
ness or of great disquiet of mind.

5. The absolution of the priest
is not the ordinary means by which
sins are forgiven.

6. The penitent is to be the
judge in his own case. If he feels
very much in want of confession,
he may have it ; if not, he is to do
without it. His own feeling is the
only rule in the matter.

We think our readers will admit
that the above statements are in
no way an unfair summary of the
teaching of the Church of England
as represented by her formularies.
Certainly they give no warrant for
the assertion now made by the
High-Church party that confession
is the ordinary remedy for post-
baptismal sin, or to the practice of
frequent and regular confession
which is now so widely advocated
and followed. Confession is evi-

dently, according to the teaching
of Anglicanism, what it has been
well called by an Anglican, a
" luxury." Ho\v, it may be asked,
can men who are pledged to teach
and maintain the doctrines of the
Church of England act in direct
opposition to the instructions which
she has given them ? We do not
maintain that those instructions
have the appearance of being all
the expression of the same convic-
tions. There is an apparent dis-
crepancy existing amongst them ;
they are not consistent with each
other. But the one broad fact is
plain as daylight : they do not
countenance the present action of
extreme Anglicans. Lookers-on
constantly ask, Are these men sin-
cere ? Why do they not " go over
to Rome " ? Are they not traitors
in the Anglican camp ? To these
questions we can only reply : We
judge not ; each individual must
stand or fall to his own master ;
but we cannot hesitate in saying
that ritualism as a system is dis-
honest, and that the position occu-
pied by its adherents is the most
untenable that any man can under-
take to defend.

If we seek for the reason why
men whom we are ready to believe
upright and honorable act in a
manner which is apparently abso-
lutely incompatible with their sol-
emn engagements, it may perhaps
be discovered by a consideration
of one of the chief characteristics
of the Church of England.

St. Paul speaks of the church of
Christ as " the pillar and ground
of the truth." The Church of
England is essentially a compro-
mise. Some of her dignitaries even
look on this as her glory : the High-
Churchman can find his belief in
the Real Presence supported by
her catechism, but the Low-Church-

Confession in the CJmrch of England,

597

man has the black rubric, which is
equally strong in favor of his opin-
ion ; her prayers are for the most
part preserved from the days of Ca-
tholic piety, and her Articles bear
the impress of foreign heresy; she
prays against " false doctrine, he-
resy, and schism," and devotes one
of her Articles to the assertion that
all churches have erred. Her cler-
gy are required to accept anomalies
and inconsistencies ; and we can-
not but do them the justice to say
that they accept them with great
equanimity. Every one has some-
thing to get over : the High-Church-
man could wish some things alter-
ed, and the Low-Churchman would
be glad to see others omitted ; the
result seems to be that every one
subscribes with a kind of laxity
which, if it does not imply a want
of honesty, at least betrays an ab-
sence of accuracy and of definite
conviction. Subscription to arti-
cles and formularies seems to sit
very lightly on the Anglican con-
science ; it is a mere means to an
end.

But the Anglican clergyman not
only pledges himself to the doc-
trines of the Prayer-book and Arti-
cles ; he also promises obedience
to his bishop. Here is something
apparently definite. In the voice
of a living bishop there can hardly
be the same scope for diversity as
the pages of the Prayer-book afford.
Generally speaking, the Anglican
bishops condemn the practice of
confession; if they were really
rulers in their communion there
can be no doubt that the High-
Church party would long since have
been extinct. As a fact, the An-
glican does not obey his bishop ;
at this very moment one of the
leading High-Church clergy of Lon-
don has definitely and deliberately
refused to obey his bishop by re-

moving from his church a crucifix
and a picture of Our Lady, which
he believes tend to promote devo-
tion among his flock.

For the reasons which lead con-
scientious men to disobey the or-
dinary whose godly admonitions
they have engaged with a glad
mind and will to follow, and to
whose godly judgments they have
promised with God's help to sub-
mit, we must again look to the pe-
culiar theories of the Church of
England. It is hardly necessary
to say that the Church of England
does not in any way or under any
circumstances claim infallibility;
nay, more, she goes out of her \vay
to deny its very existence. One
of her Articles asserts that the
churches of Jerusalem, Alexan-
dria, Antioch, and Rome have err-
ed in matters of faith, and another
follows up this assertion by the
kindred statement that general
councils may err, and sometimes
have erred, even in things pertain-
ing to God. She indeed daily pro-
fesses her belief in One, Holy, Ca-
tholic, and Apostolic Church, but
she does not inform her children
where and how the voice of that
church is to be heard. She con-
stantly asserts the authority of
Holy Scripture, but she recognizes
no authority competent to inter-
pret Scripture in a decisive man-
ner. Under the influence of such
teaching it is not surprising that
there should exist in the Church of
England t\vo theories regarding
authority in matters of faith. One
is that there is no authority save
Holy Scripture. Everything must
be proved by Scripture; and as
there is no one necessarily better
entitled than another to explain
Scripture, this virtually amounts to
a recognition of the right and duty
of private judgment to its fullest

Confession in the CliurcJi of England.

extent. The other theory is bas-
ed on belief in the One Catholic
Church. It admits that our Lord
appointed his church to teach men
all truth ; it believes that the voice
of the church in primitive times
was the voice of God ; it doubts
not that at a former period the
church was guided by the Spirit of
God, but it holds that supernatu-
ral guidance to be in abeyance ; it
recognizes no living voice of the
church ; it looks forward with a
vague hope to the reunion of Ca-
tholics, Greeks, and Anglicans, and
the possibility in such a case of a
general couYici! being held, whose
decisions would bind all Christen-
dom. In the meantime the church
is dumb, if not dead, and all that
can be done is to turn with a rev-
erent mind to the study of antiqui-
ty, to an examination of what has
been handed down from the days
of pure and undoubted faith.
This last is the theory of the High-
Church party in general. To their
mind a bishop is a necessity ; he is
required for the conferring of
orders and for giving confirmation ;
he is not the centre of sacrificial
power in his diocese, nor the
source of jurisdiction; he is not a
teacher in any other sense beyond
that in which they are themselves
teachers; their obedience to him
is not an obedience to one whom
our Lord lias set over his flock
with a special charge to feed his
sheep as well as his lambs ; it is
an obedience rendered to one who
is officially a superior — an obedience
which has no direct reference to
God, and which is constantly evad-
ed (it may be in perfect good faith)
on the principle that " we ought to
obey God rather than man."

Another cause which has proba-
bly much to do with the apparent
inconsistencies of the High-Church

Anglican clergy is the fact that
they are in a great many cases ab-
sorbed and overwhelmed by an
amount of active work which leaves
little leisure for the serious exami-
nation of their position. It is ad-
mitted on all sides that the last
century was a period of spiritual
apathy and deadness as far as the
Church of England was concerned.
The movement of the past forty
years has not been merely in the
direction of Catholic doctrine, but
it has also led to a renewal of zeal,
to energy and self-sacrifice, which
we cannot but appreciate. The
poor, the young, the ignorant, and
the fallen are cared for with a cha-
rity whose root is, we trust, to be
found in the increased knowledge
of the life and of the love of our
Lord. But even works of mercy
have their snares ; a man who is
toiling night and day among the
outcast and the poor of great cities,
who sees the results of his labor in
the reformed life of many a wan-
derer, and who also sees pressing
on him needs which he can never
fully satisfy, must be sorely tempt-
ed to turn a deaf ear to all such
questionings as would stay his
course. He hears people's confes-
sions, and he sees them turn to
God and lead better lives; natu-
rally he concludes that all is right,
and he resents any interference
with a practice which is apparently
so salutary.

We have now given a short and,
we hope, a fair idea of confession
as it exists at present in the An-
glican communion. We must add,
for the information of those who
have not had the opportunity of
watching the progress of events in
England, that the practice of con-
fession was unknown, or almost un-
known, in the Anglican communion
until about five-and-thirty years

Michael the Sombre.

599

ago. It was one of the first fruits
of that turning back to the old Ca-
tholic paths which by God's bless-
ing has led so many souls into the
Church. The movement still goes
on ; it has passed through different

phases, and year by year it brings
one after another to the very thres-
hold of their true home ; they enter
in and are at rest, and find the
reality of all that they had hitherto
sought and longed for.

MICHAEL THE SOMBRE.*

AN EPISODE IN THE POLISH INSURRECTION, 1863-1864.

IT is a trite remark that every
age has produced its heroes, its
saints, and its martyrs ; but there
are few amongst us who have suf-
ficient discernment to recognize
them when they cross our path in
life. " Should we know a saint if
we met him?" asks Father Faber.
And so if we were to meet the he-
roine of this tale, quietly working
in her own village or busy with
the ouvroir for young girls she has
just established in her province in
France, we should be far indeed
from guessing that we saw with
our own eyes a woman who had
equalled, if not surpassed, Joan of
Arc in heroism, devotion, and cou-
rage, and who had done deeds
which would be incredible, if not
attested by a multitude of living
witnesses.

She was born in one of the de-
partments of France unhappily
annexed during the war of 1870-71.
Having lost her mother in infancy,
she was brought up by her father,
an old officer under Louis XVIII.
and Charles X., who educated her
entirely as a boy. At twelve years
of age she was a complete mistress

* This strange narrative, which has never hither-
to been published in any language, is the autobio-
graphy of a friend of the Lady Herbert of Lea, who
has translated it for THE CATHOLIC WORLD —
KD. C. W.

of the art of fencing, riding, shoot-
ing, and other manly accomplish-
ments. Then, fearing lest she should
be altogether unfitted for the socie-
ty of those of her own sex, her fa-
ther suddenly determined to send
her to a convent, where her extra-
ordinary cleverness soon enabled
her to conquer all difficulties, and
she made the most rapid progress
in every branch of study. A vein
of earnest Catholic piety ran
through her whole character, coup-
led with an equally earnest devo-
tion to her country and her king.
We do not know what family cir-
cumstances induced her father to
part for a time from a child on whose
education he had lavished such
thought and care. But at eighteen
we find her established in Poland
as an inmate of one of its noblest
families. After two years thus spent,
during which she acquired a tho-
rough knowledge of the Polish and
German languages, she returned
to France and had the melancholy
consolation of nursing and assist-
ing her father in his last moments ;
after which she was entreated to

return to the Countess L in

Poland, and become the adopted
child of the house, to which she
consented. So that, when the in-
surrection in that country broke

6oo

Michael the Sombre.

out in 1863, "Mika,"as she was
affectionately called by the whole
family, rejoiced in the opportunity
it afforded her of repaying the debt
of gratitude she owed to those who
had been as her second parents, by
a devotion which was ready to sac-
rifice life itself in their service.

It is an episode in this war
which we are about to give to our
readers, and which we think will be
doubly interesting at the present
moment, when all eyes are fixed on
the terrible struggle going on in
the East. The story is told in the
heroine's own words.

It was on the 22d January, 1863,
that the Poles, in little bands of
ten or twenty men, met by a cross
raised in honor of Kosciusko in the
palatinate of Radom, and made a
vow to deliver Poland from the
Muscovite yoke or perish in the
attempt. Let those who blame
them remember the intolerable
persecution which they had patient-
ly endured for years — a persecution
Avhich deprived them of their faith,
their language, their rights as
citizens, and all that men hold
most dear.

On the 24th they marched on
Miechow, having no other arms
than scythes and sticks and old-
fashioned fowling-pieces. Led by
inexperienced chiefs, who, in their
ardor, fondly imagined that patri-
otism and a holy cause would car-
ry the day against military tactics,
they were foolish enough to attack,
in broad daylight, a strong body of
Russians, well armed and superior
to them in numbers, who occupied
an almost impregnable position on
the heights above the town. The
result may be easily imagined.
The Poles were repulsed with
heavy loss, and the Russians, who
delight in celebrating their triumphs

by a bonfire, burnt down the town
and massacred all the Poles who
came within their reach.

Ten of the Polish wounded were
secretly brought to the caslle,
where we had established a subter-
ranean ambulance. It was my
business to dress the wounds of
these poor fellows, assisted by a
holy nun, the Mother Alexandra,
who played too important a part in
my future history not to be men-
tioned here. The Count L

did not approve of the insurrection
and considered it hopeless from the
first ; but he would not abandon
his brave peasants. Towards the
3oth of this month our couriers
gave us warning that the. Russians
were aware of the wounded men
being under our care, and that they
were marching on the castle for the
purpose of burning it down. The
count refused to fly, saying that his
place was amongst his own people
at Syez, of whom he had always
been both the father and protector.
But he called me into his counsels,
and implored me to carry off his
wife and children and his sister-in-
law (who lived with us) to Mislo-
witz, a little manufacturing town on
the frontier of Silesia and Poland.
After all it was a false alarm ; and
after a fortnight's exile, which anxi-
ety and fear had doubled, a letter
from the count recalled us. We
had nearly reached the end of
our journey when we were attacked
by a mob of Russian fanatics, who
endeavored to seize the carriage.
I was on horseback at the head of
the little cavalcade, and I managed
by means of my revolver to keep
these miscreants at bay. The
coachman profited by this mo-
ment's respite to lash his horses
into a gallop, by which means we
escaped the ambush and reached
the castle in safety.

Michael the Sombre.

601

But our tranquillity was not des-
tined to be of long duration.
About a fortnight later eight in-
surgents of the legion called of
" Despair " sought refuge in our
house. We concealed them as well
as we could; but in the middle of
the night notice was sent us that
the Russians were on their track
and had discovered their hiding-
place. We hastened to send them
off to a part of the forest where a
cavern had been prepared to re-
ceive any such fugitives. They
reached it in safety, but unhappily
were betrayed by a peasant to- whom
the secret had been confided. The
exasperated Russians again threat-
ened the castle ; and again the
count insisted on our flight. On
our way an alarm was given of
some sort which so terrified the
coachman that he threw down his
whip and fled for his life, leaving us
and the carriage at the mercy of
the four horses, which were strong
beasts and very fresh. Luckily,
they stood still for a moment, and,
as I was used to driving, I reas-
sured the countess and jumped on
the box. Hardly, however, had I
taken the reins than the wheels of
the carriage became wedged in the
sand. I jumped off the box, and,
seizing one of the leaders by the
bridle, urged him forward with all
my might. The animal made so
violent an effort that he threw me
down and dragged me some twen-
ty paces ; but as I held on for
dear life, he ended by stopping, and,
the carriage being thus released, we
went on as fast as we could, contin-
ually in dread of pursuit, till we
reached the house of Countess

N , who received us with the

warmest kindness and hospitality.
Our stay here, however, was not of
long duration, for my poor friend,
the Countess L , was in an ago-

ny to return to her husband, who
had been left alone in the castle ;
and so, at the risk of being again
captured, we returned to Syez.
Fortunately, this time we had no
alarms on the road, and the joy of
the family at their safe reunion was
as great as their thankfulness.

But our happiness was short-
lived. Although the count did not
take any part in the insurrection, it
was well known that his sympathies
were with his people, and this was
sufficient to make him a marked
man with the Russian authorities.
At last we heard from undeniable
authority that his arrest had been
determined upon, and that he had
been already condemned to Sibe-
ria. Then followed a heartrend-
ing scene — his wife and children
(whose whole future would have
been wrecked had his deportation
been carried into effect) imploring
him to take refuge in Germany,
where he had a small property, and
to remain there till the storm was
past ; while he clung tenaciously to
his old home and to his duties as
a proprietor during the struggle.
Finally, he yielded to our tears and
entreaties ; but before leaving he
sent for me and solemnly com-
mended his wife and children to my
care. I swore to defend them or
to die in the attempt. It was
agreed that we were to watch our
opportunity, and, if possible, obtain
an escort so as to cross the frontier
and rejoin the count as soon as we
could. Three days only after his
departure we received intelligence
that the Russians were close to our
gates and were going to insist on
a domiciliary visit. I flew to the
count's private room and com-
menced making an auto-da-ft of
every compromising letter or pa-
per 1 could find and of all suspect-
ed newspapers. Whilst I was fan-

6O2

Michael the Sombre.

the flames the count's sister
came in, and, seeing what I was
about, exclaimed with horror :

" O Mika ! for God's sake stop.
You don't know what you are do-
ing. All Arthur's gunpowder is
hidden and stowed away in that
chimney !"

I was almost paralyzed with fear,
but I said :

" Fly for your life and get the
countess and the children out of
the house." And then, with a fer-
vent ejaculatory prayer to God, I
tore the burning papers out of the
grate before the flames had had
time to ignite the gunpowder, which,
luckily for me, had been carefully
done up in packets and placed in a
metal box. I managed to drag the
papers into another fireplace, and
had time to see that they were all
burnt, and to conceal the tinder,
before the Cossacks surrounded the
house and summoned us to open
the doors. Their officers made
the most minute examination of
everything, but found nothing that
they could lay their hands on, and
went away disgusted, while I es-
caped with a few trifling burns on
my hands and arms.

A few days after this scene

Mine, de I and I were sitting

talking in the room where we gene-
rally met and waited before dinner,
when the countess came in with
;in open letter in her hand and
looking more sad and pale than
usual. " What has happened ?"
we both exclaimed ; and I added,
smiling: "Are we condemned to
the knout ? Or do the Russians re-
serve us the honor of a hempen
collar ?" But my dismal pleasan-
try produced no response, and the
poor lady silently came and sat
down by me, taking my hand.
After a pause she said :

" Mika, I have been unwittingly

guilty of a great indiscretion. You
know how miserably anxious I am for
news of Arthur's safety. A servant
whom I had sent to the post, in
hopes of finding a letter from him,
brought me back this one ; and, full
of my cruel anxiety, I tore it open
without looking at the address, be-
ing fully convinced it came from
him."

" Well ?" I inquired, as she hesi-
tated to go on.

" Well, this letter was a terrible
disappointment. It wasn't from
Arthur at all, or for me, but for you,
and from your own family, who.
dreading the consequences of this
sad insurrection, insist on your
immediate return to France."

" Is that all ?" I asked, smiling.

" I don't know," she replied. " I
only read enough to find out my
mistake, and I was so absorbed by
my own anxiety that I hardly took
in the meaning of the words at
first."

"But that is not what I ask," I
rejoined. " I want to know what
there was in that letter which
makes you look so sad."

The countess' eyes filled with
tears. " I own, Mika, that the
thought of losing you breaks my
heart. You know, at the first mo-
ment of alarm, Miss B and

Fraiilein F left the children

and returned to their homes. I
fancied you would follow their ex-
ample ; but seeing you so brave
and so ready to share in all our
dangers, I had been completely
reassured, until God allowed this
letter to fall into my hands."

" And what have you concluded
from that letter?" I asked rather
coldly.

" I have made up my mind,
Mika, that it would be the height
of selfishness on my part to strive
to induce you to stay on with us in

Michael the Sombre.

603

a country where desolation and
terror reign supreme ; where we
are not safe from one moment to
the other; where neither human
nor divine laws are respected, and
where even ladies are not spared
the lash or the stake. Yesterday,

as you well know, Countess P ,

for having worn mourning for her
brother, who had been massacred
by the Russians, was flogged pub-
licly in the market-place and hang-
ed afterwards. Fly, then, my dear-
est Mika, while there is yet time.
Already you have done far more
than your duty. You have risked
your life over and over again for
us. I cannot, I must not, exact
any further sacrifice. Leave us,
Mika, leave us to our sad fate, and
may God be with you !"

Here the poor wife and mother
hid her face in her hands, and I
saw great tears coursing down her
cheeks througli her clasped fingers.

Mine, de I and the children,

who had come in during the inter-
val and had heard their mother's
words, clustered round me and
cried too. When I could com-
mand my own voice I turned to-
wards the countess and said :
" Dearest madam ! seven years
have now elapsed since I first be-
came an inmate of your home.
When I arrived here, Poland, if
not happy, was at least at peace,
and I reckoned you among the
limited number of the truly happy
ones on this earth. You received
me (I, whom a deep sorrow had
driven from my native land) as a
friend, as a child, as a sister ; and
this affection and consideration for
me have never failed for a single
moment. When the insurrection
broke out your English governess
left you ; and I think she was right.
A sacred duty was laid upon her —
that of supporting her old mother,

who lived entirely on her earnings.

As to Fraiilein F , that is quite

another matter. I expected she
would go away on the very first
alarm. With Prussians devoted-
ness does not exist. I believe they
have tomatoes in place of hearts !
As for me, I have only one brother
in the world, and he is good enough
to think of me only when his purse
is empty. I have, therefore, not

the same excuse as Miss B , still

less that of Fraiilein F ; for if I

chose to live independently, the lit-
tle fortune left me by my father
would be enough for my wants. If I
returned to Poland after his death
it was to find the same disinterest-
ed love and affection I had left
there. I have found more than a
duty to fulfil : I have a debt of
gratitude to pay; and I thank God
for the portion he has assigned to
me."

"But your family?" again urged
the countess, whose face began to
brighten.

"Since my father and sister
died," I replied, "I do not con-
sider I have any family claims.
Now, listen to me, contessina," I
continued, clasping her two hands
in mine. "God has put into my
heart an inexhaustible treasure of
devotedness and tenderness. He
has given me likewise unusual cour-
age and strength ; and now I thank
him that he has also given me
the occasion to employ these, his
gifts, in your service. Your hus-
band is in exile ; you are threatened
in your home, in your children, in
your property, and by everything
around you ; and you could ima-
gine for a moment that, under such
circumstances, I should go and
abandon you ! Thank God ! that
there never has been a stain yet on
our family name, and my father, an
old soldier, impressed upon me,

Michael the Sombre.

from a child, the strongest feelings
of duty and honor. I swear,
therefore, in the sight of God, that
as long as this war lasts your coun-
try shall be my country, your
children shall also be mine, and as
long as my heart beats not a hair
of your dear head shall be touched !
When happier days arise for Poland,
and peace shall be restored, then,
but not till then, I shall remember
that France is my country, and
that I have left well-beloved tombs
on her soil."

The countess threw her arms
round me in a close embrace and
cried on my shoulder. Mme. de
I looked at me with the sweet-
est smile. " Thanks, Mika," she
murmured in a broken voice. " I
never believed for a moment that
you would leave us. You !"

The children seized hold of my
hands and covered them with kisses.
It was a moment of the purest hap-
piness I had known on earth.

In proportion to the progress
and extent of the insurrection the
cruelty of the Russians increased.
Every day brought new vexations
or fresh tortures. We lived in
constant fear, and our position be-
came really insupportable. Almost
every noble family in the neighbor-
hood had fled and left the country,
and we should long before have
followed their example had it not
been for the great distance we were
from the railroad. The count had
arrived safely at Dresden, whence
he wrote imploring his wife to join
him. But we were at least forty
versts from the nearest station, and
to go there without an escort would
have exposed us inevitably to fall
into the hands of the Russians, who
had lately ranked emigration in the
category of crimes of high treason.
And how was it possible to form an
escort? The peasants, in the pay

of the Raskolnicks (or old believers),
would refuse to march, and the
servants would, in all probability,
have betrayed us. In vain I rack-
ed my brains to find some way out
of this difficulty, and every day the
danger became more imminent.
Providence at last had pity upon
us, and disposed events in a way
which became eventually the salva-
tion of those so dear to me.

Every evening, when the rest of
the family were gone to bed, I went
alone into the library to answer
letters, verify the steward's regis-
ters, and look after the accounts.
In the absence of the count there
was no one to see after these ne-
cessary duties but mySelf, and I
looked upon them as my right.
One night, when this work had kept
me up later than usual, I heard
some one knocking at the door.
It was past midnight. I rose to
open it, very much surprised at
any one coming to me at that hour,
and all the more as no servant
would venture into that part of the
house at night, as it was reported
to be haunted. What was my as-
tonishment at finding the countess
herself outside the door in a pitia-
ble state of agitation.

" O Mika !" she exclaimed, al-
most falling into my arms as I led
her to a seat, " I am in the most
horrible perplexity and anxiety. I
have just received an entreaty to
send a despatch instantly to Gene-
ral B^ , my husband's oldest and

dearest friend. He is encamped
with his squadron at Gory, on the
property of Count Dembinski; and
he does not know that eight hun-
dred Russians are in the immedi-
ate neighborhood and have laid an
ambush to surprise him. This
despatch is to warn him of it ; for
he has only three hundred men
with him, who will all be cut to

Michael the Sombre.

605

pieces, if he should not be warn-
ed in time. Who knows ? perhaps
already it may be too late. But
you, Mika, who are always so clear-
headed— can you suggest anything?
Can you advise me what to do ?"

" But the man who brought this
despatch," I exclaimed — " where
is he ? Why cannot he go on in-
stantly to Gory ?"

" Alas ! it is impossible," replied
the countess. " He has just gallop-
ed seven leagues without stopping
to take breath, and his horse drop-
ped down dead at the entrance of
the village. The poor fellow him-
self is half dead with fatigue and
exhaustion."

I thought for a minute or two,
and then said :

" Leave the despatch with me.
I will go and rouse the steward,
and between us we will find some
one who will undertake this perilous
mission."

" Do you really think so, Mika ?"

" Yes, I am sure of it," I re-
plied.

" Oh ! what a weight you have
lifted off my heart," said the coun-
tess joyfully. "Go at once, dearest
child. I will wait for you, and riot
go to bed till I have heard the re-
sult of your consultation."

When the countess had gone
back to her own room a terrible
struggle arose in my heart. I had
studied the peasants and servants
well enough to know that in such a
moment of extreme danger not one
of them was to be trusted. The
steward himself did not inspire me
witii much confidence ; and, besides,
he was the father of a family. On
the other hand, the lives of three
hundred men hung upon the deliv-
ery of this message. I knelt down
and prayed with my whole heart
tor guidance. When I rose my
iv-olution was taken. The hour

was come for me to pay my debt
of gratitude towards this Poland
which had become so dear to me,
and perhaps in this way alone
could I save the family to whom
I had devoted my life. I wrote a
few lines to the countess, and then
went and woke my own maid.

" Marynia," I said, " in half an
hour, but not before, you must
take this note to the countess, who
is sitting up for me. And if to-
morrow, when you get up, I am not
come back, you must take another
letter to her, which you will find on
my chest of drawers."

" But, Holy Virgin of Czensto-
chowa!" exclaimed the poor girl,
" you are not going out at this time
of night?"

" Yes; I am starting this very in-
stant."

" But then I will wake the whole
house. I won't have you go alone
at this hour."

" No, you will stay quiet," I said
to her in a tone which admitted of
no reply, " and in half an hour you
will do what I have told you."

So saying, I left Marynia to her
lamentations and went out. The
first thing I had to do was to put
on a man's dress — I had received
permission to do this from Rome
in case of an emergency like the
present — and then, taking my pis-
tols, which were always ready, I
went to the stable and picked out
the best horse I could find, which
I saddled myself, blessing again the
education my father had given me,
that made me independent of any
assistance.

The road which I took passed in
front of the castle. There was a
light in the countess' room where
she was waiting for me. Good,
gentle, loving woman with a child's
heart ! Twice I saw her shadow
pass and repass across the ci rtain,

6o6

Michael the Sombre.

and twice my heart failed me.
This feeling only lasted a minute ;
but this minute might have been a
century for the agony concentrated
in it. There to the left was the
old castle which held those two
young women so dear to me, and
those children whose birth I had
witnessed and who loved me so
tenderly. To the right stretched
the road that was to lead me — to Si-
beria, perhaps, or to a sudden and
violent death. If at this thought
my heart failed me, and if for a mo-
ment I hesitated, God will, I hope,
have forgiven it. At twenty-four
years of age one does not fling away
life without one look back. I
stopped my horse instinctively, fully
realizing the almost foolhardinessof
my attempt. But then my thoughts
reverted to those three hundred
brave fellows whose lives I held, as
it were, in my hand, and, with a sigh
which was more like a sob, I dug my
spurs into my beautiful " Kirdjcali,"
who bounded into the air with sur-
prise and pain, and commenced
galloping at a furious pace along
the road — a pace I did not even
try to check, for it seemed to re-
lieve my bursting heart. Now and
then I had to lie down on his
mane to take breath. But by de-
grees the cold and calm silence of
the night, and the satisfaction of
feeling that I was accomplishing a
great and sacred duty, restored my
peace of mind. I checked the pace
of my horse, and after about three-
quarters of an hour came to a thick
fir-wood, through which I was quiet-
ly ambling when Kirdjcali stopped
suddenly, and I instantly perceived
the cause. On the edge of the
wood, about five hundred paces off,
a great fire was crackling, round
which were grouped a number of
men and horses. It was either a
Russian or a Polish patrol ; but in

either case my situation was a crit-
ical one. I had no "safe conduct"
papers, and no password save for

General B . I should be taken

for a spy and hanged without form or
ceremony. What was to be done?
Go back ? That would be the
height of weakness. Take another
road ? There was no other. Yet
to go on was undoubtedly to run
the risk of falling directly into their
hands. Again 1 lifted up my
whole heart in prayer; after all I
had God and the right on my side,
and so I decided to venture it, feel-
ing besides that my good Kirdjcali
had the legs of a race-horse and
could beat almost any otjier animal,
if it came to a chase. The moon,
which till then had guided my
path, was suddenly hidden behind a
thick cloud that concealed me from
the enemy. I made my horse walk,
and, lying flat on his neck, I went on
to within fifty paces of the Cossacks
(for they Avere Russian Cossacks)
without their dreaming of my vicin-
ity ; for the soft sand deadened the
sound of my horse's feet. All of a
sudden Kirdjcali threw up his head
and sniffed the wind with ever-wid-
ening nostrils. And then what I most
dreaded came to pass. He recog-
nized some companion of the
steppes and gave a loud neigh, which
was answered\instantly by a hur-
rah from the children of the Don,
who were on foot in a moment.
Making the sign of the cross, I dug
my spurs once more into my poor
Kirdjcali's flanks, and passed like a
flash of lightning before the aston-
ished Cossacks. " Stoj !" (stop)
they cried with one voice. My
only answer to this summons was
to urge on my steed to still greater
speed. Then they had recourse to
a more active means of arresting
my course. Two flashes lit up thl>
darkness of the night, and one ball

Michael tJie Sombre.

Co/

whistled past my ear, grazed my
head, and cut off a lock of my hair
close to the temple ; the other pass-
ed through a branch of a tree some
paces before me. But Kirdjcali
flew like the wind, and I was soon
out of the reach of pursuit. As
soon as I dared I stopped him to
let him breathe ; five minutes more
of this furious pace, and the poor
beast would have dropped down
dead.

By the time I had reached Gene-
ral B 's column it was three

o'clock in the morning.

" Who goes there ?" cried the
sentinel.

"Military orders," I replied.

" The password ?"

" Polska t Volnoszez" (Poland
and liberty). He let me pass, and

I was received by M. D , one

of the general's aides-de-camp. I
gave him the despatch, which he
hastened to take to his chief.
Hardly had he left me, and before
I had time to rejoice at having ac-
complished my mission, when a
discharge of musketry, accompa-
nied by the savage Russian war-
cry, was heard to the left. In spite
of the fearful speed of my ride, I
had arrived too late ! The enemy
had almost surrounded the little
camp. A few minutes sufficed for
the general to throw himself into
the saddle and place himself at the
head of his column.

"First squadron, forward!" he
cried in a stentorian voice.

Not a man stirred.

"Second squadron, forward!"
The same result. The poor fel-
lows, worn out with fatigue, ex-
hausted from hunger, and total-
ly unprepared for this attack, re-
mained, as it were, paralyzed. To
me this first moment was terri-
ble; and those who boast of never
having been afraid the first time

they take part in a battle either de-
ceive themselves or they lie. It
took me a few minutes to master
my emotion ; but Kirdjcali too
made a diversion by furious bounds
and neighing, which proved that
for him also this was the first bap-
tism of fire.

Seeing the demoralization of hi*
soldiers, the brave general made a
desperate charge in the very midst
of the enemy's ranks, followed by
a handful of dragoons under the
orders of Count K . I follow-
ed his movements with my eye in
a mechanical sort of way, when all
of a sudden I saw the unhappy
general staggering rather than fall-
ing from his horse, while an in-
fernal hurrah of triumph burst
from the Russians. Then all my
fears vanished. I thought of my
father, and all that was French
in my blood was roused. I seized
a sword that lay close by, and
turning towards the troops, who
were still hesitating and waver-
ing, I cried out: "Cowards, if you
have allowed your chief to be mur-
dered, at least do not let his dead
body bear witness of your shame
by leaving it in the hands of your
enemies. Come on and rescue it,
and wash out in your blood the
stain you have set on Polish honor !"

Saying those words, and recom-
mending my soul to God in one
fervent aspiration, I threw myself
impetuously into the strife, follow-
ed by all the soldiers, whom my
words had roused from their stu-
por. The whistling of balls, the
smell of powder, the cries of the
dying and the dead, and more than
all the savage howlings of the Rus-
sians, threw me into a sort of mad
rage and furious excitement which
made me insensible to anything
but a longing for vengeance.
Every lime I rose in my stirrups

6o8

Michael the Sombre.

i > wit-Id my sword a man bit the
dust. I felt a sort of superhuman
strength at that moment, and never
ceased to strike till I saw the Poles
driving the defeated Russians com-
pletely outof the camp, from whence
they fled in the utmost disorder.
I woke then as from a horrible
nightmare, and felt an inexpressi-
ble disgust and horror at the sight
of the dead and dying bodies of
horses and men all round me wel-
tering in their blood. At that mo-
ment an orderly officer galloped up
to me.

" Sir," he exclaimed, " the gene-
ral desires you to come to him im-
mediately."

" Your general !" I exclaimed joy-
fully. " Why, I saw him fall with
my own eyes. He is not dead,
then ?"

44 Not yet ; but his wounds are
mortal, and I fear there is no hope
of saving him."

I followed the officer hastily to a
tent where the poor general was
lying on a camp-bed. His face
was literally hacked with sabre-
cuts; one ball had gone through
his chest, and the surgeon, who
was bending over him, was trying
in vain to stanch the blood which
was escaping in a black stream
from this gaping wound. I took
off my cap and bowed low before
the dying hero.

" Sir," he said in so weak a
voice that I had to bend down my
ear close to him to be able to hear,
" I do not know you, and I do
not remember ever to have seen
you before ; but whoever you may
be, may God bless you for what
you have done this day ! You
have saved my troops from dis-
honor, and me from having my
last moments embittered by the
crudest sorrow I could ever have
experienced."

At this moment a rush of blood
from his mouth threatened to stifle
the dying man. When he had a
little recovered he spoke again :

" Whence do you come, and
what is your name ?"

" I am French, and my name
is Michael," I replied, blushing
deeply. Here the general drew off
a ring from his finger. It was a
signet-ring used throughout the
war as a password of command.

"Take this," he said, "and
swear to me not to leave my troops
till the Central Committee have sent
another officer to take my place.
This is the last request of a dying
man, and I feel sure that you will
not refuse it to me."

I hesitated an instant. How re-
veal my secret and explain my
anomalous position at such a mo-
ment? The general, striving to
raise his voice, reiterated his dying
entreaty :

" Swear not to leave them !"

I felt I could not resist any lon-
ger.

" I swear it, general, but on one
condition : that your soldiers con-
sent to serve as escort to Countess

L from her chateau to the

frontier, as she wishes to escape
with her children and rejoin her
husband, who is in exile."

"What! Countess L , Ar-
thur's wife ?"

" The same, general," I replied ;
44 and it was to implore your pro-
tection for her in her hour of need,
as well as to convey to you the in-
formation she had received of the
Russian ambuscade, that deter-
mined me to accept this dangerous
mission."

"Thanks, my child — thanks for
her and thanks for me. Gentle-
men," he added, turning to his
officers, who, silent and sad, were
standing at the other end of the

Michael the Sombre.

609

tent, " you will obey this young
officer until my successor be ap-
pointed from headquarters. This
is my last order, my last prayer.
And as long as he, though a stran-
ger, fights at the head of your col-
umn, you will not again forget, I
hope, that the cause for which you
are fighting is a sacred one, the
most holy of all causes, for it is the
cause of God and your country."

The officers hung their heads at
this tacit reproach — the only one
addressed to them by the hero
whom they had allowed to be slain
in so cowardly a manner. After
another fainting fit the general
made me a sign to draw close to
him. I knelt down by his side.
" If death spares you," he said,
"go and tell my poor mother how
I died. Console her, and try and
replace me to her ; for I am the only
thing she has left in the world."

Here tears filled his eyes, which
he turned away to hide his emo-
tion from his officers. The sur-
geon had just finished dressing
his wounds, but he shook his head
sadly as he rose. The general per-
ceived the movement and said :

" My poor friend ! you have
given yourself a great deal of trou-
ble, and all for nothing; but I am
just as grateful to you."

The surgeon wrung his hand, too
much moved to speak. Then I
took courage and said :

"General, when the doctor of the
body can do no more, and science
is exhausted, a Christian has re-
course to another Physician."

" You are quite right, my child,"
replied the good general gravely;
" and I have no time to lose, for I
feel my life is ebbing away every
moment."

He made a sign to one of his
aides-de-camp, and whispered his
instructions to him, which the lat-
VOL. xxvi. — 39

ter hastened to obey. He return-
ed in a few minutes with a young
Capuchin, who was the chaplain of
the corps. The officers left the
tent, and I was,, about to do the
same when a sudden thought
struck me.

"One word more, general. 1
want three days to make my ar-
rangements and get my kit ready."

" Take them, my son ; but do not
be away longer, for when you re-
turn I shall be no more here."

" Not here, perhaps, but in a
better world," I exclaimed. "God
bless you, general ! I cannot re-
place you, but I may perhaps be
able to show your troops how those
should fight and die who have had
General B for their leader !"

" Thanks, my child, and may God
bless you ! Adieu !"

I pressed the hand which the
dying man held out to me with re-
spectful tenderness ; and then, hur-
rying from the tent to hide my
emotion, I obtained a " safe-con-
duct " passport, and, remounting
my horse, stopped at the best inn
I could find in the next village,
and wrote a few lines to Countess
L , not to tell her of the extra-
ordinary position in which I had
been placed or the fearful events
of the past night, but to reassure
her, and bid her to hold herself
in readiness for a speedy depar-
ture, as an escort had been pro-
mised for her. Thence I rode as
fast as I could to the convent of the
Bernardines at Kielce, and asked
to see Father Benvenuto imme-
diately— that eloquent preacher and
holy confessor who had lingered
for twenty years in a Siberian dun-
geon. He was my confessor, and
at this moment of all others in my
life I needed his advice and gui-
dance. Fortunately for me, he was
at home, and I instantly told him

6io

A Final Philosophy.

all that had happened, and of the
almost compulsory promise which
had been extorted from me by the
brave and dying general. The good
old father listened in silence, and
then said :

" My child, what you have done is
heroic and great ; but if you were
to retur.i to the camp, and had to
bear alone this terrible secret, it
would crush you with its weight."

" But, good God ! what can I
do?" I exclaimed. "Must I give
it up and forfeit my word ?"

"No; because God, in permit-
ting these extraordinary events,
had evidently his divine purpose
for you. You must return and
fulfil your vow, but you must not
go alone. More than a month ago

I asked permission of my superiors
to be allowed to carry the conso-
lations of religion to our brave
troops in the field. This permis-
sion I received yesterday ; and so
I can at once precede you to the
camp, and when you arrive will be
your safeguard and protector."

An enormous weight was taken
off my mind by this proposal. I
thanked him with my whole heart,
and he then insisted on my going
to sleep for some hours; for all
that I had gone through had near-
ly exhausted my strength. After a
good night's rest I woke, refreshed
in body and relieved in mind, to
ride to Breslau, where I completed
my military equipment and then
returned to the camp.

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTJf.]

A FINAL PHILOSOPHY.*

THE war waged by modern
thought against supernatural reve-
lation in the name of the so-called
" advanced " science is looked up-
on in a different light by Catholic
and by Protestant thinkers. Catho-
lic philosophers and divines look
upon it as a noisy but futile effort of
modern anti-Christianism to shake
and overthrow the mighty rock on
which the incarnate God has been
pleased to build his indefectible
church. They know, of course,
that they must be ready to fight,
for the church to which they be-
long is still militant ; but, far from
apprehending a coming defeat, they
feel certain of the victory. God is

* The Final Philosophy ; or, System of Perfec-
tible Knowledge itsuing from the Harmony of
Science and Religion. By Charles Woodruff
Shields, D.D., Professor in Princeton College.
New York : Scribncr, Armstrong & Co. 1877.

with them, and, on God's infallible
promise, the church whose cause
they serve is sure of her final tri-
umph. Protestant divines, on the
contrary, hold no tokens of future
victories, and look upon infidel
science not as an enemy whom
they have to fight, but as an old
acquaintance, and a rather capri-
cious one, whom they must try to
keep within bounds of decency,
and from whom they may borrow
occasionally a few newly-forged
weapons against the Catholic
Church. Some sincere Protestants,
considering the tendency of scien-
tific thought to destroy all super-
natural faith, saw, indeed, the ne-
cessity of resisting its baneful in-
cursions; but their resistance did
not, and could not, prove success-
ful. Protestantism is the notorious

A Final Philosophy.

611

offspring of rebellion ; it is not
built on the rock; it has no claims
to special divine assistance ; it can-
not reckon but on human weakness
for its support ; it is supremely in-
consistent ; in short, it is no proof
against the anti-Christian spirit of
the age, and, what is still more dis-
couraging, it is fully conscious of
its progressive dissolution.

These considerations and others
of a like nature kept continually
coming to our mind as we were
perusing the pages of the singular
work whose title stands at the head
of this article. The great object
of Dr. Shields is to reconcile reli-
gion with science by means of what
he calls final philosophy.

In the introduction to the work
the author points out the limits
and the topics of Christian science ;
the logical, historical, and practical
relations of science and religion ;
the possibility of their reconcilia-
tion, and the importance of their
harmony to science, to religion, to
philosophy. The work is divided
into two parts. The first part is a
review of the conduct of philoso-
phical parties as to the relations
between science and religion; whilst
the second part propounds and ex-
plains the philosophical theory of
the harmony of science and reli-
gion, as conceived by the author.
The first part opens with a chapter
on the early conflicts and alliances
between science and religion, where
the author investigates the causes
of the present disturbed relations
between religion and science, and
traces them from the dawn of the
Greek philosophy to the Protestant
Reformation ; describes the con-
flicts of philosophy and mythology
in the pre-Christian age ; the wars
of pagan philosophy against Chris-
tianity in the first centuries of the
present era: the alliance of theo-

logy with philosophy in the patris-
tic age ; the predominance of theo-
logy and the subjugation of philo-
sophy in the scholastic age; and,
lastly, the revolt of philosophy
against theology in the age of the
Reformation.

In a second chapter he describes
the modern antagonism between sci-
ence and religion, the conflict in
astronomy, in geology, in anthro-
pology, in psychology, in sociolo-
gy, in theology, in philosophy, and
in civilization.

The third chapter, which fills
more than two hundred pages, de-
scribes the modern indiffercntism be-
tween science and religion, under
the name of " schism " or " rup-
ture " in all the branches of science
already enumerated — viz., the
schism in astronomy, in geology,
in anthropology, etc., to which is
added the schism in metaphysics.

In the fourth chapter the author
examines the modern eclecticism be-
tween science and religion : eclec-
ticism in astronomy, eclecticism in
geology, and so on through the
other branches of knowledge al-
ready mentioned.

The fifth and last chapter de-
scribes the modern scepticism be-
tween science and religion : scepti-
cism in astronomy, in geology, in
anthropology, and in all the afore-
said branches of human knowledge,,
with a conclusion about " effete re-
ligious culture."

The second part of the work,
though much shorter than the first,
is divided also into five chapters,
of which the first aims to show that
philosophy is the natural umpire
between religion and science, wher-
ever they are in conflict ; the se-
cond expounds and refutes the
positive philosophy : the third ex-
amines and criticises the absolute
philosophy ; the fourth states that

612

A 'Final PJiilosoplty.

final philosophy, or a theory of perfec-
tible science, may bring about the
conciliation of positivism and ab-
solutism ; and the last offers a sketch
of the ultimate philosophy, the sci-
ence of sciences, derived scientifi-
cally from their own historical and
Qogical development, and whose
•characteristic features the author
thus glowingly describes in the
closing sentence of his work :

" The summary want of the age is that
Jast philosophy into which shall have
.been sifted all other philosophy, which
shall be at once catholic and eclectic,
which shall be the joint growth and fruit
of reason and faith, and which shall
:shed forth, through every walk of re-
search, the blended light of discovery
.and revelation ; a philosophy which shall
be no crude aggregate of decaying sys-
tems and doctrines, but their distilled
issue and living effect, and which shall
not have sprung full-born from any one
mind or people, but mature as the com-
mon work and reward of all ; a philoso-
phy which, proceeding upon the unity
of truth, shall establish the harmony of
knowledge through the intelligent con-
currence of the human with the divine
intellect, and the rational subjection of
the finite to the Infinite reason ; a philo-
sophy, too, which shall be as beneficent
as it is sacred, which in the act of heal-
ing the schisms of truth shall also heal
the sects of the school, of the church, and
of the state, and, while regenerating hu-
man art, both material and moral, shall
.at length regenerate human society; a
philosophy, in a word, which shall be
the means of subjecting the earth to
man and man to God, by grouping the
sciences, with their fruits and trophies,
. at the feet of Omniscience, and there
converging and displaying all laws and
causes in God, the cause of causes and
of laws, of whom are all things and in
whom all things consist ; to whom alone
be glory "(PP. 587, 588).

These are noble words. It is
certain that our age is in great
need of a philosophy at once ca-
tholic and eclectic, as the author
very wisely remarks. Bu.t it is our
firm conviction that if Dr. .Shields

had studied our great Catholic au-
thors, he would know that there is
a philosophy and a theology which
does already all that he wishes to
do by his projected final philoso-
phy, and much better too. We
praise his excellent intention; but
we do not think that his project
has any chance of being carried
out in a proper manner. We even
doubt if a new system of philosophy
can be found so comprehensive,
coherent, impartial, and perfect in
all its parts as to justify the high
expectation entertained by the au-
thor.

This new system of philosophy
cannot be the product of infidel
thought, as is evident. Hence
none of the advocates of advanced
science can have a part in the pro-
jected work, except as opponents
whom philosophy shall have to re-
fute, or as claimants upon whose
rights philosophy has to pronounce
its judicial sentence.

Nor will the new system be the
product of Catholic thought ; for
we Catholics are under the impres-
sion that the world has no need of
new philosophical systems. As for
us, we have a philosophy of admi-
rable depth, great soundness, and
incomparable precision, which has
ever successfully refuted heresy,
silenced infidelity, and harmonized
the teachings of revelation and sci-
ence to our full satisfaction. This
philosophy can, indeed, be im-
proved in some particulars, and we
continually strive to improve it:
but we are determined not to
change its principles, which we
know to be true, and not to depart
from its method, which has no rival
in the whole world of speculative
science.

Who, then, would frame and de-
velop the new and " final " philo-
sophy ? Free-thinkers? Freema-

A Final Pliilosopliy.

613

sons ? Free-religionists ? These
sectaries would doubtless be glad
l:o dress philosophy in a white
apron, with the square in one hand
and the triangle in the other ; for,
if the thing were feasible, they
would acquire at once that philo-
sophical importance which they
have not, and which they have al-
ways been anxious to secure, but
in vain, by their united efforts.
But then we are sure that they
would only develop some humani-
tarian theory calculated to flatter
the sceptical spirit of the age, and
to merge all creeds in naturalism
and free-religion; and this,of course,
would not do, for the "final philo-
sophy " should, according to Dr.
Shields' view, maintain the rights
of supernatural revelation no less
than of natural reason.

Should, then, the great work be
abandoned to the hands, industry,
and discernment of the Protestant
sects ? Men of talent and men of
learning are to be found every-
where ; but as to philosophers, we
doubt whether any can be found
among Protestants who will be
honest enough to draw the legiti-
mate consequences of their prin-
ciples, when those consequences
would imply a condemnation of
their religious system. In other
terms, if the work were to be en-
trusted to Protestant thinkers, one
might, without need of preterna-
tural illumination, boldly predict
that the whole affair must end in
nothing but failure. What can be
expected of a Protestant thinker,
or of any number of Protestant
thinkers, whether divines or phi-
losophers, but an inconsistent and
preposterous tampering with truth ?
Protestantism lacks, and ever will
lack, a uniform body of doctrines,
whether philosophical or theologi-
cal ; it has no head, no centre, no

positive principle, no recognized
living authority, no bond of union ;
it has only a mutilated Bible which
it discredits with contradictory
interpretations ; it is neither a
church nor a school, but a Babel
confusion of uncertain and discor-
dant views; and it has no better
foundation than the shifting sand
of private judgment. On what
ground, then, can a Protestant
apologist force upon modern
thought those shreds of revealed
truth which he claims to hold on
no better authority than his own
fallible and changeable reason ?
And what else can he oppose to
the invading spirit of unbelief?
Alas ! Protestantism is nothing but
a house divided within itself, a
ship where all hands are captains
with no crew at their orders, an
army whose generals have no au-
thority to command and whose
soldiers have no duty to obey.
Such a liouse cannot but crumble
into dust ; such a ship must foun-
der ; and such an army cannot
dream of Christian victories, as it
is doomed to waste its strength in
perpetual riots, unless it succeeds
in putting an end to its intestine
troubles by self-destruction. It is
evident, then, that " final philoso-
phy " cannot be the product of
Protestant thought.

Dr. Shields seems to have seen
these difficulties ; for he holds that
such a philosophy must not spring
full-born from any one mind or
people, but mature " as the com-
mon work and reward of all."
Here, however, the question arises
whether this mode of working is
calculated to give satisfactory re-
sults. When a number of persons
contribute to the execution of a
great work, it must be taken for
granted that, if their effort has to
prove a success, they must work

614

A Final Philosophy.

on the same plan and tend in the
same direction, so that the action
of the one may not interfere with
the action of the other. If all men
were animated by an intense love of
truth, and of nothing but .truth, if
they all could agree to start from
the same principles, if they were
all modest in their inferences, if
they were so humble as to recog-
nize their error when pointed out
to them, and if some other similar
dispositions were known to exist in
all or in most students of science
and philosophy, Dr. Shields' plan
might indeed be carried out with
universal satisfaction. But men,
unfortunately, love other things be-
sides truth and more than truth :
they love themselves, their own
ideas, and their own prejudices ;
they ignore or pervert principles ;
they defend their blunders, and
even embellish them for the sake
of notoriety, and they are obsti-
nate in their errors. On 'the other
hand, we see that an ignorant pub-
lic is always ready to applaud
any philosophic monstrosity which
wears a fashionable dress; and
this is one of the greatest obstacles
to the triumph of truth, as error
grows powerful wherever it is en-
couraged by popular credulity.
Thus error and truth will continue
to fight in the future as they did in
the past. The history of philoso-
phy is a history of endless discords.
The wildest conceptions have ever
found supporters, and charlatanism
has ever been applauded. The
only epoch in which error had lost
its hold of philosophy, and was
compelled to retire almost entirely
from the field of speculation, was
when theology and philosophy,
bound together in a defensive and
offensive alliance under the leader-
ship of the great Thomas Aquinas,
so overpowered the Moorish philo-

sophers and confounded their ra-
tionalistic followers that it was no
longer possible for error to wear a
mask. Then it was that the prin-
ciples of a truly "final" philoso-
phy were laid down, faith and rea-
son reconciled, and false theories
discredited. And it is for this rea-
son that the disciples of error, who
after the time of the Lutheran re-
volt have never ceased to attack
some religious truth, style that scho-
lastic epoch a dark age. Dark, in-
deed, for error, which had lost much
power of mischief, but bright for
philosophy, which had triumphed,
and glorious for Christianity, which
reigned supreme. If any age must
be called dark, it is the otae we live
in, owing to the numbers of igno-
rant scribblers, unprincipled men in
responsible positions, and illogical
scientists who disgrace it.

This state of things is the pro-
duct of free thought, which has
disturbed and nearly destroyed the
harmony of all the sciences, and all
but extinguished the light of philo-
sophical principles. The idea of
employing free thought as an aux-
iliary for the defence of philosophy
is so preposterous on its very face
that none but a sectary or a scep-
tic could have entertained it. It
must be pretty evident to all that
such a course is like introducing
the enemy into the fortress. Intro-
duce Draper and Biichner, Tyndall
and Moleschott, Haeckel and Dar-
win, Huxley and Clifford into the
parlor of philosophy, and you will
see at once how utterly mistaken is
Mr. Shields if he reckons on them
for his great work; you will see
with what self-reliance, arrogance,
and intolerance they condemn
everything contrary to their favor-
ite views. Tell them that they
must help you to make a u final
philosophy " which shall reconcile

A Final Philosophy.

615

Scripture and science, Christianity
and human reason. What would
they think of such a proposal?
Would they condescend to answer
otherwise than by a sneer ? But
let us admit that they will favor you
with an honest answer. What will
they say ?

Draper would probably remark
that philosophy cannot undertake
any such task, as the conflict be-
tween religion and science has its
origin and reason of being in the
nature of things, which is unchange-
able.

Biichner would laugh imperti-
nently at the idea of a God, a Scrip-
ture, and a religion.

Tyndall would have nothing to
do with the scheme ; for modern
science cannot shake hands with
revelation without encouraging a
belief in miracles and in the utility
of prayer — both which things sci-
ence has exploded for ever, as con-
flicting with inviolable laws.

Moleschott would object that
revelation and science are irrecon-
cilable, at least, as to psychology ;
for the study of physiology has
made it clear that thought consists
in a series of molecular movements,
and he is not willing to renounce
this new dogma of science or to
modify in any manner his view of
the question for the sake of a new
philosophy.

Haeckel would indignantly pro-
test against the scheme, for there
is no philosophy but the Evolution
of species and the Descent of man ;
and he would turn to the great
Darwin, his respected friend, for
an approving smile.

The great Darwin would then
smile approvingly on his loving and
faithful disciple, and remark that
Logic, for instance, which is believ-
ed to be a part of philosophy, and
his Descent of man are on such

bad terms that it would be but a
waste of time to attempt a recon-
ciliation between them, so he would
let them alone.

The talkative Huxley would
gladly second Mr. Darwin's resolu-
tion by the further remark that a
logic or a philosophy which cannot
be weighed in the balance of the
chemist, or be verified by the mi-
croscope, or be illustrated by the
series of animal remains preserved
in palaeontological museums, has
no claims to engage the attention
of the noble scientists present in
the room.

Clifford would scout the idea of
a philosophy enslaved by theologi-
cal prejudices. For free thought
cannot come to terms with theolo-
gy ; it must combat it in the name
of progress and civilization with all
available weapons, and with an
ardor proportionate to the grandeur
and importance of the cause.

This sketch, which is certainly
not over-colored, might be enlarged
almost indefinitely by the introduc-
tion of other living or dead materi-
alists, pantheists, atheists, theists,
idealists, free-religionists, etc.,
whose discordant views would have
to be either accepted, reformed,
or refuted, as the case may be.
John Stuart Mill and Comte, Bain
and Spencer, Kant and Fichte,
Schelling and Hegel, Hume and
Hobbes, and a host of other minor
lights of heterodox thought, would
have to be harmonized, if possible,
or else condemned and forgotten.
But let the dead rest in peace
and suppose that none but living
thinkers are to be consulted. A
dilemma presents itself: either Dr.
Shields and his co-operators get the
best of fashionable errors, and re-
ject them, or not. If not, then a
final philosophy reconciling revela-
tion with science will be out of the

6i6

A Final Philosophy,

question. If yes, then the final
philosophy will be denounced by
the evicted party as a mass of un-
scientific and a priori reasoning, a
counterfeit of mediaeval metaphy-
sics, a tardy and clumsy attempt at
resuscitating the discredited no-
tions of a slavish and intolerant
past. Newspaper writers, pam-
phleteers, lecturers, and professors
would sneer at your final philoso-
phy, as they now sneer at the scho-
lastic doctrine ; and the ever-in-
creasing mass of sciolists, who
think with the brains of others,
would take up the sneer and propa-
gate it even to the ends of the
world. Thus science and religion,
so long as human pride and human
obstinacy are not curbed by the
keenest love of truth, will remain
antagonistic, and the present war
will continue in spite of the " final
philosophy."

Dr. Shields very explicitly de-
clares that he believes in God, in
Christ, and in the Bible. For this
we cannot but praise him. Yet
his book leads thoughtful readers
to suspect that his faith is still
undeveloped, uncertain, indefinite,
and, as it were, in an embryonic
condition. In fact, religion and
science, as he conceives, are still
at war, and revelation must yet be
reconciled with reason by the aid
of final philosophy; and this final
philosophy is a thing of the future.
What will he believe meanwhile ?
What will all other Protestants be-
lieve ? Must they adopt a provi-
sional scepticism ? This is, in-
deed, what most of them do ; nor
can we see that any other course
is open to them, if they are waiting
for the final philosophy. But,
since " without faith it is impossi-
ble to please God," how will they
be saved ? The question deserves
an answer.

There is a science which teaches
that man's soul is not immortal,
not spiritual, not even a substance,
but only a molecular function,
which cannot survive the body.
Must Dr. Shields' disciples remain
uncertain about this point of doc-
trine until the final philosophy is
published ? And there is a science
which maintains with the greatest
assurance that what we call " God "
is nothing more, in reality, than
nature, or the universe and its
forces and laws. Must we suspend
our judgment on this all-important
subject on the plea that final phi-
losophy has not yet shed its bril-
liant light on the question ? And
there is a science, too, which con-
tends that the human will, though
long believed to be free, is never-
theless determined by exterior and
interior causes according to a law
of strict physical necessity which
admits of no exception. Ought
we, then, to consider ourselves ir-
responsible for our deliberate ac-
tions, till the final philosophy shall
teach us that we are not mere ma-
chines, and that the freedom of the
human will has at last been recon-
ciled with the general laws of cau-
sation ? To our mind, a Christian
divine cannot for a moment admit
that such a provisional scepticism
could be recommended as a healthy
intellectual preparation for the at-
tainment of truth. Nor could a
Christian divine fancy for a mo-
ment that a provident God has
hitherto left mankind without suffi-
cient light to understand and solve
such capital questions as we have
mentioned, and many others whose
solution was equally indispensable
for the moral and the religious
education of the human race. The
truth is that mankind has been
endowed from the beginning with
the knowlsdge of the principles of

A Final Philosophy.

moral science, the laws of reason-
ing, the precepts of religion, and
the eternal destiny of the just and
the unjust. This knowledge was
transmitted from fathers to sons,
but was soon obscured by the surg-
ing of turbulent passions and a
proud desire of independence.
The human family soon emanci-
pated itself from the moral law,
and learned to stifle the voice of
conscience by false excuses and
by worldly maxims. Nations fell
into polytheism, idolatry, revolting
superstitions, and barbarism. In-
deed, a few pagan philosophers,
still faintly illumined by the rem-
nants of the primitive tradition,
attempted the reconstruction of
human science ; but they were only
partially successful, and their names
became famous no less for the
errors with which they are still
associated than for vindicated
truths. Even the Jews, who were
in possession of an authentic re-
cord of the past, and could read
the Law and the Prophets, often
adopted pagan views, or at least
mistook the spirit of their sacred
books by a too material adherence
to the killing letter. At last Jesus
Christ, God and man, the light that
enlightens the world, the new
Adam, the divine Solomon, came,
and brought us the remedy of
which our ignorance and corrup-
tion had so much need. He gave
us his Gospel of truth and life, and
not only restored but increased
and perfected the knowledge of
divine and human things ; he found-
ed his church; and he appointed,
in the person of his vicar on earth,
a permanent and infallible judge of
revealed doctrine. The two hun-
dred and odd millions of Chris-
tians who recognize this infallible
judge know distinctly what they
ought to believe. They need not

await the decisions of any " final
philosophy " in order to be fixed
on such questions as the origin of
matter, the creation of man, the
liberty of the soul, the existence of
a personal God, and the worship
acceptable to him. And as to the
scientific questions, these millions
very naturally argue that any the-
ory which clashes with the doctrine
defined by the church bears in it-
self its own condemnation, whilst
all the other theories are a fit sub-
ject of free discussion by the ra-
tional methods. This is our intel-
lectual position in regard to sci-
ence ; and we venture to say that
even Dr. Shields could not find a
better one either for himself or for
his pupils and friends. But he,
unfortunately, does not belong to
the true and living church of
Christ; he belongs to a spurious
system of Christianity, which coun-
tenances intellectual rebellion, and
which, after having imprudently
fostered free thought, is now at a
loss how to restrain its destructive
influence. Hence he is anxious to
be on good terms with all free-
thinkers, in the hope, we assume,
that, by yielding in a measure to
the spirit of infidelity, some ar-
rangement may be arrived at,
equally acceptable to both sides,
by which Protestantism, as an old
but now useless and despised ac-
complice, may be left to die a na-
tural death. Thus the " final phi-
losophy " of Dr. Shields, so far as
we can judge from the details of
his work, will put in the same bal-
ance God and man, revelation and
free thought, wisdom and folly,
with the pitiful result that we have
briefly pointed out.

Final philosophy, as conceived
by our author, can be of no service
to the Catholic, and of no great
benefit to the Protestant, world. At

6i8

A . Final Philosophy.

any rate a truly "final" philoso-
phy has scarcely a chance of seeing
the light in the present century, es-
pecially through the exertions of
Protestant divines. The century
to which we belong, though famous
for many useful discoveries, is even
more conspicuous for its great ig-
norance of speculative philosophy.
In the middle ages, which were not
half so dark as modern thinkers
assume, there was less superficial
diffusion of knowledge, but a great
deal more of philosophy. Giants,
like St. Anselm, Albert the Great,
St. Thomas Aquinas, had collected,
sifted, and harmonized the philoso-
phical lore of all the preceding ages,
refuted the errors of a presump-
tuous pagan or heretical science,
shown the agreement of revelation
ivith reason, reconciled metaphysics
with theology, and made such a
body of philosophical and theologi-
cal doctrines as would, and did,
satisfy the highest aspirations of
deeply-cultivated intellects. It is
men of this type that could have
written a " final " philosophy. But
who are we men of the nineteenth
century ? Are we not mere pigmies
when compared with these old mas-
ters ? Where do we find profound
metaphysicians and profound theo-
logians ? Some, of course, are to
be found in the Catholic Church,
which alone has preserved the tra-
ditions of the ancient intellectual
world ; but we do not think that
any one of them would consider
himself clever enough to write a
""final " philosophy. And should
such a competent man be found,
who would care for his doctrine ?
Scientists would certainly not bend
to his authority, as they only laugh
at metaphysics, nor to his argu-
ments, which they would scarcely
understand; and unbelievers would
probably not even listen to him, as

they would be afraid of being awa-
kened from their spiritual lethargy.

On the other hand, to expect
that a Protestant divine, or a body
of Protestant divines, will be able
to compose such a final philosophy
as Dr. Shields describes in the pas-
sage we have quoted is the merest
delusion. Not that there are not
able and learned men in the Pro-
testant sects, but because the Pro-
testant mind is trained to look at
things in the light of expediency
more than of principles, and, be-
sides other disqualifications already
referred to, it sadly lacks the jewel
of philosophical consistency. Dr.
Shields, who holds, as we gladly
recognize, a prominent place among
the learned men of his own denom-
ination, is by no means exempt
from the weaknesses of his Protes-
tant compeers. For example, he is
apt to confound things which
should be distinguished, and to
draw consequences which go far-
ther than the premises ; he fre-
quently yields to partisan prejudi-
ces ; he makes false assumptions ;
he seems ready to sacrifice some
religious views to modern thought;
and he misrepresents or misinter-
prets history. A few references to
his book will suffice to substantiate
this criticism.

Thus, in the very first chapter of
his work he says that in the first
age of Christianity there was on the
side of the church "an apparent
effort to supplant philosophy " (p.
31) ; and to prove this he alleges
that " the apostles had scarcely left
the church when there sprang up,
in the unlettered class from which
the first Christians had been large-
ly recruited, a weak jealousy of
human learning, which, it was claim-
ed, had been superseded in them
by miraculous gifts of wisdom and
knowledge." This statement is

A Final Philosophy.

619

captious. From the fact that the
first Christians, guided by the wis-
dom of the Gospel, had come to
despise the absurd fables of pagan
philosophy, it does not follow that
they rejected human learning, but
only that they had common sense
enough to understand and to fulfil
the duties of their religious posi-
tion. On the other hand, to ima-
gine that "the unlettered class"
could have thought "of supplant-
ing human learning " is as ridicu-
lous as if we pretended that our
carpenters and blacksmiths might
conspire to supplant astronomy.
The author adds that " Clement of
Rome was held by his party to
have enjoined abstinence from men-
tal culture as one of the apostolic
canons," that " Barnabas and Poly-
carp were classed with St. Paul as
authors of epistles which carry their
own evidence of imposture," and
that " Hermas, as if in contempt of
scholars, put his angelical rhapso-
dies in the mouth of a shepherd."
We scarcely believe that these three
assertions will enhance the credit
of Dr. Shields as a student of his-
tory. Clement was himself a theo-
logian and a philosopher ; " his
party " is a clumsy invention ;
" apostolic canons " never condemn-
ed mental culture ; St. Paul's epis-
tles bear no evidence whatever of
imposture ; and, as to Hermas, it is
well known to the learned that he
put his instructions in the mouth of
a shepherd, not that he might show
his "contempt of scholars " — for he
himself was a scholar — but because
his guardian angel, from whom he
had received those instructions, had
appeared before him in the garb of
a shepherd.

The author says (p. 33) that in
the age of the Greek Fathers " there
was a false peace between theology
and philosophy ; and religion and

science, in consequence, became
more or less corrupted by admix-
ture with each other." This state-
ment is another historical blunder.

" The doctrines of St. John were
sublimated into the abstractions of
Plato." This, too, is quite incor-
rect.

" The Son of God was identified
as the divine Logos of the schools."
By no means. The Logos of the
schools was only a shadow as com-
pared with the Son of God; the
Logos of the schools was an ab-
straction, whereas the Logos of the
Fathers was a divine Person.

" Eusebius, Athanasius, Basil, the
two Gregories, Chrysostom, and the
two Cyrils did scarcely more than
consecrate the spirit of the Acade-
my in the cloisters and councils of
the church." This statement has
no need of refutation. The works
of all the Fathers here mentioned
are extant, and they eloquently pro-
test against the slander. But Pro-
testant authors are anxious to show
that the Catholic Church was cor-
rupted from its very first age ; and
to do this they do not scruple to
gather lies and misrepresentations
from all accessible sources, to trans-
form history into a witness to facts
that never had an existence.

" Philosophy," continues the au-
thor, " became not less corrupted
through its forced alliance with the
new theology." Who ever heard
of a new theology in the patristic
age ? or of a theology with which
philosophy could not make an alli-
ance, except by force, and without
being corrupted ?

" If philosophy gauled somewhat
on its metaphysical side by having
its own notional entities traced up
to revealed realities as the flower
from the germ of reason, yet it lost
quite as much on its physical side
through a narrowing logic and exe-

62O

A -Final Philosophy.

gesis which bound it within the
letter of the Scripture, and turned
it away from all empirical research ;
and, consequently, even such crude
natural science as it had inherited
from the early Greeks was soon
forgotten and buried under a mass
of patristic traditions " (p. 34).
From this we learn that logic, ac-
cording to Dr. Shields, " narrows
the physical side of philosophy,"
and exegesis opposes "empirical re-
search "! Is it not surprising that
such assertions could find a place
in a work which purports to be se-
rious and philosophical ? And as
to the "crude natural science " of
the early Greeks, which was a con-
fused mass of conflicting guesses,
does the author believe that it had
a right to the name of science? or
that it commanded the respect of
theologians ? or does he think that
the Scripture has not a literal sense,
which contains more truth than all
the crude natural science of the
early Greeks ?

" In geology the speculations of
Thales, Anaximenes, and Heracli-
tus, tracing the growth of the world
from water, air, or fire, were only
exchanged for the fanciful allegories
and homilies of Origen, Basil, and
Ambrose on the Hexaemeron, or
six days' work of creation." Dr.
Shields has just complained that the
Fathers bound science " within the
letter of the Scripture "; and he
now complains of Origen abandon-
ing the literal for the allegorical
sense ! Such is his need of quarrel-
ling with the Fathers. We may grant
that some of Origen's allegorical
interpretations were rather " fanci-
ful "; but since such interpretations
were generally rejected even in his
own time, it is difficult to understand
how they could supersede the specu-
lations of philosophers. As to St.
Basil and St. Ambrose, however,

no one who has studied their works
will dare to maintain that they have
indulged in fanciful theories. Of
course they were not professors of
science but of Christianity; nor
were they obliged to forsake Moses
for Anaximenes or Heraclitus, whose
theories were nothing but dreams.
Geology, as a science, was yet un-
born ; and we are certain that, had
the Fathers embraced the theories
which they are denounced for ig-
noring, Dr. Shields or some of his
friends would have considered the
fact as equally worthy of censure.
Such is the justice of certain critics.

" In astronomy the heliocentric
views of Aristarchus and Pythagoras
had already given place to the Pto-
lemaic theory of the heavens."
This does not prove that the Fa-
thers have corrupted astronomy ; it
shows, on the contrary, that the
false system of astronomy originat-
ed in what was then considered sci-
ence. It is to false science, there-
fore, and not to false theology that
we must trace the false explanation
of astronomical phenomena.

" In geography, the corruption
of natural knowledge with false
Biblical views became even more
remarkable, and the doctrine of the
earth's rotundity and antipodes
which had been held by Plato and
Aristotle, and all but proved by
the Alexandrian geometers, was at
length discarded as a fable not less
monstrous than heretical." We
wonder how it could have been
possible to prove " by geometry "
the existence of men at the anti-
podes, and we still more wonder
how could the doctrine of the
earth's rotundity, which is a Scrip-
tural doctrine, be discarded as a
monstrous and heretical fable by
men familiar with the teachings of
the Bible. But what is the fact ?
Did any of the Fathers suggest that

A Final Philosophy.

621

the words orbis terra, which are to
be found in many Scriptural texts,
could be understood to mean any-
thing but the earth's rotundity?
Or did any of them maintain that
the earth's rotundity was a " false
Biblical view "? The author replies
by quoting the Topographia Chris-
tiana of Cosmas Indicopleustes, who
teaches that the earth is flat. But
we answer that Cosmas was not a
father of the church, and that his
work has never been considered
" a standard of Biblical geography,"
as the author assumes. The theory
of this monk was not the result
of "theological" learning, as Dr.
Shields imagines, but the offspring
of Nestorian ignorance and pre-
sumption. Nor does it matter that
Cosmas cites " patriarchs, prophets,
and apostles in its defence as doc-
trine concerning which it was not
lawful for a Christian to doubt "
(p. 35) ; for we know, on the one
hand, that there is no monstrosity
which heretics are not apt to de-
fend obstinately with Scriptural
texts, and on the other that the
theory of the Indicopleustes made
no fortune in the Christian world ;
which further shows that the theo-
logical mind was not " inwrought "
with any such fancies as the au-
thor pretends to have swayed the
doctors of the Catholic Church.
We know, of course, that our old
doctors did not admit that the an-
tipodes were inhabited by men ;
but this scarcely deserves criticism,
as it is plain that before the discov-
ery of the new world no serious
man could take the responsibility
of affirming a fact of which there was
not a spark of evidence.

The author adds : " At the same
time all the issuing interests of this
paganized Christianity could not
but share in its hybrid character.
Its piety became but a mixture of

austerity and license." He then
says that the Christian ritual "was
a mere medley of incongruous usa-
ges "; that " the sign of the cross
became a common charm as well
as a sacred rite "; that Pachomius
organized monasteries and nunner-
ies as sanctuaries of virtue " amid
a social corruption too gross to be
described"; that "Christian and
pagan factions contended for su-
premacy in the Roman senate " ;
that " the Lord's day was observed
by imperial edict on a day devoted
to the god of the sun," etc., etc. ;
and he winds up his survey of the
patristic age by the remark that
" the patristic type of Christian sci-
ence has been likened to a twilight
dream of thought before the long
night-watches of the middle ages"
(P- 35> 36).

It would be useless to ask Dr.
Shields how he has ascertained
that Christianity was " paganized,"
and that the sign of the cross had
become a " charm "; he would tell us
simply that these gems of erudition
have been culled by him from Pro-
testant or infidel books. As to the
"mixture of austerity and license"
nothing need be said, for the con-
tradiction is glaring. That the so-
cial corruption was " too gross to
be described :> is not astonishing,
as the world was still more than
half pagan ; but to connect social
corruption with the monasteries
and nunneries organized by St.
Pachomius, in order to denounce
them as a mixture of austerity and
license, is a proof not only of bad
taste, but of bad will and of want
of judgment. The author forgets
to tell us why the Christian ritual
should be called "a mere medley
of incongruous usages " ; and yet,
as our present ritual does not sub-
stantially differ from that of the
patiistic nge, it would have been

622

A Final Philosophy.

easy to point out a few of such
usages, were it not that their in-
( ongruity is only a crotchet of
Protestant bigotism. That the
Lord's day was observed "by im-
perial edict " may indeed seem
scandalous to free-thinkers and
free-religionists, but not to Protes-
tant doctors ; for they must know
that in Protestant countries the
Lord's day is still observed by a
law which has the same power as
an imperial edict. But Protestants
are perhaps scandalized at the
Lord's day being kept on the "day
devoted to the god of the sun " in-
stead of the Sabbath ; and from
this they argue that the Church
of God has been utterly corrupted
and paganized. If so, then they
should either prove that the Lord's
day, the day of Christ's resurrec-
tion, was the Sabbath, or denounce
Jesus Christ himself for doing on
the day " devoted to the god of the
sun" what he ought to have done
on the Sabbath. O the Pharisees !
We cannot wonder if they despise
the "patristic type of Christian
science" as a dream when we see .
how shamelessly they strive to mis-
represent the most glorious ages of
Christianity, and to turn truth it-
self into poison.

The few quotations we have here
made, and the remarks we have ap-
pended to them, are far from giv-
ing an adequate idea of the parti-
san spirit and unreliable statements
uith which Dr. Shields has filled
the first part of his book. What
we have given is only a small sam-
ple of the rest, and was extracted
from three pages. Were we to ex-
tend our criticism to only ten pages
more, we would find matter enough
lor a volume. Our author, as near-
ly all Protestant authors, charac-
ti-ii/es the scholastic age as one
of philosophic bondage. Theology

subjugates philosophy : " The church
is the only school ; orthodoxy the
one test of all truth ; the traditions
of the Fathers the sole pabulum of
the intellect ; and the system of
Aristotle a mere frame-work to the
creed of Augustine." Peter Lom-
bard " narrowed the circle of free
thought by putting the authority
of the church above that of Scrip-
ture"; Alexander of Hales "ren-
dered the thraldom of the intellect
complete by systematizing the pa-
tristic traditions or sentences with
Aristotelian logic." Alas ! we know
only too well that Protestantism
detests logic as much as the pa-
tristic traditions. But, then, why
should a Protestant D.D. under-
take to harmonize philosophy and
theology ? Is there any philosophy
without logic, or any theology with-
out patristic traditions ?

Thomas Aquinas " dazzled all
Europe " ; but Duns Scotus " pro-
ceeded to evaporate the distinction
of Aquinas in a jargon which defies
modern comprehension." This does
little credit to modern comprehen-
sion ; for the jargon of Scotus is no-
thing but the Latin tongue adapted
to philosophical use. " Philosophy,"
at this time, "could only succumb
to theology." "In logic any de-
flection in mere form as well as
matter was enough to draw down
the anathemas of the church." Ros-
cellin " was arraigned as a trithe-
ist," William of Champeaux "was
pursued as a pantheist," Abelard
" was forced to cast his own works
into the fire, and condemned to
obscurity and silence." It is evi-
dent that these facts, and others of
a similar nature, must fill with hor-
ror our liberal Protestants and all
free-religionists, just as prison and
capital punishment fill with horror
a convicted criminal. But if Dr.
Shields condescends to examine

A Final PItilosopJiy.

623

the doctrines of Roscellin, William
of Champeaux, and Abelard in the
light of Scripture, as they are faith-
fully portrayed in reliable works
(such as St. Thomas' life by Rev.
Bede Vaughan, for example), he
will see that all three were guilty
of heresy, and that they richly de-
served the treatment to which they
were subjected. We cannot, of
course, enter here into a discussion
of such doctrines; we merely state
that they have been fully examined
and debated in the presence of the
interested parties with all the calm,
patience, and impartiality which
characterize the proceedings of the
Catholic Church.

As to the singular notion enter-
tained by Dr. Shields, that philo-
sophy "could only succumb to
theology," we wish to tell him that
no man can be a theologian unless
he be also a philosopher ; whence
it follows that philosophy and theo-
logy are naturally friendly to one
another, and, if they ever happen
to disagree, they do not fight like
enemies, but they state their rea-
sons like good sisters equally anx-
ious to secure each other's support.
Philosophy is like a clear but na-
ked eye ; theology is the same eye,
not naked, but armed with a pow-
erful telescope. Will Dr. Shields
maintain that the eye succumbs
when it sees by the telescope what
the naked eye cannot discover?
Yet this is the idea latent in his
notion of philosophy succumbing
to theology. What succumbs to
theology is not philosophy, but er-
ror masked in the garb of philoso-
phy. The author himself tells us
that " reason and revelation are
complemental factors of knowledge,
the former discovering what the
latter lias not revealed, and the
latter revealing what the former
cannot discover." This is exactly

what we were saying; for the science
of reason is philosophy, and the
science of revelation is theology.

We would never end, if we were
to follow our author through the
five hundred and eighty-eight pages
of his book. We only add that
the theological and philosophical
erudition which he parades through-
out the whole work has been de-
rived from the same baneful sources
from which Dr. Draper collected
the materials of his History of tin-
Con flict between Religion and Science,
and deserves the same heavy cen-
sure. The late Dr. O. A. Brown-
son, when Dr. Draper's work was
published, said of it : " The only
thing in Dr. Draper's book that we
are disposed to tolerate is his style,
which is free, flowing, natural, sim-
ple, unaffected, and popular. Aside
from its style, the book cannot be
too severely censured. It is a tis-
sue of lies from beginning to end.
It is crude, superficial, and any-
thing but what it professes to be.
It professes to be a history of the
conflict between religion and sci-
ence. It is no such thing. It is a
vulgar attack on Christianity and
the Christian church, in which is
condensed the substance of all that
has been said by anti-Christian
writers from the first century to
the nineteenth." We do not say
that Dr. Shields' intention has been
to attack Christianity in general as
Dr. Draper did ; he, on the contrary,
professes to labor for a reconcilia-
tion of Christianity and reason.
But, good as the intention is, the
book will do as much harm as that
of Dr. Draper. Its style is as good,
to say the least, as Dr. Draper's,
and its subject-matter is well dis-
tributed and orderly developed ;
but these and other good qualities,
instead of redeeming its numerous
misrepresentations of truth, make

624

A Final PJiilosopJiy.

them more dangerous by adding to
them a charm against which the
average reader can ill defend himself.
Besides, Dr. Draper's work, owing
to its shameless infidelity, disgusts
the Christian reader and makes
him unwilling to swallow the poi-
son it contains ; whereas Dr. Shields'
book has such an attractive title,
professes such a reverence for Scrip-
ture, and displays such an earnest-
ness and ingenuity in the holy task
of reconciling religion with science,
that the unsophisticated reader (the
Protestant reader in particular) will
follow him, not only with great
pleasure, but also with great doci-
lity and deference, till he persuades
himself that religion is now in such
a state that it needs to be purified
by philosophy, and that reason
must be made the umpire between
revealed and scientific dogmas.
The consequence is that the au-
thor's " final philosophy " will serve
the interests of rationalism rather
than of religion. The more so as
the author shows himself well ac-
quainted with the errors of modern
thought, some of which he exposes
and refutes in a truly philosophical
spirit, and with a talent and ability
of which we see few instances in
modern thinkers. We have been
particularly struck by his powerful
handling of positivism and absolu-
tism, not to mention many other
topics which he has treated in a
very fair and intelligent manner.
Had he not taken his stand on the
shifting ground of Protestant opin-
ions, he might have achieved a very
meritorious task. He speaks of
catholic views, catholic philosophy,
and catholic spirit as something
indispensable to carry on the much-
desired conciliation of natural with
supernatural knowledge. But what
can the word "catholic " mean on
the lips of one who does not listen

to the Catholic doctors, and who is
a stranger to the Catholic Church ?
His " catholic " spirit cannot but
be a spirit of compromise, and a
kind of rationalistic eclecticism,
ready to accept only so much of
revelation as men will condescend
to authorize on a verdict of their
fallible reason, and no less ready
to sacrifice and ignore as much of
it as human reason cannot explain
or harmonize with natural science.
It is evident that such a spirit can
lead to nothing but religious scep-
ticism. And this should convince
even Dr. Shields that his " final
philosophy " will never achieve a
success. The Catholic thinker, if
he had to compose a final philoso-
phy, would place himself on much
higher and much securer ground ;
he would first range in a series
all the truths which the Catholic
Church has defined to be of faith ;
he would then range in another
series all the demonstrated truths of
the natural sciences, and all the
principles, axioms, and propositions
of philosophy which are generally
received by the different schools;
he would next inquire whether any
proposition of this second series
clashes with any of the truths con-
tained in the first series ; and, as
he would be unable to find any
truth of science or of philosophy
conflicting with any revealed truth,
he would conclude that the world
is not just now in need of a final
philosophy for settling a conflict
which has no existence except in
the imaginative brains of scientific-
charlatans. Dr. Shields may think
that this course is not calculated to
secure the alliance of religion and
science ; but let him read the mag-
nificent article published by Dr.
Brownson in his Quarterly Reric\s
(April, 1875), on Dr. Draper's pre-
tended history of the conflict be-

A Great Bishop.

625

tween religion and science, and he
will see his mistake.

The " final philosophy," as we
have already remarked, will be of
no use to the Catholic world. Pro-
testants may, perhaps, relish it all
the more. But no class of men
will, in our opinion, be more grati-
fied with it than the sceptics, the

free-thinkers, and the enemies of
supernatural truth ; for they will
not fail to see that to set up philo-
sophy as "umpire" between reli-
gion and science is to make men
distrust the doctrines of religion,
and to prepare, though with the
best intentions, the triumph of re-
ligious scepticism.

A GREAT BISHOP.

IN writing the lives of saints
their biographers often forget that
they are writing history, and telling
the part which a wise, strong, and
manly character bore in that his-
tory. William Emmanuel von
Ketteler, the late Bishop of May-
ence, might by many be reckoned
among saints, so holy was his life
and so like the primitive Christian
ideal. But he has another claim
to fame, as one of the greatest mo-
dern champions of order against
socialism, and of the church against
organized godlessness. The " iron
bishop," the "fighting bishop,"
were nicknames given him by his
foes, and, though given in hate and
derision, they unconsciously set
forth one side of his powerful cha-
racter. A man of his reach of
mind, however humble, could not
have taken a less prominent part
and position in the struggle of prin-
ciple against license of which the
present religious disturbances in
Germany are the type. It fell na-
turally to his share to be the speak-
er and standard-bearer of the cause
of church liberties, and the repre-
sentative of the episcopal order.
His legal studies and experience,
as well as his hardy habits and
magnificent physique, seemed to
VOL. xxvi. — 40

have prepared him and pointed him
out among all others for the cham-
pionship of his party, including all
the bodily fatigue and mental anx-
iety incident to such a leadership.
He was as thorough a man as he
was an ideal bishop and excep-
tional orator, and this manliness,
physical and intellectual, was the
basis of his simple and grand cha-
racter. His chosen motto, " Let
all be as one," is no bad interpre-
tation of the leading ideal which
he tried through life to realize :
church unity and Christian loyalty,
served by the whole round of his
exceptional and perfectly-develop-
ed faculties. Before setting forth
the fruits of his special studies, and
examining his life and personality
from the point of view most im-
portant in this century of social
strife, we purpose giving a short
biographical sketch of the Bishop
of Mayence.

He was born on Christmas day,
1811, at Minister in Westphalia, of
a noble family, one branch of
which, embracing the doctrines of
the Reformation, had in the six-
teenth century migrated to Poland
and become hereditary dukes of
Courland, and a second, remaining
German and Catholic, had been

626

A Great Bishop.

distinguished by giving more than
one member to the Order of St.
John of Jerusalem. His own
branch, the third, known as that of
Alt-Assen, was worthily represent-
ed by his father, a stern, faithful,
and upright man, an uncompromis-
ing Christian, and a moralist of
what our easier age calls the " old
school." As in every great charac-
ter, there was something of the
soldier in Baron Frederick von
Ketteler of Harkotten, and this
streak was reproduced in at least
t\vo of his sons, William and Rich-
ard. His mother, Clementina, Ba-
roness von % Wenge of Beck, was a
woman of superior character, as it
is noticed that the mothers of re-
markable men almost invariably
are, and one of the bishop's biogra-
phers is certainly entitled to dwell
as he does, with special force, on
the fact of the home-training of
young Ketteler having had more
real influence in shaping his cha-
racter than either the schooling he
got at the cathedral school of
Minister until he was thirteen
years of age, or the atmosphere of
the Swiss Jesuit College at Brieg,
where he studied until he was
eighteen. The two most conspi-
cuous traits in the youth were his
passion for hunting and sport of all
kinds, athletic games, Alpine climb-
ing, and all exercises requiring
hardiness and disregard of wind
and weather, and his earnest and
unobtrusive piety. He was spared
the trial through which so many
noble natures pass before fully
identifying themselves with the
spirit of the church, whose letter
they have been early taught to
obey: he experienced no time of
doubt, of wavering, of temptation,
and the modern sore of unbelief
never seems to have even come
near his mind. From a youth pass-

eJ in alternate study and sport
and a free, out-of-door life he grew
to a manhood serious and indus-
trious, with a routine of work al-
ways hallowed by early prayer and
daily attendance at Mass, and a
social position in his native town,
as counsel or referee for the gov-
ernment, which was, if not fully
worthy of his talents, yet sufficient-
ly honorable as the beginning of a
professional career. His university
life had, like that of most young
Germans, been marked by one
duel, which seriously displeased
his father, and his military obliga-
tions had been discharged, accord-
ing to the laws as they then
stood, by his service ae a " one-
year volunteer " in the local militia.
His legal career seemed assured,
though there were many among his
early friends who foresaw that his
entering the church was not un-
likely. The incident that deter-
mined this change was the outbreak
of Cologne in 1838, when the first
note of the coming ecclesiastical
troubles was sounded by a munici-
pality that went to the length of
imprisoning the archbishop, Cle-
ment von Droste-Vischering*, the
friend of Stolberg, and the primate
of the Rhine provinces.

Ketteler, never averse to Prussia,
in whose mission to Germany he
believed, even up to the late Falk or
May Laws which tore away the veil,
could, nevertheless, not reconcile
himself to serve any longer a govern-
ment that allowed such violations
of personal freedom and of the prin-
ciples which underlie that freedom.
In the autumn of the same year he
went to the Munich Theological
College and began his ecclesiastical
studies. Among his professors were
DOllinger and Gorres, and others
whose fame is less European but
scarcely less great in Germany it-

A Great Bishop.

627

self; and among his fellow-students
Paul Melchers, the present Archbi-
shop of Cologne, who, like himself,
had been a lawyer of great pro-
mise. Coming at the age of twenty-
seven to study among a body of
whom many members were hardly
more than boys, it may have been
a hard task to preserve humility
and charity; yet the verdict of his
fellow-students, summed up by one
of themselves, was to the effect that
Ketteler's simplicity and good-na-
ture were in every way as marked as
his intellectual superiority. These
qualities came out again later in his
intercourse with his country par-
ishioners, each of whom, peasants
as they were, he treated with the
cordiality and respect of a neigh-
bor and an equal. He was no
demagogue, and had no theories
save the everlasting theories of the
Gospel and the church ; but, as is
usually the case, his practice with
his social inferiors went far beyond
the noisy and deceiving show of
equality made by professional agi-
tators. After four years' study in
Munich he devoted one year more
to theological subjects in the epis-
copal seminary at Miinster, and re-
ceived holy orders in 1844, when
he was sent as curate to Beckum, a
small town in Westphalia. He was
then thirty-three, and had reached
half his allotted years ; for it has
been noticed that his term of ser-
vice as priest and bishop was also
thirty-three years. The coinci-
dence of his last illness having
lasted thirty-three days also struck
many persons who are fond of
these calculations.

At Beckum, where he was associat-
ed with two other young priests (one
of whom, Brinkmann, is now Bishop
of Miinster), he led a life as near as
possible to one of his ideals — still
unfulfilled in practice, but only

postponed in his mind because of
more urgent and present needs —
the life in common of the secular
clergy. He and his fellow-curates
lived in a small house, where each
had one room besides the common
gathering-room, and one purse for
all uses, whether personal or chari-
table. He and Brinkmann found-
ed a hospital during their short
stay, and this grew afterwards to
very satisfactory proportions ; but
Ketteler had opportunities of prov-
ing himself a good nurse under his
own roof, where his third colleague
was often bedridden for months
at a time. His public ministry,
however, never suffered, and his as-
siduity at the bedside of his sick
parishioners and in the confession-
al at all times, in season and out of
season, were remarkable. If all
priests would reflect how momen-
tous, nay, how awful, is the respon-
sibility incurred in this matter of
ever-readiness to hear a man's con-
fession, they would less seldom de-
viate from the self-sacrificing exam-
ple which Bishop Ketteler gave con-
sistently throughout his life. His
zeal in this particular was not in-
ferior, however, to his care of the
schools which in his public career
so distinguished him ; and both led
his diocesan after two years to re-
move him from Beckum, to- a full
parish, that of Hopsten.

His life here was a repetition of
the life at Beckum; his ministry
was so efficacious that the spiritual
life of the parish resembled a per-
manent "mission," or revival, and
his active charity had a large field
for exercise in the famine and the
fever which visited his people dur-
ing his incumbency. It is related
of him that, his sister coming to
visit him at Hopsten, he proposed
to take her to see some of his
friends in the neighborhood, and

628

A Great Bishop

accordingly took her to his poor-
est people, begging for each a gift
sorely needed, which resulted in
her emptying her purse so effectu-
ally that she had to borrow money
for her journey home. He provi-
sioned his parish during the famine,
and got his rich relations to help
him in the work ; and in the fever,
besides his gifts of food, bedding,
and medicines, and his regular offi-
ces as their pastor, he literally be-
came his people's physician and
nurse.

It was no wonder that he should
so have won the respect and trust
of his neighbors that, even in that
very Protestant borough of Len-
gerich, of which his parish formed
part, he was unanimously returned
as deputy to the Frankfort Parlia-
ment in 1848. It was here that he
first came publicly before Germany
as an orator and a statesman, and
that he made that famous speech
at the funeral of the Prussian dele-
gates, Lichnowsky and Auerswald,
murdered during the riots, which
has become the most popular and
widely known of any of his discour-
ses. After his retirement from Par-
liament, and his attendance in the
same year at the first meeting of the
Catholic Union at Mayence, he was
asked to give a course of lectures
in the cathedral on the social and
political problems of the day. It
is said that Catholics, Protestants,
and Jews, besides free-thinkers,
crowded to hear these eloquent
and exhaustive lectures, and that
the competition for seats was a
fitting type of the intellectual stir
they made in the city. His physi-
cal endurance was no less marvel-
lous, and added much to the im-
pressiveness of the discourses, de-
livered in close succession, with a
full, melodious, resounding voice
under perfect control of the speak-

er, and carefully husbanded, so that
neither enthusiasm nor emotion
should drive it into shrillness or
sink it into huskiness. That year
saw the preacher transferred to
the provostship of St. Hedwige's
Church in Berlin, which he occu-
pied only for ten months, but long
enough to win the love of his city
congregation as he had that of his
country parish. His younger bro-
ther, Richard, who had left the
army to become a priest, succeed-
ed him at Hopsten, but left the
place later to become a Capuchin ;
he was long known as Father Bona-
venture. In 1849 Provost Ketteler
was chosen Bishop of Mayence,
after a stormy election and dispute
in the cathedral chapter. The
first nominee, Doctor Leopold
Schmid, professor of theology at
Giesen, the local university, being,
on grounds of " undue influence,"
strongly disapproved of by a large
minority of the canons, they and
their opponents of the majority
agreed to a re-election and to an ap-
peal to the Holy See, upon which,
out of the three names sent in, the
Pope chose the provost of St. Hed-
wige. He was not consecrated till
July, 1850, by the archbishop of
Freiburg, assisted by the bishops
of Lmiburg and Fulda. Thence-
forward one may say that his life was
entirely a public one, so intimately
was it connected with the living
and burning questions of the time.
Each year the crisis between
church and state seemed to draw
nearer ; and, if one may say so, the
gap between the two has become
complete since the promulgation
of the May Laws. In this struggle,
which lasted all through his episco-
pate, the state certainly proved the
aggressor, for the lukewarmness of
German Catholics in the last gene-
ration was a proverb; and Ketteler

A Great Bishop.

629

succeeded to a diocese in very dif-
ferent order from the one he has
left. Things were working, or ra-
ther lapsing, into the hands of the
church's enemies, had they been
wise enough to wait and watch ;
by hurrying matters they roused
the spirit of Catholics, and raised
against themselves a zealous band
firmly attached to their faith and
determined to vindicate its rights
and liberties.

Of this band Bishop Ketteler,
whether as deputy, pamphleteer,
lecturer, or spiritual guide, was prac-
tically the head. His first works in
Mayence were, on a wider scale,
the repetition of those in Hopsten.
He instituted reforms and amend-
ments in every department ; gath-
ered the clergy together in yearly
retreats, during which the exercises
of St. Ignatius, which he held in
high esteem, were made the basis
of instruction; founded several Ca-
puchin convents for the purpose of
giving missions, especially in the
country, and one Jesuit college, on
the occasion of whose establish-
ment he had to bear the brunt of a
determined journalistic opposition ;
set up schools and an orphanage
for girls under the care of the Sis-
ters of Mercy, an asylum for repen-
tant women under the nuns of the
Good Shepherd, a refuge for ser-
vant-maids out of employment, a
community of Poor Clares to visit
and relieve the poor in their own
homes, a Boys' Orphanage, Boys'
Reformatory, and Boys' Refuge,
several unions and brotherhoods
to keep the people together and
preserve them from the snares of
irreligious associations — notably a
Working-men's Catholic Union —
and last, not least, a school taught by
the Christian Brothers, which soon
won such golden opinions that Pro-
testants by scores withdrew their

children from t»he communal schools
and placed them under the new
teachers. With rare liberality a
Lutheran clergyman was allowed
free access to the school to teach
these children the religion of their
parents. The bishop's care for,
and personal visitation of, the hos-
pitals also reacted on the manage-
ment of these institutions, so that
they were more than ever well
conducted during his episcopate.
Though his enemies, despairing of
finding other sins to lay to his
charge, accused him of undue
harshness as a taskmaster in the
things he required of his clergy,
this body itself never found fault
with his zeal for discipline and
austerity. He counselled nothing
which he did not perform and, in-
deed, far surpass ; for, unlike many
bishops, estimable and even holy
men, he did not consider his rank
as exempting him from the most
ordinary duties of a priest; he sat
as many hours on regular days in
the confessional as any country cu-
rate, and his daily Mass at five
o'clock was always said in the ca-
thedral instead of a private house-
chapel — that is, until the last four or
five years of his life, when old age
made this indulgence necessary.
He preached almost incessantly;
the Sundays in Lent and Advent
always in his own cathedral, other
Sundays alternating with his cler-
gy, and in the evenings of Sundays
and week-days alike in any church,
chapel, or even hall, where he was
asked to further any good cause.
His confirmation and church-visita-
tion journeys were remarkable ; he
returned to the rightful custom of
confirming, no matter how few the
candidates, separately in each par-
ish, instead of lumping many par-
ishes together in one central cere-
mony, and this in order that he

630

A 'Great Bishop.

might gain a personal knowledge
of each place, its needs and work-
ings. On these occasions he would
give a preliminary introduction on
the eve of the confirmation, then
hear confessions far into the night
or morning, say Mass early, and
confess again till he preached the
sermon and administered the sac-
rament; in the afternoon inspect
the schools, catechise the children,
and visit any sick persons there
might happen to be; conduct the
evening service himself and preach
a second time, the intermediate
moments being passed again in the
confessional or in private inter-
course with any one who asked for
special advice or comfort.

His daily life at home was as
simple, hardy, and frugal as it had
been at Beckum : he rose at four
and worked incessantly, yet finding
time, besides his Breviary, to say
the rosary and the office of the
Third Order of St. Francis every
day. Add to this his writings, his
minute supervision of the ecclesi-
astical machinery of his diocese, his
conferences with political leaders,
his necessary journeys or excur-
sions, besides his frequent under-
taking of the duties of the archbi-
shop of Freiburg after the latter
grew too infirm to go on long con-
firmation rounds, and it will be
easily seen that he was far from an
ordinary man. In virtue of his
office he was entitled to a seat in
the Upper House (in the grand-
duchy of Hesse), with the right of
sending a representative, if he chose,
which he did, sending one of his
canons, Dr. Monsang, who, among
other things, distinguished himself
by voting for the freedom of the
Jewish religious bodies, in the mat-
ter of internal reform, from state
interference, and for their right to
receive state aid, provided they

themselves solicited it. In the Ger-
man Reichstag, however, where
Bishop Ketteler represented the bor-
ough of Tauberbischofsheim, he sat
in person, and was numbered among
the members of what was known as
the Fraction of the Centre, of whom
Windthorst, his friend, was and is
the leader. During the two Ger-
man wars, 1866 and 1870, he,
though deploring the civil nature
of the first, according to the tradi-
tion of the greater part of the West-
phalian nobility, leaned to the side
of Prussia, in whose mission to
unite Germany his belief never
wavered, and whose influence in
things purely political he al \vays
upheld. His very patriotism and
enlightened views in this direction
made his firm stand against the
Prussian aggression on the church
of more weight and importance — a
fact which his enemies fully appre-
ciated and often tried to make capi-
tal of, dubbing him as inconsistent
with himself. Every one will see
how one-sided this view was.

He was so far modern in his ideas
that he claimed not to have lost
any of the rights of a citizen by be-
coming a priest; but the way in
which he used those rights, civic
and parliamentary, roused the an-
ger of men whose interpretation of
the same principle led them to see
in a priest nothing more than a
military serf of the empire. He
never claimed for the church any
privilege or any exemption, only
the full meed of liberty due to any
other corporation ; the exception
need not be in her favor, but should
not be directed specially against
her. The state and the church
were separate bodies, indeed, and
well for the latter that such a doc-
trine could be conscientiously held ;
but the very separation involved
perfect autonomy for the church,

A Great BisJiof*

631

and forbade any interference on
the part of political authorities,
while her influence in social ques-
tions was to be exerted only
through her direct influence on in-
dividuals ; for a state under bond-
age to the church never occurred
to him as desirable. Meanwhile,
he labored to carry out his ideal of
internal church government, a no-
ble and primitive one, based upon
the importance of parish organiza-
tion and of the thorough efficacy
of the parish clergy, to whom the
religious orders, in his view, were to
act as helpers and subordinates.
To the disuse of ancient church
laws and customs he attributed the
troubles that have often come upon
the church in all times; for he held
her discipline, and even her ritual,
to be no less than her doctrine
under the direct guidance of the
Holy Ghost. This alone would
have made him a reformer in a lax
and lukewarm age, when it was the
fashion for Catholics themselves to
join in mild or witty reflections
upon their own faith, and to re-
main outwardly in conformity with
that faith only by habit and by in-
tellectual sluggishness. But this,
joined to his powerful zeal in mat-
ters more prominent and public,
made him specially the leader of a
spiritual revival among the people
of his city, his diocese, and Ger-
many at large. It was not in vain
that he sat in the see of St. Boni-
face; and when he encouraged the
celebration of his predecessor's
eleventh centenary, it was fully as
much to stir up the zeal of his peo-
ple for church liberty as to honor
the memory of the great missionary.
His five journeys to Rome on va-
rious solemn anniversaries, and no-
tably that on the occasion of the
Vatican Council, were the only
other incidents of his life that re-

main to be noticed ; on his way
back from the last, in 1876, when
the Holy Father received him with
special marks of esteem and re-
joiced to have him as a witness of
his "golden" anniversary, Bishop
Ketteler fell ill at Alt-Getting, a
shrine where he had encouraged
and taken part in many a pilgri-
mage. He could get no farther
than the Capuchin convent of Burg-
hausen, where he died on the i3th
of July, of typhoid fever; on the
1 8th he was buried in his own ca-
thedral amidst the lamentations of
his clergy and people. The coun-
try people, to whom he had always
had a special leaning, and who
knew him as familiarly as his own
canons did through his frequent
presence at and ministry in the
great Rhine pilgrimages, were loud
in their expressions of grief; all
felt that they had lost a father, but
those whose chief concern was in
temporal matters felt also that a
great speaker and thinker had de-
parted. Of his style, his mode of
thinking, and the zeal, always burn-
ing yet never intemperate, which
he brought to his work even so
early as 1848, one can judge by
the famous passage of his speech
at the funeral of Lichnowsky and
Auerswald at Frankfort : " Who are
the murderers of our friends ? Are
they the men who shot them through
the breast, or those who clove open
their heads with their axes ? No,
these are not the murderers. Their
murderers are the principles which
produce both good and evil deeds
upon the earth, and the principles
which produced this deed are not
born of our people. I know the
German people, not, indeed, by the
experience of conventions, but by
that of its inner, daily life. ... I
have devoted my life to the service
of the poor people, and the more I

632

A Great Bis/top.

have learnt to know them the more
have I learnt to love them ; I know
what a great and noble character
our German people has received
from God. No, I repeat it : it is
not our noble, our honest German
people who are answerable for this
wicked deed. . . . The true mur-
derers are those who, before the
people, seek to bring into contempt
and to soil with their low ribaldry
both Christ, Christianity, and the
church; those who strive to efface
from the heart of the people the
healing message of the redemption
of mankind > those who do not look
upon revolution as a sad necessity
under certain circumstances, but
erect revolution into a principle,
and hurry people from revolution
to revolution ;. . . those who would
take from the people the belief in
the duty of man to command him-
self, to curb his passions, and to
obey the higher laws of order and of
virtue, and would, on the contrary,
make la\vs of those passions and
therewith inflame the people ; those
men who would set themselves up
as lying gods over the people, in
order that it may fall down before
them and worship them."

Ketteler's first well-known speech
on social subjects was delivered on
the 4th of October, 1848, at the
original meeting of the Catholic
Union at Mayence — a body whose
" congresses " have been held yearly
since that time, and have been dis-
tinguished by speeches such as
those of Montalembert, Dupanloup,
Manning, Dollinger, before 1870,
and others whose names are public
property. His subject was " The
Freedom of the Church, and the
Social Crisis"; and says one of his
biographers, "It is no mean testi-
mony to his far-sightedness that
he already foresaw and took part
in the importance of the social ques-

tion." His lectures in the cathe-
dral took in such themes as these :
"The Catholic Doctrine of Proper-
ty," " Rational Freedom," " The Des-
tiny of Man," "The Family, based on
Christian Marriage," "The Autho-
rity of the Church, based on Man's
Need of Authority." Of the im-
pression these discourses made on
all classes we have spoken already.
To show how liberal were his views
on the form of government, it may
be mentioned that it was one of
his axioms that it mattered little
who ruled, but much hoiv he ruled.
All forms of legitimate government
were practically alike to him, though
his own ideal for Germany was a
revival of the old unity of confede-
ration, with the equal representa-
tion of the burghers and of the
peasantry by the side of the clergy
and nobility ; but the manner in
which the government, no matter
what it called itself, dealt with
weighty questions of morals was
in his view a touchstone. It will
be seen from this that if his foes
delighted in calling him the most
ultramontane of ultramontanes,
they had no reason, politically
speaking, to call him retrograde,
absolutist, or even monarchist. In
fact, it seems as if one might sum
up his political character thus : a
citizen of a free imperial city of
the middle ages, imbued with the
keenness of sight and the versa-
tility of tongue peculiar to the mo-
dern European politician.

In 1851 and 1852 a new phase
of unbelief, dubbing itself "Ger-
man Catholicism," did its best to
bewilder the mind of Catholic Ger-
many, and the bishop plainly w;irn-
ed his people against it, saying :
" Though I should incur hereby
the reproach of intolerance, I must
warn you against ' German Catho-
licism,' for it denies the Godhead

A Great Bishop.

633

of Christ, revelation, and redemp-
tion, and makes itself a god ac-
cording to its own fancy." In
1852, in his Lenten pastoral, lie
touched upon the connection be-
tween this belief and political radi-
calism ; also upon the common re-
proach of rebellion against authori-
ty or of flattery towards princes
which these new philosophers were
constantly bringing against the
church. "When the church," he
says, " advises the people to sub-
mit to the civil power, she is thus
attacked : ' See the flatterer of
princes, the protectress of all abus-
es, the willing instrument of the
oppression of the people.' When,
on the other, hand, she reminds the
state of its obligations, and, under
certain circumstances, proclaims
that God is to be obeyed rather
than man, the spirit of deception
cries out : ' See the rebel, the seek-
er after undue authority.' " In 1873,
when a new attack was made on
religion by the establishment of
communal schools, he resisted, by
writing and preaching, " these in-
stitutions which contradict all the
principles of religion, disturb
Christian education, contradict and
confuse the understanding and the
nature of childhood, and damage all
the interests of the Christian family."
In 1851, when every government
in Germany had been more or less
remodelled, and many fetters of
old prescription and prejudice had
been shaken off by the revolution
of 1844, the bishops of the Upper
Rhine province came together at
Freiburg, and presented a memoir
on church relations with the state
to the neighboring rulers of Hesse,
Wiirtemberg, Baden, and Nassau.
No notice was taken of it, and two
years later it was repeated with al-
most the same result, save that in
Hesse the grand-duke and his

prime minister, Dalwigk, called a
convention in 1854, and established
the liberty and autonomy of the
church upon a legal basis. Ket-
teler's pamphlet in the same year,
three months previous to the con-
vention, had some influence on the
course of affairs ; it was on " The
rights, and the right to protection,
of the Catholic Church in Germany,
with special reference to the claims
of the episcopate of the Upper Rhine
and the present struggle," and may
be summed up in this quotation
from it : " The rights of sovereignty
are doubtless holy. They belong
to God's ordinances, and are there-
fore of God ; but those indefinite,
boundless, unhistorical, unfounded
rights of sovereignty stand exactly
on a level with the equally indefinite,
boundless, unhistorical, unfounded
rights of humanity. They are dis-
torted images of lofty truths, and
are born of the same fallacy as ab-
solutism. Once face to face with
them, the church must either allow
herself to be ravaged or must be-
gin a struggle for life and death."

However well known and widely
spread were Ketteler's influence
and writings, the latter partook of
the local and circumstantial nature
of most political writings : vhey
were not solid, dignified, technical
treatises of theology, nor popular
and"taking "books ofdevotion, but
the outcome of present necessities,
quick and vigorous protests against
injustice, weapons specially adapt-
ed to the ever-shifting warfare be-
tween socialism and religion. His
pamphlets were mostly short, terse,
and to the point ; he slept in his armor
and was always on the watch. He
speaks of his work in this direction
with great simplicity to Prof. Nip-
pold, of Heidelberg: "Besides my
spiritual ministry in my diocese, I
follow and observe all the move-

634

A- Great Bisliof*

ments of my time, and cannot help
meeting with all the injustices
which men do to one another, not
always, indeed, of malice prepense,
but often through misunderstand-
ings, prejudices, and false repre-
sentations. Then, if I can spare
time from my work, I make an ef-
fort towards clearing up those un-
fortunate misunderstandings. . . ."
But though he spoke and felt
thus modestly about his important
part in the questions of the day,
we know how impossible it is for a
man of his stamp not to rise to his
natural level. He was born to be
a leader, and neither necessity nor
humility could block the path to
political prominence. Such a man,
weighted with even more absorb-
ing work than his, would have
made time for occupations so natu-
rally fitted for him ; such a mind,
even had it been in a less robust
body, would have overcome dis-
ease and weakness, and wrested
from them the power to make it-
self known. A list of a fe\v of his
writings will show how universal
was his watchfulness : Can a be-
lieving Christian be a Freemason?
The True Foundations of Religious
Peace. The Defamation of the
Church by the Tribune. The Right
of Free Election of the Cathedral
Chapter. Germany after the War
of 1866. The Fraction of the Cen-
tre at the First German Reichstag.
Catholics in the German Empire.
Freedom, Authority, and the Church,
considerations upon the Great Pro-
blem of the Day. The Labor Ques-
tion and Christianity. Liberalism,
Socialism, and Christianity. The
General Council and its Influence on
Our Time. The Doctrinal Infalli-
bility of the Pope after the Defini-
tion of the Vatican Council.

What he has said and written on
the social question, including the

subjects of marriage, the family,
education, and the relations be-
tween capital and labor, even most
of his opponents judge to belong
to the quota of wisest utterances
extant on the subject. His gift
of opportunity, or of speaking al-
ways to the point, has been no-
ticed already. Here is what a
German contemporary says of it:
" The bishop did not devote him-
self to journalism as a profession,
for he looked upon his ministry as
immeasurably more precious and
higher than political influence. But
he used it as a weapon at every im-
portant turning-point of contempo-
rary German history, when dangers
threatened the moral order of
German society, and when the
rights of the church were violat-
ed and her institutions hampered ;
and precisely because his writings
sprang from instant necessities or
the peculiarities of the day, they
were, in the noblest sense of the
word, timely — not productions of
labored pulpit-wisdom, but the for-
cible words, piercing through bone
and marrow, of a powerful voice
sounding the battle-cry of a mind-
conflict; of a man whose keen and
far-sighted look measured the
heights and depths of the mind-
disturbances of his day, and shared
heartily in the joys and sorrows of
his time."

It is worth while to notice his
usual method in these earnest pam-
phlets. It consisted, as a rule, of
taking his opponents' own argu-
ments or " accomplished facts " na-
kedly as they stood, and carrying
them on to their strictly legitimate
but startling consequences. Yet,
in the whole course of his polemi-
cal writings, he carefully abstained
from the least personality. In this
he might with advantage be taken
as a model by most schools of poll-

A Great Bishop.

635

tical pamphleteering. Soon after
his speech at Frankfort his fame as
an orator was already held so high
that it suggested the following po-
etical portrait of him by Bede
Weber, in a work entitled Histo-
rico- Political Sketches. This is al-
most a literal translation :

" The parish priest of Hopsten
has a tall and powerful figure, with
sharply-cut features, in which speak
a fearlessness impelling him irre-
sistibly to 'do and dare,'* joined
to an old Westphalian tradition of
loyalty to God and church, to em-
peror and realm. To his discern-
ing spirit the German nation, in its
unity, its history, and its Catholic
traditions, is still living and strong.
Luther and Melanchthon, Charles
the Fifth and Napoleon, the Peace
of Basle and the cowardly Pillers-
dorf, are nothing in his eyes but
passing shadows over the black,
red, and gold shield of the German
people. From the blood of General
Auerswald and of Prince Lichnow-
sky, from the murder of Lamberg
and Latour, the roses of hope spring
only more obstinately for him, afTQ
his tears hang on them only as the
pearly dew of the dawn of German
freedom, German loyalty to the
faith, and German order. He bears
the great, brave German people,
with the everlasting spring of its
virtues, in the innermost depths of
his heart, and from this union, or
rather identification, flows the pe-
culiar pride of his address, which,
in the evil seething of elements in
the ' days of March,' still points
out the means of building up the
cathedral of the German Church
sooner and more beautifully than
the cathedral of Cologne. There-
fore was it that his words impressed
his hearers with a resistless might.

* Have we no word to express shortly the mean-
ing of the fine German word "Tt'taten-drang" ?

When I think of the orator Kette-
ler, I see before me a thorough
man, who can awake fear in many
a heart, but whose individuality is
in itself a right to do so."

Most of his bitterest opponents
in the Reichstag acknowledged his
power in speaking, and respected
the fearless use he made of his po-
sition to remind them of their du-
ties as men, Christians, and law-
makers ; and when circumstances
made it impossible for him to com-
bine his duties as deputy with his
dignity as bishop, and caused him
to retire from his place, his pajty
felt the loss of his voice as much
as his adversaries rejoiced in their
deliverance from a parliamentary
"Son of Thunder." His lectures
and sermons, even on ordinary days
and stereotyped subjects, were al-
ways startling and mind-compelling
by the manner in which old truths
were handled and new meanings
brought out therefrom ; while his
open-air preaching at pilgrimages,
where he was often heard by ten
thousand people, bore an equally
powerful and peculiar stamp, and,
though his thoughts were then
'clothed in simpler language, they
lacked none of the breadth which
distinguished his more finished
speeches.

In a monthly magazine edited at
Mayence by the bishop's friends
Heinrich and Monsang, both digni-
taries of his cathedral chapter, is a
review of his life which gives a
prominent place to his opinion on
the importance and seriousness of
social questions :

" He was deeply and firmly con-
vinced that political and social
problems are so inseparably con-
nected with religious questions that
any one aiming at defending reli-
gion from a high stand-point and in
a comprehensive manner cannot

636

'A Great Bishop.

indifferently pass by these prob-
lems."

A newspaper generally opposed
to his political views, the Catholic
}\>ifc (or "Opinion "),* speaks in
the same sense:

" One of the most noteworthy
traits in the life and works of Bish-
op Ketteler is the lively interest
which he took, by deed, word, and
writing, in the social question. It
is precisely in this direction that
most misunderstandings take place.
But we would remind the public
that the attitude of the bishop to-
wards tlris problem was wholly
shaped by his Catholic principles
and his priestly duties. Nothing
was further from his mind than the
wish to use the needs of the laborer
as a basis for political agitation, or
to carry out any chimerical theo-
ries of a general millennium. He
took a part in the labor question,
because he saw in working-men the
victims of so-called liberal law-
givers, and because he found it his
duty as a pastor to care for the
poor. These high and noble mo-
tives were not always appreciated,
but working-men themselves have
repeatedly testified their confidence
in him, and after his death were
published many gratifying tributes
from the same source."

The sense in which he took part
in this question is again impressed
on the German public by means of
the article from which we have
quoted before — namely, that it was
determined by personal experience
and a sensitive consciousness of
his duties as a priest.

" What he wrote and did con-
cerning this subject proceeded not
from mere theoretical interest, still
less from political reasons, but from
Christian love and brotherly feeling

* Katholische Stimme.

towards the people, especially the
poorer classes, and from the ardent
wish to further their eternal and
temporal welfare, as well as to save
them, together with the whole of
society, from the terrible chaos
towards which we are being hurled,
if the old maxims and practice of
Christian charity and justice do
not prevail against the principles
of modern liberalism and pseudo-
conservatism."

In his political prominence, and
his fearless handling of questions
often, under specious pretexts, with-
drawn from the allowed limits of
clerical oratory, Ketteler seems to
invite a comparison with Dupan-
loup, the Bishop of Orleans, who,
having fought in the earlier strug-
gle for freedom of education in
France, has lived to take part in a
struggle more vital and less local —
that of the whole field of Christian
doctrine in arms against systematiz-
ed revolution. Occasion naturally
moulds the men it needs; the ma-
terial of such characters is always
present, but in the church, as in the
world, "mute, inglorious Miltons"
and " village Hampdens " die and
leave no mark. This explains the
rush of talent to the rescue of every
cause seriously imperilled by its
successful adversaries ; among
others the cause of the church,
under whatsoever persecution it
may chance to suffer. This also
explains the present superiority, as
a body, of the German episcopate.
In the first quarter of this century
the reconstruction of society in
France, and the reorganization of
the church on a basis less majestic
but more dignified than that of the
ancien regime, brought about the
same bristling of great gifts greatly
used around the threatened liber-
ties of the church. In Poland,
during the two insurrections which

A Great Bishop.

637

this century has witnessed, heroes
rose up naturally wherever there
was a priest or a bishop ; in the
late French war, and its sequel, the
Commune, the martyrdoms and
Christian stoicism of 1793 were re-
peated and nearly surpassed, while
the present more tedious, less bril-
liant struggle of the church in Ger-
many has called forth men of iron
will and fathomless patience to re-
sist, legally and passively, an active,
goading injustice. In countries
where there is no need for it there
is less of this public display of un-
usual powers; bishops who might
be statesmen remain simply ad-
ministrators, priests who might be
heroes remain obscure pastors ; in
literature it is research, learning,
theology which take up their lei-
sure time, not public speaking or
political writing; the silent, health-
ful life of the church goes on, with-
out struggle and hindrance, and
work is done indeed, but it seldom
becomes known beyond a small
local circle. And even this hap-
pens only under the shadow of sup-
pressed hostility to the church,
such as there exists at present in
almost every country; for there have
been times when, splendid as the
outward position of the church has
been, or seemingly unfettered her
organization, there was at the core
a spiritual drowsiness which was far
from honorable. Such a period
came before the first French Revo-
lution; another earlier, before the
German Reformation; another la-
ter, before Catholic Emancipation
in England ; and another before

the late Prussian church laws in
Germany. There was either secu-
rity or sovereignty; no shade of
persecution ; at most a polished
indifference or a scornful toleration,
and hence no revival, no earnest,
quick-pulsing life.

We have omitted to mention one
of Bishop Ketteler's most impor-
tant undertakings — that of the theo-
logical institute in Mayence, to re-
place the education given to the
clergy at the local university of
Hesse, Giesen. The grand-duke
heartily approved of the plan of
restoring to the episcopal seminary
the whole training of the diocesan
clergy, instead of the taking on, as
a secondary branch, of a chair of
theology to Giesen; and the bislTop
was enabled to carry out his plans
in this matter, and to leave behind
him a body of priests, zealous,
loyal, whole-hearted, and imbued
with his own spirit.

Ketteler was in every sense a
great man, and no less a man of his
age. He accepted everything as it
legitimately stands, with no hanker-
ings after the old order of things,
no political, or rather romantic,
longings after forced revivals of by-
gone conditions; but he took his
stand firmly on the principle that
the church has her own appointed
and immutable place in every suc-
cessive system, and ought to stand
by her claim to this place. This is
the basis whence every member of
her army should in these days fight
her battles, and, taking up the new
weapons, make them his own. Ket-
teler has shown them the way.

(Ontario.

The Old Stone Jug.

THE OLD STONE JUG.

A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND.

A CENTURY ago on the post-road
to Boston, and sixteen miles from
the city of New York, stood a tavern
called the Old Stone Jug. It was a
one-story building of dark-colored
stone, with a single window fronting
upon the high way — aquaint,lozenge-
shaped window, of thick, dingy glass,
through which the sun's rays pene-
trated with difficulty. The chim-
ney, battered by two generations of
northwest winds, sagged considera-
bly to the south ; a frowning rock
rose close behind the house; and
altogether the Old Stone Jug wore
a sinister appearance, which tallied
well with the stories told about it.
A band of Indians had come in the
night-time and massacred the first
family who dwelt here ; a peddler
had been seen to enter the door-
way and never been heard of after-
wards ; a cavern of fathomless depth
was said to connect the cellar with
the rock ; and certain it is that no
one who had made this spot his
home had either remained long or
prospered there, except Peter Van
Alstyne — better known in the town-
ship of East Chester as Uncle Pete
— who kept the tavern at the open-
ing of the Revolution.

But he did well ; the poorer his
neighbors became, the more light-
hearted did he grow and the richer,
and all because the fox which
prowleth about in the dark was not
cunninger than Uncle Pete.

His wife was dead, but he had a
daughter named Martha, who kept
house for him, and whom he tender-
ly loved and strove to bring up in
his own principles — namely, to be

all things to all men. " For these
are critical times," he would say,
" and who can tell, child, which
side will win ?"

Martha was just twenty years of
age, and, if not what we might
call a handsome girl, had some-
thing very attractive about her.
She was tall and graceful and
abounding in spirits. She knew
everybody for miles around, and
everybody knew her;- and if the
more knowing ones shook their
heads and looked a little doubtful
when they spoke of Van Alstyne,
all agreed that Martha was a fine
young woman.

The only member of the house-
hold besides herself and patent
was a diminutive negro boy chris-
tened " Popgun." And at the
moment our tale begins Popgun is
perched on the topmost limb of a
wild-cherry tree hard by, Martha is
in the kitchen making doughnuts,
while the publican is standing in the
middle of the road gazing up at the
sign-board which hangs immediate-
ly above the entrance — and, consid-
ering that he painted it himself, 'tis
not a bad work of art. Here we
see King George with a crown on
his head; at the royal feet crouches
a lion, and around the two figures,
in big red letters, are the words,
"God save the King!"

He was still contemplating the
features of his sovereign when a
shrill voice cried down from the sky,
" Be ready, sir." In an instant
Uncle Pete's face lost its tranquil ex-
pression, and putting his hand to
his ear, so as to catch well Popgun's

The Old Stone Jug.

639

next warning note, he listened at-
tentively.

In another minute came the voice
again: " 'Lisha Williams, sir, on
Dolly Dumplings."

" Ho ! Then I must be brisk, for
the mare travels fast," muttered
Van Alstyne, hastening toward a
ladder which lay a few yards off in
readiness for these occasions. In
less time than it takes to relate the
sign-board was turned round, and,
lo ! in place of King George and
the lion behold now George Wash-
ington, holding in his hand a flag
whereon are thirteen stripes and
thirteen stars, and circling the
picture are the words, " God save
our Liberties."

"Child, here's 'Lisha coming,"
shouted Uncle Pete, thrusting his
head into the doorway.

"Elisha! Indeed!" exclaimed
Martha, letting drop the cake she
was rolling in her hands. " Oh !
how glad I am. Haven't seen the
dear boy for an age." Then away
she flew to make ready for her lov-
er, or rather for one of her lovers.
And now, while the girl is putting
on another gown, let us speak a few
words about the horseman who is
approaching.

Elisha Williams was a young man
of five-and-twenty, with sandy hair
and bine eyes, and whose father
owned a farm half a mile east of the
inn. He and Martha had been
friends from childhood, and when
at length the time came for him to
think of matrimony there was no
lass whom he desired more for his
wife than Martha.

She was a girl after his own heart :
not demure and timid and silent as
a tombstone, but brave and full of
fun ; he had even known her to pur-
sue and kill a rattlesnake; and she
was as fond of a horse as he was
himself.

When news came of the fight at
Lexington Elisha openly took the
patriot side, bought Dolly Dump-
lings of Martha's father (a mare so
given to kicking and jumping fences
that,although of unstained pedigree,
Uncle Pete was fain to part with
her), and now he is one of the most
daring troopers in the Continental
army, and is known far and wide as
The Flying Scout.

But Elisha was not the only one
who courted Martlra. He had a
rival named Harry Valentine, son
of Doctor Valentine, the most no-
torious Tory in East Chester ; and
this caused Elisha not a little anx-
iety. For, although Martha always
received him very cordially when
he paid her one of his flying visits,
and seemed pleased to hear of his
exploits, she never would listen
when he said anything harsh of the
Tories.

Elisha's heart was beating quite
as fast as her own when presently
he reined in his foaming steed be-
fore the tavern door. Martha was
standing on the threshold, looking,
in his eyes, never so bewitching.
Between her ringers she held a
lump of sugar for Dolly Dumplings
— she seemed to care only for
Dolly ; her long, luxuriant brown
hair, which flowed loose down her
shoulders, had a spray of wild
honeysuckle twined through it —
you might have fancied she had
been wandering through the woods,
and that the flowers had got tan-
gled there by accident. Her cheeks
were slightly tinged by the sun ;
but what of it ? They were plump,
healthy cheeks, adorned by two
pretty dimples; and Elisha, who
loved cherries, felt his mouth water
when he looked on Martha's lips.

"How is my Martha?" he ex-
claimed, sliding nimbly off the
saddle.

640

The Old Stone Jug.

" Your Martha, indeed !" an-
swered the girl, tossing her head ;
then with a smile, as he caught
both her hands : " Well, I'm alive
and well, and — "

" Not at all pleased to see me,
eh ?" interrupted Elisha.

" Delighted to see you," she add-
ed, a sweet pink blush spreading
itself with the quickness of light
over her face.

"Really? Truly? Ton your
honor?" cried Elisha, squeezing
her hands tighter.

" Come inside and let's have a
talk," said, Martha, trying to free
herself from his grasp. But she
only half tried ; and when presently
they were seated side by side he was
still holding fast to her right wrist.

" What delicious flowers !" ob-
served Martha, looking down at a
nosegay which the youth had stuck
in his belt. " Wild-flowers give no
such perfume."

"These are for you," said her
lover, presenting them to her.
" They came from Van Cortlandt's
garden. I spent last night at the
Manor. Van Cortlandt is a pa-
triot, and is not ashamed to offer a
farmer's son hospitality."

" How delicious !" said Martha,
bringing the nosegay to her nose.
" Colonel Delancey's hothouse
plants cannot surpass them."

"Delancey! The Tory! The
Cowboy chief! What do you know
about his flowers, Martha ?"

"Harry Valentine brought me a
magnolia from there a few days ago,"
replied Martha frankly.

The other murmured something
to himself, then burst out : " Con-
found and hang the Tories!"

Martha was silent a moment, then
remarked: "Well, however much
you dislike them, I hope you will
not harm Harry Valentine, if he
ever falls into your hands."

" It being your wish, I will always
aim a mile above his precious head,"
returned Elisha.

" You are a good fellow — a real
good fellow; just the same as you
always were," continued Martha
tenderly. "Oh! I often think of
our old frolics together, Elisha."

" Do you, really? Well, Martha,
I often think of them too. What
happy days those were !"

" Yes, much happier than these.
O Elisha! you can't think how
changed everything is since this
dreadful war began. Not a sloop
sails up the creek now ; no carri-
ages pass along the road ; no bees,
no husking parties — everybody is
gloomy. First this man's barn is
burnt, then that man's ; and chick-
ens and horses and cattle are sto-
len. In short, between the Skinners
and the Cowboys poor Westchester
County is fast becoming a desert."

" Well, for all that it is a glorious
war, and will end in freeing us from
England," said Elisha, thumping
his fist upon his knee.

" Ay, to be sure it will. God
save our liberties ! Hurrah for
the Continental Army !" cried
Uncle Pete, waddling into the
house. Then, as he opened a cup-
board which contained a number
of bottles of rum and cherry-bounce:
" Tell me, 'Lisha, how you like
Dolly Dumplings."

"Like her? Why, Uncle Pete,
she's just the best animal that ever
was shod. Nothing can catch her
— not even the wind."

" Right, my boy ! Colonel Liv-
instone, who imported her sire
from England, and who sold the
mare to me five years ago, declared
that she has in her veins the blood
of the Flying Childers, and you
know he ran a mile a minute."

" Father, Popgun is calling,"
said Martha, with a disturbed air.

The Old Stone Jug.

641

''Is he?" And Van Alstyne
liurried away as fast as possible ;
but before you could count ten he
was back again.

" Too bad, "Lisha," he said, " that
you must quit us so soon — hardly
time to take one drink. But some
enemy's cavalry are in sight and
they're on a trot." Then out he
went again to fetch Dolly Dump-
lings.

" Well, dear boy, may the Lord
watch over you and keep you safe !"
spoke Martha, in a tone of deeper
feeling than she had yet evinced
toward her lover. The latter gazed
earnestly in her face a moment, then
said : " Must I bid good-by and de-
part in uncertainty ? O Martha
dear ! tell me what I so long to know:
will you be my wife ?"

Her response was : " Elisha, I
love the brave, and the bravest shall
win me."

" Then, by Heaven, I'll be a
hero !" cried Elisha. These were
his last words ; in another moment
he was gone. But ere Dolly Dump-
lings had galloped fifty paces the
sign-board was turned round and
King George came once more in
view.

" Who are they, pa — Hessians or
real Britishers?" inquired Martha
calmly ; for she knew they could not
overtake Elisha.

" Hessians, I believe," replied
Van Alstyne.

" Detestable creatures !" exclaim-
ed the girl, withdrawing into the
house.

"Don't say that, child. They're
as good as any soldiers who fight
for the king; and if they halt here
they'll leave more than one guinea
behind them."

And so they did, for they were a

party of very thirsty and hungry

men who shortly arrived ; and for

the next hour and a half the Old

VOL. xxvi. — 41

Stone Jug was as busy as a bee-hive.
Many a bottle of spirits was emp-
tied, every doughnut and pie was de-
voured ; and in consideration of his
being a stanch loyalist they paid
Uncle Pete without grumbling, al-
beit the score was rather high.

"They're gone at last — what a
blessing!" said Martha, while her
father was counting over the money
to make sure it was all good coin.

"Why, how foolish you talk!"
said happy Uncle Pete.

"Well, father, I'm in earnest. I
don't dislike real Britishers or
Tories ; but these German mer-
cenaries I do detest."

"Bah! bah!" growled Van Al-
styne. " Perhaps to-morrow we'll
have a band of Continentals or some
roving Skinners ; then perhaps, day
after, 'tother side may visit us again.
Why, child, I'm getting rich out of
this war."

" Take one side or the other,"
returned Martha, shaking her head.
" I'd rather be fair and open, even
if we made less money."

" Humph ! We'd be in a pretty
fix if I did that, child — a pretty fix.
Why, this tavern wouldn't stand a
week, except for my double-faced
sign-board ; whereas now George
Washington might be entertained
here and depart highly edified, and
so might King George. The only
unpleasantness would be if they
both happened to come at the same
time. And so, child, you ought not
to be finding fault." Then, after
pausing long enough to take a chew
of tobacco : " And besides," he
went on, " 'tis not easy in this
world always to see the clear path
we ought to follow. Why, you
yourself are in a fix ; and I don't
wonder at it, for in this township
I can't name two honester, jollier,
more manly fellows than 'Lish.t
Williams and Harry Valentine.

642

The Old Stone Jug.

And if I were a girl with those two
boys for sparks, I believe I'd jump
into East Chester Creek, so that
neither of 'em might be disap-
pointed."

Here Martha's merry laugh rang
through the house; then, taking
Elisha's bouquet in one hand and
Harry's magnolia in the other, she
stretched forth her arms and stood
exactly half-way between the two
love-gifts, and said: "Well, yes, I
.am in a fix."

"And a very, very sweet fix,"
.•mumbled Uncle Pete, rolling the
.quid about in his capacious mouth.
" Many a young wbman might envy
you."

" Well, I do wonder how long it
will last. I must decide one of
.these days."

" Don't be in a hurry, child.
Wait ; have patience. If we are
beaten and forced to remain colo-
-nies, marry Harry Valentine ; if
we secure our independence, then
vchoose 'Lisha. For 'twill go hard
with the party that's beaten; their
land will be confiscated."

" Dear, darling flowers ! How

.delicious you are!" said Martha,

^bringing the magnolia and the

.nosegay together and pressing both

;to her lips; and she kept kissing

them and smelling them, and smell-

.ing and kissing them, till at length

her father said :

" Humph ! they'll soon wilt, if
you treat the pretty things that
way."

" Oli ! I'll get fresh ones afore

long," answered Martha. " How-

. ever, I will put these in water.

They may as well last a few days."

But a week went by, and then
.another week, without bringing
again either of her suitors. The
weather was delightful, for it was
early June. The summer heat had
not yet begun ; and if it were not

for war, ruthless war, how fair all
nature would have appeared ! But
although the meadows were span-
gled with dandelions and butter-
cups, the woods scented with dog-
wood blossoms, and the air full of
the melody of bobolinks and ori-
oles, the people of East Chester were
more depressed than ever. Bob
Reed's mill had just been burnt by
the Cowboys ; in revenge the Skin-
ners had scuttled a Tory sloop
anchored in the creek ; while some
miscreants had even made an at-
tempt to fire St. Paul's Church in
the village. Bur, sad as all this
was, nothing caused Martha Van
Alstyne so much distress as the
doings at the Old Stone Jug. For
two whole nights she was kept
awake and bustling about, attend-
ing to the wants of a set of pro-
fane marauders who belonged both
to the British and American side.
These villains, sinking all differ-
ence of opinion, would occasion-
ally unite to rob friend as well as
foe ;* and it was to the Old Stone
Jug they carried their plunder,
which Uncle Pete would hide in the
cavern behind the house.

" Well, don't blame me, child,"
said Van Alstyne. " Remember
how I am situated. Why, if I had
refused to conceal those bags of
gold I'd like enough have been
hung forthwith ; for among the
men who were here last night and
the night before are some of the
greatest scoundrels in America."

" Well, I am going to choose my
husband afore long," answered
Martha — " either Elisha Williams
or Harry Valentine; and then you
must abandon this tavern and come
live with me. For if you stay
here — "

" O child ! I sha'n't stay after

* Sparks' Life of A mold \ p. 218.

The Old Stone Jug.

64-.

you're gone. But why marry so
soon ? Why not wait a while ? — at
least, until we see what Burgoyne
does with his army, which is large
and well appointed. He may sweep
everything before him ; and if he
does, then you'll see your way
much clearer, and I'll be the first
to tell you to wed Harry Valen-
tine."

Martha shook her head : " I'll give
my hand to the bravest, father, no
matter which side he is on. And it
is because they are both so good
and so brave that I hesitate."

" Well, now, child, if you're not
careful you may cause the death of
'em both. Ay, 'tis hard to say
what wild, foolhardy deed they may
not attempt in order to win you."

" Do you think so ?" exclaimed
Martha, pressing her hand over
her heart and turning pale. This
thought had not occurred to her be-
fore. But it was too late. She had
already told each wooer that the
bravest one should have her.

The girl was inwardly lamenting
her folly when a voice from the
cherry-tree cried : " Be ready, sir."
And immediately she and her father
listened with all their ears for the
next call.

"Red-coats!" shouted Popgun
in about three minutes.

" All right," said Uncle Pete, and
off he went to get the ladder. But
quick Martha checked him, saying:
" Why, father, the sign-board is all
right for Britishers."

" Oh ! so it is," ejaculated
Uncle Pete ; then, with a grin :
"The fact is, child, I'm so used to
turning it round and round — first
to King George, then to George
Washington, then back again to
King George — that I'm afraid some
day I'll make a mistake, and I've
half a mind to give you charge
of it."

" If you do I'll either nail the sign
fast to the house, or else take it
away entirely," answered Martha.

Her parent was still laughing
at this innocent, unbusiness-like
speech when the British dragoons
arrived, and at their head was
Harry Valentine.

Harry was a very different look-
ing man from Elisha Williams: not
only was he clad in a brilliant scarlet
uniform, but he had more refined
features and courtly manners, which
'seemed to confirm the view that
Martha's father held — namely, that
the most genteel people were Tories.
And now, while Harry clasped the
hand of his sweetheart, the latter
forgot altogether Elisha's freckled
but honest face, his sandy hair and
homespun coat, with naught to dis-
tinguish him from an ordinary
citizen save a black cockade and
eagle feather in his hat, and she
thought to herself: "Was there
ever such a magnificent wig as my
Harry's ! "Tis powdered to per-
fection ! Dear, darling boy !"

"Ah! there is the magnolia I
gave you," said Harry, smiling, as
they entered the little sitting-room,
where Martha passed most of her
time when not engaged in the
kitchen.

"How fresh it looks! Yet 'tis :i
good while since I brought it."

"An age," returned Martha, eying
him fondly.

"And what pretty flowers those
are yonder !" he continued, looking
toward the other end of the mantel-
piece.

" None could be prettier," said
Martha in a quiet voice, yet she
felt the blood stealing over her
cheeks.

" From Reverend Doctor Coffee's
garden, perhaps?"

"No indeed! They were given
me by one whom nobody can come

644

The Old Stone

up to — one who keeps ahead of
everybody. Now guess his name!"

"Oh ! I know — that Skinner,
Elisha Williams," said Harry with
apparent indifference, but inwardly
groaning.

" He is not a Skinner, any more
than you are a Cowboy. You are
both in the regular armies," said
Martha; then, laying her hand on
Harry's shoulder: "And, Harry, I
hope, if Elisha is ever your prisoner,
that you will treat him kindly."

" For your sake he who in youf
eyes is ahead of all the rest of the
world shall have not a single one
of his red hairs injured," answered
Harry, making a low bow. " But
might I venture to ask what vali-
ant exploit has Elisha performed
that you say he is ahead of me, his
open, determined, but honorable
rival ?"

" O Harry ! your dear brains
are running away with you, " said
Martha. " You speak hastily. I
only meant that Dolly Dumplings is
so fleet that not a trooper in the
king's army can catch Elisha.
That is all I meant."

"Is that really all?" exclaimed
Harry, giving a sigh of relief.

"Yes, upon my word it is."

" Well, Elisha must look out,"
continued the young man, his coun-
tenance beaming once more. " He
must not presume too much on the
fleetness of his steed ; for a hundred
pounds reward has just been offer-
ed to whoever will capture Dolly
Dumplings."

" Indeed ! A hundred pounds !"
exclaimed Martha. " Well, for all
that Dolly will still continue to
show you her heels."

At this Harry laughed, then said :
' Martha, I hope the next time you
see me I'll have a decoration; we
expect stirring events soon."
f " O Harry ! pray don't be rash,"

said the girl. " Do, do take care
of yourself."

"Stop no preaching, dear Mar-
tha. I love you too much to heed
the bullets. You remember you
said the bravest should possess you ;
and you are a treasure worth shed-
ding blood for."

" Oh ! did I say that ?" Here she
pressed her hand to her brow.
"Well, yes, I believe I did. But I
was a fool, for who can be braver
than you and Elisha? Who can
doubt the courage of either of you ?"

" Well, then, precious Martha,
why not decide at once between us ?
Oh ! I assure you 'tis a great trial
for me, this long uncertainty."

When he had spoken these words
Martha turned her eyes upon
Elisha's nosegay, which, despite the
water, was beginning to fade ; then
from the flowers her eyes dropped
to the floor, while her heart throb-
bed violently. Then, looking up, she
was on the very point of uttering
something of vast moment, when,
lo! a bullet crashed through the
window, whizzed close by her head,
and buried itself in the wainscoting,
half blinding her with whitewash
and mortar.

Immediately there was a great stir
and confusion in the bar-room,
where Harry's company were drink-
ing and smoking their pipes.

Quick the troopers were on their
feet and rushing pell-mell out of the
house, while their horses were paw-
ing the earth and neighing furiously,
for " whizz !" " whizz ! " " whizz ! "
like so many bees the balls were
flying past them.

"Good Lord ! here they come,
and close upon us!" gasped Uncle
Pete, shaking like an aspen leaf as
he glanced up the highway, then
looking toward the sign-board.
Would he have time to make the
sign change front ? Momentous

The Old Stone Jug.

645

question ! And on the American
c;ivalry were coming — a whole regi-
ment— on, on, at full speed. But,
rapidly as they approached, the
Britishers were too quick for them ;
every man of the latter was already
in the saddle, and Martha, although
seeing but dimly, was giving Harry's
hand a parting squeeze, heedless
of the danger she was in and deaf
to his urgent entreaties to withdraw.

" No, no, I'm not afraid," she
said. Nor did she retire until he
had pressed his lips to her cheek;
then back she flew into the house.

Scarcely had Harry put spurs to
his horse when Uncle Pete — his
movements happily hidden by a
cloud of dust — sprang up the lad-
der, turned the sign-board round in
a jiffy, then, pulling from his pocket
a bit of chalk, drew it thrice across
George Washington's benign visage.
After which down he came, or ra-
ther down he tumbled ; the ladder
was hastily flung aside, and through
the doorway after Martha he ran,
shouting: "Smash the bottles,
child! Smash a lot of 'em!"

Poor Martha, who was cleansing
the mortar from her eyes, was filled
with amazement at these words.
Had her parent suddenly lost his
wits ? Ay, surely he had, for he was
already hard at work breaking bot-
tle after bottle, and by the time
Colonel Glover's regiment, which
pursued the enemy only half a mile,
drew up at the Old Stone Jug, two
pounds ten shillings would not have
made good the damage which Un-
cle Pete had wrought to his own
property.

"God save our liberties, and
the devil take King George!" cried
Van Alstyne as the American colo-
nel dismounted; then, pointing in-
dignantly at the sign-board : " Look,
sir, what the British villains have
done ! Look !"

" Ay, disfigured our noble com-
mander-in-chief," answered the
officer.

"But now come, sir, and see what
they have done inside," continued
Uncle Pete, foaming at the mouth.

In a few minutes the tavern was
crowded with officers and soldiers
heaping maledictions upon the
British for having destroyed so much
excellent rum ; the whole floor was
reeking with spirits.

But Uncle Pete, in consideration'
of his loyalty to the American cause,
recovered all he had lost, and more
too ; for the cavalry-men made the
inn merry until the day was well-
nigh spent. And when at length
they departed there was not a more
contented citizen in the township
than Peter Van Alstyne.

" What a narrow escape we had !"
he said to Martha when they were
once more alone.

" Very ; and we may thank God
'tis all over without one drop of
blood being spilt," answered the
girl.

" Well, no, 'tisn't quite over yet,"
added the publican; then, going
to the door, he shouted : "Popgun,
come down."

Popgun obeyed, but his move-
ments were slow; he moved like one
who has the rheumatism, and he
took double the usual time to de-
scend the tree.

" I say, you little black imp,"
growled Uncle Pete as soon as the
boy got within reach — "you little
black imp, you fell asleep on your
perch to-day. Now, don't lie ; you
did, and you're 'sponsible for the
broken bottles, and the disfigured
sign, and the bullets in the wall.
Ay, you're 'sponsible for every
penny's worth of damage, and now
I'm going to punish you."

" O massa ! please don't make
me dance a hornpipe," said the.

646

The Old Stone Jug.

unhappy boy, whining and wring-
ing his hands. "Don't! don't! I'll
never full asleep again — no, never."

" Well, it's a hornpipe I'm going
to make you dance ; and now begin."
So saying, Uncle Pete lifted up a
stout ox-gad and brought it down
with all his might on Popgun's legs.
The blow was followed by a pierc-
ing cry. Martha implored her
father not to strike him again, but
Van Alstyne was deaf to her ap-
peals for mercy, and during several
minutes Popgun continued to hop
about like a dancing bear, and you
might have heard his screams as
far as East Chester village.

Finally, Uncle Pete having bro-
ken the whip over the poor child's
legs, Martha, who was truly vexed
at such cruelty, led Popgun into the
kitchen, intending to console him
with something good to eat. But
Van Alstyne, who knew how soft
her heart was, said :

" Martha, I positively forbid you
to give him one mouthful of sweet-
meats, and not a single doughnut
or tart. Obey me !"

The girl made no response, but,
having fastened the kitchen door
and brushed a tear out of her eye,
bade the little sufferer sit down;
then said : " Now, mind, you are
to have no sweetmeats and no tarts
and no doughnuts, so here's some
honey and a corncake."

Popgun looked up in her face,
and Martha was not a little sur-
prised to see him recovering so
rapidly from his terrible castiga-
tion ; so broad was his grin that
every one of his gleaming teeth
was visible.

" I'd like to dance a hornpipe
every day, Miss Martha," he said,
"for I love corncake and honey."

" Do you ? Well, then, you shall
have plenty."

But before the urchin besran his

feast he whispered: " Miss Martha,
you won't tell anybody if I tell
you a secret, will you ?"

" Of course not," answered Mar-
tha, who was anxious to please him,
and thus make amends for the bar-
barous treatment he had received.

"Well, then, Miss Martha, look
here." And Popgun stooped, and,
turning up the rim of his light lin-
en trowsers, revealed underneath a
pair of cowskin breeches about a
quarter of an inch thick ; and
these breeches had proved a good
friend to him, for he had danced
many a hornpipe.

" Oh ! fie, you naughty boy !"
exclaimed Martha; arid she was
strongly tempted to take away the
honey-jar. But after reflecting a
moment she burst into a laugh,
while Popgun tried to laugh too,
but did not succeed for the honey
which filled his mouth.

Never had Martha known so
much anxiety as during the four
months which followed Harry Val-
entine's last visit. Neither of her
lovers came to see her. Never had
they stayed away so long before ;
and whenever any one arrived at
the tavern with news she would
listen with rapt attention and a
sinking heart, fearful lest she might
hear that some evil had befallen
them. Often and often Martha
would turn from her spinning-wheel
to gaze on the flowers they had
given her — poor faded flowers,
but more precious now than dia-
monds in her sight ; and instead
of keeping them far apart, Martha
set the nosegay and magnolia near
together — so near that she might
circle them both in one fond em-
brace.

It was an anxious, trying sum-
mer, too, for the patriots. Wash-
ington was suffering defeats in
Pennsylvania; two important posts

The Old Stone Jug.

on the Hudson River — Fort Mont-
gomery and Fort Clinton — were
captured by the British ; and Con-
gress had fled from Philadelphia to
York. Nothing seemed likely to
rescue the cause of independence
from utter ruin, save the army
under General Gates, which was
marching to meet Burgoyne ; and
every breath of rumor from the
north was eagerly listened to.

" A crisis is approaching, child,"
Uncle Pete would say, " and I
guess you'll be able to select your
husband afore the next moon."

But Martha had grown too
down-hearted to heed what her fa-
ther said, and more than once he
found tears in her eyes.

By and by autumn came — rich,
ripe, golden autumn. But in many
an orchard the apples were left
unpicked, for the young men were
gone to the war and the old folks
had no heart for the labor. The
blackbirds were flocking, and Mar-
tha would watch them as they took
wing for the south, and she felt to-
ward the little birds as never be-
fore ; for perhaps in their long jour-
ney they might pass over Harry and
Elisha ; in New Jersey, in Dela-
ware, in Maryland, or even in the
far-off Carolinas, they might see
their camp-fires, might hear the
cannon booming.

" Sweet birds, you will come back
in spring-time," she sighed. "Will
Harry and Elisha come back ?"

" Child, here is something that
may cheer you up," said Uncle
Pete one October evening. The
girl looked round, and, lo ! he had
a letter for her. Martha's hand
trembled as she took it.

A century ago people did not
write as often as nowadays; indeed,
comparatively few knew how to
read and write. Hence it was not
so very strange that Martha was

un.'ible to tell at a glance from
whom the letter came. Was it
from Elisha ? or Harry ? or from
some comrade of theirs imparting
sad news ?

Few moments in life are more
big with keen suspense than the
moment between the breaking of a
letter's seal and the reading of the
first line, when the missive is from
one very dear to us and far away.
This interval of time — brief as
three heart-throbs — may prove the
boundary-line where happiness ends
for ever and dark days begin, or it
may set us smiling as Martha is
smiling now ; therefore let us peep
over her shoulder and learn what
the glad tidings are :

"I am coming in three days, dearest
Martha, to take you to St. Paul's Church
and make you my darling wife. Now,
don't say nay. I implore you not to
break my heart. I have won two deco-
rations, and am a major, and in all Ame-
rica nobody loves you more truly than
your devoted

" HARRY VALENTINE."

Although an exceedingly short
letter, it required some little time
for Martha to spell it all out ; and
when she did get to the end she
was in such a flurry that she could
barely speak when Uncle Pete ask-
ed what was the matter.

" O father ! Harry Valentine
says he will be here in — in three
days to marry me. And — and he
has won two decorations, and he is;
a major, and I don't know what to*
think about it."

" Humph ! he has risked his life
twice for you, has he ? Got two>
decorations ! Well, that ought to-
count a good deal in his favor."

" Well, yes, it ought, father."

"And do you know, child, there
is a rumor flying about that Gen.
Gates has found Burgoyne too-

648

The Old Stone Jug.

strong for him, and that he is re-
treating. Therefore, all things con-
sidered, I think you may bet on
King George and marry Harry."

" O father ! how little you un-
derstand me," exclaimed Martha
with a look of reproach. "I may
seem a flirt, a coquette, but I'm
not. My heart is not like your
sign-board, and I have suffered
more than you imagine from not
being able to decide between Har-
ry and Elisha, who love me so
truly, and each of whom is so wor-
thy of my love." Then, pressing
her hands to her bosom : " Poor
heart!" she cried, "what must I
do ? Oh ! tell me, what must I
do ?" Then, hastening into the
sitting-room, where she kept the
nosegay and the magnolia, she
put her lips to Elisha's wither-
ed love-gift, then carried it off,
leaving the magnolia alone in its
glory. But ere Martha reached
the window, where she meant to
fling the flowers away, the glass
which held them slipped from her
quivering hand, and in an instant
it lay shattered at her feet.
. " Well, really, child, you do as-
tonish me," said her father the
afternoon of the day when Harry
Valentine was expected. " You
can't sleep, you've lost your appe-
tite, and all because 'Lisha's posy
dropped on the floor. Why, what
nonsense !"

" Well, yes, it is silly," said Mar-
tha. " One of the two I will wed,
.and I have made up my mind it is
to be Harry, and I doubt not
Elisha will live fifty years and be
happy too. Any one might let a
glass break."

" Ay, ay. I've smashed scores
of 'em, child, and never knew any
ill to follow — except once, when I
stumbled and fell on top of the
.broken bits and cut my finger."

Martha now made a strong effort
to dispel the sense of approaching
evil which for three days had been
haunting her, and during the next
hour she kept in good spirits. She
had on her best gown, there was a
flush upon her cheeks, and every
few minutes she would go to the
foot of the cherry-tree and ask if
Harry Valentine were in sight.

" No, miss," answered Popgun
the last time she put the question
to him. "But there is a man in
the cedars yonder making signs; I
guess he wants to speak with you
or master. He looks like an In-
dian."

Martha did not hesitate to go
herself and see what the stranger
wanted ; and after the latter had
spoken a few words to her and she
turned to leave him, the bright co-
lor had fled from her face and she
trembled.

A half-hour later a cavalcade of
gay horsemen arrived at the tavern,
and, as we may imagine, Van Al-
styne wondered very much why his
daughter was not present to greet
Harry Valentine. He searched all
through the house for Martha; he
called her name, but she did not
answer. Where could Martha be ?

In the meanwhile Harry, direct-
ed by Popgun's finger, which point-
ed to the woods, had set out in
quest of his love.

And Martha was soon found ;
but not, as the young officer had
fancied she would be, gathering
chestnuts or wild grapes by the
brookside, by Rattlesnake Brook,
where he had first met her five
years ago — oh ! never-to-be-forgot-
ten day, when she was just emerg-
ing from girlhood and the first
down was on his chin; But now
Harry found her kneeling upon a
mossy rock, praying. And when
at the sound of footsteps Martha

The Old Stone Jug.

649

rose up and flew into his arms,
although transported with delight
to meet her again, and to feel she
had yielded him her heart at last —
that heart which it had taken so
long to win — nevertheless a pang
shot through him when he dis-
covered a tear on her cheek ; 'twas
easy to kiss the tear away, but why
had she been weeping? He asked
the question, but Martha onlyshook
her head and said :

" Remember, dear one, the pro-
mise you once made me : if Elisha
ever falls into your hands, you will
do him no injury. Remember."

And now evening has come, and
a -jovial party is assembled in the
Old Stone Jug. Uncle Pete bestir-
red himself as never before to do
his guests honor ; he could scarce
remain quiet a moment. The best
his house afforded he gave without
stint, and 'twas a free gift. Uncle
Pete intended that his future son-
in-law should long remember the
hospitality of this autumn evening.

Martha was the only one who
did not make merry. She sat close
beside Harry Valentine, her eyes
resting on his manly, sunburnt face ;
she seemed ready to devour him
with her eyes, and spoke very little.

But ever and anon she would
withdraw her hand from his and
go peep out of the window. It
was when she had done this for the
third time, then come back and
placed her hand within his again,
that Harry observed in a tone of
surprise :

" Why, my beloved, what, is the
matter ? Your hand is grown sud-
denly cold as ice."

"Is it?" said Martha nervous-
ly. There were other words quiv-
ering on her lips, but she held them
back. In after-years she bitterly
lamented her silence at this critical
moment. It was late, yet not too

late — the moon was still a quarter
of an hour below the horizon — and
when Harry noticed her agitation,
if she had only been frank with
him, how different might have been
the whole current of her after-life —
how very different !

And now the sky in the east is
growing rapidly brighter, and Mar-
tha's heart is throbbing faster and
louder — so loud that Harry might
almost have heard it. But 'twas
not necessary for him to hear the
beating of her heart in order to dis-
cover her growing distress. Mar-
tha was leaning back in the chair,
her cheeks were become as cold as
her hand, and her eyes strayed
from his eyes to the window in a
wild, fearful way ; then, looking at
him again, she seemed about to say
something, but did not, and Harry
was really becoming alarmed at the
strange mood she was in, when the
tavern door was suddenly flung
wide open, and, as it swept round
on its hinges, a small, black hand
passed swiftly over the table. In
an instant the candles were extin-
guished, and in the pitchy darkness
which followed Martha found her-
self borne away in somebody's
arms.

" Now, Martha, you're mine,"
said Elisha Williams exultingly, as
he bounded like a deer up the road
to the spot where he had left his
horse.

" Be true to me, Martha. Mount !
and we'll hie to the Jerseys to-
gether."

What the girl's feelings were just
at this moment 'twere not easy to
describe. In her ears came a deaf-
ening uproar from the Old Stone
Jug — quick commands; the neigh-
ing of steeds ; a voice cried,
"Fire!"

Then — well, she must have swoon-
ed ; for when next she became con-

650

The -Old Stone Jug.

srious of anything, Martha found
herself seated on the saddle-bow,
Klisha's arm supporting her, and
Polly Dumplings galloping at ter-
rific speed along Cusser's Lane.

And here let us say that the very
first thought to enter Martha's
mind was a glad thought. Ay,
her dark presentiment in regard to
The Flying Scout had proved utter-
ly untrue, and she even laughed
aloud when presently she told Eli-
sha what her fears for him had
been. Whereupon he cried : " Me
dead ! Ha ! ha ! No indeed ! Hur-
rah for Independence and Martha
Van Alstyne !"

Then, while his voice was echoing
through the woods which lined the
road on either side — frightening an
owl and rousing a partridge out of
its sleep — Elisha went on to tell
the great news of Burgoyne's sur-
render. " I was present, my love,"
he said. " I saw the British colors
lowered. Hurrah for Martha and
Independence ! Hurrah ! hurrah !"

But swift as was Dolly's pace —
her tail, back, and nose formed
one beeline — it was none too swift,
and she needed all the blood of her
grandsire, the Flying Childers, to
save her from being overtaken. On,
on at a furious rate Harry Valen-
tine was coming. He led the pur-
suit; his friends were close behind
him. And now, we may ask, did
Martha remonstrate with Elisha?
Did she urge him to draw rein ? —
to surrender her to the one whom
she had consented to wed on the
morrow ? No, indeed. Elisha's as-
tounding boldness in stealing her
away from her home when sur-
rounded by a score of armed men
drowned every other thought ; veri-
ly, he was the boldest of the bold.
The bracing night-air, too, was like
wine to her throbbing veins, and the
moon beams shimmering through

the trees lent a weirdness to the
scene which prevented Martha from
thinking calmly about anything.
She felt as if bewitched. Dolly
Dumplings appeared like a ghostly
steed; Elisha was a wizard knight
bearing her off to his enchanted
castle ; and not for all the world
would she have slipped off the sad-
dle to go back to the Old Stone

Jug-
But great changes often come un-
awares, and in a few minutes every-
thing changed. It happened thus :
lying in the middle of the lane, di-
rectly in front of old Isaac Cusser's
house — from whom the lane takes
its name — was a cow, and_ between
the cow and the stone wall opposite
the farmer had piled a load of salt
hay. Now, had there been a little
more light, Dolly Dumplings would
have discovered the animal in time
and jumped over her. But the
trees just at this spot threw a broad
shadow across Dolly's path, and
naught was visible until the mare
got within a stride of the obstacle.
Then she swerved violently to one
side, and in another moment Mar-
tha found herself rolling over and
over in the hay.

Needless to observe that Elisha
did his utmost to stay the course of
Dolly Dumplings. But, once past
the cow, Dolly had instantly resum-
ed her headlong gait, and she went
quite a distance ere she was brought
to a halt.

Poor Elisha ! he knew well that
Martha was lost to him ; yet he
did not hesitate to return — to ap-
proach within easy pistol-shot of
where Harry Valentine and his
friends were assembled round
about the young woman. The far-
mer, too, had come out with a lan-
tern, and Elisha, plunged in de-
spair, could distinguish the figure
of Martha standing upright, and he

The Old Stone Jug.

could hear her voice, and even fan-
cied she was laughing ! Was this
possible ? No, no ! Elisha. would
not believe his ears ; and he called
to her to be true to him — that he
would never love another.

" Martha, Martha, I will always
love you," he cried.

" Save yourself ! Do ! do ! Make
haste !" came back the response to
his words; and Elisha was slowly
turning Dolly round when the crack
of a pistol rang through the forest ;
'twas followed by a sting in his
breast; and while the mare continued
her flight Elisha's life-blood trick-
led down upon the saddle and left
red marks along the road.

But, although desperately wound-
ed, The Flying Scout was not going
to be captured, and faithful Dolly,
who heard the clatter of hoofs be-
hind her, flew on swifter than ever.
It was the firm belief of Elisha's
pursuers that he would turn to the
right after leaving Cusser's lane and
take the way to Tuckahoe ; for the
bridge across the Bronx River, a
half a mile on his left, had been
destroyed. Although aware of
this fact, Elisha nevertheless had
the audacity to turn Dolly's head
toward the stream; and down the
hill which led to it Dolly plunged,
a dozen bullets whizzing by her.
Would the Scout venture such a
leap? From bank to bank was far-
ther than any horse had ever been
known to spring. But blood will
tell — Dolly's grandsire was the Fly-
ing Childers — and now like a bird
she rose into the air, and, lo ! to the
amazement of the enemy, Elisha
was landed upon the west side of
the Bronx.

Here, as they abandoned the
ehase, let us go back to Martha
Van Alstyne.

It is the morrow morning, and we
find her once more under her fath-

er's roof, making ready to repair
with Harry Valentine to St. Paul's
Church; for she has promised to
become his bride, and she cannot
break her word. Yet at this the
eleventh hour Elisha holds the
first place in Martha's heart ; she
openly rejoices to hear that lie es-
caped, and even twits her affianced
husband for not having been able
to catch Dolly Dumplings, where-
upon Harry good-naturedly admits
that not another steed in America
could have cleared the Bronx at
one lea]).

" T wouldn't surprise me in the
least," Martha said to herself,
as they were about to set out for
the village, " if Elisha dashed up to
the very church door and carried
me off a second time. But then,"
she added after a moment's reflec-
tion, " it is not likely to happen;
no, I must banish him from my
heart as soon as possible and love
Harry alone." Here she threw her
eyes upon her betrothed and in all
the lovely autumn landscape noth-
ing was more lovely than those two
faces as they met.

But although Martha was strug-
gling hard to conquer her greater
love for Elisha, 'twas a difficult bat-
tle she was waging with herself.

There are embers which will live
and glow despite the ashes we heap
over them ; so even now, while her
eyes were searching into Harry's
eyes, while her smile was answering
his smile, Martha's countenance
fell anew and she recoiled from
him. 'Twas at this very moment
Popgun's voice cried out :

" Dolly Dumplings 's in sight !''

This startling announcement was
more than Martha could bear with-
out the deepest emotion. Quick
she looked up the road ; the astonish-
ed Uncle Pete and all the others
did the same, while the girlstretched

652

Brother and Sister.

forth her hands to welcome the one
who was approaching. Her heart
was in her throat ; every limb of her
body quivered. On, on galloped
the mare.

In less than two minutes Dolly
dashed into the midst of the party
gathered in front of the Old Stone
Jug. And what a spectacle did she
present ! She had no rider, and the
red marks which stained the emp-
ty saddle were blood-marks ! Oh !
surely they were. The wild look,
too, and the fierce neigh of poor
Dolly told plainly enough that some-
thing horrible had occurred.

It took Martha but an instant to
decide what to do, and, breaking
loose from Harry and her father,
who were vainly striving to calm
her, she sprang upon the saddle ;
then, turning to Harry Valentine
with an expression pen cannot de-
scribe, " Marry you !" she cried.
" No, not for the kingdom of
England !" And away she gallop-
ed.

In a remote corner of the grave-
yard at East Chester is a tombstone
with the following inscription carv-
ed upon it : " Here lie the remains
of Martha Van Alstyne, spinster,
who departed this life in the year of
grace 1838, aged 81." These few
words tell the rest of our story.
Martha, when she discovered that
Elisha Williams had been killed,
never married ; and although no
man knows Elisha's burial-place,
his name is not forgotten, and the
bridge which spans the Bronx River
at the point where Dolly Dump-
lings made her wonderful leap is
called Williams Bridge.

As late as 1840 the ruirjs of the
Old Stone Jug were visible on what
is now known as Schieffelin's Lane;
Rattlesnake Brook still flows on,
but the rattlesnakes have long dis-
appeared ; and here and there stands
an aged tree beneath whose shade
Martha and Harry and Elisha used
to play together in the days when
George III. was king.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

HAPPY those turtle-doves that went, my Queen,
With you to the temple — tho' to death they went.
Could they have known, they had been full content

To give their little lives. And well I ween

Your pitying hand caressed them ; and, between
The turns you took with Joseph (favored saint !)
At carrying Jesus, you would soothe their plaint,

And hold to your heart their bosoms' silver sheen.

But cherish more my sister-dove and me :
Carry within your heart, and all the way,
Our souls to the true Temple. Offered so,

They cannot perish — no, nor parted be :
For He whom you presented on this day

Wham you present His own must ever know.

FEAST OF THE PURIFICATION, 1876.

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

653

CHRISTIANITY AS AN HISTORICAL RELIGION.

ii.

To know the true genius of
Christianity is the same thing as
to know the true destiny of man,
and the actual order of Providence
by which he is conducted to its
fulfilment, through the state of his
earthly probation. The true des-
tiny of man is supernatural ; his
end is beyond the earth and the
present life, which is the place and
period of origin and transit only,
where he has his point of depar-
ture, his impulse of direction, the
beginning of the movement which
is to draw a line of endless length
on the absolute duration and ab-
solute space of eternity and infi-
nity. The actual order of Provi-
dence, within the infinitesimal lim-
its of time and extension which
bound man's earthly existence, is
exclusively determined, as to its
ultimate end, to this eternal and
infinite sphere of being, where man
shares with God, according to the
mode and measure which is possi-
ble to his finite nature, the " total,
simultaneous, and perfect posses-
sion of interminable life." This is
precisely what is meant by eternal
salvation, final beatitude, union
with God, and all other terms of
similar import. Any temporal
good, in comparison with this, is
trivial. It cannot be an ultimate
object of God's providence, and
ought not to be regarded as an
end by a rational man. These are
the suppositions, the prcecogtiita,
from which all Christian philoso-
phy must take its initial move-
ment. Dr. Fisher enunciates, there-
fore, one of the axioms of Chris-

tianity when he says that in the
design of the divine religion given
by God to mankind, " the good
offered is not science," or, as is
evidently implied, any other tem-
poral good, " but salvation." The
original right to this salvation and
to the means of attaining it having
been forfeited in the fall and re-
stored only through Christ, " the
final cause of revelation is the re-
covery of men to communion with
God — that is, to true religion." As
a consequence from this, " what-
ever knowledge is communicated " —
and, equally, whatever other good
is communicated for human per-
fection in this present state — " is
tributary to this end " (p. 3). The
whole of human history before the
Christian epoch, in general, and
specifically the whole inspired his-
tory of patriarchal -and Judaean
religion, being a record of events
looking towards the coming of the
Son of God to the earth, the learn-
ed professor proceeds logically in
making the statements which fol-
low :

"Christianity is the perfect form of
religion. In other words, it is the abso-
lute religion, . . . the culminating point
in the progress of revelation, fulfilling,
or filling out to perfection, that which
preceded. ... In Jesus religion is ac-
tually realized in its perfection. ... In
Christ the revelation of God to and
through man reaches its climax. ... In
Christianity the fundamental relations of
God to the world are completely dis-
closed. . . . Through Christ the king-
dom of God actually attains its univer-
sal character." '••

* Pp. 25-27.

654

Christianity 'as an Historical Religion.

Many passages scattered tli rough-
out the entire work of Dr. Fisher
repeat, confirm, or amplify these
general statements of his funda-
mental conception of Christianity.
Thus, he says that it " proposed the
unification of mankind through a
spiritual bond" (p. 42); that it
brings God near "to the appre-
hension, not of a coterie of philo-
sophers merely, but of the humble
and ignorant" (p. 189); that it
"made human brotherhood a reali-
ty " (p. 190). " From his first pub-
lic appearance Jesus represented
himself as the founder and head
of a kingdom " (p. 443), and this
kingdom " was to be bound to-
gether by a moral and spiritual
bond of union " (p. 444). More-
over, "his kingdom was to act up-
on the world, and to bring the
world under its sway " (p. 456) ; it
was to " leaven human society with
its spirit, until the whole world
should be created anew by its
agency "; " a world-conquering and
world-purifying influence," destin-
ed " for the accomplishment of a
revolution, the grandest which it
ever entered into the heart of man
to conceive — it being nothing less
than the moral regeneration of
mankind " (ibid.)

The idea which lies at the foun-
dation of all these statements is
nothing else than that which St.
Ignatius has made the basis of his
Spiritual Exercises, and which is
fully developed in the meditations
on fundamental Christian princi-
ples which are placed at the be-
ginning of the series for a retreat
in books like the Raccolta of Fa-
ther Ciccolini. On these princi-
ples is founded the whole system
of instructions given to ecclesias-
tics and religious during their re-
treats, by which they are formed
for the sacerdotal or religious life

or renovated in the spirit of their
state. The very same form the
basis of the sermons preached at
the beginning of missions given to
the fai tli ful in churches, " On the
End of Man," "On the Value of
the Soul," " On the Necessity of
Salvation." That man is the only
being on the earth who is an end
in himself, and that all other crea-
tures, together with all arrangements
of divine Providence respecting
this world, are for him ; that the
chief and ultimate end of man is
his eternal salvation, and that eve-
rything else is intended as a means
for attaining this end ; is the doc-
trine inculcated and preached in
all Catholic spiritual books and in
all sermons, in all theological trea-
tises, and expositions of Catholic
philosophy which profess to ex-
plain the fundamental relations of the
natural to the supernatural order.
Any other idea of Christianity than
this is unworthy of its Author. It
is a very low and childish view
which represents the perfection of
humanity in respect to the politi-
cal, social, and intellectual spheres
of the earthly and temporal order
as the direct object of the mission
and work of Christ in the world.
Prceterit figitra hujus mundi. That
which is transitory cannot be an
ultimate end.

There is nothing permanent and
having an eternal value on the
earth except the spiritual perfection
of the human soul and whatever
appertains to it or is inseparably
connected with it. The regenera-
tion and perfection of men in the
spiritual and divine life is necessa-
rily the only direct and primary
object of the theandric work of
Christ as the mediator between God
and mankind. His kingdom is in
the soul, his reign and conquests
are in the spiritual realm. St. An-

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

655

gustine explains that difficult state-
ment of St. Paul, that the Son will
finally deliver up his kingdom to
the Father, by means of this Scrip-
tural conception of the nature of
his kingdom. This kingdom is the
multitude of the saved, the complete
number of the elect, in whose glori-
fication the special work of the Son
as creator and redeemer reaches
its consummation and attains its
final end. The kingdom is deliver-
ed up when these souls, in whom the
reign of Christ is perfectly and
for ever established by grace and
divine love, are united with the di-
vine essence in the beatific vision.
The initial and temporal conditions
of the eternal kingdom of Christ, the
kingdom of heaven, disappear, of
course, in the fulfilment; as his human
childhood, life, death, and resurrec-
tion were transient states or events,
as the whole of human history is
transient. In its initial state the
kingdom of heaven on the earth is
a preparation for its perfect state,
which it contains in germ and
principle, and with which it must
necessarily have a similitude of na-
ture. It is therefore only a truism
to say that the kingdom of Christ is
spiritual and its bond of unity spi-
ritual. We may even say that the
whole universe is a spiritual em-
pire and its bond of unity spiritual.
Physical beings, in the ontological
order are metaphysical, and in the
order of cognition are logical. All
the transcendental predicates, which
really express only phases of the
same idea; being, unity, truth, and
good; are, in an analogous sense, pre-
dicable of God and of everything
which has or is capable of having
existence. God is a spirit, and the
ideal of all beings is in his intelli-
gence. The Aoyo? evSidSeToZ,
in the bosom of the Father from
eternity, and the AoyoS

uttering the creative word
whose effect is in time, whose intel-
ligible expression is in all creatures,
are one — the Word of God. There
are material substances and forces,
but their origin is spiritual ; their
essence and existence are the ex-
pression of thought ; the space in
which they move has its foundation
in the essence of God ; they are an
adjunct of the spiritual world, and
are subordinated to it with a view
to the same end. There are tem-
poral and contingent things, but
their duration has a fixed relation
to the absolute duration of God, and
to his eternal, immutable decree and
foreknowledge. Though some things
are trivial and worthless by com-
parison with others, and every
being is infinitely less than God, yet
nothing is absolutely trivial or
worthless, and every finite thing
has infinite relations. Bodies are
infinitely inferior to spirits, yet they
are infinitely superior to nothing,
and not only the grand bodies
which express in magnitude and
number an image of the immensity
of God, but grains of sand and the
minutest molecules, are terms of
divine Omnipotence, and their be-
ing pre-supposes and imitates the
being of God. God formed the
body of the first man out of the
dust of the earth before he breathed
into him the living soul, and he will
awaken all human bodies to an ever-
lasting life from the dust of the
universal tomb of humanity. The
Word assumed not only a rational
but also a corporeal nature into
hypostatic union with the divinity
in his own person, and arose bodily
from the sepulchre to glorify mat-
ter as well as spirit, and make it a
gem eternally lustrous and spark-
ling with, divine splendor. God
came to this small solar system, a
mere point in the milky way, to

656

Christianity as fin Historical Religion.

this minute planet, to the insignifi-
cant country of Judaea, to the little
village of Bethlehem, to the narrow
cave of the Nativity, to the humble
cottage of Joseph and Mary, and
was born and brought up the son
of a humble maiden under the
guardianship of an obscure artisan.
The future and eternal kingdom of
heaven with all its splendor, which
was only made that it may serve as
a reflection of the glory of the In-
carnate Word, has its origin from
these mere points in time and space.
Things which, isolated and in their
mere physical quantity, are almost
nothing receive an infinite value
through their relations. Nude first
matter, apart from form, is, as St.
Augustine says, "fere nihil — a be-
ing not-being." Yet it seems to
be rigorously demonstrated that the
active force of every material ele-
ment is capable of attracting or re-
pelling other elements in an infinite
sphere of space around its centre.
The visible universe, considered as
having a mere isolated existence
and motion in space and time, is
not much, compared with even one
finite spirit — is fere nihil. The in-
tellectual creation, considered as
isolated within the bounds of na-
ture, finite, actually existing only in
one indivisible now of time, which
by its gliding from a beginning
point on an endless line never ac-
tually draws more than a line of
finite duration, compared with the
infinite possibility is not much more.
All creation, even supposing that
God continued to extend and mul-
tiply it for ever, could never be-
come anything which would not be
infinitely less than absolute space
and duration. On the lower sur-
face of things which faces the no-
thingness out of which they came
they participate in not-being and
resemble nothingness. In their ne-

gation and privation, they arc not.
On their upper surface which faces
the being above them they partici-
pate with all being, even the high-
est. That which is lower touches
by its highest point that which is
lowest in the higher, and so from
the bottom to the top. Thte physi-
cal universe has a sufficient reason
of being in the intellectual universe,
the intellectual in the spiritual, and
the spiritual at its apex touches
God by the union of the highest
nature — the created nature of the
Word, with the uncreated, divine
essence. The universe, notwith-
standing its intrinsically finite and
contingent being, receives thus a
mode and order of relation to the
infinite and eternal being, giving it
a species of divinization which ex-
tends to its least and lowest parts.
Therefore we say that the whole
universe is a spiritual empire and
its bond of unity spiritual.

This world is a garden of God,
set apart for the planting and
growth of human souls. The gar-
den of Eden, which God planted
and beautified as the residence of
the first parents of the human race,
is a type of the ideal earth as it
was conceived in the mind of God.
The redemption, in its ideal form,
is a work for the restoration of
paradise on earth, under a modified
condition suited to the fallen state
of man, and in its actual results is
an approximation to this idea. The
growth of human souls in the re-
generated and spiritual life is its
end, and the only thing of absolute
importance in the sight of God.
The Creator himself came on the
earth in human form expressly for
the sake of fulfilling this divine in-
tention of bringing souls to the
completion of their growth in a
perfect likeness to himself. It is
needless to quote his own distinct

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

657

and solemn affirmation of the value
of the soul, and the worthlessness
of the whole world beside, in com-
parison with its highest spiritual
good. His great work in humanity
may therefore be fitly summed up
in the terse and succinct formula
of " moral regeneration," provided
that these terms are so defined as
to give them an adequate extension
and comprehension. The whole
plan of God in creating the uni-
verse, and elevating it through the
microcosmical being man by the
Incarnation, must be kept in view ;
and the nature of the regeneration
to be effected must be so under-
stood as to justify the necessity of
the stupendous and multiplied
means employed by the divine wis-
dom in bringing it to actual accom-
plishment. The universe, and this
little epitome of creation which is
man's world, as well, is complex
and composed of heterogeneous
parts. The problem of man's des-
tiny and of the end proposed in the
plan of the divine creator and re-
deemer of human nature is, there-
fore, necessarily complex. If it is
expressed in a ratio bf simple terms,
these terms must be virtually equi-
valent to a great number and a
great variety, corresponding to the
complex reality which they denote
and signify. A simplification of
our ideas which is not the result of
a combination of all the elements
that ought to enter into composi-
tion, but is produced by the sup-
pression of some, is a work of de-
structive and not of constructive
philosophy. If we interpret, there-
fore, that spiritual doctrine which
\ve have laid down in the beginning
of this argument too literally and
exclusively, we make a misinter-
pretation of the sense of Holy
Scripture and of the writings of
the saints, and manufacture for

VOL. XXVI. — 42

ourselves a false and absurd doc-
trine.

A philosophy which aims to give
the spirit a complete riddance of
matter, and of the whole world be-
side spiritual existence in its pu-
rest and most immediate relation
to God, may arrogate the name of
spiritual philosophy, but it is a coun-
terfeit spiritualism. If God desired
that we should get rid of matter,
and had no other aim except to
produce purely spiritual being in
his own likeness and in participa-
tion with his own pure essence, he
would never have created anything
except spirit, and he would have
made it at once in that state of per-
fection which he willed it to pos-
sess. If this perfection were limit-
ed to the order of pure nature,
nothing more was requisite than to
create a multitude of intellectual
beings naturally endowed with the
intelligence and felicity conformed
to their essence. If they were to
be elevated to supernatural perfec-
tion in the beatific vision of God,
one act of divine power and love
would suffice to place them at the
first instant of their creation in the
term of being, the ultimate perfec-
tion, the everlasting felicity in the
possession of the sovereign good, to-
which they were destined. There
is no necessity for probation, gradu-
al progress, or any sort of conditions
precedent, in order that created
spirits may be made perfect in cog-
nition and volition, either natural
or supernatural, in any finite degree
and grade of existence and beati-
tude which God may choose in his
pure goodness tocommunicate. Still
less is there any reason, on the
hypothesis of such an end in crea-
tion as we suppose, for the existence
of matter and corporeal beings.
Matter and body cannot help
purely intellectual beings to attain

658

ChristiaJiity .as an Historical Religion.

their proper intelligible object.
The light of glory, and the direct
illumination which gives the spirit
an immediate intuitive vision of the
divine essence, cannot be conjoined
with any material, corporeal medium
or organ. Why, then, did not God
create angels only, and, if he desir-
ed to elevate creation to the hypo-
static union with himself, assume
.the angelic nature ? The only possi-
ble answer to this question is de-
jrived from the manifestation which
•God has made, through his works
and through his word, that his plan
of creation^ included something be-
sides the natural and supernatural
communication of glory and beati-
tude to created spirits. It was his
will to create the corporeal, visible
universe in connection and harmo-
,ny with the invisible and spiritual
world. It was his will to place man
in the middle-point of all creation,
and to give him a complex essence
composed of rationality and anima-
lity, that he might unite in his sub-
stantial being the highest with the
lowest — imasummis. Moreover, the
creating Word assumed this nature
as microcosmical, that in humanity
he might elevate the entire universe
and bring it in his own person to
its acme.

Even this might have been accom-
plished instantaneously, without
probation, without the long proces-
sion of second causes, without the
efforts and the pain which the
struggle toward the ultimate end
has cost the creature, and to
which the Incarnate Word subject-
• ed himself when he became obediens
usque ad mortem, mortem autem cru-
cis.

Why the long process from the
chaos at the beginning toward the
consummation of the end which
has not yet been attained ? The
pnly answer to this question which

can possibly be given is that God
chose to make the creature concur
to its own glorification by the way
of merit, and to bring the utmost
possible effect out of created cau-
sality. This is the reason for the
probation of the angels and of
man ; for the full scope given to
free-will, notwithstanding the inci-
dental evil which through this ave-
nue has rushed in upon the fair
creation of God ; and for the choice
of the most difficult and painful
way of redemption and restoration
through ineffable labors and suffer-
ings.

The regeneration of humanity
must, therefore, take its character
from the supernatural 'destiny of
man, his complex nature, and the
relations in which it places him to
the complex plan of God which
takes in all the parts of the uni-
verse, from the lowest to the high-
est, and gives the utmost possible
play to the action of created cau-
sality. Its chief end is to prepare hu-
man souls, through the grace and fel-
lowship of Christ, to share with the
other sons of Gcd, the holy angels,
in the glory and beatitude of the
Incarnate Word in the kingdom of
heaven. Included in this end of
beatification in God, which is essen-
tially the same for all spiritual be-
ings who attain it, are the distinc-
tive grades of glory, gained through
grace and personal merit, in an as-
cending scale from the souls of in-
fants to the soul of Jesus Christ,
by which the celestial firmament is
decorated. This beatitude in the
vision of God certainly does not ex-
clude the secondary and natural be-
atitude arising from the knowledge
and enjoyment of the creatures of
God, and this must therefore be a
secondary and subordinate end in
the divine plan. Intellectual cog-
nition and volition are not organic

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

659

acts of human nature ; and, there-
fore, if we believe in the bodily
resurrection of our Lord and of
the saints to a glorified corporeal
life, we must admit the existence
in the divine plan of some subordi-
nate end, in view of which man was
created as a composite being, and
in view of which, also, the Word as-
sumed the composite human na-
ture, which is complete only by the
union of the spiritual and material
substances. The glorified body no
doubt receives a reflected lustre
from the glorification of the soul.
But its glorified senses cannot be
the organs of anything more than
an elevated and sublimated sensi-
tive cognition and enjoyment. The
term of their action is the physical,
visible creation to which human
nature partially belongs ; and there-
fore the final end of man is partial-
ly identified with the final cause
for which the vast and everlasting
visible universe was created. The
Incarnate Word touches this visi-
ble, material realm of his creation
by the bodily part of his human
nature. The what and the where-
fore of this almost infinite realm of
nature we do not pretend to under-
stand. It is certainly not a mere
jeu d' esprit of Omnipotence, a cause-
less or transitory spectacle to ex-
cite the babyish wonder of the hu-
man race not yet out of its nursery.
Jt belongs to the great sphere of
the divine plan, a segment of one
of whose great circles is human
history on this earthly planet. As
we cannot demonstrate the prob-
lem of this sphere and its great
circles, we cannot .completely solve
the problem of man's destiny on
the earth. It is an enigma, a mys-
tery. And, above all, the question
Cur Deus Homo ? the what and the
wherefore of the Incarnation, is an
enigma, a mystery for human rea-

son, only obscurely manifested to
faith. Christ in history, universal
history as having its mot (fenigwe
in Christ, must consequently pre-
sent to the believing and enlighten-
ed mind of the Christian student
an object of investigation and
thought A'hich he cannot hope to
understand and know adequately,
much less to comprehend. What-
ever we can know must be learned
by the manifestation which God
makes of his wise intentions through
his word and his works, the instruc-
tion which he deigns to give us
by experience, reason, and divine
faith.

For what is man being educated
on the earth, and what did his
Creator intend to bring him to
when he came down in person,
after a long series of precursors had
prepared the way before him, to
teach and to do that wrrch could
be entrusted to no mere creature,
whether man or angel ? The mani-
festation of Christ in the history of
mankind on the earth will make
known the answer to this question to
all intelligent beings when this his-
tory is completed. But this will be
only at the day of universal resur-
rection and final judgment. Until
that day arrives there can only be
a gradual and incomplete disclo-
sure and justification of the ways
of God to men, which are unsearch-
able and past finding out by human
wisdom. The Eternal Word, who
created all things, and directed all
nations on the earth by his provi
dence before he assumed human
nature and died on the cross for
their salvation, has not ceased,
since his Incarnation, to carry on
his work, or confined his care to a
small number elected out of the
mass of mankind. Nature has not
been substantially or totally de-
praved by the fall, or become the

66o

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

property of Satan. The Incarna-
tion is not a mere device and con-
trivance, to which God was forced
to resort because he could not
otherwise pardon the elect, and
substitute for the eternal punish-
ment which was due to them an
eternal reward due to Christ, and
transferred to them without any
personal merit of congruity or con-
dignity. The plan of God for sal-
vation through Christ is not a mere
segregation of a certain number of
individuals from the world, that
they may devote themselves exclu-
sively to their sanctification by
purely interior, spiritual acts —
waiting until death shall release
their souls from a bodily existence
which is a mere degradation, and a
world which is utterly accursed and
given over to the dominion of the
devil. Such ideas are exaggera-
tions and perversions of Christian
doctrine. They necessarily pro-
voked a reaction and revolt in the
minds and hearts of men when-
ever they were taught ; and there
has been, consequently, a perpetual
effort, among Protestants who were
not willing to abandon Christianity
altogether, to find some kind of ra-
tiorial religion which can plausibly
assume to be the pure, original
Christianity of Christ. But by eli-
minating or altering and diminish-
ing the mysteries and supernatural
elements of Christianity, they change
its nature and reduce it to some-
thing so ordinary and common-
place that its divinity is lost. The
ideal Christianity becomes a sort of
peaceable, orderly, moral, well-edu-
cated society, in which as nearly
as possible all men enjoy the com-
fortable and respectable mode of
life belonging to the gentry of Eng-
land, and the poorest class are as
well off as the ordinary inhabitants
of a pleasant, old-fashioned New

England village. That there is
something attractive about this pic-
ture we will not deny. But we
cannot think that the production
of a state of merely natural well-
being in society, of commonplace
human happiness, even supposing
it founded upon religion, sanctified
by piety, and tending toward a
more perfect happiness in the future
life, was the real, ultimate end
which our Lord had in view when
he founded the church. The old idea
of a millennium which used to prevail
among the Puritans of New Eng-
land had something in it very
beautiful ; but it was only a beau-
tiful dream, never destined to be
realized in this world. The philo-
sophical dream of a golden age, to
be attained by progress in science,
civilization, political and social re-
form, is still more futile. The
doleful and terrible wail of the pes-
simist philosophers and poets of
Germany, which begins to find an
echo over all the civilized world,
would be the outcry of a despair
justified by the whole history of
mankind, were it not for the light
which faith casts across the gloom,
and the solution of the dark enig-
ma of life which is given by the
cross on which Jesus died, exclaim-
ing, " My God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me ?" The drama of
human history is grand and terrible
and tragic. It has scenes and epi-
sodes which have a character of
quiet, delightful, and joyous come-
dy, but it is a tragedy ; it has been
so from the first, and will be the
same to the end. The Son of God
came on the earth in the very crisis
of human history, and his human
life was a tragedy, ending in a sub-
lime triumph, but a triumph won
by sorrow, conflict, and conquest.
All that was tragic in previous his-
tory culminated in him, and subse-

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

66 1

quent history can be nothing else
than the last act of the tragedy
hastening to the de'nofimcnt, and
preparing the way for the second
coming of the Son of Man in the
clouds of heaven, with great glory,
to achieve his final triumph. The
Apocalypse of St. John, in which
all things that were to come to pass
in the last age of the world passed
before his entranced spirit in a
series of sublime and awful pictures,
shows that this horoscope is true.
What for him was a vaticination is
for us in great part a retrospect,
by which it is historically verified,
so far as the scroll of time has un-
rolled itself, and by which the sim-
ilar character of that part which
is still in prospect is surely fore-
boded.

Christianity is an historical reli-
gion. It is the outcome of all pre-
vious history, and its inspired docu-
ments alone, in which the genealo-
gy of its founder is traced back to
Adam, and the record of the origin
of the human race preserved, give
us authentic history of the most im-
portant facts which underlie all the
great events and movements of the
world. This history connects the
beginning of human destinies with
the earlier and higher sphere,
where the history of the intelligent
creation begins — with those great
events, the trial of the angels, the
rebellion of Lucifer, and the com-
mencement of the warfare whose
seat was transferred to the earth
by the successful ruse of the ser-
pent in the temptation of Eve. In
the expulsion of our weeping pa-
rents from Eden into the outside
world, humanity was led by a
counter strategic movement upon
the new battle-field, where Satan
was to be vanquished in fair and
open war. All the demons, rein-
forced by all the traitors and de-

serters they could gain from among
men, were allowed to pit themselves
against the sons of God and the
holy angels, and against the First-
begotten Son himself when he
came in the infirmity of human
nature, as the captain of salvation,
to become perfect through suffer-
ings and to lead his brethren by
the same arduous road to glory.
Redemption and salvation consist
essentially in liberation from the
servitude of Satan ; victory in the
combat against that mass of false
maxims, evil principles, and wicked
men called the world, those low
and vicious propensities called the
flesh, and the seducing spirits sent
forth by Satan to draw men into
his rebellion against God. Human
society was organized under the
law of redemption, in the family,
in the social, and in the political
community, in religious commu-
nion, in order to reconstruct fal-
len humanity ; to repair the ruin
effected by the devil ; to oppose a
barrier against his further aggres-
sions ; to consolidate a perpetual
force of resistance and warfare
against him; and to be the instru-
ment of the Son of God, the crea-
tor and redeemer of mankind, in
effecting the final subjugation of
the rebellion inaugurated and car-
ried on by Lucifer. The division
of nations, the colonization of the
earth, the foundation of states, of
industry and commerce, of art and
science, of culture and civiliza-
tion, is a divine work. Everything
good in humanity is from the Word,
the predestined Son of Man. The
Book of Wisdom says that it was
the delight of the eternal wisdom
to be with the sons of men, and the
early Fathers dilate on what is ex-
pressed in the German word Men-
schenfreundlichkcit) better than in
any equivalent English term, as an

662

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

attribute of the Logos. That ad-
mirable sentiment of the Latin poet,
Homo sum, el niJiil hiiinani alienum
a me putt, may be most appropriate-
ly ascribed to the divine Person
who joined the human nature to
his uncreated essence in an indis-
soluble marriage. The devil is the
author of nothing on the earth
which has real being and life, but
only of error and sin with their
logical consequences — that is, of in-
tellectual and moral perversion, of
ruin, decay, and death. His king-
dom is a graveyard and a realm of
darkness beneath it. The king-
dom of the living is the kingdom of
Christ, and of the Holy Spirit, the
Lord and Life-giver, who proceeds
from the Father through the Son.
The power of Satan on the earth is
gained by the invasion and treason-
able surrender of the cities and for-
tresses founded by the rightful
King of men, and consists in the
influence which he usurps in the af-
fairs of men, in the schism and
heresy by which he breaks the uni-
ty of human brotherhood in Christ.
The apostasy, the false religions,
the corrupted ethics, the degene-
rate institutions of the old heathen
world were schisms and heresies
against the primitive revelation and
the patriarchal unity of mankind in
one true doctrine, worship, and dis-
cipline. The foundation of Juda-
ism was a measure which the Lord
adopted to oppose a bulwark
against universal apostasy, to pre-
serve the treasure of revelation and
grace, and to prepare the way for
a more perfect organization of the
universal religion. Without aban-
doning the other nations, he con-
centrated his special providence
upon Israel. And even here the
history of his own special kingdom
and peculiar people is altogether
different from what our human rea-
son and sentiments would expect

and wish for, and especially so in
reference to the epoch when the
Messias appeared. We cannot un-
derstand it, unless we recognize the
universal law pervading the divine
plan, by which almost unlimited
play is given to free-will; the con-
flict of the powers of good and evil
permitted to run its course ; victory
and salvation are achieved by la-
bor, combat, and suffering ; the
world and humanity are set apart
as a battle-field, between the Son
of God, with his brethren by adop-
tion among angels and men, on one
side, Lucifer, with his army of apos-
tate angels and men, on the other —
a battle-field on which the ever-
lasting destinies of the un'iverse are
decided for eternity.

After this long and circuitous di-
gression we may direct our atten-
tion now on the specific nature of
Christianity as an historical reli-
gion, and consider what organiza-
tion Jesus Christ gave redeemed
humanity in the universal church,
how he embodied the absolute, uni-
versal religion, what means he
adopted for achieving the work of
the moral regeneration and eternal
salvation of mankind.

The work undertaken by the In-
carnate Word in person is evidently
the continuation of that which he
began through his ministering an-
gels, his prophets, and his other
human agents, and by far the most
difficult and important part of the
entire plan of God. Passing over
his principal theandric work of re-
demption, we must affirm the same
with equal emphasis and certainty
of that which is supplementary to
it, and by which it is extended to
its term. In assuming human na-
ture the Son of God assumed all
its temporal and eternal relations;
he grasped and drew into himself
universal humanity and the whole
creation. His first and direct ob-

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

663

ject was the glorification and bea-
tification of human souls in God,
but his action toward this end
drew into its current and impelled
by its energy all things connected
with and subordinate to this high-
est and purely spiritual sphere of
his creative wisdom. The action
of Christ in history after his resur-
rection is necessarily more com-
plex, more far-reaching and uni-
versal, more manifest and imme-
diate, more obviously dominant and
victorious, more evidently bearing
on the final and eternal consumma-
tion of the divine plan in the uni-
verse through the destinies of man
and the earth, than it could have
been before that glorious and deci-
sive event. Christianity, as an his-
torical religion, must have more
comprehension in its actual devel-
opment than in its inchoate state
before Christ. While it remains
true that it is characteristic of the
pure and perfect religion taught by
the mouth of its divine Author to
lead men to an interior, spiritual
life, to the contemplation and love
of God, to a paramount desire and
effort for the salvation of the soul,
and to bring this way of union with
God in loving, spiritual brotherhood
among men down to the level of
the lowly and the poor in all na-
tural goods, this idea does not re-
quire an exclusion of other and
different aspects of the same reli-
gion. The specific good proposed
and placed within reach is salva-
tion, and not science, art, civiliza-
tion, political order, social well-
being, national development, the
natural progress of mankind, the
production of a brilliant series of
great men, extraordinary works and
events in the temporal order. The
empires and cities, the grand mo-
numents, the intellectual master-
pieces, the entire array of results
produced by human activity, and

all the splendor and felicity of the
men who in outward seeming are
the most favored and fortunate, are
transient ; they return to the noth-
ingness from which they came.
Nevertheless, they may be made
tributary to something higher and
more durable, and what is substan-
tial and indestructible in and under
these evanescent forms may sur-
vive and reappear, like the mortal
part of human nature, by a future
resurrection. There is no reason,
therefore, why Christ, the Incar-
nate Word, in effecting the regene-
ration of the human race by means
and instruments which are natural
and human, yet not purely natural
and human, or standing alone in
their nude and finite essence,
should not take hold of all human
things and relations and subject
them to his own special service.
There is no reason why he should
not have secondary and subordinate
ends indirectly connected with his
one principal and ultimate object.
There is no reason why Christiani-
ty, though not identified with and
merged in human affairs, should
not be in intimate relations with
them all. In fact, there is every
kind of reason to the contrary, and
as an historical religion it cannot
be regarded in any other light. It
must be in continuity with its own
past on the same lines. The same
constructive principles must per-
vade religion in all ages. The
same law of curvature must be veri-
fied in every segment of the circle,
and all the diameters must be equal.
Unity is essential to universality.
The superior courses of stone in
the building must correspond to
the inferior, and rest upon them
and upon the foundation. Chris-
tianity as an historical religion
must be of equal dimensions and
similar structure to the substratum
furnished by the pre-Christian uni-

664

Christianity -as an Historical Religion.

versal history, where, so to speak,
its sub-cellar, crypts, and basement
are covered, and in great measure
buried in inexplorable obscurity,
beneath the walls of its colossal
architecture.

When we consider Christianity
as a religion in the precise and re-
stricted sense, and the church as a
strictly religious society, we cannot
identify the Christian Church and
religion so completely with Chris-
tianity in the wider sense as to con-
found the central nucleus with its
environment and atmosphere. We
must distinguish, accurately and
carefully, those things which are
really distinct, though not disunited
and separate from one another.
Religion is well defined by Mr. Bar-
ing-Gould as consisting essential-
ly in dogma, worship, and disci-
pline. The church is its organic
embodiment. The absolute and
universal religion must of course
'throw off what was proper only to a
state of inchoate and imperfect de-
velopment, and the church must be
freed from what was proper only
to a partial and national organic
constitution. This is a doctrinal
certitude with an actual verification
in history. It is needless to prove
that our Lord never thought of
making Christianity a mere exten-
sion of Judaism, and of founding a
universal kingdom which should
be an enlargement, co-extensive
with the world, of David's monar-
chy, with the institutes of Moses
.and the religious ceremonial of
Solomon's temple as the model of
its civil and ecclesiastical polity
and its ritual of worship. It is
equally unnecessary to prove that
•the divine Master thought as little
•of going back to the more ancient
and simple dispensation of patri-
archal religion. This would have
been a regression instead of a pro-
gression ; a dwindling and dwarf-

ing of humanity into a second in-
fancy instead of its expansion into
adult proportions, similar to the
absurd imagination of Nicodemus
in respect to the process of regen-
eration. The absolute, universal
religion, by virtue of the law of
continuity in growth, must neces-
sarily retain all that which pertain-
ed to the essence and properties of
religion as such — that is, of religion
generically and specifically consid-
ered in respect to human nature in
a state of probation ; a lapsed con-
dition ; and in the way of restora-
tion, through the redemption with
its law of grace, as revealed by God
from the beginning. All pertain-
ing to its integrity and to its acci-
dents, in so far as any such appur-
tenance is suited to human nature
in all ages and nations — giving
greater perfection, adaptation to its
end, and power in its operation to
religion — must also be considered
as permanent for a sufficient rea-
son, viz., that its cause and motive
are general and persistent, though
it may undergo modification and
be subject to variation. Natural
religion is preserved in revealed re-
ligion, the patriarchal in the Mo-
saic, and all these in the Christian
religion. Precisely how much has
been preserved, how much modi-
fied or altered, and in what way,
how much dropped as obsolete in
Christianity considered as an his-
torical religion, must be determined
historically. We know, however,
before we examine the historical
documents of Christianity, that,
unless God manifests in his actual
providence a determination to de-
rogate from constant and general
laws by introducing an entirely
miraculous dispensation, we shall
surely find in historical Christianity
certain features absolutely requisite
in a human religion. There are
such features or characteristics

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

66'

which in their generic ratio are
known with certainty, prescinding
from any information given by the
actual, objective manifestation
which Christianity presents in its
history. It must be adapted to
human nature — that is, it must be a
religion suitable to a being who is
not a pure spirit, or one united to a
body by accidental, extrinsic, and
temporary relations, but who is
composed of soul and body in his
specific and permanent essence.
It must be adapted to the condi-
tions in which human nature ex-
ists in its earthly stage of progress
toward perfection — that is, suitable
to men who are in multifarious re-
lations with one another in the
family, in society, in the state ; re-
lations both amicable and hostile,
relations of similarity and of op-
position, relations of great com-
plexity and variability. It must be
adapted to the character of the
divine Person from whom it pro-
ceeds ; as the Son of God and the
Son of Man, united with the Father
in one essence by the Holy Spirit;
hypostatically united within his pro-
per personality subsisting in two
distinct natures, by the same Spi-
rit ; sanctified in soul and body
by this life-giving Spirit; and by
the same Spirit sanctifying, and
uniting in himself to the Godhead,
redeemed humanity. It must be
adapted to the temporal and eter-
nal end for which it is intended —
that is, suitable for the instruction,
sanctification, unification, tempo-
ral and eternal salvation of all man-
kind, in all nations and ages; for
the work of regeneration, individ-
ual, social, political, intellectual,
moral, and physical, as an abso-
lute, universal, world-conquering
power.

In order to meet these requisi-
tions, its spirit and body must be
essentially and indissolubly united;

it must be organized in a perfect
and unequal society of universal
extension, sovereign independence,
complex and irresistible forces. It
must have both divine and human
attributes, and be vivified by the
divine Spirit. It must be insepa-
rably united with its head and
throughout its members, indefecti-
ble, immutable, and endowed with
the plenitude of graces, gifts, and
powers merited by Jesus Christ for
mankind and sufficient for the pro-
duction of the highest degrees of
human virtue in the greatest possi-
ble variety. It must be supreme,
and have all things subordinated
to its own end, controlled by its
influence, subservient to its pur-
poses as instrumentalities of its
dynamical action.

As the absolute world-religion,
its dogma, worship, and discipline
must vastly transcend the initial
revelation, elementary ritual, and
propaedeutic order of Judaism.
There is a kind of foreshadowing
of all these features of the king-
dom of Christ in universal history,
and there are abundant types and
prophecies of it in the history and
inspired documents of the patri-
archal and Judaic dispensations.
We need only to confront the idea
of Christianity, derived a priori
from the consideration of the plan
of God manifested in his works
and word before the time of Christ,,
with the actual, historical Chris-
tianity, in order to give this idea
distinctness, and to add the last
complement of certitude to our
judgment that it truly represents
the reality. Wherever we find ex-
isting as a concrete, historical fact
that which realizes in the fullest
and the highest sense the predic-
tions of the prophets ; that which
fulfils in the most perfect manner
the anticipations of history ; that
which is the most worthy of the

666

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

stupendous miracles culminating
in the resurrection ; that which cor-
responds in magnitude and gran-
deur to all the great works of God ;
that which gives the most sublime
significance to the destiny of man ;
that which magnifies in the most
wonderful way the power and love
of God and the object of the In-
carnation— there we behold, with
all the evidence which moral de-
monstration can furnish, the genu-
ine, absolute religion, manifest be-
fore our eyes as historical Chris-
tianity. Facts interpret prophecy,
confirm and consolidate the con-
clusions of reason, determine the
sense of much that is ambiguous in
the disclosures of revelation. The
test of history is therefore safe and
conclusive in respect to the genuine
essence and nature of Christianity.
The application of this test
shows that Catholic Christianity,
which alone can claim unbroken,
unaltered historical continuity and
universality from the apostolic age,
is the genuine and absolute reli-
gion of Christ. Any other species
is unknown to history as an histori-
cal religion. The Catholic faith,
worship, and discipline manifest
themselves in the church of apos-
tolic succession at the earliest
period in which this church is
clearly and distinctly visible through
the medium of historical testimony.
There is no resource for those who
call in question the identity of
Nicene Christianity with the apos-
tolic religion, except in the obscu-
rity of the century immediately
following the death of St. John,
and in the indistinct, incomplete,
and, as considered separately from
the traditional supplement and
commentary, partly ambiguous re-
cords, allusions, and testimonies, in
respect to some parts of Christian
doctrine, worship, and discipline, of
the New Testament. The nobler

class of modern Protestant writers
admit in a general sense the histo-
rical continuity of the essence of
Christianity in the Catholic Church,
placing their own restrictions on
the definition of that which is es-
sential as distinguished from the
non-essential, as well as from ab-
normal modifications. Those who
are not of the semi-Catholic school
are obliged to seek for some tena-
ble ground on which to maintain
their claim of fellowship in essen-
tials with the universal church, in
a theory of transition from apostoli-
cal to ecclesiastical Christianity
during the period lying between
the close of the first an 4 the end
of the second centuries. The hinge
of the question is the institution of
the episcopate, as a distinct and su-
perior grade of the Christian pres-
byterate, with hierarchical autho-
rity. We do not propose to dis-
cuss the proofs from Scripture and
the most ancient historical records
of the apostolic institution of the
episcopate, and of what is called
the apostolic succession of bishops,
as a principal and immutable part
of organic Christianity. This con-
troversy has been exhausted by the
able writers of the high-church
school. Professor Fisher presents
but little in addition to what has
been urged by the advocates of parity,
and fully answered in several works
easily accessible to English readers,
though his manner of presenting
his case is such as to make the
most of it, and shows both critical
ability and a candid spirit. A re-
joinder ought to be minute and
critical like the argument itself.
As we have not at present time and
space for this, we prefer to pass it
over altogether. Our line of argu-
ment leads us to consider some
deeper and more universal and at
the same time more obvious and
easily apprehended principles of

Christianity as an Historical Religion.

667

bringing the Catholic and Protes-
tant theories of Christianity to an
historical issue. ,

The essential nature of Christian-
ity as represented by one of these
theories is specifically different
from what it is as represented by
the other. According to the lat-
ter theory, the essence of the
Christian religion is something ex-
clusively spiritual and individual.
The exterior organization is not in
vital and substantial unity with it,
but is an habiliment, an extrinsic
instrument, a vehicle, or a sepa-
rate medium. One who considers
that faith, the way of salvation,
spiritual union with God in Christ,
are in a separate and independent
sphere, very naturally and logically
considers that questions of ecclesias-
tical organization and government
are of inferior moment; that sym-
bols of doctrine, forms of worship,
and modes of discipline are not
matters of perpetual and universal
obligation as founded on divine
right and law. Such a question as
that of episcopacy must, therefore,
appear toliim as among the non-
essentials ; and even supposing that
he admits the certainty or proba-
bility that it is the apostolic form,
he will see no reason why it should
be necessary to the being of the
church, or even to its well-being,
or why Christians should be divid-
ed in fellowship on account of mat-
ters merely belonging to exterior
order and indifferent forms.

According to the former theory,
the spiritual and corporeal parts, re-
ligion and the church, are after the
model of human nature and the
Incarnation, in vital, essential, and
perpetual unity. The church is
the way of salvation, the body of
Christ vivified by his Spirit, the
medium of union with God. Chris-
tianity is a sacramental religion.
The episcopal order has been es-

tablished and consecrated by Jesus
Christ to possess and transmit the
plenitude of sacerdotal grace and
power received from him as a gift ;
to preserve and transmit the faith,
sacramental grace, the pure obla-
tion of Christian worship, the dis-
cipline of the New Law in Catholic
unity.

A Christianity of the first species,
loosely organized in an imperfect
society, could never have been
transmuted into the second species.
The specific Catholic Christianity,
hierarchical, dogmatic, sacramen-
tal, liturgical, is the historical
Christianity of the period of the
first six oecumenical councils, and
appears at the Council of Nice, in
the person of the great Athanasius,
in all parts of the earth, in all the
saints and doctors, in all writings
and all monuments, pointing back-
ward to the past, the era of mar-
tyrdom, the period of foundation
and of apostolic labor, as the origin
and source of its doctrine, disci-
pline, and worship. A transmuta-
tion of species in Christianity like
that which the Protestant theory
supposes is rationally impossible.
There is the additional impossibil-
ity to be taken into account of such
a great and universal change hav-
ing occurred without leaving its re-
cords and traces in history. Chris-
tianity is an historical religion, and
the historical Christianity is identi-
cal with Catholicity. It is the ab-
solute and universal religion which
has manifested itself as a work
which only divine power could
have produced, in the history of
the past ; in present history it is
showing before our eyes its super-
natural and divine character; and
the fulfilment of its end in the final
consummation and triumph of the
kingdom of Christ will finish the
last chapter of the Revelation of
Christ in History.

668 " There u>as no -Room for TJicm in the Inn."

"THERE WAS NO ROOM FOR THEM IN THE INN.

FOOT-SORE and weary, Mary tried
Some rest to seek, but was denied.
" There is no room," the blind ones cried.

Meekly the Virgin turned away,
No voice entreating her to stay;
There was no room for God that day.

No room for her round whose tired feet
Angels are bowed in transport sweet,
The Mother of their God to greet.

No room for Him in whose small hand
The troubled sea and mighty land
Lie cradled like a grain of sand.

No room, O Babe divine ! for thee
That Christmas night ; and even we
Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.

In vain thy pleading baby cry

Strikes our deaf souls ; we pass thee by,

Unsheltered 'neath the wintry sky. ^

No room for God ! O Christ ! that we
Should bar our doors, nor ever see
Our Saviour Availing patiently.

Fling wide the doors ! Dear Christ, turn back !
The ashes on my hearth lie black —
Of light and warmth a total lack.

How can I bid thee enter here

Amid the desolation drear

Of lukewarm love and craven fear ?

What bleaker shelter can there be
Than my cold heart's tepidity —
Chill, wind-tossed, as the winter sea?

Dear Loid, I shrink from thy pure eye,
No home to offer thee have I ;
Yet in thy mercy pass not by.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

669

THE HOME-RULE CANDIDATE.

A STORY Of "NEW IRELAND."

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

ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
A NEW IRELANDER.

''I'M afraid your shooting party
is spoiled," said my mother, hand-
ing me a letter across the breakfast-
table in the well-known hierogly-
phics of my Uncle Jimmy.

" I should hope not," I retorted,
as the expedition in question had
been looked forward to with con-
siderable pleasure, on account of
Harry Welstone, my old chum at
the Catholic University, having an-
nounced his intention of " turning
the head of his dromedary to the
desert of Kilkenley," the name of
my ancestral seat, in the snug
morning- room of which my mother
and myself were discussing cream,
tea, new-laid eggs, and crisp rashers.

My Uncle Jimmy's note, address-
ed to my mother, his only sister,
ran thus :

" UNITED SERVICE CLUB,

" LONDON, Sept. 10.
" MY DEAR SUSEY : My old and valued
iriend, Mr. Fribscombe Hawthorne, the
member for Doodleshire, is most anx-
ious to treat Ireland fairly on the Home-
Rule question. He is well disposed to-
wards the Green Isle, and the country
cannot afford to lose an ally in this
crisis. Freddy [myself], although no
politician, manages his tenants exceed-
ingly well, and I should like Haw-
thorne to learn that at least one Irish
landlord can live upon his estate with-
out fear of bullet or bludgeon. Haw-
thorne leaves to-night, and will stop
at the Shelborne Hotel, Dublin. Tell
Freddy to drop him a line, asking him to
put up at Kilkenley, and to give him
some of that Sneyd and Barton claret

which I love, not wisely but too well.
My enemy is at work on my big toe, but
I hope to be with you as usual at Christ-
mas. The grouse were capital, fat and
large, and I am on the look-out for par-
tridge. Your affectionate brother,

" JIMMY L'ESTRANGE.

"P. S. I forgot to mention that Haw-
thorne's daughter accompanies him ; you
had better enclose a note to her.

"J. L'E."

" CV//found it !" I cried, " it's
really too bad of Uncle Jimmy to
saddle us with some dried-up statis-
tician and his mummy daughter.
You must write to him, madre mta,
saying that I am at Derravanagh
and beyond reach of post and
wire."

" If your uncle wasn't very anx-
ious about this he would never
write so urgently; and don't you
think a little sacrifice is due to
him ?"

My mother was in the right. A
moment's reflection told me that my
uncle's letter was as forcible as an
act of Parliament.

"Besides," added my mother,
with a cheery smile like a ray of
sunshine, " this Mr. Hawthorne
may be a sportsman and enjoy the
shooting as keenly as Harry Wel-
stone or yourself."

My uncle was, or I should say is —
for while I write he is enjoying a
pipe in the company of Barney
Corcoran, who stands to him in the
same capacity as did Corporal Trim

The Home-Rule Candidate.

to " My Uncle Toby " — as thorough
a gentleman as ever saw the light
of day. Simple, unassuming, loyal,
generous, brave, he actually refused
the recommendation for the Vic-
toria Cross, in order that a fair-
haired boy, whose very soul was
set upon its possession, might re-
ceive the decoration. Pure-mind-
ed and good, he is at once, as- Bay-
ard, sans peur et sans reproche.

Jimmy entered the army in the
year 1847, roving about with his
regiment from clime to clime with
a superb indifference as to change
of scene, but with a fervid deter-
mination to. remain with the gallant
Thirty-third; and it was only when
the Crimean war-cloud loomed
overhead that he resolved upon
quitting the old corps for one un-
der orders for the East. One-half
of the fighting Thirty-third volun-
teered with him, and the great re-
doubt at the Alma is steeped in the
blood of many a gallant fellow who
chose to follow the fortunes of Jim-
my L'Estrange.

Jimmy was badly hit at Inker-
man, and was sent home invalided,
to be nursed by my mother. In a
few months, however, he returned
to the seat of war, only to be
knocked over at the taking of the
Redan, which he entered side by
side with the dashing Tom Es-
monde, where, in addition to a
bayonet thrust in the chest, he was
made the depositary of a bullet in
the right leg. This bullet, clumsily
extracted by an unskilful surgeon,
constitutes the only decoration my
uncle deigns to wear, and he car-
ries it suspended from the steel
chain attached to a huge gold
watch formerly in possession of his
great-grandfather, to whom King
James presented it ere he rode from
the disastrous battle-field of the
Boyne.

Jimmy has eight thousand pound?;
lent out at four per cent., and lives
like a nabob at his London club —
reading the Army and Navy Gazette
all the morning, gossiping with his
former companions-in-arms during
the afternoon, sunning himself in the
park until dinner-time, and play-
ing shilling whist up to his wonted
hour for turning in for the night.
He spends three months in every
year at Kilkenley, during which, by
a judicious course of open air, early
hours, plain food, and '34 claret, he
is enabled to undertake the Lon-
don campaign with renewed vigor
and vitality.

Visions of a crabbed, hard-head-
ed, hard- fact, singularly uninter-
esting Englishman crossed my mind
as I helplessly gazed at my uncle's
epistle — of mornings spent in de-
bating the question of Home Rule
versus Imperial legislation ; of days
engaged in qnoting acts of Parlia-
ment and compiling statistics ; of
evenings behind the horror of a
white choker, passed in dissecting
and arranging these statistics, con-
verting figures into facts, and facts
into figures — this dreary drudgery
instead of the delectable society of
the bright, happy, and joyous Harry
Welstone, of mornings on the hill-
side, of days in the turnip-fields
looking for the identical partridge
of which my uncle had made hon-
orable mention in his letter, of even-
ings whirled through in chatting
over old times and old associations.
What cared I for Mr. Butt or
Home Rule, the land question,
fixity of tenure, tenant right, and
such bother ? If my tenants re-
quired time to pay the rent, they
got it. If they required help to-
ward fencing, draining, top-dress-
ing, or thatching, they got it. If
they were twelve months in ar-
rear, they came to my mother to

The Home-Rule Candidate.

6/1

plead for them; if over that period,
they invariably wjited for the an-
nual visit of my Uncle Jimmy, in
order to utilize him as ambassador ;
and my private opinion is, that
upon one occasion, in order to keep
up the credit of a family distantly
related to his valet, Barney Corco-
ran, he paid the rent himself. I
dare not hint at such a thing, but I
feel thoroughly assured that the
money came out of his o\vn pocket.
In the end, however, things gene-
rally came right, and delay in this
case did not prove dangerous.

I read my uncle's epistle twice,
confounded him once, and content-
ed myself by showering mild male-
dictions upon the heads of his
English friends with a fervor that
bore witness to my feelings of cha-
grin and disappointment.

The letters were duly written to
Mr. and Miss Hawthorne and for-
warded to the Shelborne.

" An' yez are not goin' to Derra-
vanagh ?" asked Ned Clancy, my
game-keeper, in tones betraying
the deepest dejection — "afther all
me thrubble wud the -birds, an' the
dogs blue-mowlded for a set. Be-
gorra, I dunno what I'll do wud the
poor bastes. I tould thim we wor
aff in the mornin', an' now be me
song it's at home they'll have for to
stay an' set gruel."

4 I'm sorry to say I can't go, Ned,
as I expect an English gentleman
and his daughter to visit us " ; and,
wishing to impress him with their
importance, added : " He is a mem-
ber of Parliament, and is coming
over to study the Home-Rule ques-
tion."

My addendum failed to produce
the desired effect.

" An' much he'll larn here," ob-
served Clancy with a toss of his
head. " Av he axes the quollity for
information, sorra an information

they have for to give him ; an' if he
axes the poorer soart, they'll only
cod him, bad cess to him !"

Ned Clancy was even more fatal-
ly " sold " than I by the postpone-
ment of our visit to Derravanagh ;
for a certain blue-eyed colleen, the
daughter of a " warm " farmer liv-
ing close to the shooting-lodge, had
succeeded in stirring tender emo-
tions in the region lying beneath
Mr. Clancy's waistcoat on the left
side, which, while productive of joy,
were equally productive of pain,
since the sunshine of her presence
was unhappily counterbalanced by
the very prolonged shadow of her
absence. Forty miles lay between
him and the object of his admira-
tion ; and although there are but
seventy thousand four hundred
yards in forty miles, still it is along
road for a gentleman to travel, un-
less he is pretty certain of his wel-
come, and as yet Ned Clancy had
"never told his love."

" Mebbe yer honor wud like for
to show this English gintleman the
counthry ; an' shure, in regard to
scenery, there's no batin' Derryna-
cushla all the ways be Derravanagh.
Sorra a finer sight nor the view
from Ballyknocksheelin hill ; it
flogs Rooshia, Ashia, an' Africa — so
Misther Corcoran, yer uncle's boy,
tould me ; an' shure he ought for to
know, be raisin' av his havin' thra-
velled all the world, likewise Ara-
bia."

" I'm afraid it's a little too far,
Ned."

" Far!" he contemptuously ejacu-
lated— " a few dirty mile, an' the
horses atin' their heds aff. Lily av
the Valley darted through her stall
this mornin', an' it tuk me an' a
cupple more for to hould Primrose."

This was special pleading with a
vengeance.

" Mebbe the gintleman wud take

6/2

The Home -Rule Candidate.

a gun. Give him a lind av Miss
Uhike, sir. She goes aff soft an'^
aisy, an' wudn't rub the dew aff th'
eyebrow av a grasshopper. Blur
an' ages, Masther Fred ! for th'
honor av ould Ireland give him
a shot. The birds is as thick as
hayves, an' he cudn't miss thim no
more nor a haystack ; an' shure,"
he added, "anything he misses I'll
be on the Ink out for, so betune us
we'll make it soft anyhow."

"It's not to be done, Ned; be-
sides, Miss Hawthorne accompanies
her father, and she possibly would
not like to separate from him."

" Bad cess to thim for wimmen !"
he muttered, as he tossed the gun
across his shoulders ; " they spile
everything. I wish they wor niver
invinted."

In the course of post two very
polite letters reached us, one ad-
dressed to my mother from Miss
Hawthorne, the other to myself
from the M.P., accepting the invita-
tion and stating that the writer
would leave Dublin by the one
o'clock train upon the following
day, reaching Ballyvoreen station
at 5.30.

The letters were excellently well
written, both as regards style and
caligraphy, especially that of the
lady, whom I now felt assured
must be a distinguished member of
the Social Science or of the British
Association.

" They will be here to-morrow,
mother. How on earth are we to
amuse them ? We are in for it
now, and must do our best to make
their visit agreeable. I know little,
and care less, about Home Rule, so
I'll hand Mr. Hawthorne over to
Myles Casey, of Loftus Park, who
opposed our present member.
Father O'Dowd, too, will give this
base, bloody, and brutal Saxon
enough to think about for a dozen

sessions of Parliament. I'll do my
part like a man."

" We must give a dinner-party,"
said my mother with a weary sigh,
visions of unpacking the family
plate, which had not seen the light
of day since my poor father's death,
floating across her mind's eye.
"I can drive Miss Hawthorne
about the country and pay visits."

" Don't trouble yourself about
her, mother. She'll be able to
amuse herself. Show her the old
quarry at Rathnamon, and she can
geologize until she's black in the
face. Or bring her to Carrigna-
geena, and she'll find ferns to both-
er her; and if she's a dab at antiqui-
ties, the old church at Bo'hernacap-
ple ought to put her on the treadmill
for a week. There is one tomb-
stone there that has bewildered Sir
William Wilde and the entire Royal
Irish Academy."

" She may be interested in the
Home-Rule question," suggested
my mother with a smile, adding:
" And perhaps political economy is
her forte."

" In that case I'll hand her over
to Harry Welstone. He can talk
Adam Smith, Martin Tupper, and
Stuart Mill. He can enlighten
her on the land question as well as
A. M. Sullivan or Mitchel Henry ;
and he shall do it as sure as my
name is Frederick Fitzgerald Or-
monde. Besides, he can imitate
Gladstone, Bright, Toole, Mathews,
and Buckstone. He's just the sort
of fellow to encounter this antedi-
luvian female, and, if such a thing
were within the realms of possibili-
ty, metamorphose her."

Visitors to a country house, shouH
the entertainers be not in the habit
of receiving company, are about
the severest penances that can by
any possibility be inflicted. Every-
thing requires to be turned topsy-

The Home-Rule Candidate.

67;

turvy for them — beds, bed-rooms,
furniture, carpets, "fixins'" of ev-
ery description. The cellar must
be overhauled and confidential
conferences held with the cook.
The " trap " used for knocking
about the roads and attending
markets and fairs must be shoved
aside, and the family coach put
into formidable requisition. The
horses must be clipped, while the
harness is found to be defective
and a new whip an absolute ne-
cessity. The very door-mats sug-
gest renovation.

As regards Harry Welstone, his
room and his tub were always
ready. I would have felt no hesi-
tation in quartering him on the
house-top, and the only preparation
I went in for with reference to his
visit was a scrupulous overhauling
of the billiard-table. Having no
person to practise with except
Martin Heaviside of the Grove, or
Captain O'Reilly of the Connaught
Rangers when home on leave, the
cushions became more like bags of
sand than those springy, elastic
walls from which the' pale white
or the blushing red ball bounds
gaily towards the coquettish pock-
et or the artfully-arranged collis-
ion of the carrom. With the aid of
Ned Clancy — who, in addition to
being game-keeper, was a sort of
Jack-of-all-trades — and the usual
form-nice, I succeeded in impart-
ing the necessary tone to the table,
and was satisfied that Harry would
scarcely fail to appreciate the utility
of the preparations.

I felt no anxiety whatever to
" show off " to the English member
of Parliament, while I honestly
confess to a burning desire to ap-
pear the " correct thing " in the
eyes of my old college chum ; and
while I ordered a homely vehicle
called the shandradan — half pilen-
VOL. xxvi. — 43

turn, half brougham, very old, very
rickety, and very seedy — to meet
Mr. and Miss Hawthorne upon the
following day, I turned out my own
dog-cart, built by Bates, of Gorey —
stained ash, brass-boxed wheels,
brass-mounted harness, 'possum
rug, with Lily of the Valley and
Primrose tandem — in order to bowl
Harry Welstone from Bally voreen
station to the lodge gate, nine
miles, in the forty minutes.

In accordance with preconcerted
arrangement, I met Harry, hugged
him, whacked him on the back,
refreshed him from my flask, rolled
him in the 'possum rug as though
the mercury were in the tens below
zero, and almost yelled with plea-
sure the entire way back.

Is any meeting equal to the
meeting of old school-fellows?
Ay de mi! no.

He had grown much stouter
and much handsomer. His eyes
were more romantically dark, and
his black moustache, which I recol-
lected so well in its struggling
tooth-brush infancy, was now
pointed after the fashion of the
third Napoleon.

After he had received a cordial
welcome from my mother I drag-
ged him up to his room, and there
we sat talking over Jim Cooper, that
went to the diggings, and Bobby
Thyne, now a leader at the Indian
bar, and Tom O'Brien, who was a
Jesuit, and Phil Dempsey, whose
last speech on circuit had elicited
the warm encomiums of Mr. Justice
Fitzgerald ; of the Corbet girls,
and the Walshs' picnic at the
Dargle, when Harry fell over-head
into the river in a chivalrous en-
deavor to pluck a maiden-hair
fern for Miss Walsh, and a host of
similar delightful souvenirs, until
the dinner-bell rang.

"Harry, my old bird, what will

6/4

The Home-Rule Candidate.

you dip your beak into — claret or
the ding-dong?"

" \VeIl, I stand by the solid li-
quor, Fred, but the pace is too
heavy."

Over our punch we resumed the
conversation on the olden, golden
time. Ah ! how weary, as we ap-
proach the end, to look back at the
milestones we have passed on our
journey. Why did we tarry here,
why not have rested there, why not
have halted for good and aye?
With us it was couleur de rose. We
had no shadows to sadden memory.
Our gossip was of our college days,
when life was on the spring and
every nerve braced for the forth-
coming struggle. We talked late
into the night, disregarding dove-
like messages from the ark an-
nouncing coffee.

The next day Harry went on
a ferreting expedition with Ned
Clancy, and my mother was too
deeply immersed in household af-
fairs to be enabled to take my place
and go to meet our expected guests ;
so, with feelings of no very amiable
description, I threw myself, all un-
tidy and ill-dressed as I was, into
the shandradan, and jingled the
nine miles to Ballyvoreen behind
,as sorry a pair of nags as ever
ploughed a nine-acre field.

I had to wait at the station, as
of cottrse the train was five-and-
twenty minutes late, and I was se-
riously hoping that some unto-
Avard accident had occurred which
would retard its progress for four-
and-twepty hours at the very least,
when it came creaking and groan-
ing in. Just as I had anticipated,
a tall, grim, gaunt, elderly gen-
tleman alighted, followed by a
tall, grim, gaunt, elderly young
lady, with a nose as sharp as a
shilling razor, wearing her hair in
wiry curls, and dragging by a long

blue ribbon a plunging, howling,
ill-visaged pug. The sight of the
dog was somewhat of a relief to
me, as I foresaw the miserable exis-
tence he was likely to lead with my
two Skye terriers — a counterpart
of the torture I should be com-
pelled to endure with his master
and mistress.

" Mr. Hawthorne, I presume,"
bowing and lifting my hat.

He bowed stiffly.

I repeated the question, fearing,
perhaps, that he had not heard me.

" You are mistaken, sir," in freez-
ing tones. " I am Lord Mulliga-
tawney."

"I was mistaken."

Apologizing fo'r the error, I look-
ed up the line and perceived in the
distance — for the train was a long
one — a well-dressed, dapper little
man engaged in lugging a valise
from beneath the seat of a first-
class carriage. " This must be my
guest," thought I, advancing, and as
I reached the carriage the port-
manteau came to earth with a
chuck that nearly precipitated its
proprietor into an adjacent hedge.
Following the " leathern conven-
iency," and with a spring graceful
as that of a gazelle, a young girl
alighted from the compartment.
She was small but exquisitely pro-
portioned. Her hair, pure gold,
was wound round the back of her
head in ponderous plaits. Her eyes
were of that blue which in certain
lights cries u check " unto the violet.
Her nose was straight and delicate-
ly shaped, but not in the least
classical. Her mouth was large,
full, and generous, and adorned
with flashing white teeth, somewhat
irregular, it is true, but in their ir-
regularity lay a special charm all
their own. She was attired in a
shepherd's plaid silk travelling dress,
a Die Vernon hat with a sweeping

Home-Rule Candidate.

675

blue feather almost caressing her left
shoulder, and her dainty littlehands
were encased in black kid gaunt-
leted gloves. Struck by her singu-
lar grace and beauty, I remained
staring at her — staring like a school-
boy at a waxen effigy.

" You are Mr. Ormonde," she
said laughingly, and advancing to-
wards me.

"You are Miss Hawthorne," I
stammered.

" I am, and papa, as usual, is
fussing about our luggage — impedi-
menta you scholars call it nowa-
days. I knew you from your pho-
tograph. It is so kind of you to
come and meet us." She put out
her hand as she said this in a
winning, confiding way that was
fraught with captivation. I bowed
over the tips of her fingers in re-
spectful reverence, scarcely daring
to touch her hand.

" May I ask where you saw my
photograph ?" I asked, inwardly
'hoping she had come across the
one taken for the Rathaldron hunt,
in which I figured in full field tog-
gery, my right hand caressing the
shoulder of Galloping Bess, my fa-
vorite hunter.

" In your uncle's album," she re-
plied.

Of course it was that photograph,
done while at the university, with
the lackadaisical expression around
the eyes and a general limpness
about the form, while my garments
bore the appearance of having been
constructed for the celebrated Irish
giant. If I had had the artist in
my hands at that particular mo-
ment, it is possible that I might
have taken his photograph with
something akin to a vengeance.

" Papa, this is mine host." And
she curtsied towards me after the
fashion of the ladies at the Court
of St. James, when hoops were

worn at the hips and patches and
powder held their parti-colored
sway. I grasped the little man by
the hand, telling him fervently that
his acquaintance was the greatest
favor ever bestowed upon me by
my uncle, that my house was his
home, together with several similar
expressions of intense good-will
and of the liveliest satisfaction.
How I inwardly anathematized my
seedy coat, my unkempt beard, and
above all the jingling shandradan
with its villanous pair of garrons
standing at the exit gate ! I be-
lieve I offered Miss Hawthorne my
arm to lead her to the vehicle in
question, calling loudly to Peter
O'Brien, who acted in the dupli-
cate capacity of coachman and but-
ler. Finding that my servant failed
to respond to the summons, I flung
open the door of the carriage, and
was about to hand her into it, when,
to my utter shame, misery, and
mortification, I beheld my missing
retainer rolled up like a ball in the
space between the seats, fast asleep,
and snoring like a fog-horn. In a
blaze of indignation I caught him
by the coat-collar, with the inten-
tion of giving him a shake that
would rattle him into an eel-like
liveliness; but while in the act of
inserting my fingers deftly around
the collar, so as to afford me the
grip necessary to the effectual car-
rying out of my intention, he sud-
denly awoke from his slumbers,
and, upon perceiving the condi-
tion of affairs, with the howl of
a startled wolf, plunged upwards
with such overwhelming force as
to cause me to lose my hold, to
lurch against the step of the car-
riage, carrom off the open door,
and lastly, O agony ! O shame ! to
measure my full length in the dusty
roadway, whilst a shout of laughter
from porters, passengers, and by-

6;6

The Home- Rule Candidate.

standers, in which I could detect
the silvery notes of Miss Haw-
thorne, greeted my tingling ears.
I sprang to my feet, full of the in-
tention of throttling the misguided
rascal, but was restrained, ban grt
mal gre, on discovering him upon
his knees in the centre of a sympa-
thizing audience, whom he was ad-
dressing with astonishing volubility
ere I could possibly interpose.

" O mother o' Moses ! I was
.overkem wud sleep; an' shure I'm
.not for to blame afther all, for
oiever a sight o' me bed I seen last
.night till daylight this blessed morn-
,in'. But shure I'd sit up for a
.month like a Banshee for his honor,
av it divarted him. Let me aff
this watist, Masther Fred, an" I'll
-carry ye up to bed every night
in — "

Deeming it advisable to stop this

dangerous harangue as speedily as

-possible, as I found myself quietly

• dropping from out of the frying-

.pan into the fire, and as, in his

anxiety to make out a good case

for himself, the rascal was using me

. as a scapegoat, I sternly bade him

.look to his horses.

Finding himself once more ap-
.proaching the sunshine of favor, he
hastily scrambled to his feet, and,
before I could intercept his move-
ment, had commenced to rub me
do\vn as if I were one of the quad-
rupeds under his especial care, ac-
companying each vigorous rub with
that purring sound wherein the
groom proper delights to indulge.

" Bad cess to it for dirt ! it 'ill
never come out," he began, as, with
a slap that brought tears to my
eyes, he endeavored to remove the
dust from the back of my coat.

" Silence, sir ! Go to your box !"
I shouted, as I handed Miss Haw-
thorne into the shandradan, plac-
ing her father beside her, and my

miserable, humiliated self opposite
directly beneath the perilous in-
fluence of her violet eyes.

" I trust, Miss Hawthorne," I
blurted, as we started for Kilken-
ley, " that you are not too deeply
influenced by first impressions?"

" Will you permit me to be very
Irish, and answer your question by
putting another ? Are you?"

Despite my late discomfiture, my
unkempt hair, my glove! ess hands,
and general seediness, I had suffi-
cient grace within me to gaze for
one brief second into her lovely
eyes until red as a rose was she,
and reply with a well-toned em-
phasis : " Most decidedly.''

I then, in a disjointed and desul-
tory way, endeavored to explain
why so shaky a vehicle had been
sent to the station ; why Peter
O'Brien's hat was so brown and
bore such traces of snail-creeping
from brim to crown ; why I had
turned out so shabbily; why the
horses were so slow — in a word, it
was the old story of qui s'excusc
s accuse, and my explanations, such
as they were, will ever remain a
matter of the profoundest mystery
to myself, as I never by any possibi-
lity could recall their tenor to
my memory.

I believe that during the drive
Mr. Hawthorne spoke a good deal
of my uncle, of London, Parlia-
ment, late hours, divisions, of the
Home'-Rule question, and upon
several other equally agreeable and
interesting topics, all of which
seemed to afford the most exquisite
delight to Peter O'Brien, who sat
perched sideways upon the box,
with one eye approvingly upon the
" mimber " and the other skewise
upon the road ; but as for me, I
was so lost in contemplating the
charms of my ris-a-vis that the
eloquence of the member for Doo-

The Home-Rule Candidate.

677

dleshire was as completely wasted
as if he were addressing Mr. Speak-
er himself.

Miss Hawthorne only spoke
upon two occasions — once to com-
ment upon the beauty of the foli-
age at Ballyknoekscroggery, the
name amusing her immensely, and
which she endeavored to repeat
with a child-like glee ; and once to
ask about my mother — but the
sounds were as music, and my
ears quaffed the delicious, dreamy
draught with greedy avidity. How
those nine miles passed I never
knew ; they seemed but so many
yards.

Peter kept " a trot for the ave-
nue," and brought us to a stand-
still with a jerk that spoke volumes
in favor of the anxiety of the
screws for a respite from their
labors. I handed the young and
lovely girl to my mother, who
stood upon the steps awaiting
our approach, and, having escorted
Mr. Hawthorne to his room, retir-
ed to my own in a whirlwind of
new and pleasing emotion — ay,
new and pleasing indeed !

I ate no dinner. What cared I
for food ? Mabel Hawthorne's
presence enthralled me with an un-
definable ecstasy. Every gesture,
every movement seemed fraught
with a new-born grace, while her
every word filled my very being as
with melody. I envied my mother
that she talked so much to her ; I
envied Harry Welstone for looking
so confoundedly handsome and be-
cause he sat opposite to her ; I en-
vied Peter when she addressed
even a " yes " or " no " to him ; I
envied her father, who called her
" Mabel " and " darling." Heigh-
ho ! How I hated the approach
of that fatal moment when the con-
ventionalities demanded the with-
drawal of the ladies — a cruel and

barbarous custom, and I said so.
She brushed past me as I held the
door open, her eyes lifting them-
selves like violets from beneath
the leafy lashes; and when she had
glided away on my mother's arm, I
felt that the light had ceased to
live in the apartment. I longed
for a cigar in the stillness of the
autumn night, surrounded by the
lordly gloom of nature, and yearn-
ed for the priceless abandon of my
own musings. But, as in duty
bound, I descended to the realities
and the '34 claret.

"A good wine, sir," exclaimed
Mr. Hawthorne, smacking his lips
and cunningly holding his glass be-
tween the lamp and his left eye ;
the right being carefully closed. "A
grand wine, sir. A comet vintage,
sir. Mr. Speaker has no wine like
this; and the Speaker of the House
of Commons lias the best cellar in
England, sir."

Mr. Hawthorne spt>ke solemnly.
His sentences seemed carefully
weighed, and were delivered with
an unctuousness that bespoke con-
siderable satisfaction with himself.
He addressed me as if I were the
Speaker of the House of Commons,
and as though he were desirous of
catching my eye. Some persons
hold you with their eye. It's not
pleasant. He was one of this class.

"It's a '34, sir; you are quite cor-
rect. My poor father was very
particular about his cellar. I have
too much of it ; you must permit
me to send you a dozen at Christ-
mas." What would I not give her
father ?

" On the condition that you wilt
come and help me to drink it, sir."

Need I say how profuse were my
thanks? This was a chance — to see
her in her own home, too.

" We live in the Regent's Park,
York Terrace. Our windows com-

6/8

The Home-Rule Candidate.

mand a very pleasing prospect. It's
a nice walk for me to the House,
and from my roof I can tell by the
electric light in the clock tower
whether the House is sitting or not.
This is of immense importance, as
to lose a division very often means
to lose a seat — ha ! ha ! ha !"

I must be forgiven if I joined in
this melancholy merriment.

" Full well I laughed, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he."

I kicked Harry Welstone be-
neath the table as a signal to join
in, but he maintained a grim, stolid
silence. He told me subsequently
that it wasn't to be done at any
price.

"You may not possibly have
heard Mr. Disraeli's last, gentle-
men," said Mr. Hawthorne, placing
his left hand inside his waistcoat and
nourishing the right in my direc-
tion. " It's — ha ! ha ! — so very like
Dizzy that — ha! ha! — I cannot help
repeating it." Here he laughed
" consumedly " for fully a minute.

The reader is possibly acquaint-
ed with some one man who cozens
time by inward chuckles at his own
conceits. It is a melancholy ordeal
to have to endure this individual, to
reflect back his dulness, and to re-
turn smile for smile. All bores are
terrors, but the worst class of bore
is the political ; he is the embodi-
ment, the concentrated essence, the
amalgam and epitome of bores.
He mounts his dreary Rosinante,
and jogs along, taking acts of Par-
liament for milestones and the dul-
lest utterances in the lives of emi-
nent men as his halting-places,
quoting long-winded, meaningless
speeches as epigrams, and paralyz-
ing his auditory with wooden ex-
tracts from a blue-book of explod-
ed theories. His pertinacity is as
inexhaustible as it is undaunted ; he

is free from the faintest suspicion
of self-distrust ; he is a bore within
a bore. Of course, as the father of
Mabel, Mr. Hawthorne interested
me, and I listened with a reverence
that begat the reputation of a
shrewd, sensible fellow — an enco-
mium never heretofore passed upon
me under any circumstance whatso-
ever.

" The Right Honorable the senior
member for the city of Dublin,"
commenced Mr. Hawthorne, after
his merriment had cooled off a lit-
tle, " is — ha! ha ! — a Mr. Jonathan
Pirn, Quaker, and a laborious
statistician. The House likes a
statistician on the budget or in com-
mittee, but we will not have him in
debate — no, gentlemen, we will not
tolerate him in debate. A ques-
tion arose in which I had fruitless-
ly endeavored to catch the Speaker's
eye — the Speaker is, by the bye, no
particular friend of mine, as I once
overruled his decision on a point of
order ; consequently, I seldom get
an opportunity of speaking, and
am compelled to write to the Times.
Well, gentlemen, as 1 was observing,
a question came up in which the
Right Honorable the senior member
for the city of Dublin felt himself
interested, and he made a very
creditable speech, bristling with
figures — quite a surprise to some of
us ; but it bored us, gentlemen, and
the House will not tolerate a bore."

Harry trod upon my toe; my
boots were tight — I involuntarily
groaned.

" I perceive that you agree with
me," said the M.P.; "the affliction
is terrible."

"Awful!" said Harry, peeling a
plum.

" Well, gentlemen, the Right Hon-
orable gentleman, the senior mem-
ber for the city of Dublin, had — ha !
ha! — just concluded his speech.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

679

when Mr. Disraeli, who sat upon the
Opposition benches, said to the hon-
orable member for Shrewsbury, who
sat behind him, and placing his eye-
glass up so " — suiting the action to
the word —

" 'Who is this person ?'

" ' Mr. Pirn, sir, the senior mem-
ber for the city of Dublin,' re-
sponded the honorable member for
Shrewsbury.

" ' Oh ! indeed. Dublin used to
send us a gentleman and a black-
guard ; this creature is neither." "

This was not quite so bad, and
we joined the honorable member
for Doodleshire in his mirth, which
continued long after our responsive
haw-haws had become things of
the past.

Mr. Hawthorne, being thus en-
couraged, was good enough to en-
liven us with a prolonged descrip-
tion of his original Parliamentary
yearnings, his first and unsuccess-
ful contest, and his subsequent
triumphant victory — a victory which
we were led to believe was unpar-
alleled in the annals of electioneer-
ing struggles, and one that caused a
thrill of dismay all along the entire
line of the great conservative party.
We were solemnly inducted into
the forms of the House, from the
entrance of a newly-fledged mem-
ber to his maiden speech. We
were initiated into the mysteries of
the " Opposition benches," the
" gangway," the " table," the " bar,"
the duties of the "whip" and the
" tellers," the modus operandi as re-
gards notices of motion and divi-
sions, the striking of committees,
and the rules of Parliament gener-
ally, until we were surfeited «// nau-
seam. These pleasing preliminaries
having been satisfactorily gone
through, Mr. Hawthorne very oblig-
ingly proceeded to give us brief
biographical sketches of Gladstone,

Bright, Disraeli, Northcote, Har-
tington, and other leading men of
that august assembly, dilating upon
the peculiarities in their style and
the mistakes in their several Parlia-
mentary careers, until I wished him
— in the drawing-room. The win-
dows were open, and across the
sensuous night-glow came sweet,
soothing strains from the piano,
now in low. wailing cadences soft
and sorrow-laden as the cry of the
Banshee, now in the dashing bril-
liancy, the dan of those chromatic
fireworks which none but the most
skilled pyrotechnist dare handle
save a deux mains.

" Miss Hawthorne is at the piano,"
I ventured, in the earnest hope that
her father, in the pride of parental
fondness, might suggest an adjourn-
ment.

" Yes, yes," coolly and imper-
turbably.

" She plays divinely."

" Rubinstein, who gave her les-
sons at I'm ashamed to say how
much per lesson, said she was his
best amateur pupil. But, as I was
observing, Mr. Gladstone pronoun-
ces some words very strangely ; for
instance, issue he always pronounces
' issew,' and Mr. Bright invariably
says ' can't ' for 'cawnt.' "

After a dissertation of about half
an hour's duration upon the Mar-
quis of Hartington's lisp, the un-
wieldy oratory of Ward Hunt, Mr.
Roebuck's ' no,' and Mr. Whalley's
' heaw, heaw," I again hinted at an
adjournment, and on this occasion
with a view to a general move, sug-
gested the billiard-room.

" Ah ! no, my dear sir, we over-
worked members of the legislature
value too much the delightful tran-
quillity of our claret to ' rush things,'
as they say in America. We must
make hay while the sun shines.
How many nights during the com-

68o

Tlie Home-Rule Candidate.

ing session shall I not have to snap
at my food with the ting! ting! of
the division-bell ringing in my ear!
How often have I just raised my
soup to my lips, when ting ! ting !
and away into the House or to the
division-lobby, and back to find it
cold. Fish ! — ting! ting!" playfully
tapping a wine-glass with his des-
sert-knife by way of illustration.
4i Entree ! — ting ! ting ! And as for
wine, I have been compelled, ay, six
nights out of the seven, to gulp it,
gentlemen. Fancy gulping claret
as a navvy tosses off a quart of ale.
Festina lente, young gentlemen.
Make haste slowly with your din-
ner and your post-prandial wine ;
the pace of the tortoise is the win-
ning, and assuredly the most pleas-
ant, one."

Harry Welstone, who had been
sipping his claret in dogged silence,
suddenly started from his chair, and
exclaiming, " By Jove ! she's plnying
Les Baisers a" Amour ; excuse me,
Fred," hurriedly quitted the apart-
ment, leaving me in a condition of
the deepest dejection, and writhing
under the dreary torture of the
Parliamentary souvenirs of the mem-
ber for Doodleshire.

"I — ha! ha! — call to mind another
mot of Mr. Disraeli's; not at all a
bad one, either," continued the
M.P., deliberately attacking a fresh
decanter of claret — attacking it in
that steady, methodical way which
indicated a determination to re-
duce it by slow degrees to the last
extremity. "Dizzy says a thing,
sir, in a quaint, dry way peculiarly
his own — Multum inparvo I call it —
and he looks so demure, seated up-
on the Opposition bench in his short
black velvet coat, and caressing
his daintily-booted left foot upon his
right knee. One night during the
last session a very particular friend
of mine, Sir Brisbane Bullflier, the

junior member for Hants, happened
to ask him what he thought of Mr.
Gladstone. Dizzy turned his gaze
toward the government benches, and
coolly surveying the prime minis-
ter, who was parrying an adroit
question, said, as he calmly survey-
ed him :

" ' Mr. Gladstone is a man with-
out a single redeeming vice.' '

My heart was in the drawing-
room, where I now imagined Harry
Welstone leaning with his elbows
upon the piano and his chin upon his
hands (his favorite position when
my mother played for him), gazing
at Mabel — I had commenced to
think of her by this gracious and
winsome name — uttering sotne of his
daring facetice, and being rewarded
by a glance from those bewildering
violet eyes, while I, bound in the
iron fetters of a vile conventional-
ism, was compelled to listen to " I
thus addressed the Speaker: 'Mr.
Speaker, sir,' " or, " I called for a
division, sir, and insisted upon
explaining to the House my mo-
tives for adopting this somewhat
daring and untoward course,"
and " Would you believe it, sir, the
Times never noticed my speech up-
on thechurch disestablishment ; it is
positively amusing — ha! ha! ha!";
his face bore no traces of the amuse-
ment in question — " and that con-
temptible rag, the Daily Telegraph,
merely mentioned that the honor-
able member for Doodleshire said a
few words which were inaudible —
this, sir, to a speech that cost me
three weeks in the preparation and
three hours in the delivery." This
sort of thing under ordinary cir-
cumstances, would have been dry
and prosy enough, but under the
special conditions of the case it be-
came simply unbearable.

I suggested cigars ; he didn't
smoke. A Bras Mouton instead

The Home-Rule Candidate.

68 1

of Chateau Lafitte ; he preferred
the existing vintage. Coffee I
dared not venture upon, and I re-
linquished the hopeless struggle
with a weary sigh. He was there
for the evening, and in that spot he
would remain until the contents of
the decanter had disappeared.

" Do you take an active part in
politics, Mr. Ormonde?" he asked
after a prolonged silence, during
which I had the dismal satisfaction
of hearing the strains of a valse bril-
lante, accompanied by an occasion-
al ripple of laughter, wafted in
through the windows.

" None whatever."

"No?" uttered in a tone almost
of dismay.

" No, sir. Our country is in the
hands of an Orange clique, who will
not allow a Catholic to hold a po-
sition of any consequence what-
ever. The representation is, as a
matter of course, in their hands,
and the family of De Ruthven have
supplied the members since the sack-
ing of Drogheda under Cromwell,
and will continue so to do, although,
perhaps, under the fecent Ballot
Act some outsider may get a chance.
There are but two Catholics in
the grand panel. I am one of them,
and was never even summoned
to attend until I threatened to
horsewhip the high sheriff. My
colleague is what we call in this
country a 'Cawtholic ' — that is, one
who invariably votes with the Or-
ange party, and who would drink
the great, glorious, pious, and im-
mortal King William in preference
to the health of Pius the Ninth."

" You have done away with that
absurd toast," said Mr. Hawthorne.

" Not at all, sir; it is given at
every dinner-party in the country,
and it was once given in this very
room."

" In this room ? Why, I thought

you Ormondes were always out-and-
out papists."

" And so we have been, and so
we are. I'll tell you how it hap-
pened. My father — God be merci-
ful to him ! — was always noted for
his hospitality, and one evening,
after a hard run with the Boherna-
breena hounds, he invited the hunt,
at least as many as were in at the
death, home to dinner, sending a
boy across the bog with the news
to my mother."

'" I haven't much to offer you to
eat, gentlemen,' he said, ' but
we'll make it up in the liquor.'

k' About twenty gentlemen rode
over here, and, after having dined
in a scratch sort of way, they
plunged on the claret — this iden-
tical wine."

" It is too good for fox-hunters,"
observed my guest. " Such liquid
nectar is for brain-workers like me."

" After a very joyous carouse
one of the party, called 'Orange
Dick,' a Mr. Templeton, of Ash-
brooke Hall, about ten miles from
this, a deputy lieutenant and J.P.,
stood up and asked permission to
propose a toast. The permission
was freely accorded by my father,
and full bumpers were called for.
When the glasses were all filled and
the company on their feet, Mr.
Templeton gave the memory of the
great, glorious, pious, and immortal
King William, which was received
with three times three, my father,
to the astonishment of one or two,
joining in.

" ' Now, gentlemen, 'said my father,
'I drank your toast; you'll drink
mine. Fill your glasses.'

" They required but little induce-
ment to do as he bade, and in an
instant were in readiness.

" ' To your feet, gentlemen.'

'• This order having been com-
plied with — for it was given as such,

682

The Hvnic-Rnle Candidate.

and not as a request — my father
shouted in a voice of thunder :

" ' Here's to the sorrel nag that
broke King William's neck.'"

Mr. Hawthorne was about to
enter into the question of the
Hanoverian succession, and had
already briefly sketched the career
of the Prince of Orange, when
Peter entered, and, approaching me
as though he were treading upon
eggs, whispered in a voice which
betrayed a vigorous razzia upon
the decanter, and sufficiently loud
to make itself distinctly overheard :

" The sooner the punch is riz
the betther, sir; the kittle's gettin'
cowld an' the mould fours is run-
nin' low."

Inwardly cursing the fellow's
garrulity, I proposed to my guest
that we should join the ladies.

" Begorra, yez may save your-
selves the thrubble, gintlemin, for
it's in their beds th' are "; here he
lowered his voice into a whisper
solely addressed to my ear: "The
young leddy axed me confidintial :
' When will he be comin' to the
dhrawin'-room ?' sez she.

" ' Not till he's had his five,' sez I.

"'What five?' sez she.

"'Tumblers av punch, miss!'
sez I. " An' didn't I do well, Mas-

ther Fred, for to keep up the credit
av' the family ?"

My hands clenched involuntarily,
preparatory to making themselves
acquainted with the body of my
blundering retainer, when Mr.
Hawthorne, upon whom the fatigue
of the journey, and perhaps his Par-
liamentary reminiscences, had pro-
duced a somniferous effect, sug-
gested following the good example
of the ladies — a proposition which I
joyfully acceded to. I assisted
him to his bed-chamber, where, after
listening to a very lengthened and
no doubt excessively profound dis-
quisition upon a proposed amend-
ment in the Irish Poor .Law Act,
I left him to " nature's sweet re-
storer," and, gruffly refusing to par-
take of a night-cap with Harry
Welstone, lighted a cigar and went
out into the night.

What a revolution had taken
place in my existence within a few
hours ! Behind yonder lighted
casement a young girl was prepar-
ing for rest, the very thoughts of
whom, but a short while back, were
a source of mortification and cha-
grin, and now — love and light and
joy beckoned me towards her*
drawing me to her by a chain of
roses.

TO PE CONTINUED.

A Child- Beggar. 683

A CHILD-BEGGAR.

Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shall see
How he persists to knock and wait for thee !

— LOPE DE VEGA, Longfellow"1 $ Translation.

THERE knocketh at thy door to-night

A tender little hand.
Without the portal, waiting thee,

Two feet, way-weary, stand.
So oft to-night that hand hath knocked,

So often been denied ;

0 wavering soul ! ope thou thy house,
Bid this child-beggar bide.

Without the bitter moonlight casts

Cold glitter on the snow ;
With icy fingers 'mid the boughs

The wind wakes sounds of woe ;
Unclouded is the light of stars

Filling the frosty blue ;
Yet, heedless of the winter chill,

A childish voice doth sue :

" Open, dear love, and let me in,

The. world without is cold ;
In the warm shelter of thy heart

I pray thee me enfold.
Weary I wander forth to-night,

I knock at many a door,

1 call, but seems my voice too weak

To rise the bleak wind o'er.

" A little exile here I stand,

Begging an easy grace —
Beside thy hearth this- biting night

A little resting-place."
O patient voice ! O weary feet !

O soul ! be thou beguiled,
Thy bolts undo, thy bars let fly,
Keep Love no more exiled.
\

'Tis Love that knocks and begs for love

In that soft, childish tone,
Who pleads a beggar at thy gate,

Whose right is -thy heart's throne.

A Child-Beggar.

Open, dear heart, and do not fear;

With him can enter in
Not any ill — nay, from his hand

Thou shalt all blessing win.

Though heaped thy house with treasure rare

Ah ! do not Love deny ;
He may not seek thee any more,

Scorning to-night his cry.
And do not fear that thou shalt find

A little rosy elf
With laughing eyes that look through tears

That pity but himself.

No fretful, pouting lips are his

Who waiteth at thy gate ;
No querulous tone shall dim his voice

Who knocks so long and late ;
His are no folded rainbow wings

Wherewith he may ensure
His safe retreat when his weak faith

No longer shall endure.

He bears no burden of barbed shafts ;

A cross his quiver is,
And of a crown of thorns his brow

Beareth the cruelties ;
His feet are pierced with wounds whose stain

Lies on the moonlit snow,
And in his tender baby hands

Twin blood-red roses blow.

Beneath the cross and crowning thorn

Infinite peace doth shine.
Ah ! open quick. O doubting heart !

Let in this Love Divine.
Have thou no fear of heavy cross —

His shoulders bear its weight;
The thorny wreath with sharp, strong touch

Shall joy undreamed create.

These infant lips shall bless thy tears,

This tender voice give peace ;
The hand that begs thy grace to-night

Shall sign thy woe's release.
He asks so little, gives so much,

And sigheth to give more
Who, patient in the wintry world,

Stands knocking at thy door.

TJie hies of Lerins.

68;

Hasten, my soul, let Him not wait ;

Fling thy heart's portal wide;
Bid thou this weary little Child

Fore'er with thee abide.
Kneel thou a beggar at his feet

Who begs to-night of thee ;
No alteration knows this Love

Born of eternity.

THE ISLES' OF LERINS.

There like a jewel in the Midland Sea
Far off discerned, the isle of Lerins hangs
Upon the coast of Provence, no fit haunt,
As from its beauty might at first appear,
For summer revel or a moonlit masque,
But where in studious cloister Vincent lived
And taught, and, in the simple panoply
Of Catholic tradition armed, struck down
The heretics.

— FABER.

THE town of Cannes, to which so
many English and Americans resort
on account of its delicious climate,
its healing air, and the lovely shores
where grow the olive and the vine,
lias, too, its balmy atmosphere for
the soul. All the " neighboring
heights are clothed with the mystic
lore of mediaeval saint and chapel,
the waves of the azure sea still
seen? to move to the holy impulses
that once sxvept the air, and across
the beautiful bay are two fair isles at
the entrance — St. Marguerite, asso-
ciated in most persons' minds with
the prison in which was confined
the mysterious Man of the Iron
Mask, but once was more happily
peopled with

" Virgins good
Who gave their days to heaven " ;

and St. Honorat, the Happy Isle
(hcata ilia insula), as it was once
railed, famous for its ancient monas-
tery, that played so glorious a role
in ihe religious history of Gaul.

These are the isles of Lerins, two
gems of that collar of pearls thrown
by God around the Mediterranean
Sea, to quote St. Ambrose, where
once those who would escape from
the perilous charms of the world
found refuge.

The island of St. Honorat is now
occupied by the Cistercians, and
early one morning, soon after our
arrival at Cannes, we went in search
of. the boat they send to the main-
land every day for their necessary
supplies. We were so fortunate as
to find on board a young monk of
great intelligence, who was well
versed in all the traditions of Lerins
and the surrounding region. He
kindly volunteered to become our
guide, and proved an invaluable one.
The islands are between two and
three miles distant, and we were
about an hour in crossing. A sail
on those blue waters, in sight of
their shores of radiant beauty, is
always a delight, but especially so
on a lovely day such as we had

686

TJte hies of Li! r ins.

chosen, in the middle of October,
with just air enough — and what
soft air it was! — to ripple the sea
and make it give out a thousand
flashes from the tiny waves. We
first came to St. Marguerite, which
is the largest of the islands. It is
seven kilometres in circumference,
oval in shape, and almost entirely
covered with maritime pines. It
looks indeed like a gem, this eme-
rald isle rising out of the sea of
dazzling gold. It is said to have
once borne the name of Lero, from
some person of ancient times whose
prowess excited the admiration of
his contemporaries, and the sister
isle took the diminutive of this
name — Lerina. St. Honorat is said
to have overthrown the temple of
the deified Lero, and perhaps built
the church early -erected here in
honor of the illustrious virgin
martyr of Antioch. An old legend
says when he retired to the neigh-
boring isle his sister Margaret
came here to live, and gathered
around her a. community of pious
maidens, to whom the sea, as it
were, offered its mystic veil. As
Lerina was interdicted to women,
she begged St. Honorat to visit her
frequently, and complained that her
wish was so seldom gratified. On
the other hand, the saint feared
that he held converse with his sister
too often, and thought such visits
disturbed his recollection in prayer.
At length he told her he should re-
strict his visits to a periodical one,
and selected the time when the
cherry-trees should be in bloom —
meaning, of course, once a year.
Margaret wept and entreated, but
nothing could change his resolution.
Then she declared God would be
less inflexible, and, in answer to the
prayers she addressed to him, a
cherry-tree planted on the shore
put forth its snowy blossoms every

month. Honorat no longer felt
disposed to resist, and whenever he
snw their white banner on St. Mar-
guerite's Isle he crossed the water,
which became solid under his feet.

This island is also said to have
afforded a secret asylum to the
monks called to the contemplative
life, or who wished to pass some
time in utter solitude. Little is
known of these lofty contemplatives,
but it is believed that it was here
St. Vincent of Lerins wrote his im-
mortal work, the Commonitorium.
St. Eucher also dwelt here for a
time, and here received letters from
St. Paulinus of Nola, who, like him,
had abandoned the world.

It is melancholy that an isle,
once consecrated to virginal purity
and holy contemplation, should Ire-
come a place of expiation for crimi-
nals, and that the most noted of its
prisoners should almost efface the
memory of St. Vincent and St.
Margaret.

St. Honorat is justbeyond the isl-
and of St. Marguerite. It is a low,
flat island, also oval in form, only
about a mile in length, and three
kilometres in circumference.

" Parva, sed felix mentis Lerina,
Quam Paraclito, Genito, Patrique
Rite quingenti roseo dicarunt .

Sanguine testes "

— Lerins is small in extent, but il-
lustrious by its glory ; five hundred
martyrs have worthily consecrated
it to the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Ghost by shedding their no-
ble blood, says Gregorius Cortesi-
us. Along the edge is a line of
low, craggy rocks, called monks or
brothers, which protect the shore
from the encroachment of the waves.
At the east are some little islets,
the largest of which bears the name
of St. Fereol, who, according to
tradition, was here martyred by the
Saracens and received burial.

The hies of Lt'rins.

687

The numerous trees that former-
ly grew on St. Honorat gave it the
poetic title of the aigrette de la mer,
but they are all gone except a few
olives in the centre, and a girdle of
pines along the shore which protect
the interior from the winds inju-
rious to vegetation, and serve as an
agreeable promenade. But no,
there is one more tree — it is rather
a monument — the ancient palm of
St. Honorat, which stands before
the door of the conventual church.
" Honor thy paternal aunt, the
palm-tree," says the prophet of Is-
lam, " for she was* created in Para-
dise and of the same earth from
which Adam was made !" Let us
especially honor this legendary
palm ; for if we understood, as the
rabbis say Abraham did, the lan-
guage of its leaves, that never cease
their mysterious murmuring, even
on a windless day, what a page in
the history of the church we should
learn !

A legend tells us that the island
in ancient times was infested with
venomous serpents, .of which a
frightful picture was drawn by the in-
habitants of the mainland to retain
St. Honorat at Cap Roux, whither
he at first went on retiring from the
world. When the saint arrived at
Lerina, and beheld their number
and size, he prostrated himself on
the ground and cried to the Lord
to exterminate them, and they all
died at once. Their bodies infect-
ing the air, the saint climbed a palm-
tree and prayed to Him who had
led him into this solitude, and the
waves of the sea immediately rose
and swept over the isle, carrying
off the serpents that covered it.

This miracle of the palm, as it is
called, is attested by St. Hilaire,
who passed several years as a monk
at Lerins, and speaks of the num-
bers of serpents that still .infested

the neighboring shores. At all
events, this isle, like Ireland, is free
from them to this day, though they
are to be found on St. Marguerite,
which is not saying much for the
gallantry of St. Honorat. This
palm-tree has always been regard-
ed with great veneration, and the
legend was represented on the
old shrine of St. Honorat — the saint
in the palm-tree, and the waves
sweeping the serpents into the sea.
And on the arms of Lerins the ab-
batial crosier is placed between two
palms.

Under the care of St. Honorat
and his disciples the aspect of the
island was before long so changed
that St. Eucher, one. of the first to
inhabit it, says: "Watered by
gushing fountains, rich with ver-
dure, brilliant with flowers, odorous
with sweet perfumes, and with de-
lightful views on every side, it
seems to those who inhabit it the
very image of heaven toward which
tend all their desires." And Isi-
dore, the monk, speaking of its
eternal verdure, exclaims: " Pnl-
chriorin to to non est locus or be Lerina '
— No, the universe presents not a
more beautiful spot than Lerins.

But it appears that the holy
cenobites suffered greatly at first
from the want of pure water," and
at length they came one day and
prostrated themselves at St. Hono-
rat's feet, beseeching him to ob-
tain by his prayers what nature had
refused to the island. " Go, breth-
ren," he replied, "and dig perse-
veringly in the centre of the isle
between the two palms. [It ap-
pears there were two then, as on
the arms.] God, who has created
the living springs of the earth, is
sufficiently powerful to grant what
you ask with faith." The monks
set to work with ardor, and dug till
they came to a solid rock, without

688

The Isles of Lc'rins.

finding water or the least sign of
humidity. Discouraged, they re-
turned to St. Honorat, who order-
ed them to attack the live rock and
confide in the Lord. They return-
ed obediently to the task, and suc-
ceeded in excavating a few feet
deeper, but still without any re-
sult, and they finally requested
permission to try another spot ; but
St. Honorat went with unshaken
faith to the place and descended
into the pit. After praying to the
Lord he smote the rock thrice in
the name of the Holy Trinity, and
an abundant stream gushed forth.
Such is the tradition of Lerins,
founded on the testimony of SS.
Eucher and Hilaire, who both lived
with St. Honorat. St. Eucher says
the waters rose to the surface and
spread over the land around.
There is nothing miraculous in the
present appearance of the well, but
an old farmer of this region, who
has been down several times to
clean it out, says the water issues
from four different points, as from
the extremities of a cross. It is
now covered with a little rotunda,
and over the entrance is an inscrip-
tion in Latin to this purpose :

" The leader of the hosts of Is-
rael made sweet the bitter waters ;
his rod brought forth a stream from
the rock. Behold here the foun-
tain that sprang up from the hard
rock, the sweet water that welled
from the bosom of the sea. Hono-
rat smote the rock, and abundant
waters gushed forth, thus renew-
ing at once the prodigies Moses
wrought with the tree and the
rod."

Everywhere on the island are
debris of all kinds — hewn stones,
old cement, bricks of Roman type,
fragments of inscriptions, etc. The
soil is red and stony. The centre
is partly cultivated, and bears a

few grapes, olives, and vegetables.
The Cistercians, who have been
here eight years, have built a new
convent near one end, which in-
cludes part of the old abbey and
St. Honorat's palm. This is en-
closed by a high wall, as if they
were not girt about by the great
deep, and beyond this wall no wo-
man is permitted to go. Even the
Duchess of Vallombrosa, the great
benefactress of the house, has been
allowed to enter but once, and
then as part of a suite of a prin-
cess to whom the pope had given a
special permission. But there arc-
some low buildings without the
walls where pilgrims can ffind shel-
ter, even those of the obnoxious
sex, and be provided with refresh-
ments. There are about fifty
monks in the community, one of
them a novice of sixteen, who look-
ed like an anachronism in his Cis-
tercian robes. Near the monastery
is an orphan asylum containing
about thirty boys under the care of
Brother Boniface. They are taught
trades, and for this purpose there
are joiner's shops, a printing estab-
lishment, etc., on the island.

While the monks were attending
some rite we made the entire cir-
cuit of the island, following the
path among the odorous pines on
the shore, calm, peaceful, and em-
bowered as the arcades of a clois-
ter. These tall pines are aslant, as
if bent by the winds, and the foli-
age, high up in the air, shelters
from the sun, without excluding
the sea breeze or obstructing the
view. Everywhere was the flash
of the waves, and the mysterious
sound of the waters that gently
broke upon the shore of this hap-
py isle, mingled, as in the olden
time, with the solemn measure of
holy psalmody. It was delightful
to wander in this lone aisle of na-

The Isles of Ltrins.

689

ture, and drink in the beauty of sea
and land, and give one's self up to
the memories that embalm the
place.

It was early in the fifth century
when St. Honorat established him-
self here. He belonged to a patri-
cian race, and his father, to divert
his mind from religious things, sent
him at an early age to the East with
his brother Venance, who was of
a livelier turn. Venance, however,
soon yielded to Honorat's moral
ascendency, but died at Messenia,
and the latter returned sorrowfully
to Gaul with St. Caprais, his spi-
ritual guide, who had accompanied
them. For some time he lived as
a hermit in a cave at Cap Roux.
Then he came to Lerins, where
numerous disciples gathered around
him who are now numbered among
the most eminent churchmen of
Gaul. Maxime, Bishop of Riez,
Hilary of Aries, Jacques of Taren-
taise, Vincent of Saintes, Fauste of
Riez, Ausile of Frejus, were all
formed in his school of Christian
philosophy. St. Eucher, whom Bos-
suet calls " the great Eucher," here
forgot his noble birth and attained
the sanctity which raised him to
the see of Lyons. Salvian, sur-
named " the Master of Bishops,"
and styled " the Jeremias of his
age," on account of his lamenta-
tions over the woes and corruptions
of the world, here wrote his trea-
tise on the government of God.
Cassian, after long journeys and
great sorrows, spent a year at Le-
rins before he founded the abbey
of St. Victor at Marseilles. St.
Patrick, according to the tradition
of the island, passed long years
here in prayer and frightful auste-
rities. St. Vincent of Lerins here
wrote those works which have made
him an authority in the church.
St. Ca2sarius also, who became one
VOL. xxvi. — 44

of the most influential bishops of
southern Gaul, and St. Loup of
Troyes, who inspired so much de-
ference in Attila, the Scourge of
God, were among the first disciples
of St. Honorat, and many more,
some of whom have left no name
on earth, but whose names are
written in the Lamb's Book of Life.
" How many assemblies of saints
have I seen in this isle!" cries St.
Eucher — " precious vases, which
spread abroad the sweet perfume
of their virtues." And St. Sido-
nius Apollinaris, with a bolder
figure, says :

" Quanto ilia insula plana
Miserit ad coelum monies !"

— How many lofty mountains rise
toward heaven from this low isle !
And St. Cresarius of Aries : " Happy,
blessed isle of Lerins, thou art
small and level, but from thee have
risen innumerable mountains !"
Over forty saints are mentioned by
name in the Litany of Lerins, be-
sides the hundreds of martyrs who
are invoked.

Salvian thus alludes to the pa-
ternal rule of St. Honorat : " As-
the sun changes the aspect of the
firmament by its splendor or ob-
scurity, so joy and sadness are dif-
fused among those who, under his.
paternal guidance, aim at heaven
and devote themselves to the an-
gelic functions. If Honorat suffers,
all suffer; restored to health, all
return to new life."

Lerins became so renowned as a
school of theology that, in the sev-
enth century, there were three thou-
sand and seven hundred monks,
and the Christian world sent here
to obtain its bishops and the di-
rectors for its monasteries. It was
in this century that St. Aygtilph
established here the rule of St.
Benedict. In the eighth century,

690

The Isles of Lcrins.

when the Saracens invaded the isl-
and, more than five hundred monks
fell victims to their hatred of Chris-
tianity. Eleuthere, by the aid of
King Pepin, restored the ruined
buildings, but the enemy returned
again, committing fresh ravages,
and, indeed, devastating the island.
These attacks at length became so
frequent that the pope granted in-
dulgences to all who would aid in
defending it against the infidel.
Whosoever devoted himself to this
•.good work for the space of three
.months acquired the same indul-
gences as a pilgrim to the Holy
Places at ' Jerusalem, and minor
ones were accorded to those who
-sent substitutes. In 1088 was erect-
,ed the lofty citadel, which is still
the most prominent object on the
island, as a retreat for the monks
in time of danger. It was con-
.nected with the abbey by a subter-
ranean passage. This is now a
picturesque ruin. It is on the eas-
.tern shore of the island, and rises
• directly out of the water. The
massive walls of hewn stone have
acquired a soft, mellow tint that
.contrasts admirably with the sky
and sea. They are scarred with
many a cannon-ball that tells of
more than one rude assault.

Here and there are narrow loop-
holes, and high up in the air is a
line of battlements that still seem
to defy both the sea and the Moor.
There was formerly a drawbridge,
and nothing was lacking necessary
to sustain a siege. This strong-
hold formed part of a line of signals
along the sea-coast. It was four or
five stories high, and contained four
kitchens, several chapels, thirty-six
cells for the monks and five for
strangers, with cisterns, and every-
thing to render it a complete mon-
astery as well as castle. The Pere
Antonin was our guide around this

interesting ruin. It is entered by a
spiral staircase, which brought us
into a small court or cloister with
several galleries around it, one
above the other, communicating
with the different stories, sustained
by pillars of marble, porphyry, and
granite. Old fragments of carved
capitals, and inscriptions, some Ro-
man, some Christian, were scatter-
ed here and there. In the centre
is an immense cistern, paved with
marble, which contains a never-fail-
ing supply of water. This was
constructed by Gastolius de Grasse,
who, having lost his wife and chil-
dren, retired to the island to con-
sole himself with the thought of
heaven and eternal reunion, devot-
ing his whole fortune to the poor
and the improvement of the monas-
tery. The old chapter-room is ut-
terly ruined. Its arches were blown
up by some Scotchman in his at-
tempts to find the supposed trea-
sure of St. Honorat, and the rank
grass is growing from the accumu-
lated soil. There is the old refec-
tory with its crumbling pulpit, and,
in the next room, the lavatory of
calcareous stone, like an ancient
sarcophagus, where the monks
washed their hands before entering
the refectory. On it is graven in
Latin: "O Christ! by thy right
hand, which can cleanse us within
and without, purify our souls, which
this water cannot cleanse." Then
there is the chapel which once con-
tained the relics of SS. Honorat,*
Caprais, Venance, Aygulph, etc.,
and the three sacred altars to which
indulgences were attached at the
request of the Emperor Charles V.
The chapel of Notre Dame de Pi-
tie, or of the dead, was used for do-
mestic purposes by some layman
who held the island after the Revo-

* The remains of St. Honorat are now in a church
at Cannes.

The Isles of Ldrins.

691

lution, and the place where once
rose the solemn requiem and the
odor of incense was now filled with
the fumes of a kitchen. We went
up, still by the spiral staircase, to
the battlements. Here we looked
down on the whole island. Before
us was stretched the neighboring
shore with fair towns and villages
from Cannes to Nice, with the pur-
ple mountains in the background.
On the other hand, in the distance,
rose the mountains of Corsica.
And all around was the sea that
bathes the shores of so many storied
lands.

With increased means of defence
the prosperity of the abbey revived.
It had the exclusive right, confer-
red by the counts of Provence, of
fishing in the surrounding waters.
It owned numerous priories all
along the coast from Genoa to Bar-
celona, as well as in the interior.
And it continued to be a centre
from which radiated light, and
many a person escaped from the
Mare Magnum of the profane world
to this haven of spiritual rest. We
read that Bertrand, Bishop of Fre-
jus in the eleventh century, retired
to St. Honorat (as the bishop of
Valence has recently done) and
died here in the odor of sanctity.
For those who wished to lead the
eremitical life there were formerly
many cells around the island. How
dear this holy retreat was to its in-
mates may be seen by a letter
from Denis Faucher, whose duties
retained him from the isle, to his
superior : " My thoughts turn eager-
ly towards Lerins. Sad, I bewail
my long exile. In spite of my oft-
renewed entreaties, you defer my
deliverance. A cruel grief tor-
ments my desolate soul. I love
not these magnificent palaces. Let
kings inhabit them. For them,
they gleain with marble ; for me,

the desert and the lonely shore.
That little isle suffices for my hap-
piness."

Around the island were seven
small chapels, or oratories, mostly
on the shore, to which, like the
seven stations at Rome, great in-
dulgences were attached. These
were successively visited by the pil-
grims as a preparation for receiving
the Holy Eucharist.

The tombs of the saints, the holy
chapels, the soil impregnated with
the blood of the martyrs, and the
wondrous history of the island, gave
it a glorious prestige that made it
not only a resort for pilgrims, but
even the dead were brought across
the waters, with crucifix and lan-
terns held aloft in the boats, and
chants mingling with the sad mur-
mur of the waves, to be laid in this
consecrated isle. Many remains of
their marble tombs are still to be
found.

We, too, made the stations of
the seven holy chapels, though
they are mostly in ruins. That of
the Holy Trinity, in the eastern
part of the island, is the most an-
cient. Its walls of massive stones
are still erect. It is a Romanesque
chapel, with three bays, the remains
of an ancient porch, and vaults
beneath for recluses or the dead.
But the windows are gone, and
rank weeds grow in the interior.

Only a few traces remain of St.
Cyprian's chapel ; not St. Cyprian
who shed his blood at Carthage,
but St. Cyprian of Lerins, surnamed
the Magician, who is honored
September 26.

Further on, among the rocks on
the shore, is the legendary cave
known as the Baonmo de tAbbat,
only accessible by going down into
the water and wading through a
narrow crevice between two tall
rocks. It was here, when St. For-

692

The Islfs of Lt'rins.

caire and his five hundred compan-
ions were martyred by the Sara-
cens, that two of the monks, Co-
lomb and Eleuthere, fled in terror
to conceal themselves. But they
could still hear the vociferations
of the infidel, and, their eyes being
opened, could see the souls of their
brethren ascending to heaven, con-
ducted by the angels. Ravished
by this spectacle, Colomb cried out
with holy enthusiasm : " Let us go
forth to be crowned like them.
Let us fly to the Lord !" Eleu-
there still shrank with fear, but
Colomb went boldly out to share
the glory* of his brethren. Eleu-
there afterwards gathered together
the monks who had escaped, and
became abbot of Lerins. Hence
the name of the Abbot's Cave,
given to the place of his conceal-
ment.

Nearly opposite, in the centre of
the island, is the octagon chapel
of the Transfiguration, or St. Sau-
veur, with a star-shaped vault. It
is twenty feet in diameter and
twelve high. It has been rudely
restored by the bishop of Frejus,
and has an ancient stone altar
pierced with holes, as if for the
passage of liquids. Some consider
this chapel the ancient baptistery.
The sailors call a neighboring inlet
the Caranquo d£ Sant Saonvadou, or
Crique de St. Sauveur.

Several of these chapels were
used in the construction of bat-
teries by the Spaniards in the seven-
teenth century, as that of St. Pierre
on the southern shore, near the
remains of which is an old votive
altar to Neptune with the inscrip-
tion : Neptvno Veratia Montana.

The walls of St. Caprais are
partly standing. This saint is still
invoked in our day for rheumatism.
A tportion of his relics, hidden at
the .Revolution, is religiously pre-

served at Charteves, in the dio-
cese of Soissons, and is the object
of pilgrimages on the 2oth of
October. " Qi/a: saucta Caprasi
rita scnis /" says St. Sidonius Apol-
linaris — What an admirable life is
that of the aged Caprais !

The chapel of St. Porcaire and
the Five Hundred Martyrs, on the
place where they were buried, has
recently been repaired, and Father
Boniface says Mass there every
morning. Over the altar is a paint-
ing of St. Porcaire pointing to hea-
ven and encouraging his brethren.
The seventh chapel, St. Michael's,
is within the walls of the Cistercian
convent.

The isles of Lerins have been a
place of pilgrimage for more than
a thousand years. They were al-
ready frequented when Pope Euge-
nius II. came here early in the
ninth century to venerate the traces
of the saints and martyrs. When
he landed on the shore of St.
Honorat, he put off his shoes and
made the tour of the island in his
bare feet. He consecrated the
church, blessed the whole isle, and
granted those who visited it with
the proper dispositions between
the eve of the Ascension and Whit
Monday all the indulgences to be
gained by a pilgrimage to Jerusa-
lem, as well as smaller ones to
those who came here at other sea-
sons, with the exception of those
.who had been guilty of striking
their parents or violating their mar-
riage vows. In accordance with
his wish, all who had gained the
indulgence used to receive a palm
in testimony thereof. These pil-
grimages were called, in the lan-
guage of the country, Romipeta.
All the towns on the neighboring
coast were numerously represented
here at the Grand Pardon. Twen-
ty-seven nobles are mentioned as

The Isles of Lc'rins.

693

coming once from Aries. Pilgrims
even came from Italy. The old
records tell how fifty-three came
from Pisa to offer thanks for their
miraculous escape after being taken
by the corsairs. But the annual
pilgrimage from Rians was the
most famous, and has been cele-
brated in a quaint old Provencal
ballad that is delightfully redolent
of the age. It consisted of the
greater part of the villagers, and
to sanctify the journey, they used to
halt at all the places of devotion
along the road. Every one of
these places had its holy legend
that, like a fragrant flower, embalm-
ed the way. At Cotignac they
paused to drink at the miraculous
fountain of St. Joseph —

Voou ana boiro \ la sour9O
Doou benhurux Sant Jaous^ —

which, say the people, sprang up to
quench the extreme thirst of a poor
simple country laborer, named
Caspar, to whom the compassion-
ate St. Joseph appeared under the
form of an aged man, and pointed
out the spot where water could be
found — a spot since widely known
as a place of miraculous cures and
abundant spiritual favors.

Then the pilgrims ascended the
hill of Verdala, near Cotignac, to
pray at the altar of Nouastro Damo
de Graci. This is quite a noted
chapel. It was visited in 1600 by
Louis'XIV. and his mother, Anne
of Austria, for whom a new road
was expressly constructed, still
known as the Chemin de Louis Quar-
to rze. He hung his cordon bleu on
the Virgin's breast, and Anne of
Austria founded six Masses in the
chapel. The king afterwards sent
here copies of his marriage con-
tract and the treaty of the Pyre-
nees in a magnificently-bound vol-
ume, by way of placing these im-

portant transactions under the pro-
tection of our great Lady ; and
when his mother died he founded
Masses here for her soul, and set
up a marble tablet with a comme-
morative inscription. Pope Leo X.
conferred indulgences on this cha-
pel.

At the village of Arcs, or near it,
the pilgrims turned aside to vene-
rate the remains of the beautiful
St. Rossoline, who sprang from the
barons of Villeneuve and Sabran.
Her cradle in infancy was surround-
ed by a supernatural light. The
miracle of the roses was renewed
in her favor to avert the anger of
her father, who was weary of the
importunity of beggars at his castle.
At the age of seventeen she buried
her youth and beauty in the Char-
treuse of Celle Roubaud, and was
consecrated deaconess by the bish-
op of Frejus in 1288, which gave
her, by an exceptional privilege to
the nuns of this house, the right
of reading the Gospel in church.
Hence she is represented in art,
not only with the crown of roses
wherewith she was crowned on the
day of her sacred espousals, but
wearing a stole. She spent the re-
mainder of her life in transcribing
the sacred books, in order, as she
said, to be always holding in-
tercourse with God, and, as she
could not preach in public, aid in
propagating the Gospel. She held
the office of prioress for a time,
but, at her own request, ended her
days as a recluse. While she was
breathing her last St. Hugh of Lin-
coln and St. Hugo of Grenoble ap-
peared and incensed her cell, and
she died with Deo gratias on her
lips.

An old ballad tells how, after her
death, St. Rossoline delivered her
brother, Helion de Villeneuve, a
crusader, who had been taken pri-

694

The Isles of Lerins.

soner by the Saracens. She ap-
peared to him in his dungeon, loosed
his heavy chains, opened the doors,
and conducted him to the sea-
coast, where, spreading her veil on
the waters, they both placed them-
selves thereon, and so came safely
to Provence. Helion now happen-
ed to fall asleep, and when he
awoke his sister was missing. He
thought she had gone home to an-
nounce his arrival, but, when he
came to the manor-house, learned
she had for some time been dead.
Her tomb became noted in Pro-
vence, and was one of the stations
where pilgrims loved to pay their
vows.

Our villagers next came to Fre-
jus to see the image of the Holy
Child Jesus venerated in the ca-
thedral. At Esterel the prior gave
them refreshments under the great
chestnut-trees near the inn. Cannes
welcomed them with the ringing of
bells, and went out to meet them
in procession :

" Canno, villo maritimo —
Remplido d^ zfelo e d'estimo
Per leis pe"lerins de1 Rians —
Seis campanos souanoun toutos
Per faire la proucession."

Then they came with

41 Allfgresso
Dins leis UPS dJ Ltrins? '

It seemed to them like entering
Paradise. They went to shrift,
visited the seven chapels, and final-
ly came to the church of the glouri-
ous Sant Hounourat, where they re-
ceived the Holy Eucharist and
their palms. Besides the latter,
they also carried away, as the custom
was, some sprigs of a marine plant
still known as the herbo doou par
doun — the herb of the Pardon or
Indulgence. This is the cineraire
maritime, common on the shores of
the isle, which has hoary, pinnatifid

leaves and a flower that grows in
panicles.

On their way home the pilgrims
went to pray at the tomb of Sant
Armenian, a great miracle-worker
at Draguignan, specially invoked
for those who have lost their rea-
son. But we shall speak of him
further on. Arriving home, they
were met by their fellow-townsmen
and led in triumph to the church,
when Benediction was given, thus
ending the pilgrimage.

The expense of the journey, or
the gradual lukewarmness of the
people, at length diminished the
number from Rians, and finally the
pilgrimage ceased altogether, till a
failure of the crops induced the
town to revive it partially by send-
ing a yearly deputation as its re-
presentative.

There is a na'ive legend of one
Boniface who lived at Oraison — a
simple, upright man whom lack of
worldly wisdom had reduced to such
want as to force him to become the
swineherd of a wicked usurer, nam-
ed Garinus, who was blind. For
six successive years he had visited
Lerins at the time of the Grand
Pardon, and, when the seventh ar-
rived, he humbly begged permis-
sion of Garinus to go and gain the
indulgence. Garinus refused, and,
lest the swineherd should secretly
join the other pilgrims, he carefully
fastened him up. Boniface's grief
increased as the feast of Pentecost
drew near. The eve arrived, but
he was prevented from keeping
even a lonely vigil by an overpow-
ering drowsiness.

Suddenly the sound of music
awoke him, and, opening his eyes,
he found himself before the altar
of the church of Lerins. When the
stations were made and the divine
offices were over, the monks, as
usual, distributed the palms among

TJie Isles of Ldrins.

695

the Roviina. Boniface also ap-
proached with the others to receive
his, and then retired to an obscure
corner of the church, where he soon
fell sound asleep. When he awoke
he found himself once more in the
prison where he had been confined
by his master. The rest of the pil-
grims from Oraison arrived three
days after, and, not knowing the
state of affairs, complimented the
usurer on his kindness to his ser-
vant. He denied having given
Boniface permission to go, and
summoned him to his presence.
The swineherd related with great
simplicity what had happened to
him. Garinus was at once aston-
ished and affected by the account,
and besought Boniface to give him
the palm he had brought from the
holy isle. Taking it reverently
in his hands, he applied it to his
eyes, and at once not only recover-
ed his sight, but the eyes .of his
soul were likewise opened.

But to return to the history of
the island. The abbey was secu-
larized in 1788 — soinq say on ac-
count of the luxuries and excesses
of the monks. But the inventory
shows how few luxuries they really
had — not more than the simplest
villagers now possess. The monks
withdrew to their families. Not
one was left to guard the graves of
the martyrs and continue the pray-
ers of so many ages. The last pri-
or of L£rins, Dom Theodule Bon,
died at his sister's residence in
Vallauris. The people of Cannes
used to say of him : Moussu lou
Priour es Bouan cti noum et dt fach
— M. le Prieur is good by name
and good by nature.

In 1791 the island was sold at
public auction, and the purchaser's
daughter, who had been an actress,
came here to reside. O isle of
saints ! ... In 1856 Mr. Sims,

an Anglican minister, bought it.
He showed some respect for the
ancient monuments, and had begun
to restore the citadel when he died.
The bishop of Frejus bought it
in 1859. Two bishops, several dig-
nitaries of the church, and a num-
ber of priests came over to take
possession of the island. A great
crowd awaited them. The clergy
(those of Cannes bearing the relics
of St. Honorat) advanced toward
the old church, chanting the mourn-
ful psalm, Deus, venerunt gentes,
many verses of which were so par-
ticularly applicable. The walls so
long profaned were blessed, and
the crowd prostrated themselves
while the Litany of Lerins was sol-
emnly sung. Some agricultural
brothers of the Order of St. Francis
were established here for a time.
On the eve of the feast of St. Cap-
rais (St. Honorat's spiritual guide)
the bishop blessed the chapel of
St. Porcaire and the Five Hundred
Martyrs, which had been restored,
and Mass was said amid the ruins
of the old church of St. Honorat.

There are several places of great
interest on the mainland, associat-
ed with the saints of Lerins, all of
which we devoutly visited as a
part of our pilgrimage. One is
Cap Roux, at the western termina-
tion of the Bay of Cannes, always
dear to the monks of the isle on
account of the baume, or cave, on
the western side of the cliff, in-
habited for some time by St. Ho-
norat after his return from the
East, and still called by his name.
The ascent to this grotto is rather
dangerous, and at the foot was
once an oratory where pilgrims
stopped to pray before undertaking
the ascent. They used to cry :
" Sancte Maguncti!" perhaps be-
cause they associated the name of

696

TJw Isles of Ldrins.

this saint of Lerins with the Pro-
ven gal word m'aganti, as if they
would say, Saint I-cling-to, as they
seized hold of the sides of the
cliff.

Denis Faucher, the monk, graved
an inscription in Latin verse over
the entrance to the Baume de St.
Honorat, which may thus be ren-
dered : " Reader, in Honorat, our
father, thou wilt find an example
of lofty virtue and reason to ad-
mire the wonderful gifts of God.
Others visit the holy places and
seek afar off the noble models they
have not at home. The renown of
Honorat renders sacred every place
he approached, though now devoid
of his presence. Behold this re-
treat, once almost inaccessible to
the wild beasts, now rendered so
famous by the holy bishop as to
attract innumerable visitors from
every land." In the cave there
lias been for centuries an altar for
celebrating the Christian mysteries.
At the left is a well that rarely
fails, even in the greatest drought.
At the right is a hollow in the
rock like the impress of the human
form, called by the people the
Couche de St. Honorat. Over it is
also an inscription by the same
monk: "Illustrious pontiff, from
the height of heaven reveal thy
august presence to him who seeks
thy traces upon earth."

Another cave in the side of the
mount near the sea was inhabited
for a time by St. Eucher, to whom
his wife, Galla, came to bring food
while he gave himself up to con-
templation. An angel revealed to
the people of Lyons where he lived
• concealed, and they sent messen-
gers to ask him to be their bishop.

St. Arrnentaire, who was bishop
of Embrtm in the middle of the
fifth century, being deposed by the
council of Riez, retired to Cap

Roux. It was he who slew the
dragon that infested the neighbor-
hood of Draguignan. The fame of
his sanctity led to his being chosen
bishop of . Antibes, but his body
was, after his death, brought back
to Draguignan and placed in a
church he himself had erected in
honor of St. Peter. The concourse
to his tomb was formerly very
great, as we have seen in the case
of the pilgrimage from Rians.

There were hermits at Cap Roux
as late as the eighteenth century,
and pilgrims used to go there
in procession, chanting the litany
of Lerins, to implore the cessation
of some scourge. Nowfit is only
visited from time to time by a soli-
tary devotee, or some naturalist to
study the flora and the formation
of the rocks, who pauses awhile at
the cave and drinks at the foun-
tain.

About a league west of Cannes,
above Cap Roux, is Mt. Arluc,
which rises out of the plain of La-
val. It belongs to the tertiary for-
mation, and looks so artificial that
it has often been regarded as a
tumulus made by the Romans, who,
according to tradition, had an in-
trenched camp here to protect the
Aurelian road * that ran through
the plain, as well as the galleys on
the coast. After the submission
of the province to the Roman do-
mination a temple was built here
in honor of Venus, who could not
have desired a fairer shore, in sight
of the very sea from which she
sprang. Her altar was surrounded
by trees to veil her unholy rites,
and the mount took the name of
Ara-luci — altar of" the sacred wood
— whence the name of Arluc. This
consecrated grove was cut down
by St. Nazaire, abbot of Lerins,

* Near Cap Roux is an inlet called Aurele from
the old Roman road along the shore.

The Isles of Lerins.

697

who knew the importance of de-
stroying these high places of the
Gentiles. To him, too, the waves
beneath were always whispering of
love, but not profane love. They
spoke of "love eternal and illimi-
table, not bounded by the confines
of the world or by the end of time,
but ranging beyond the sea, beyond
the sky, to the invisible country far
away." And he set up an altar to
the Infinite One, and beside the
church built a monastery, which he
peopled with holy maidens under
the direction of Helene, a princess
of Riez. One of the first abbesses
bore the name of Oratorie. It was
to her St. Cesaire of Aries address-
ed two of his essays : one on the
qualities that should be possessed
by those who have the direction of
souls ; the other on the text, "O the
depth of the riches both of the wis-
dom and the knowledge of God !"
About the year 677 St. Aygulph,
abbot of Lerins, rebuilt or enlarged
this monastery at the request of
several noble ladies of the region,
and, the house having perhaps been
depopulated by the Saracens, a
colony of nuns came here from
Blois under the care of St. Anga-
risma. When the holy abbot was
martyred, Angarisma, learning the
fate of her spiritual father, went
with the sisterhood to venerate his
remains. The monks who had es-
caped described the sufferings and
constancy of the martyrs, and show-
ed their mangled remains. One of
the nuns, named Glauconia, who
was blind, applied the right arm of
St. Aygulph to her eyes and at once
recovered her sight. Whereupon
the abbess begged for his body, but
in vain. The arm which had re-
stored Glaucoma's sight was given
to her, however, and they carried it
with them to Arluc. St. Aygulph is
invoked in this region still, under

the name of St. Ai'gou, for diseases
of the eye, and a statue of him is
to be seen at Chateauneuf in the
chapel of Notre Darne de Brusc.

The nuns of Arluc fled several
times before the Saracens, but we
read of the monastery in the tenth
century, when St. Maxime, of the
illustrious family of De Grasse,
came here in search of Christian
perfection. She was afterwards
sent to found a house at Calliau,
where part of her remains are still
preserved.

In the life of St. Honorat there is
an interesting legend of one of the
nuns of Arluc, named Cibeline, the
daughter of Reybaud, a lord of
Antibes. She had been married in
early life, but lost her husband soon
after, and was still renowned for
her beauty when she became infect-
ed with leprosy. St. Honorat ap-
peared to Reybaud in a dream and
said to him : " Give me thy daugh-
ter as a bride." He had the same
vision three times, which at last so
impressed him that he took Cibe-
line with him and went to Lerins
to relate it to the holy abbot Por-
caire. The latter at once compre-
hended its spiritual significance
and said to Cibeline : " Wilt thou,
out of love to God and devotion to
St. Honorat, lead henceforth a pure
life and take the sacred veil in the
monastery of Arluc?" Cibeline then
confessed this had been the earliest
desire of her heart, and that she re-
garded her disease as the judgment
of God for having violated the vow
she had made in yielding to world-
ly persuasions and wedding the
husband she had lost. St. Porcaire
then took pure water, in which he
plunged holy relics, and ordered
her to bathe therein. She was in-
stantly cured of her leprosy, and
her father led her to Arluc and
consecrated her to God.

698

TJte Isles of Lfrins.

Arluc probably took the name of
St. Cassian, by which it is now
more generally known, in the four-
teenth century, when it fell under
the jurisdiction of the abbey of St.
Victor at Marseilles, which Cassian
had founded. Nor is the name in-
appropriate for this mount that
stands in sight of the places ren-
dered sacred by St. Honorat and St.
Eucher, for whom Cassian had so
great an admiration as to cry in
one of his books on the ascetic
life dedicated to them : " O holy
brothers ! your virtues shine upon
the world like great beacon-lights.
Many saints will be formed by your
example, but will scarcely be able
to imitate your perfection."

Cassian has been regarded as a
saint in Provence, and the people
of Cannes used to make a romerage,
or pilgrimage, to the chapel that
took his name at Arluc, on the 23d
of July, the festival of St. Cassian.

When the Revolution arrived the
republicans wished to sell the
mount, and two hundred soldiers
were sent to strip the chapel. The
number was none too large, for at
the news the people of Cannes
sounded the tocsin and went in
crowds to the rescue. The very
women were armed. One in par-
ticular aimed her reaping-hook at
the neck of the leader. They bore
triumphantly away the relics and
ornaments, but the chapel and land
were sold some time after to nine
men belonging to Cannes. St.
Cassian, or Arluc, is still crowned
with oaks, as in the time when
Venus held sway there, though
Bonaparte, when in the vicinity,
had many of them cut down.

The monastery of Arluc gave its
name to a village on the sea-shore
at the mouth of the Siagne. This
stream, in which the monks of L£-

rins once had the sole right to fish,
derives its name from the Proven-
cal word saignos or siagnos, given
to the cat-tails that grow so abun-
dantly on its banks. On the Sia-
gne is the hamlet of Mandelieu, on
land which once belonged to St.
Consortia, the daughter of St. Eu-
cher. She gave her fortune to
works of charity, and founded here
a hospital under the invocation of
St. Stephen. And there is a cape
on the coast, near La Napoule,
called Theoule, from another
daughter of St. Eucher, named
Tullia. When St. Eucher aban-
doned the world and retired to
Lerins he took with him his two
sons, Veran and Salonius, leaving
his wife, Galla, and her two daugh-
ters on his domains near La Na-
poule, where Tullia, who died
young, was buried.

Such are the memories associat-
ed with the isles of Lerins, for
many of which we are indebted to
the interesting work by M. 1'Abbe
Alliez. We made a second visit
to St. Honorat before leaving
Cannes, to take a farewell look at
the old donjon on the shore, the
holy palm in the cloister, and the
ruined chapels. When we left the
isle several of the white-robed
monks accompanied us to the
shore, and, on looking back from
our swiftly-receding boat, we saw
two of them still standing at the
foot of a huge cross among the sad
pines. . . .

" O satis nunquam celebrata tellus !
Dulce solamen, requiesque cordis !
Coelitum sedes procul a profani
Turbine vulgi !"

— O land that can never be suffi-
ciently praised! Sweet consola-
tion, repose of the heart ! Haven
sheltered from the tempests of a
profane world !

In Retreat. 699

IN RETREAT.

" BREAK, my heart, and let me die !

Burst with sorrow, drown with love !
Lord, if Thou the boon deny,

Thou wilt not the wish reprove." . .

Whence that piercing, burning ray,
Seem'd to reach me from the light

Where, behind the Veil, 'tis day-; —
Where the Blessed walk by sight?

Thine, 'twas thine, O Sacred Heart !

Mercy-sent — that I might see
Something of the all Thou art,

Something of the naught in me.

Ah ! I saw Thy patient love
Watching o'er me year on year ;

Guarding, guiding, move for move —
Always faithful, always near :

Saw Thy pardon's ceaseless flow
Evermore my soul bedew ;

Washing scarlet white as snow,*
Sere and blight to morning-new :

Saw this self — how weak, how base ! —
Still go sinning, blundering, on ;

Thankless with its waste of grace,
Wearied with the little done.

Then I murmur'd : " O my King!

What are all my acts of will ?
Each best effort can but bring

Failure and confusion still !

" This poor heart, which ought to burn,

Smoulders feebly ; yet may dare
Offer Thine one last return —
One fond, fierce, atoning prayer ?

* 1$. i. 18.

700

Prcaclurs on the Rampage.

" Let it break, this very hour —

Burst with sorrow, drown with love !
For if Thou withhold thy power,
Thou wilt not the wish reprove." . .

Pass'd that moment : but, as fall

Lovers' whispers, answer'd He ;
"Daily die* — with thy Saint Paul.
Die to self — and live to Me."

SEPTEMBER, 1877.

PREACHERS ON THE RAMPAGE. f

MEN who are by no means opti-
mists are apt unconsciously to al-
low themselves to get a dim im-
pression that the world is becom-
ing better, more kindly, more char-
itable, and that we are approximat-
ing a time when, by the pure influ-
ences of increased material appli-
ances and " well-regulated human
nature," the hatreds and strifes
both of nations and sects will have
measurably ceased. The delusion
is a pleasant one, but it is none the
less a delusion, and will not endure
the slightest contact with the sharp
edge of fact. In this nineteenth
century, notwithstanding the peace
society, more human beings have
lost their lives by war than in any
other since the advent of our Lord.
In this, the freest, the most pros-
perous, and, so far as the masses
are concerned, the best-instructed
of all Christian countries, we have
but had breathing time since one
of the bloodiest civil wars on re-
cord. In the lull (protracted by
war and its results) many Catho-
lics seem to have become in like

* i Cor. xv. 31.

t Report of the Joint Special Committee to in-
vestigate Chinese Immigration. Washington,
1877.

manner possessed with an unde-
fined notion that the people who
made the Penal Laws and execut-
ed them have become imbued with
a milder spirit toward the church ;
that Know-nothingism is a thing of
the past, the virtue of the cry of
" No Popery " dissipated, and the
fell spirit of the Native American
party utterly extinct.

Those who think thus will see
cause to awake from their dream
on examining the volume whose
title heads this article. In October,
1876, a Joint Special Committee of
three senators and three members of
the Lower House sat in San Francis-
co for the purpose of procuring
testimony in regard to the advisa-
bility of restricting or abolishing
the immigration of Mongolians
to this country — a question which
has been for some time exciting at
least a considerable section of the
inhabitants of our Pacific coast.
Whether truly or falsely we cannot
say, but the impression is produc-
ed that the Catholic, and more
particularly the Irish Catholic, pop-
ulation of California has ranged it-
self in hostility to the Chinese. If
this be true we should be very sor-

Preachers on tJic Rampage.

ry for it, knowing full well that by
any such action foreigners of all
sorts, more especially Catholics,
are simply supplying whips of
scorpions with which they will be
lashed on the outburst of the next
campaign (under whatsoever name
it may be known) conducted on
principles of hostility to them. On
its face it looks altogether likely
that so plausible a movement as
this opposition to the Chinese
should take with a laboring class
not very well posted in the princi-
ples of political economy, and we
know that the large majority of
white laboring people are in San
Francisco Catholic, while certainly
a great many of them are Irishmen.
Their priests are too few and have
too much to do to give them lec-
tures on Say, Smith, and Ricardo ;
and it is no part of their duty, still
less would it be a pleasure, to in-
struct them how they shall view
purely political issues, whether lo-
cal or national. Repeating, then,
that we cannot but deem it a ter-
rible blunder for their own sakes,
and utterly against their own real
interests, that these people should
so range themselves against the in-
flux of the Chinese, we have cer-
tainly no right to dictate to them
how they shall vote or on what
side they shall exert any influence
they may have ; and we must add
that they seem to err (if error there
be) in very good company, and
plenty of it, since both political
parties have in their national plat-
forms endorsed the views said to
be held by the Irish Catholics of
California, as did also both Repub-
licans and Democrats in the last
campaign of the Golden State.

This report contains the sworn
testimony on the subject at issue of
one hundred and thirty witnesses ;
but we only call attention to the

evidence of some of the preachers,
and that, too, not on the general
merits of their testimony or con-
cerning Chinese immigration at all,
but on account of the Vatinian ha-
tred which they have gone out of
the way to display towards Catho-
lics, and the deadly venom they
exhibit towards Irishmen espe-
cially. For just as women are
sometimes most bloodthirsty during
a war, far outdoing in rancor the
combatants themselves, so would
preachers seem to be the least cha-
ritable of the human species — to
have, as Dean Swift well remarked,
"just enough religion to make
them hate, and not enough to make
them love, one another." The first
of these worthy representatives of
Christian charity and disseminators
of the truth is a certain Rev. O.
W. Loomis, in the employ of the
Presbyterian Board of Foreign
Missions, who takes occasion to
say : " Unlike some others who come
to America, as we have been told
(and who manage to get to the ballot-
boxes very soon), they [the Chinese]
are not sworn to support any foreign
hierarchy and foreign ecclesiastical
magnate who claims the whole earth
as his dominion" (p. 417). While
the English of this sentence is very
far from clear, yet the animus of
the whole is so patent that he must
needs be a very stupid fellow in-
deed who does not perceive that
Catholics are aimed at. Wheth-
er Mr. Loomis " has been in-
formed" that Catholics come to
America, or that they reach the
ballot-boxes early, or that they
are sworn to support a foreign hier-
archy, or that the Chinese are not
under such obligations, is far from
being as limpid as " bog-water," and
it is to be hoped that, in his in-
structions to his neophytes, he sel-
dom degenerates into such want of

702

Preachers on the Rampage.

perspicuity ; still more would it be
desirable that he should confine
himself more strictly in his usual
ministrations to the truth and to
matters within his own knowledge
than he does when before the com-
mittee and on oath.

It is distinctly false that Catho-
lic foreigners, in coming to this
country, make a business of getting
to the ballot-boxes any sooner
than the law allows them to do.
It is equally mendacious, if he
means to assert the same thing of
any one set of Catholics as a spe-
cific nationality. If the statement
were as true as it is false, scurrilous,
and malicious, that " man of God "
could not possibly know more than
a few individual instances, and
could not predicate the fact as true
of a whole nationality, any more
than the writer (who happens to
have known in his life four instan-
ces in which young Americans voted
without having attained their ma-
jority) would be justified in slan-
derously describing the young men
of the United States as in the habit
of perjuring themselves in order
to anticipate the right of elective
franchise. But our friend, though
on oath, never blinks — in fact, he
has, while on oath, gone out of his
way to drag in the above state-
ment, and is only prevented from
taking the bit in his teeth and ca-
reering madly over the whole plain
of anti-Catholic bigotry by being
checked peremptorily with the in-
formation furnished him by Repre-
sentative Piper: "77/a/ is entirely
foreign to the matter at issue.'1

As to the assertion that Catholics
swear allegiance to the Pope in
any sense that would interfere with
their fealty to any temporal rule or
government, its absurdity has been
so often, so ably, and so clearly
demonstrated that it is only per-

sons of the third sex who at this day
pretend to believe it. We will give
even Mr. Loomis credit for appre-
ciating the distinction between the
loyalty which his people owe to
the confession of faith, their synods
and presbyteries, and that which
they owe to the government of
the land. We wish we could in
conscience credit him with as much
candor as ability and knowledge in
the premises ; for a great deal of
his testimony proves him to be by
no means one of those persons
whom we pass by as being enti-
tled to a "fool's pardon." Did it
never occur to this man, and to
others of his way of thought or ex-
pression, that this oath o"r obliga-
tion of two hundred million Catho-
lics must be of very little avail —
might, in short, quite as well not
have been taken — if its only re-
sult is to land the Pope here in the
fag end of the nineteenth century,
in the Vatican, without an acre of
land over which he can exercise
temporal jurisdiction, while Catho-
lics all over the world, with the
numbers, the power, and the means
to restore him, if they had but the
will, lie supinely by, not making a
move, either as governments or as
individuals, in his behalf? That
bugbear is too transparent for use;
people can no longer be scared
by it ; it is high time to excogitate
another and a more plausible one,
if you are still bent on war with
the Pope. For our own part, we
would recommend the propriety of
a change; but that change should
be to the culture of Christian
charity, the practice of the golden
rule, not forgetting the command-
ment which people of Mr. Loomis'
persuasion call \\\Q ninth. Ah ! Mr.
Loomis, hatred springs apace fast
enough among men without any
necessity for its culture on the

Preachers on tJie Rampage.

part of professing religious teach-
ers.

Again, the same professor of the
doctrine that " the earth is the
Lord's," that " we are all his chil-
dren," and that " we are all one in
Christ," announces : " / was a Na-
tive American on principle, and I
believe that America should belong to
Americans" (p. 464). This is bad,
in our opinion, but it is English, it
is intelligible, and it is no doubt
true as an utterance of his indivi-
dual sentiment. The set of prin-
ciples referred to have twice been
adjudged by the voice of the Ame-
rican people, and condemned on
both occasions as anti-American,
opposed to the genius and tradi-
tions of our people, and subver-
sive of the aims which made us
one of the foremost nations of the
earth. Mr. Loomis, or any other
man, has an inherent right to be-
lieve in them, if he so list ; but we
question much his discretion in
dragging his enunciation of politi-
cal principles into his sworn evi-
dence on the Chinese question,
and we doubt much whether a
knowledge that such is his belief
would be calculated to enhance
the regard of the Chinese, among
whom he states that he is an
evangelist, for either the philan-
thropy or the hard sense of their
coryphaeus.

That there may be no doubt
about the intensity of his virulence
against the church, he returns to the
charge ; and, strangely enough, it
is the samecommitteeman that now
goads him on who, on the previous-
ly-mentioned reference to foreign
hierarchs, stopped his mouth by
stating that his opinions on that
subject were not at issue in the ex-
amination.

" Ques. You spoke about these Irish
as people coming here who have sworn

703

allegiance to some foreign potentate.
To whom have you reference ?

"Aiis. I refer to the Roman Catholics.

" Ques. Do you, then, think Chinese
immigration less dangerous to our insti-
tutions than that of Roman Catholics?

"Ans. I think so; decidedly less.
The Chinese do not purpose to inter-
meddle with our religious rights. They
have no hierarchy. They are not sworn
to support any religious system. They
are mixed up at home. They have no
one religion. They may be Mahome-
tans.

" Ques. You think they are less dan-
gerous than European Christians of a
certain persuasion ?

" Ans. I think they are less dangerous
than Roman Catholics.

" Ques. Are they less dangerous than
Europeans?

" Ans. Whether they be Europeans or
of any other nationality, providing they
are Romanists.

" Ques. Suppose the Chinese should
become Catholics ; then they would be-
come dangerous?

" Ans. I think so.

" Ques. The Roman Catholics are not
Christians, then?

"Ans. They are Christians, but not
Protestant Christians. They are Roman
Catholic Christians. I make a wide dis-
tinction between Protestants and Ro-
manists " (p. 469).

Thus this man, professing him-
self an ambassador of Christ, deli-
berately puts himself on record as
holding that pagans who know no-
thing of Christ's atonement, and
who, in his phrase, worship idols,
are preferable to those who have
had invoked upon them the name
of God in baptism, who believe in
the Divinity, bow at the name and
hope to be saved by the merits of
Jesus. Could the spirit of the most
malevolent odium theologicum go fur-
ther ? Would such an assertion be
believed of any ignorant commu-
nist, much less of one who claims
to be a minister of Christ, were it
not contained in print in the re-
port of a Congressional committee ?
If the man believes so little in the in-

704

Preachers on the Rampage.

fluence of the religion of the Saviour
whom he preaches as his statement
would indicate, it is his duty at once
to resign, and relieve the society
which supports him of the burden of
a salary which he cannot conscien-
tiously earn. " Believe," said the
apostle, " in the Lord Jesus Christ,
and them shalt be saved!" "Not
enough," says Rev. Loomis ; "you
must be additionally a Protestant,
or a belief in the Saviour will profit
you no whit." Has any man yet
ever had a clear definition of that
term, " Protestant " ? Thomas a
Kempis and St. Vincent of Paul,
St. Augustine and St. Charles Bor-
romeo, the glorious cohort of mar-
tyrs and confessors, would be dan-
gerous citizens of the United States
compared with Ah Sin and Fan
Chow ! This is certainly infor-
mation of an unlooked-for kind,
and the man competent to impart
it does not usually hide his light in
the dreary pages of a Congressional
committee's report. He says him-
self that he has been a missionary
since 1844. By consequence he
must have attained to a good age,
and the great wonder to us is that
a man of such astoundingly original
views has not heretofore made his
mark upon an age always anxious
'" to see or hear some new tiling."

The assertion that Catholics pur-
pose to interfere with the rights of
Protestants or other unbelievers,
implied in the statement that the
Chinese have no such intention, is
both too indefinite and too futile
for discussion. Catholics in all
countries, but more especially in
English-speaking countries, have
for the past two hundred .years
had all they could manage to be
allowed to follow the dictates of
their own faith, free of legal pains
and penalties, to have any time to
spare for concocting plans against

the civil or religious rights of
others. In the only English-speak-
ing state that they founded they
established liberty of conscience,
which statute was abolished by the
friends of Mr. Loomis just as soon
as they had the power.

But Mr. Loomis assigns reasons
in favor of the superior desirability
of pagan over Christian immigra-
tion, and the prominent ones seem
to be that they have essentially no
religion — or rather, that they have
fifty; that they have no hierarchy ;
that, in fact, they do not support
any religious system — to sum it up,
that they are mixed up at home!
How ill does not the adversary of
mankind brook the distinctive unity
of the church of God ! Like Pha-
rao's magicians, everything else
he can counterfeit or imitate; but
the unity of the church is too much
for him. Common sense teaches
the most ignorant, that if our Sa-
viour founded any church at all he
founded one, and not four hundred
jarring and jangling conventicles.
Probably this is the gravamen.
The Catholic, strong in the one-
ness of his church, and stanch in
the conviction that everything not
of it must be a sham emanating
from the father of lies, will not be
perverted by Mr. Loomis, charm
he never so wisely ; while, on the
other hand, a lot of pagans, espe-
cially of pagans who were "consid-
ably mixed up at home," might fur-
nish grist for Mr. Loomis' peculiar
gospel mill, with due toll for the
miller. As with the apostle before,
so this preacher now differs with
the Saviour, who said and thought
that there should be " one fold and
one Shepherd" Absit blasphemia !
but the sects all differ widely both
from the Master, his apostles, and
the church, with which he promised
to abide for ever.

Preachers on the Rampage.

705

Lest, however, any Catholic
should lay to his soul the flattering
unction that his American birth
might eliminate him from the gene-
ral unfitness of Catholics for citizen-
ship in the United States or from
an entire appreciation of the institu-
tions of his native country, Mr.
Loomis is very careful to inform us
that it does not matter whether
they be Europeans or of any other
nationality ; if they are Catholics,
they are not so fit for immigration to
this country, still less for the exer-
cise of citizenship, as if they were
" heathen Chinese" Here is a man
who declaims against Catholics and
denounces them for purposing to
interfere with the rights of those
who disagree with them in religious
views, and in the same breath
argues the unfitness of a population
of possibly nine millions for citi-
zenship in his own country, they
being at the time all residents,
mostly citizens and largely natives,
merely because they belong to the
old religion — the religion of Charles
Carroll of Carrollton. " Resolved,"
said the meeting, " that the earth be-
longs to the saints." "Resolved,"
added the same body, " that we are
the saints." Did it ever by chance
occur to our friend of decidedly
original, if limited, intellect that
Senator Casserly lives in his own
town, and is looked upon, with
some reason, as a representative
man, very well posted upon Ameri-
can institutions, and that it would
be very hard to persuade the peo-
ple of the United States of any
latent disability on the part of that
senator to appreciate or support
them? Mr. Loomis makes a great
distinction between a Catholic and
a Protestant, and no doubt the
difference is considerable ; but the
chasm is by no means as great as
that which separates the Christian
VOL. xxvi. — 45

from the bigot, and it is hard for us
to put Mr. Loomis in the ranks of
the former. Abcat Loomis.

Rev. W. W. Brier, after describ-
ing himself as " a Presbyterian
minister by profession, who makes
his living by raising fruit," pro-
ceeds thus:

" Ques. Would a reasonable restriction
of Chinamen be an advantage or not?

" Ans. If a restriction is to be made in
respect to China, it ought to be made
upon people who are far worse for us
than Chinese. I would trade a certain
nationality off for Chinamen until there
was not one of the stock left in trade"
(P- 575).

Other portions of his evidence
show that he herein refers to the
Irish as inferior to the Chinese.
How he regards the latter is
shown by his response to the sug-
gestion of a possible danger result-
ing from the presence of sixty thou-
sand Chinamen in the State, with-
out any women of their kind, viz. :

" Ans. The fact is, they are laborers, and
I regard them very much in the light I
do any other thing we want to use —
horses, mules, or machinery " (p. 577).

When asked if he would be will-
ing to give the Chinese a chance
to overrun California, he says :

" Ans. Why not? As well as to give
the Irish a chance I My real opinion is
that we would be better off without any
more foreigners (p. 580).

" Ques. Are you quite willing there
shall be no laws to prevent this State
from becoming a Chinese province?

" Ans. My opinion is that there is a
great deal worse class of foreigners in
our land, who have all the rights of citi-
zenship and everything else " (p. 581).

That a man saturated to the
heart's core with such bitter preju-
dices against any portion of God's
children should have, under any
circumstances, engaged in the work
of saving souls may seem strange,

706

Preachers on the Rampage.

and we shall not here go into the
explication, which would detain us
from our subject ; but it is by no
means surprising that such a per-
son should fail of success as an
evangelist and devote his time
and prejudices to fruit-raising. He
describes himself as a successful
fruit-grower, and we have good au-
thority for believing that " no man
can serve two masters." Not that
he has given up preaching by any
means ; for he tells of his minister-
ing in the vineyard, which means
with people of his stamp deliver-
ing on Sunday an essay or so
something after the fashion of a
screed from the Spectator, and tak-
ing leave of all practical religion
till the next Sunday. Of the minis-
trations of the Catholic priest — go-
ing in and out daily among his pa-
rishioners, preparing this one for
death, comforting that one bereav-
ed, advising and warning the vi-
cious, alleviating want and encour-
aging all — he knows as little as his
own mules. It appears by his evi-
dence that he hires at times as many
as sixty-five or seventy Chinamen,
and, as he confessedly regards them
in the same light as so much ma-
chinery, it is by no means to be
wondered at that he should prefer
men who will submit to be so re-
garded. The Chinaman possibly
may, certainly the Irishman will
not ; and, upon the whole, we should
think very much less of an Irish-
man if. he had proved a favorite
with such a specimen fossil as Rev.
Brier. The Irishman is quick, full
of life, strong, prone to resent an
insult, courageous, and of all men
least likely to allow himself to be
trampled upon, ignored, or regard-
ed in the same light as the mules
and horses about the place. Fur-
ther, it is more than likely that, in
an encounter of wit with an Irish-

man, Rev. Mr. Brier would not
come out first ; and it is a dead
certainty that Brier's view of reli-
gion would appeal as little to the
Irishman's sympathies as it proba-
bly does to those of the reader.
Taking, then, everything into ac-
count, we are not surprised that
this person should not like Irishmen,
but we do wonder that he should
not have the grace to conceal the
hypocrisy involved between his
own ostensible profession on the
one side, and his utter disregard of
the dignity of humanity, of the
value of the human soul, on the
other. Under such shepherds it is
no wonder that the flock becomes
scattered, and, while we do not wish
well to Protestantism at any time
(for individual Protestants we en-
tertain the most kindly feelings), it
would be impossible for us to wish
the system worse than that the
watchmen upon the walls of the
fortress founded by Luther and
Calvin may all have the osseous
heart, the hypocritical profession,
and the eocene brain of Rev. Mr.
Brier. Calvinism is disintegrating
very rapidly, in all conscience ; it
needs but a few more years of the
ministrations of such reverend
gentlemen as this to give it the
final quietus.

Why, even Chinamen have in
this century been touched by the
progressive spirit of the age. They
emigrate, are found in California,
the Sandwich Islands, Australia,
Singapore, etc. They have opened
their ports to foreigners, and are
sending their young men to be edu-
cated both in the United States
and in Europe. And here we have
the Rev. Mr. Brier — who would
build up in these United States a
Chinese wall of exclusion, who
would have Japan and China re-
turn to their ancient policy of non-

Preachers on tJie Rampage.

707

intercourse, and who, if he had his
way, would cause this great coun-
try to join them — who says delib-
erately that the United States
would be " better off without any
more foreigners." He is a credit
to the college that educated him,
the State that bred him, and the
religion he professes ! Exeat Brier.
Rev. S. V. Blakeslee is an or-
thodox Congregational minister,
acting now as editor of the Pacific,
which he describes as " the oldest
religious newspaper on the coast."
Contrary to the former two min-
isters, he is bitterly opposed to
Chinamen, and is only less ran-
corous against them than he is
against the hated Irish Catholics.
We give parts of his examination,
omitting much that would but lead
us over ground already trodden :

" Ques. Is there any other class of for-
eign labor that you think has a tendency
to render labor disreputable?

" Ans. Yes, I mean all whom we regard
as inferior ; to whom we consign the
work — all who are really inferior.

" Ques. What race would you put in
that category ?

" Ans. If I were to mention names, I
'believe the Americans generally regard
the Irish as very much inferior ; yet I be-
lieve if the priests were out of the way,
if Romanism were out of the way, the
Irish would be equal to any people on
earth. As it is, they are inferior in in-
telligence, inferior in morality " (p. 1035).

In another portion of his testi-
mony he complains that the peo-
ple of his town (Oakland), with
forty thousand inhabitants, have by
no means the supply of Congre-
gational and other Protestant
churches which in the East would
be considered necessary, and is
asked :

" Ques. There are many Catholics, are
there not?

" Ans. Oh ! Catholics can hardly be
said to go to church. They do not go to

listen to a sermon ; they do not go to get
instructed (p. 1037).

" Qiifs. Do the Irish assimilate with the
American people?

" Ans. They do, if they are Protestant ;
but the priests mean to keep them sepa-
rate, and mean to keep them as a power
in America under their control" (p. 1041).

As to his knowledge of Catho-
lic practice and belief, the follow-
ing will suffice, viz. :

" Ques. Have you as much prejudice
against an American or German Catho-
lic as against an Irish Roman Catholic ?

" Ans. If you ask, is my judgment
more in approval of an American or
German than of an Irish Catholic, I
should say it was, because I do not find
that the priest can control the German :
as he can the Irish Catholic.

" Ques. Does the priest control them
for evil or for good ?

"Ans. I think that a great many
priests teach them that the end justifies
the means, and that to tell a lie for mo-
ther church is honest.

" Ques. Did you ever hear one preach
that?

" Ans. Well, they were so near it— it's
all the same, probably ; but they did not
use those words.

" Ques. Have you heard them preach ?

" Ans. No, sir ; they don't preach
much. They will stand a long time, go-
ing through a performance, and ring a
little bell for a man to rise and kneel
down, and then they will rise up again,
but they don't preach much !"

The reader will observe the
marked contempt with which those
to whom we consign the work are
regarded as being really inferior. .
Why, in the eyes of this exponent
of Christian doctrine and re-
publican practice, labor, and those
who do it, are quite as disreputable
as used to be, in their own region, a ,
class known as poor white trash.
Now, from the conditions of this
world in which we are placed,
there can never, by any possibility, .
come a time (as there never has
hitherto been one) in which it will
not be incumbent on two-thirds of

;o8

Preachers on the Rampage.

earth's inhabitants to earn their
bread in the sweat of their brow. It
is God's decree, man's destiny, and
a large proportion of the one-third
who in any age of the world have
managed to exempt themselves
from the consequence of the fiat of
the Omnipotent in respect to labor,
have done so by taking advantage
of the honesty or simplicity of their
fellow-men. They or their ances-
tors must have converted to their
own use more than their share of
the soil, the common heritage of
the human race and the source of
all wealth. There are not wanting
at this day those who consider the
laws which perpetuated the right
to such original seizures unjust,
and it is just such despisers of the
laborer and appropriators of his
work as this reverend gentleman
who unwittingly give the greatest
occasion for discontent to those
who fancy themselves aggrieved by
the existing condition of things.
We are neither communists nor
agrarians, but we see that, even
in this happy country, it will be
•very possible to convert the labor-
ing class into such by subjecting
them to the scorn of such men as
this witness, causing them to feel
that they are regarded as really in-
ferior, and incidentally exciting the
envy which the sight of ranches of
seventy-six thousand acres of land
in the hands of one individual is
calculated to produce. Such con-
tempt of the laborer is un-Ameri-
can, to say nothing of its entire
lack of Christianity, and to us it
seems that no men of any nation-
ality or religion could be so in-
jurious to the real interests of any
country as those entertaining it-
We do not say that we would trade
the Rev. Mr. Blakeslee/^r a China-
man, but we hope and believe that
there are few Americans of his way

of thinking in regard to labor, and
trust that soon there will be none
of that stock left. The preamble
to the Declaration of Indepen-
dence must have long ceased to be
remembered, and Christianity will
be in her last throes, ere such
views shall obtain ; and we have
confidence in the permanence of
this republic, with an abiding faith
that God will be with his church.

We will not bandy words with
Mr. Blakeslee as to his opinion
that Americans generally regard
the Irish as inferior in intelligence
and morality. It is one of those
lump statements which impulsive
or prejudiced men sometimes make
about a whole nation in' the heat
of conversation, but which seldom
find their way into sworn testimony.
We are American to the manner
born, and we not only do not be-
lieve the fact, but, so far as both
reading and intercourse with our
countrymen have enabled us to
form an opinion, we should assert
the direct contrary. There is, we
well know, about all our large cities
a class corresponding to the " hood-
lums " of San Francisco (and we
are sorry to add that they are
nearly all Americans) who fancy
that their mere accidental birth
upon this soil has not only elevated
them above all other nationalities,
but raised them above the necessi-
ty of work. We can lay no stress
on the opinions of this class. By
all other Americans not influenced
by hatred of the church, and, in-
deed,, by many who do not regard
her favorably, we have always
heard remarked (and statistics will
prove) the almost entire immunity
of the Irish from the crime of fce-
ticide ; their large generosity to
their friends and relatives, as prov-
ed by the proportionately larger
amounts of money yearly transmitted

Preachers on the Rampage.

709

by them to the old "country ; their
unconquerable industry; the chas-
tity of their women, though, by
their condition in life, more expos-
ed to temptation than perhaps any
other body of females in the world.
It is denied by nobody that where
a soldier is wanted the Irishman is
always on hand, and that he com-
pares very favorably with the sol-
dier of any other nation. As to
intelligence, Mr. Blakeslee must
surely be poking some mild fun
at us under the sanctity of his oath.
If he had ever tried to get the ad-
vantage of the most illiterate Irish-
man in conversation, if he had ever
heard or read a true account of the
result to any one who did so, he
would not, for shame's sake, ap-
pear making the wild assertion
that the Irishman is deficient in
intelligence. The common expe-
rience of any local community in the
United States will at once brand
the statement with its proper stamp,
for which three letters are quite
sufficient.

But here comes the real gist of
Mr. Blakeslee's charge of immo-
rality and stupidity against the
countrymen of Swift and Burke, of
Wolfe Tone and O'Connell, of
Moore and John of Tuam. "If,"
says he, "it were not for Roman-
ism, they would be in course of
time a very excellent people." In
other words, if they would cease to
be what they are, if they would sit
under the ministrations of Rev.
Blakeslee and his like, if they would
now give up the religion from which
centuries of persecution and penal
laws have failed to dissever them,
they might finally come to have as
thorough-paced a contempt for la-
bor and as strong a belief in the
inferiority of the laborer as this
reverend gentleman himself. " Pad-
dy," says Mr. Blakeslee, " you are

a Papist, you are an idolater, you
are very immoral, and you have
very little sense. Will you be good
enough now to become a Congre-
gationalist ?" The Irishman's blood
boils, fire flashes from his eye, the
church militant is roused in him,
and away runs Rev. Blakeslee, more
than ever convinced of the infe-
riority of the mean Irish and their
imperviousness to the charms of
Protestantism !

Among the ephemeral sects of
the day, depending, as they do, on
the temporary whims or idiosyn-
crasies of the individuals who
" run them," there is apt to arise a
fashion in morality, so that it is
something not unlike fashion in
ladies' dress — very different this
season from what it was the last.
Now, these sects are loud and
noisy, making up in vehemence for
what they lack in numbers, logic,
and authority. Just now, and for
some years past, the sin which it is
the fashion to decry to the neglect
of all others is that of drunken-
ness, which the church has always
held to be a great scandal amongst
men and a sin against the Al-
mighty. But, while the church has
received no new light on the sub-
ject, the various sectaries have
erected "drinking" into the one
typical, the sole crying vice, the
incorporation of all the other sins.
A man is now practically " a moral
man," provided he does not use
liquor ; and no other crime, short
of murder, is, in the eyes of the
Protestant community, so damning
as is addictedness to drink. There
is no doubt but that, in the early
part of tins century, liquor was
drunk by the Irish to too great an
extent. There is just as little
doubt that a great change for the
better has come over the Irish in
this regard, and that the good work

710

FrcacJic-rs on the Rampage.

is still going on. But the Irish at
no time exceeded the Scotch in
their consumption of liquor, nor
did they ever equal either the
Danes or Swedes, both thoroughly
Protestant nations. But if you give
a man a bad name you may as well
hang him ; and the same holds good
of a nation. It suited the secta-
rian temperance orators to select
the Irish as the " shocking exam-
ple " among nations, and falsely to
attribute the exaggerated drunken-
ness which they represented as
then existing to the influence of
the church. Such a cry, once well
set going from Exeter Hall and
the various Ebenezer chapels, is
not easily quelled ; and as it is much
easier for most men to take their
opinions ready made than to frame
them for themselves, there does re-
main on the minds of a large num-
ber of people a lurking distrust of
the sobriety of the individual Irish-
man, and a general belief that
drunkenness is his peculiar and
besetting national vice. The sta-
tistics of the quantity of ardent
spirits consumed in Ireland since
the year 1870, as compared with
the quantities used in England,
Scotland, or Wales, will convince any
one who desires to know the truth ;
and we are not writing for those who
are content to defame a people by
the dishonest repetition of a false
cry. These tables prove that, man
for man, the consumption referred
to is in Ireland not so much as in
Scotland by over three gallons, in
England by nearly two gallons, and
in Wales by a little less than in
England. So long, however, as
Sweden overtops the consumption
of the highest of them by the an-
nual amount of two and a half gal-
lons per man, and Catholic Ireland
holds the lowest rank as a consumer
of ardent spirits, we have no hope

that it will " suit the books " of sec-
tarian temperance agitators to call
attention to the facts. It is much
easier to defame than to do justice,
and by this craft many people nowa-
days are making a livelihood. Yet
this false charge of a vice which be-
trays by no means the blackheart-
edness involved in many others —
which, bad as it is, is by no means so
heinous as .defrauding the laborer
of his hire, swindling the poor of their
savings, watering stocks, accepting
bribes, etc., etc., and which is not
even mentioned in the decalogue —
is the only one that could at any
time have been charged with a de-
cent show of plausibility against
the Irish as a nation, or against the
individual Irishmen whom we have
in this country. We ourselves
must admit that we thoughtvthere
was some truth in it, till we search-
ed the statistical tables to find out
the facts, and we here make to the
Irish people the amende honorable
for having misjudged them on the
strength of the cry of sectarian
demagogues.

Going to church can, in the mind
of Mr. Blakeslee, mean only one
thing — i.e., goingtohear a sermon —
and so he says that " Catholics can
hardly be said to go to church." Cer-
tainly the prime object of a Ca-
tholic in going to church is not to
listen to a sermon, nor should it be
so. It is hardly worth while to at-
tempt to enlighten a man like Mr.
Blakeslee, who himself habitually
sheds light from both pulpit and
press ; but if we are to take the
knowledge he seems to possess of
the Catholic Church as a specimen
of the information he diffuses on
other points, what rare ideas must
not his hearers and readers attain
of matters and things in general!
Yet he is a man who professes to
have made a theological course,

Preachers on the Rampage.

711

which should involve not only the
study of the doctrines and practi-
ses of his own sect, but also, to some
slight extent, of the remaining sects
of Protestantism, to say nothing of
the church on which two hundred
million Christians rest their hopes
of salvation. He knows no more
of the celebration of the Blessed
Eucharist in the Church of Rome
than to describe it as "going through
a performance and ringing a little
bell for a man to rise and kneel down ' ' ;
and yet the fellow does not hesitate
to announce what is the doctrine
and what the practice of the church
— nay, to hold himself forth as a
champion against her tenets, as
though he were divinely commis-
sioned to instruct thereon. To see
ignorance is at all times unpleasant ;
blatant ignorance combined with
assumption of knowledge is doubly
nauseous; but the supereminent
degree of loathing is only excited
when ignorance or conceit of know-
ledge elevates itself into the chair
of the spiritual guide and denoun-
ces what it in no whit understands.
Be these thy gods, O Israel? Sure-
ly it is not to hear the lucubrations
of men of this stamp that any sane
people would go to church. We
can only wish to the sheep of such
a pastor increase of knowledge,
decrease of prejudice, and an en-
larged ability to tell truth on the
part of their shepherd ! We re-
peat that Catholics do not go to
church primarily or solely to hear
a sermon. But they do go there
to join in spirit at the celebration
of the divine Sacrifice, to pray
to God for grace to assist them
through life, to make and strength-
en good resolutions, and to obey
the command of the church. We
all believe that the devout hearing
of one Mass is far more valuable
than the hearing of all the sermons

ever delivered or printed since the
sermon on the Mountain of Beati-
tudes ; and we lay no stress what-
ever on the best formulae of words
ever strung together by the inge-
nuity even of the most pious and
learned of mere men, when com-
pared with the expiatory sacrifice
of Christ's body and blood, institut-
ed by him and celebrated, not mere-
ly commemorated, by the priest to
whom he has given the power.
Should it ever happen — and as the
mercy of God is infinite, and his
ways past finding out, it is not im-
possible— that this poor deluded
man should be brought to a know-
ledge of the truth, with what shame
and confusion of face would he not
read his ignorant and impudent
travesty of the worship of God in
his church !

If there be, as there doubtless are,
other Protestants who get their in-
struction about Catholics from Mr.
Blakeslee and his like, and who
believe with this witness that the
priests mean to keep them (the Ca-
tholics) as a power in America under
their (the priests') control, it would
not be, and is not, worth our while to
attempt to argue the point with such.
They will so believe, like the rela-
tives of Dives, though one rose from
the dead to confute them. Ephra-
im is joined to his idols; let him
alone ! But we appeal to the Catho-
lic voters of this country, of Ameri-
can or foreign birth, to answer : Has
your bishop or parish priest ever un-
dertaken to dictate to you how you
should vote ? Has your vote, on what-
ever side given, interfered in the
slightest degree with your status in
the church? Do you know of a
single instance in which one or the
other of these things has taken place ?
We cannot lay down a fairer gauge.
If these things take place they can-
not occur without the knowledge of

712

Freaclurs on the Rampage.

those among whom they are done
and upon whom they are practised.
They are Americans, and it is a
free country. Long ere this would
the country have rung with the
proof, had any such been forth-
coming. Mr. Blakeslee's lying
charge meant, if it meant anything,
that Catholics were to be kept apart
as a political power; for neither
we nor any other Catholic desires
or hopes otherwise than that the
church, as a religious body, shall, till
the end of time, be kept separate
and apart from all the sects of Pro-
testantism, which we believe to be
heresy and schism.

One would naturally always
rather give an adversary the credit
of having honestly mistaken the
facts than be obliged to consider
him a wilful slanderer and falsifier.
But there are circumstances in
which the assertion made is so
patently false, or has been so often
thoroughly refuted, that, though the
heart would fain take refuge in the
former course, the brain refuses to
accept any but the latter. Such a
case occurs where Mr. Blakeslee
says that " a great many priests teach
them that the end justifies the means,
. . . that to tell a lie for mother
church is honest." Every Catholic
who has learned his catechism
knows that this is not so. We believe
that he knew it was not so when
he said it, but that his own innate
malevolence against the church, and
the spirit of the father of lies
speaking through him, compelled
him to the utterance of this vile
slander. For which great sin may
God forgive him : he stands in sore
need of it.

But after all, if Satan is so easily
caught on a cross-examination as
he on this occasion allowed his
servant to be, we need not stand in

much dread of his lies. The same
man whose lips are not yet dry from
saying on oath that the priests teach
their people to tell lies, when asked
if he ever heard any single priest
so teach, shuffles out of it thus —
his own words need no comment
from us :

" Ans. Well, they were so near it;
it's all the same, probably ! They didn't
use those words !

" Ques. Have you ever heard them
preach ?

"Ans. No, sir !

We, on the contrary, think that it
was not all the same ''''probably,"
and heartily thank his satanic ma-
jesty for his negligence in failing to
inspirit his servant with the know-
ledge that, in order to be believed,
in swearing as to what priests preach
in their sermons, it is necessary to
be able also to swear that the
witness has heard at least one such
sermon. Valeat Blakeslee.

Other preachers testified ; and
when the question arose as to Ca-
tholic foreigners, more especially
Irish Catholic, all betrayed the
cloven hoof, though some veiled
their hatred in much more seemly
words than did others. It had
been our intention to examine
their testimony, in so far as it
touched the church, seriatim; but
further reflection induces us to be-
lieve that from these few pages the
reader can learn sufficiently the
depth of the ignorance and the
extent of the hatred of these, blind
leaders of the blind. If the reward
in heaven be exceeding great to
those whom all men shall hate, re-
vile, and despitefully use, surely the
glory of Catholics, and of Catholic
Irishmen especially, will be great in
the next world; for certainly they
are not loved of men in this.

A Little Sermon. 713

A LITTLE SERMON.

FROM " THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF ST. FRANCIS."

THE Poor One of Assisi trod one day
Bevagna's road, and, praying by the way —

His heart seraphic, like the choirs above,

Filled with the sweetness born of heavenly love —

Lifting his eyes, that loved the earth's fair face,
He saw, thick gathered in a bosky place,

A host of birds that flitted to and fro,

Filling the boughs with twittering murmur low.

" Wait here, my brothers," fell in gentle speech ;
" Unto this multitude needs must I preach :

" Here by the wayside, good Masseo, bide
Till I these little birds have satisfied."

Into the field he passed, the flowers among,
Where, on the bending stems, the songsters swung.

Gathered the winged things about his feet,
Dropped from the boughs amid the grasses sweet :

Reverent dropt down to listen to God's word,
Silenced their song that his Poor One be heard.

Touching with his gray robe their eager wings,
St. Francis softly stilled their flutterings.

Sedate they sat with crested heads alert,

The near ones nestling in their brother's skirt.

" My little birds, ye owe deep gratitude
To God, who has your forms with life imbued,

" And ever in all places should ye praise
Your Maker, who in love keeps you always,

" Since by His hand to you is freedom given
To fly where'er ye will, on earth, in heaven :

714 A- Little Sermon.

" Since from his strong and loving hand ye hold
Your double garments guarding you from cold :

" Since, that no evil blight fall on your race,
He gave in Noe's ark your sires a place.

" And unto him deep gratitude ye owe
For this pure air whence life itself doth flow.

" And then ye sow not, neither do ye reap,
Yet God for you doth plenteous harvest keep;

" The streams He gives you, and the limpid spring
Where ye may drink of waters freshening;

" He gives the hills and valleys for your rest,
The great-armed trees where each may make his nest.

"And, since ye cannot spin nor sew, his care
Weaves the soft robes ye and your fledglings wear.

" How much he loves that doth so richly give !
Praise him, my little birds, all days ye live !

" So keep ye well from sin of thanklessness,
And God keep you, whom let all creatures bless !"

Bowed all the little birds their heads to earth,
Oped wide their bills, and sang with holy mirth

Their Deo gratias when St. Francis ceased,
Yet rose not till his hand their wings released

With Christian cross signed in the happy air,
Giving the songsters leave to scatter there.

Softly, so blessed, the grateful birds up-soared
And marvellous music in their flight outpoured :

Looked not at earth, nor him they left behind,
Parting in ways the holy cross had signed.

Singing they cleft the quarters of the sky —
Type of St. Francis' mission wide and high :

Type of his little ones who nothing own,
Whose humble trust is in their Lord alone —

Nezv Publications.

So nourished as their brother birds are fed,
Whose great Creator doth their table spread.

715

Listening the lessening chant, St. Francis smiled,
Praising his Lord for joy so undefiled.

— From the French of F. A. Ozanam.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE KNOWLEDGE OF MARY. By the Rev.
J. De Concilio, Pastor of St. Michael's
Church, Jersey City, author of Catho-
licity and Pantheism. New York : The
Catholic Publication Society Co., 9
Barclay Street. 1878.
We must apologize to Father De Con-
cilio for being late with our notice of his
book. Our excuse is, simply, lack of
time for its perusal — anything but lack
of desire ; for, on learning that the au-
thor of Catholicity and Pantheism — a work
that has won unstinted and generous
praise from all competent critics, and es-
tablished the fame of its author as a pro-
found philosophical thinker — was en-
gaged upon a work about the Blessed
Virgin, we hailed the promised boon
as a feast, both intellectual and de-
votional, of the rarest kind. And are we
disappointed? On the contrary, our
most sanguine expectations are sur-
passed.

Father De Concilio tells us in his pre-
face that this new book is " a necessary
part " of his former work on Catholicity
and Pantheism, " though it may seem to
have very little to do with it." " For
Mary," he says, "is the best refutation of
pantheism, the universal error of our
time. The substance of this error is to
absorb the finite in the infinite, and, con-
sequently, to abolish, to do away with,
all created agency. Now, Mary, as we
shall prove, represents created agency in
its grandest, sublimest, and most mag-
nificent expression. She represents cre-
ated agency in all the mysteries of God
relating to the creature. She is, there-
fore, the best and most convincing refu-
tation of pantheism, the rock against
which the mighty waves of this universal
error must exhaust their force." Again :

"Pantheism, in pretending to exalt hu-
manity, degrades it and deprives it of
everything that causes its glory. Mary,
the grandest specimen of human nature,
exhibits human personality in its most
colossal proportions, and is the glory,
the pride, the magnificence of our race."

We quote these passages from the au-
thor's preface, because they furnish the
key-note'to the whole work.

The volume opens with an admirable
"Introduction," showing how Christi-
anity was needed to bring fallen man to
the knowledge and love of God, and how
" the world owes Christianity, along with
its results, to Mary" ; also, how the same
instrument must bring back the know-
ledge and love of God to-day, lost again
as they have been in great part ; whence
"the necessity of true, accurate, solid
knowledge of Mary." Then follow the
five books into which the essay is divided,
tlie chapters of each book being subdi-
vided into articles. This arrangement
at once gives conciseness to the argu-
ment, and much relieves the strain upon
the reader's thought.

The first, second, and fourth books are
the most important: the first dealing
with " Mary's place in the divine plan of
the universe " ; the second with " the
grandeur of Mary's destiny"; and the
fourth with " the consequences of Mary's
dignity relatively to God, to the human
race, and to herself." The third bock
treats of " the perfections of Mary in
general," and its arguments will be
readily admitted by the reader who has
accepted those of the preceding books ;
the fifth, again, elucidates " Mary's merit
and glory," which no one will question
who agrees with the fourth book.

Father De Concilio shows himself a

716

New Publications,

master by the easy strength with which
he expounds the divine plan of the uni-
verse, and the place which the Incarna-
tion holds therein. The eight articles of
his first chapter are thus recapitulated :

" End : The greatest possible manifes-
tation and communication of divine
goodness.

" Preliminary means : Creation of sub-
stances, spiritual, material, and compo-
site— angels, matter, and men.

" Best means to the object : The hypo-
static union of the Word with human
nature.

"Effects of the Incarnation with regard
to God : Infinite glory and honor.

" With regard to created nature : Uni-
versal deification.

"With regard to personalities: Deifi-
cation of their nature in Christ, and
beatific union with the Trinity through
their union with Christ by sanctification.

" God foresees the fall, and permits it
in order to enhance these effects by re-
demption."

We do not at all wonder at a reviewer
in the Chicago Interior complimenting
our author on " profound scholarship in
Catholic theology." "The book," he
says, "is bold to familiarity in describ-
ing with scientific particularity and clear-
ness of outline the constitution of the
Holy Trinity as defined by Catholic
theologians." We do, however, wonder
that this writer, if a believer in revela-
tion, should go on to compare Father De
Concilio to a chemist analyzing " a py-
rite of iron," and still more that he
should declare his " ideas as grossly an-
thropomorphic as it is possible to be"(!)
Would this critic call the Bible anthropo-
morphic? He says nothing about our
author's theology of the Incarnation — un-
less he mean to hit at that as " anthropo-
morphic." It is precisely about the In-
carnation that Protestants are utterly at
sea. When the reviewer adds: "We
can understand, after examining this
book, the character of Catholic devotion
to Mary as we never understood it be-
fore," we are compelled to reply : " Then
your understanding of it is a greater
mistake than ever before, unless you
have first come to realize the Catholic
doctrine of the Incarnation with its bear-
ings ; and if that were the case you would
avow it, for you could not remain a Pro-
testant another hour."

Let any Protestant of sufficient educa-
tion read the first of these five books

earnestly and prayerfully, and he will
have to acknowledge that his hitherto
Christianity, be it what it may, is di-
vided toto cash from Catholic Christianity
— the totttm ccelum being precisely his
lack of that " knowledge of Mary " which
is inseparable from an intelligent belief
in the Incarnation.

The Catholic student will be specially
interested by the way in which Father
De Concilio treats of Mary's " co-opera-
tion." She is set forth — and in a clearer
light than ever before by any book in the
English language — as the great " repre-
sentative personality" of our race. It is
in this capacity that she consents to the
Incarnation and Redemption. " A God-
Man was necessary to expiate for the sins
of mankind. But that was not sufficient.
According to the law of wisdom, men-
tioned in our last argument, God was
ready to help human nature' to that ex-
tent as to effect the Incarnation and pro-
duce the God-Man ; but God required,
also, that mankind should do all it could
towards its own redemption. It could
not give the God who was to divinize the
acts of human nature ; it could not ac-
tually effect the union between human
nature and the divine person of the
Word ; but it could freely and delibe-
rately offer the nature to be united for
the express purpose and intent of suffer-
ing ; and this offering could only be made
by means of a representative human person
full)' conscious of the necessity of expi-
ation, of the conditions required by it,
and of the consequences resulting there-
from " (pp. 77, 78).

Again (pp. 78, 79) : "The consent of
Mary was required in the plan of God in
order to elevate created personality to the
highest possible dignity, and thus to ful-
fil the end which God had proposed to
himself in exterior work." This pur-
pose, he goes on to say, was not com-
pleted by God " taking human nature, to
be his own nature, and to be God with
him." ..." Human personality does
not exist in Christ, and receives no
honor from him. There is one person in
him, and that is divine." ..." Mary,
therefore (p. 80), fulfils the office of cre-
ation, and especially of created person-
ality, in its most sovereign act — the act
which this personality would have elicit-
ed in Jesus Christ, if it had been in
him. Human nature, such as it was in
Christ, could not give itself, because to
give is a personal act, and God wished

New Publications.

717

to carry to its utmost extremity the com-
munication of goodness, that human
nature should give itself in order to be
made partaker of the responsibility and
attribution of the effects of that mysteri-
ous union."

Having thus shown the inestimable
importance of Mary's consent to the In-
carnation, our author proceeds to point
out "the extent or comprehensiveness"
of that consent — to wit, that " in giv-
ing her consent to the Incarnation and
redemption " she " not only agreed to
become the Mother of Jesus Christ the
Redeemer, . . . but also to become a
co-sufferer with him ; so that Mary's
Compassion was to accompany, to go
hand in hand with, Christ's Passion,
both being necessary for the redemption
of mankind, according to the plan se-
lected by God's wisdom."

Here is something new to us, but very
delightful to discover, since it glorifies
Our Blessed Lady so much more than
the ordinary view of her Dolors. We
knew that " she consented to undergo
all the anguish and sorrow and martyr-
dom consequent upon her from the sac-
rifice and immolation of her divine
Son," and thus " join her Compassion to
his Passion, in order to redeem man-
kind " ; that, in this sense, she " con-
sented to become the corredemptrix of the
human race." But it had not occurred
to us that " all this, implied in her con-
sent, was neces'sary as that consent it-
self."

Our author here quotes Father Faber's
theory about Mary's privilege of being
" corredemptrix " — the term by which
saints and doctors call her — and shows
that the gifted Oratorian, in his ex-
quisite book on Mary's sorrows (The
Foot of the Cross), <:has not done justice
to the subject." He even quarrels with
Faber's " co-redemptress " as a "substi-
tution " for the ancient " corredemptrix,"
whereas it would appear but a transla-
tion— that is, as Faber uses it. We feel
sure, too, that the English word may
mean the full equivalent of the Latin.
But, at all events, Father Faber's theory
is that Mary's dolors were among the
unnecessary sufferings of the Passion.
" Indeed," he says, " they were literally
our Lord's unnecessary sufferings.
. . . Her co-operation with the Pas-
sion by means of her dolors is wanting,
certainly, in that indispensable neces-
sity which characterizes the co-operation

of her maternity." To this Father De
Concilio remarks that Father Faber
" had an incomplete idea of the office of
Mary as to redemption," and objects to
the doctrine of " unnecessary sufferings"
as " theologically inaccurate, to say the
least." " The Passion of Christ," he
says, " must be considered as a variety
of sorrows co-ordained by the unity of the
sacrifice — the beginning of which was the
maternal womb, in which the Incarnate
Word placed himself in the state of a
victim, and the termination Calvary,
where the grand holocaust was consum-
mated." And, after establishing this
point, he proceeds to prove that Mary's
Compassion was " among the necessary
elements of the redemption." He
brings to light, both from the Fathers and
from reason, " a principle in the econo-
my of our redemption," whereby God
had to supply, indeed, a means of in-
finite merit (through the Incarnation),
but, equally, had to exact from humanity
all that itself could do towards atone-
ment. From this principle he deduces
three consequences:

First. That " our Lord's humanity was
to suffer as much as ... would bear
a kind of proportion to the offence and
realize the principle that human nature
was to do as much as possible towards
its own redemption." Whence, obvi-
ously, " the distinction of necessary and
unnecessary sufferings in the life of our
Lord " is untenable.

Second. That "human nature was re-
quired to do more than suffer in Christ.
It was required to deliberately and will-
ingly offer up that human nature to be
united to the Word of God for the pur-
pose of redemption, by means of a re-
presentative of the whole human race."
Whence " the necessity of Mary's con-
sent to the Incarnation and redemp-
tion."

Third. That " it was necessary that the
highest representative of human person-
ality, the human head of the race, should
be subject also to the highest possible mar-
tyrdom which a human person may be sub-
ject to, as a reparation coming from
a human personality, and unite it with
the sufferings of the humanity of the
Word, and thus bring its own meed of
suffering required by God's wisdom for
our ransom." " This was necessary,"
he adds, "because in our Lord humani-
ty suffered as a nature, not as a person-
ality. "

7i8

tc' Publications,

From these deductions, then, the au-
thor concludes that " Mary's Compas-
sion is a necessary element of the re-
demption, and Mary is really and truly
the corredemptrix of the human race."
But, of course, he is careful to add that
" Christ alone redeemed us truly, really,
and efficaciously, because he alone could
give infinite value to those sufferings,
and, therefore, he is the only Redeemer.
Mary is the corredemptrix, but only in
the sense just explained." "Those,"
he says, " who are afraid to think Mary's
sufferings necessary for our redemption
are thinking only of the infinite value
required for our sacrifice. Mary has
nothing to do with that. In speaking of
her co-operation we limit ourselves to
speaking of what was required from
human nature and human personality
as their mite towards redemption, in-
dependent of the infinite worth to
be given only by Christ's infinite per-
sonality."

To us, we must joyfully avow, this
elaborate argument for Mary's greater
glory appears irrefragable.

What specially delights us in the
fourth book, again, is to see our heaven-
ly Mother proved the " channel " and
" dispenser " of all grace. This, also, is
an unspeakable gain to us. And we
need not say that if, on the one hand, our
learned theologian has invested his
Queen with a sublimity and an awe
that makes us feel how unworthy of her
notice is our best of love and service,
he has inspired us, on the other hand,
with more confidence than ever in her
tenderness and power.

Those, too, of our readers who have
a turn for contemplation and have
thought much on Our Lady will meet in
these pages with many an idea which
has come into their minds before, and
which, perhaps, they have been afraid to
disclose, or even harbor. Such will join
with us in revelling over the logic which
makes blessed certainties of these ex-
quisite guesses.

In conclusion, we are quite unable to
express our thanks to Father De Con-
cilioforhis magnificent book. But he
does not need our gratitude. She whose
champion he is will not fail to fulfil in
his regard the promise which to him
must be so precious : Qui elucidant me
•vitam atemam habcbitnt — "They who
make me shine forth shall have life
everlasting."

WHY A CATHOLIC IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY? By William Giles Dix.

New York: The Catholic Publication

Society Co., 9 Barclay Street. 1878.

The author of this essay once contri-
buted to THE CATHOLIC WORLD a
thoughtful article called "The Roman
Gathering." (See CATHOLIC WORLD,
May, 1868.) He was then a Protestant.
It is consoling to find him no longer
among those who, while forced to envy
the Catholic Church, remain outside
her communion on the strength of some
hazy theory or from a superstitious
dread of using their reason. Having
come, by God's grace, to see the truth
himself, he aims at making others see it
equally clearly. He shows very forcibly,
and in simple language, " that the New
Testament, and the Protestant version
of that, proves these propositions :

" I. Christ founded a church.

" II. Christ founded one church, one
only : not a corporation of national church
es, not a federal union of churches, but
literally one church.

"III. That one church of Christ was
intended to be the only spiritual guide,
on earth, of Christians.

" IV. That [this] church had the prom-
ise of endurance and of guidance until
the end of the world.

" V. That [this] church was the begin-
ning of the church known historically
as the Catholic Church."

Of course this is very old ground; but
Mr. Dix goes over it in a way that ought
to induce earnest Protestants of any de-
nomination to follow him.

Here is an excellent hit :

" A word is in many mouths — Ultra-
montane— intended to represent extreme
views of papal rights. Now, I care not
whom you select among the defenders
of the powers of St. Peter and his suc-
cessors, you will find the attributes
ascribed by any such writer to the suc-
cessors of St. Peter not so strong as the
single commission of our Lord to his
apostles recorded in the New Testament.
The most ultramontane writers that I know
of are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
The only difficulty which any one finds in
the interpretation of the words of our Lord
referring to his church is because those
words are so plain and direct. They so
clearly set forth the amplest prerogatives
ever claimed for the Church of Christ
that many people seem to believe that
they cannot mean what they seem to

New Publications.

719

mean, and, therefore, must be explained
away. "

We hope this short essay will meet
with the success its ability deserves. We
regret, however, to say that while the
plainness of its language is a great point
in its favor, its style is open to improve-
ment.

THE MIRROR OF TRUE WOMANHOOD. A
Book of Instruction for Women in the
World. By Rev. Bernard O'Reilly.
New York : Peter F. Collier. 1878.

Dr. O'Reilly continues to lay Catho-
lics under obligation to his fluent and
versatile pen. He has a keen instinct
for what is wanting in Catholic popular
literature, and this large and handsome
volume fills a niche in the Catholic
household that was too long left empty.
Women in the world are apt to be over-
looked by spiritual writers, or the works
intended for them are of a character not
well adapted to attract the average wo-
man of the world, however good she may
be. They rreed something to take hold
of their homes and their hearts, and to
enter into their ordinary daily life. This
Dr. O'Reilly's excellent volume aims at
doing, and, we trust, will succeed in do-
ing. It is a work of practical sugges-
tion, illustrated and annotated, so to
say, by examples from the lives of wo-
men in all ages and in every station of
life. A tender heart, a practical mind,
and a pious soul speak in every line. It
is the mother first of all who is chiefly
instrumental in shaping the life of man.
If she is good and pure and high-mind-
ed, a constant example of the height and
greatness of those noblest of estates, wife-
hood and motherhood, the chances are al-
together in favor of her children following
her example. She is their great safeguard,
their earthly guardian-angel until they
are properly launched upon the sea of
life, and even after that period her heart
follows them and her virtues live in
their memory and their lives. It is be-
cause so many women neglect this high
office that so many children go astray.
Virtue belongs to no class ; it is common
to all Christians. The truest nobility is
a Christian life, which is open to all.
The object of his book is well described
by Dr. O'Reilly in the "Introductory":
" It is precisely because women are, by
the noble instincts which God has given
to their nature, prone to all that is most

heroic that this book has been written
for them. It aims at setting before their
eyes such admirable examples of every
virtue most suited to their sex, in every
age and condition of life, that they have
only to open its pages in order to learn
at a glance what graces and excellences
render girlhood as bright and fragrant as
the garden of God in its unfading bloom,
and ripe womanhood as glorious and
peerless in its loveliness and power
as the May moon in its perfect fulness
when she reigns alone over the starry
heavens." We cannot too earnestly re-
commend The Mirror of Tine Woman-
hood to women of every class, station,
and time of life.

SHAKSPEARE'S HOME: Visited and De-
scribed by Washington Irving and F.
W. Fairholt. With a letter from Strat-
ford. By J. F. Sabin. With etchings
by J. F. and W. W. Sabin. New York :
J. Sabin & Sons. 1877.

This is an interesting little volume.
A fair idea of its contents may be gath-
ered from the title. The etchings are
carefully executed, and are full of pro-
mise.

WHAT CATHOLICS DO NOT BELIEVE. A
Lecture delivered in Mercantile Li-
brary Hall, on Sunday evening, Dec.
16, 1877. By Right Rev. P. J. Ryan,
Bishop of Triconia, and Coadjutor to
the Archbishop of St. Louis. St.
Louis : P. Fox. 1878.

It was a happy thought to publish this
lecture in pamphlet form ; for the matter
which it contains is worthy of wide dis-
semination and close study. Bishop
Ryan has here presented some admira-
ble points in an admirable manner to
the consideration of fair-minded men
who are interested in the doings and the
faith of the Catholic Church. He has
taken up a few of the chief current ob-
jections against the church, set them
strongly forward, and then disposed of
them in a manner that wins admiration
as much for its honesty and calmness as
for its completeness and skill. We un-
derstand that it has provoked much dis-
cussion in St. Louis, in the public press
and elsewhere. Such discussion can
only do good. We strongly recommend
the pamphlet to Catholic and Protes-
tant alike. It is interesting for its own

720

Nr?v Publications.

sake ; it will be of great use to the Ca-
tholic who is thrown into non-Catholic
society ; it will relieve the fairly-dispos-
ed Protestant mind of some inherited
darkness and much foolish misconcep-
tion.

PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.

THE WRITTEN WORD ; or. Considerations on the
Sacred Scriptures. By William Humphrey, Priest
of the Society of Jesus.

THE CHRISTIAN REFORMED IN MIND AND MAN-
NERS. By Benedict Rogacci, of the Society of
Jesus. Translation edited by Henry James Cole-
ridge, of the same Society.

THE ART OF KNOWING OURSELVES; or, The
Looking-Glass which does not Deceive. By Fr.
John Peter Pinamonti, S.J. With Twelve Con-
siderations on Death, by Kr. Luigi La Nuza, S.J.,
and Four on Eternity, by Fr. John Baptist Manni,
S.J.

LIFE OF HENRI PLANCH AT, Priest of the Con-
gregation of the Brothers of St. Vincent de Paul,
etc., etc., One of the Hostages Massacred by the
Commune at Belleville, May 26, 1871. By Maurice
Maignen, Member of the Congregation of Brothers
of St. Vincent de Paul. Translated from the French,
with an Introductory Preface, by Rev. W. H. An-
derdon, S.J.

A VISIT TO THE ROMAN CATACOMBS. By Rev.
J. Spencer Northcote, D.D.

MEDITATIONS. From the Spanish of Rev. Fr.
Alonso de Andrade, S.J.

ERLESTON GLEN. A Lancashire Story of the
Sixteenth Century. By Alice O'Hanlon.

[All the above are published by Burns & Oates,
London, and are for sale by The Catholic Publication
Society Co.]

PENITENTIARY SERMONS. By Rev. Theodore
Noethen, Catholic Chaplain. Albany: Van Ben-
thuysen Printing-House. 1877.

THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. A Novel. From
the French of George Sand. New York: D.Apple-
ton & Co. 1877.

THE SCHOLASTIC ALMANAC for the year of our
Lord 1878. Compiled by J. A. Lyons. Notre
Dame, Ind. : The Scholastic Printing-Office.

To THE SUN. A Journey through Planetary
Space. From the French of Jules Verne. By Ed-
ward Roth. Illustrated. Philadelphia: Claxton,
Remsen & Hafielfinger. 1878.

IRELAND : As She Is, As She Has Been, and As
She Ought To Be. By James J. Clancy. New
York : Thomas Kelly. 1877.

NEW IRELAND. By A. M. Sullivan, Member of
Parliament for Louth. Philadelphia: J. B. Lip-
pincott & Co. 1878.

LIVES AND TIMES OF ILLUSTRIOUS AND REPRE-
SENTATIVE IRISHMEN. By Thomas Clarke Luby,
A.B., T.C.D. Part II. New York: Thomas
Kelly.

HOLY CHURCH, THE CENTRE OF UNITY ; or,
Ritualism Compared with Catholicism : Reasons
for Returning to the True Fold. ByT. H. Shaw.
London : R. Washbourne. 1877.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVI., No. 156.— MARCH, 1878.

IRELAND IN 1878.

A HISTORY of Ireland still re-
mains to be written ; nor has there
been even an attempt to collect
some of the chief materials for such
a work. Ten centuries of almost
continuous conflict since the Dan-
ish incursions, or seven since the
Anglo-Norman settlement and the
destruction or dispersion of the
national archives, are sufficient to
account for the absence of any full,
authentic, or valuable Irish history.
From Giraldus Cambrensis in the
twelfth century to Froude in our
day, there have never been want-
ing subsidized, and even able,
writers to defame and revile the na-
tive population and laud the Eng-
lish rule in Ireland. Nor, on the
other hand, has there been any
lack of enthusiasts whose patriot-
ism, more ardent than their erudi-
tion is profound or exact, is ever
ready to excuse or defend the na-
tives and execrate the Anglo-Nor-
man and Saxon tyrants and de-
spoilers. Even in Ireland it is
difficult to obtain reliable informa-
tion regarding the country ; while

outside of it such aim is impossible
of attainment. The dispersion cf
the Irish race during the last thirty
years has been greater in extent
and over a larger area of the globe
than any exodus of humanity known
to history. These millions have
carried the traditions of their coun-
try's wrongs, and the dismal tales
of the misgovernme/it of Ireland,
to the uttermost ends of the earth,
exaggerating, perhaps, the oppres-
sion of their persecutors, and de-
picting in touching sympathy the
glowing virtues of the victims. The
largest contingent of this Irish emi-
gration has enriched the United
States of America, where partiality
has culminated in alternate praise
and censure of the Irish race. The
circumstances under which most of
these people reached the American
shores were truly tragic and appal-
ling, and are well-nigh forgotten by
the older portion of the generation
now passing away.

The estimated population of Ire-
land in 1845 was 8,295,061, which
made it then one of the most dcnse-

T. HECKER. 1878.

72i

Ireland in 187?.

ly peopled countries in Europe. In
the autumn of that year the potato
crop, one of the chief products of
the country and the staple food of
three-fifths of the people, failed, in-
volving a loss estimated by Mr.
Labouchere, the British minister,
of eighty million dollars, or sixteen
millions sterling. This failure in
1845 was followed by successive
blights of the potato-crop in 1846
and subsequent years, causing what
is called the Irish famine, and with
it the great emigration, which
brought an increase of millions of
citizens to the United States. There
had been an Irish immigration in
America from the earliest days of
the colony — to Maryland, for exam-
ple, in the seventeenth century ;
but the Irish famine of 1845-49
marks the opening of the great in-
flux of Irish into the United States
and Canada.

We propose to consider the so-
cial and industrial condition and
the political and religious prospects
of Ireland in 1878, making the eve
of the famine, in 1845, the basis of
comparison. We write from Ire-
land, with tilt amplest knowledge
of our subject, and, as we hope,
having no object in view save a full
and clear statement of the main
facts necessary for its elucidation.
We have travelled over every pro-
vince, every county, every parish,
every locality of its soil ; are inti-
mate with every phase of its his-
tory and every section of its popu-
lation, and feel every throb of its
national life. Yet we invite the
fullest criticism of our attempt to
discuss the present condition of
Ireland from a scientific, a truthful,
and an impartial stand-point. No-
where out of Ireland is such dis-
cussion more desirable or more
difficult than in the United States.
The republic contains about the

same number of Irish, by birth or
by descent, that remain in the old
country. The emigrants of the
famine period left under dire pres-
sure, the origin of which is not
fully understood abroad. In the
forty-four years 1801-1845 the
population of Ireland increased
from 5,216,329 to 8,295,061, or by
3,078,732 persons — an increase of
fifty-nine per cent. Emigration
was throughout that period incon-
siderable; in the decade 1831-41
it was only 403,459, or about 40,000
a year ; in the next four years it
fell to little over half that average ;
while in the year 1-843, when
O'Connell led the great agitation
for repeal of the Union, only 13,026
persons left the country, being the
lowest on record. Although the
potato blight appeared in 1845, it
was not until 1847 that the 'horrors
of the famine and of emigration
assumed their most awful aspect.
In the single year 1847, that of
O'Connell's death, there was a loss
of population of 262,574, or three
per cent., by the conjoint action of
emigration and the excess of deaths
over births ; while in the next four
years the aggregate decrease readi-
ed 1,510,801 persons — little short of
nineteen per cent, of the whole po-
pulation. The following, table ex-
hibits the estimated population at
the middle of the year relating to
our inquiry :

YEAR

DECREASE.

PERSONS.

PER CEXT.

i84S

8.295,061

1846

8,287,848

7)21?

O.og

i847

8,025,274

2^2,574

3-'

1848

7,639,800

385,474

4.8

1849

7,256,3'4

3^3-43°

5-0

1850

6,877.549

378,765

5-'

1851

6,5M.473

363.076

5-t

1861

5,778,415

736058

"•3

1871

5,395,007

383,408

6.6

1875

5.3<-9,494

85,513

I.O

1876

5,321,618

—

1877

5,338,906

—

Ireland in 1878.

723

Over the whole period from 1845
to 1875 population decreased, but
the rate of decline diminished
after 1851. In the thirty years
there was a loss of 2,973,443 — near-
ly 100,000 annually, or thirty-six per
cent, of the inhabitants. The year
1876 is memorable as the starting-
point of reactionary improvement.
For the first time during a genera-
tion emigration has so diminish-
ed that the natural increase of
births over deaths added 10,352 to
the population in 1876, and 17,288
in 1877. Increase must hence-
forth be the normal law of popu-
lation, but it is never again likely
to reach the rate it attained in the
thirty years 1801-31, when it ex-
panded about fourteen per cent,
each decade, or an increase of
nearly one in seven every ten
years.

We are now to inquire into the
main causes of these terrible calami-
ties, strange and conflicting expla-
nations of which are advanced by
public writers in the United States
and other countries. One flippant,
fertile, and accepted theory is the
peculiar proneness of the Irish to
contention and disunion — a theory
generally credited as sound by
those ignorant of history or those
prejudiced against the Irish race.
We shall adduce a few broad and
suggestive facts in disproof of this
theory. Can any nation exhibit a
nobler proof of unity than the Bre-
hon laws, or Seanchtts Mor, which
prevailed universally in Ireland
for centuries before the Christian
era, until revised by St. Patrick
and the Christian kings, and which
continued in force throughout the
country, save the small patch call-
ed the Pale, until the seventeenth
century, while the traditions and
principles of that code yet influ-

ence the people after a lapse of
twenty to five-and-twenty centu-
ries ? And so as regards the tena-
city with which, for ages, the people
have adhered to the use of the Gael-
ic or native tongue, still spoken by
little short of a million of the in-
habitants, after the Greeks, the Ro-
mans, the French, the Spaniards,
the Britons, and the Scotch have
mainly abandoned the primitive
tongues of their ancestors. All
pagan Ireland was converted to
Christianity by one man — an exam-
ple of unity and docility without
parallel in the history of the human
race. Ireland, like France, Eng-
land, and other countries, was rav-
aged by the Danish and Norse
invaders, yet the Irish defeated and
expelled them in 1014, long before
the Gauls or the Saxons had ban-
ished or crushed them in Norman-
dy or in England. Towards the
close of the twelfth century the
Anglo-Normans found partial foot-
ing in Ireland, yet for seven hun-
dred years the native race have
opposed their rule, and oppose it
to-day — an example of unity and
persistency unsurpassed in the
world. The English, the Scotch,
and most of the nations in the
north and northwest of Europe
abandoned their ancient faith and
accepted the Protestant Reforma-
tion, at the bidding of their sove-
reigns, in the sixteenth century ;
while Catholic Ireland, in defiance
of penal laws that plundered pro-
perty, denied education, reduced
the people almost to barbarism, and
sent them to the scaffold for ad-
herence to their church, has re-
mained, through centuries of suf-
fering, loyal to conscience, and by
unity, fidelity, and perseverance
lias effected the overthrow of the
Protestant Church Establishment

724

Ireland in 1878.

of the Tudors. Proud and great
memories these for the Irish na-
tion— memories sufficient to dis-
prove the shallow and unfounded
charge that to disunion, peculiar
to their race, must be attributed
the sad and chequered history of
the country. While if we turn to
all other kingdoms at correspond-
ing- periods, even to the present
time, we find analogous internal
strife and domestic political fac-
tions as numerous and as intense
as any in Ireland. England, Scot-
land, the several British colonies,
France, Germany, Italy, Spain,
Holland, and the United States
were quite as much torn by inter-
nal dissension as Ireland, and are
so at the present day ; so that this
hypothesis is wholly unfounded
and quite inadequate to account
for the disastrous decadence, or at
least want of progress, of Ireland,
compared in many respects with
other countries.

The causes of Irish discontent
and comparative social backward-
ness are remote, chronic, and cu-
mulative. From the arrival of the
Anglo-Normans in 1 1 69 to the defeat
of the Irish in the Williamite war,
near the close of the seventeenth
century, one clear purpose was kept
in view by the aliens — the extirpa-
tion of the natives from ownership
and even occupancy of the soil. At-
tainders, escheatments, plantations,
transplantations, and settlements —
all had the same purpose. Penal
Laws, the Court of Wards, and dire
persecution had driven the Catho-
lic natives from proprietorship, and
almost from occupancy, of the soil.
Cupidity led many Cromwellian
and planter landlords to baffle the
Penal Laws and pocket the higher
rents offered by popish recusants.
Protestants of the humbler classes

complained that the protection
promised and due to them as of
right in the English interest was
denied and defeated by the planter
and palatine landlords in prefer-
ring popish tenants whose lower
standard of living and degraded
social caste enabled them to pay a
higher rent than Protestant tenants,
who claimed, by right of class, a
better mode of living. Thus robbed
and deprived of their estates, de-
nied leases, and rackrented by mid-
dlemen and others, the mass of the
Irish people before the famine
were mere squatters on the soil,
neither owners nor, in any true
sense, occupiers.

Catholics were emancipated in
1829 and rendered admissible to
almost all the offices in the state ;
they obtained an instalment of edu-
cational concession in 1831, and a
modification of the grinding op-
pression of the tithe system and the
Protestant Church Establishment
a few years afterwards ; a Poor
Law, directed by a London board,
was passed in 1838, and corporate
reform was granted in 1840; but
these and other remedial measures,
in operation for a few years, could
effect little towards the elevation
of a people impoverished and de-
graded by centuries of foreign and
crushing legislation.

From an economic and industrial
stand-point the condition of Catho-
lics, in relation to land, was the
chief cause of the wretchedness of
the country. The agricultural la-
borers were in the lowest social
state in Europe, scarcely excepting
the Russian serfs. Employment
was precarious and rarely secured
a higher average wages than six-
pence to eightpence a day, or
scarcely a dollar a week. From
Connaught a large number went to

Ireland in 1878.

725

England for some weeks at the
hay, corn, and potato harvests,
where they earned what paid the
rent of the cabin and the potato-
plot ; while many of the cotters and
small farmers were little better in
position. A few facts from the cen-
sus of 1841 and 1851 will suffice to
illustrate the large number and the
terrible fate of these classes, as in-
dicated by the grades of house
accommodation before and after
the famine :

184

185

TION.

HOUSES.

FEZ
CENT.

HOUSES.

PER
CENT.

First class

31,333

2.1

39,370

3-3

16.4

292,280

24.3

Third class

574,^86

39-°

588,440

48.9

Fourth (cabin) class

625,356

42.5

284,229

=3-5

Total

1.472 739

IOO.

i, 204 ,3 '9

IOO.

Here we see that, seemingly in
ten but really in five years, no less
than 341, 127 fourth-class houses —
mud, sod, or stone, thatched cabins
with only a single apartment — were
swept away, inhabited by that num-
ber of families, which included
about 1,800,000 persons; wliile the
table of population above given
shows that in these years the esti-
mated decrease was 1,780,588 — a
striking concurrence between both.
Another proof as regards the class
swept away is found in the follow-
ing table of agricultural holdings,
grouped by extent, in 1841 and
1851:

HOLDINGS.

1841.

1851.

Not exceeding one acre —

Not known.

37,728
88,083

Five to fifteen acres
Fifteen to thirty acres

252.799
79,342
48,625

191,854
141,3"
149 090

Total

691,203

608,066

Excluding the very large number
of holdings under an acre not as-
certained in 1841, we find the dis-
appearance in that decade, or rather
in half of it, of 222,353 tenements
between one and five acres, which
represents a diminished population
of 1,200,000 persons. The de-
crease of 60,945, in the tenements
from five to fifteen acres, represent-
ing about 320,000 people, is por-
tion of this same subject. If we
now turn to another head of evi-
dence we find that the population
was thinned from the least educat-
ed classes. The census of 1841
returned fifty-three per cent, of the
whole population, aged five years
and upwards, as illiterate, being
unable to read or write, while the
return for 1851 showed a decrease
to forty-seven per cent; and
turning to the great decrease in the
percentage of the Irish-speaking
population between 1841 and 1851,
we find similar results. Lastly,
the creed census demands atten-
tion.

The first taken in Ireland was
that by the Royal Commission of
Public Instruction in 1834, when,
of a population of 7,954,100, it
was found there were 6,436,000,
or 80.9 per cent., Catholics; while
the followers of the intruded
Anglican Church, established for
three centuries, numbered only 853,-
160, or 10.7 per cent. The ad-
herents of the Scotch Presbyte-
rian Church, endowed by the state,
though not established, 643,058, or
8.1 per cent.; and all other Pro-
testant dissenters mustered only
21,822 or 0.3 per cent. Between
1834 and 1845, when the pota-
to blight first appeared, the popu-
lation had increased from 7,954,-
100 to 8,295,061, during which
period of eleven years there are

726

Ireland in 1878.

ample evidences to prove that the
Catholic element underwent a lar-
ger increase than the Protestant, so
that we may fairly assume the whole
population in 1845 to have been
thus composed :

PER CENT.

Catholics 6,760,475 815

Protestants 1,534,586 18.5

, Total 8,295,061 too.

These millions of Catholics, em-
ancipated only sixteen years, were
the descendants of the natives who
for over six centuries had bat-
tled against English domination;
whose estates and lands had been
wrested from them and given to
soldiers and adventurers from Eng-
land and Scotland — "the scum of
both nations"; whose ancient church
had been despoiled of her property ;
to whom education was denied
and the profession of their faith
made penal; whose manufacturing
industries were suppressed by Eng-
lish laws ; who were excluded from
all offices, civil and military, and
from all social rank and distinction,
and denied not alone a seat in
Parliament for 137 years, 1692 to
1829, but from 1727 to 1793, a period
of 66 years, the right to vote.

Such is a broad outline of the
main facts concerning the popula-
tion of Ireland in 1845, as to quan-
tity and quality. We must, how-
ever, supplement these by a few
particulars.

From one-third to one-half the
rental of the kingdom went to ab-
sentee and alien landlords, who
spent it in England or on the Con-
tinent. The imperial taxes borne
by Ireland were in excess of her
capacity and in violation of the ar-
ticles of the Act of Union. All the
state departments had their head-
quarters in London, while Ireland

had slender share either in the
appropriating or the enjoyment of
those taxes. The local taxation,
through grand jury and other cess,
was enormous, but levied and ap-
propriated by the country gentry,
all predominantly Protestant. The
county officers, the grand jury,
the jail, the lunatic asylum, in-
firmary, and poor-law union boards
were almost exclusively Protes-
tant. The corporations, reform-
ed by statute in 1840, were still
Protestant. One or two Catholic
judges had reached the bench,
as O'Loghlen, and many Catho-
lics were pressing to the front
at the bar and in medicine, while
in all the professions, in trade, and
in commerce Catholic influence
was beginning to be felt. Catho-
lics had, it is true, only trifling
share in the administration of the
government and the laws. They
had little representation in the
magistracy or on the grand juries;
while jury-packing was the normal
condition of the administration of
justice. The Orange system, stim-
ulated by the triumph of Catholic
emancipation, was rampant and ag-
gressive at the prospect of social
equality.

Yet, amidst such disadvantages,
Ireland, in the two or three years
before the famine, presented a
moral and political spectacle such
as the modern world had never
witnessed. O'Connell, the greatest
political leader of this century, led
the millions of Irish people in their
demand for justice to Ireland. He
claimed the restoration of the leg-
islative independence of Ireland
as it existed from 1782 to 1801, or
a repeal of the Act of Union. His
efforts towards that object, the mil-
lions who rose to support him, and
the moral, intellectual, and national

Ireland in 1878.

727

sympathy that his demand elicited,
are perfectly well known. The
famine appeared in 1845 and blast-
ed the whole agitation, while
O'Connell died at Genoa, May
15, 1847, when the country that
he wildly, passionately loved was
in the throes of the famine, the
horrors of which O'Connell vainly
endeavored to avert by appeals for
substantial relief to the British
government. The present prime
minister of England, the Earl of
Beaconsfield, declared in the House
of Commons, in reference to Ire-
land, on the opening of the famine,
that for a country with an absentee
proprietary, an alien established
church, and a population starving
or fleeing the country, most Eng-
lishmen can see but one remedy,
and that revolution.

The great Irish famine, contra-
ry to popular opinion, was exceed-
ed by many visitations of the
kind in India and elsewhere, and
perhaps equalled by some that
had occurred even in Ireland, so
far as extent of mortality is con-
cerned; but, measured by the ag-
gregate of its social and economic
effects, no such disaster is record-
ed in history. The mortality was
considerably less than was suppos-
ed— that is, of deaths caused di-
rectly by starvation, suffering, and
sickness arising out of the famine.
Dysentery, diarrhoea, fever, cholera
— all supervened. Workhouse ac-
commodation failed, notwithstand-
ing the utilization, as auxiliary hous-
es, of nearly all the idle and abandon-
ed stores in cities and towns, and of
large numbers of rural mansions
deserted by the country gentry.
All the habits, feelings, and tradi-
tions of the Irish nation were op-
posed to a poor-law. Passed in
1838, although a poor-law had

been in operation in England from
1601, it was only in 1847, the third
year of the famine, that the last of
the 131 Irish work-houses was
opened, in Clifden, Connemara,
and then by mandamus of the
Queen's Bench. In 1844, the
year before the appearance of the
potato blight, there were only 113
workhouses open, with an aggre-
gate of 105,358 paupers relieved
that year at an expense of $1,085,-
336. In 1847 the number reliev-
ed in the workhouses, auxiliaries
included, was 417,139, or nearly
fourfold, while the expenditure was
$3,214,744, or threefold. The en-
tire Poor-Law Act and the work-
house system utterly broke down
under pressure of the mass of des-
titution. That act was adminis-
tered from Somerset House, Lon-
don, under an English commission,
from 1838 to 1847. All the lead-
ingofficers, assistant commissioners,
and others were sent from Eng-
land to carry out a law amongst
a people of whose feelings and so-
cial circumstances they were tho-
roughly ignorant, and to their race
and faith were totally opposed.
That act expressly denied out-door
relief, in any form or towards any
destitution, how acute soever, in
Ireland; while out-door relief was
the general and normal form of
poor relief in England for centu-
ries, and continues so at present.
The law was framed so as to throw
the whole influence of its adminis-
tration into the hands of the land-
lords and magistracy, or their
agents, the vast majority of whom
were planters and Cromwellians,
hostile in faith and feeling to the
destitute classes. A temporary
Poor Relief Extension Act, passed
June 8, 1847, was necessitated, or
the destitute classes must have

728

Ireland in 1878.

seized in self-defence the cattle,
corn, and other edibles abounding
in the country to prevent starvation.
Out-door relief was permitted, but
should be administered solely in
food ; while the able-bodied recipi-
ents were subjected to severe tests
of stone-breaking or other unpro-
ductive labor. The tenth section
of this act was the infamous quar-
ter-acre clause, which declared that,

" If an}' person so occupying more than
the quarter of a statute acre (less than
thirty-five yards square) shall apply for
relief, or if any person on his behalf shall
apply for relief, it shall not be lawful for
any Board of Guardians to grant such re-
liff, within or without the workhouse, to
any such person."

This horrible clause gave the
alternative of death or the surren-
der of their cabins, cottages, and
small farms to the tens, the hun-
dreds of thousands who occupied
the humbler allotments and home-
steads in Ireland. If they refused
to surrender possession to the land-
lord, they perished, relief being de-
nied them ; while if they yielded,
the crowded workhouse, with a
weekly mortality of twenty-five in
every one thousand inmates, preci-
pitated them from the trap-coffin,
often unshrived and always un-
shrouded, into the common fosse
without a semblance of Christian
burial. As an adjunct to the
quarter-acre clause, and further
to effect the clearance of the mass
of the laboring and industrious class-
es, urban as well as rural, occupiers
rated at under twenty-five dollars
who surrendered their holdings,
whether held on lease or otherwise,
to their landlords, were, with their
families, assisted to emigrate, two-
thirds of the expenses of the same to
be borne on the rates of the elec-
toral division, the other third by

the landlord. And to complete
and give effect to these provisions
for the death or the extermination
of the population, the landlords
were secured, by a radical change
in the act of 1838, a monopoly in the
whole administration of relief. Un-
der that act each Board of Guardians
consisted of three-fourths elected
members and one-fourth ex-officio
members, being magistrates resi-
dent in the union ; whereas, by an
amendment introduced into the act
of 1847 the proportion of ex-officio
members is doubled, being increas-
ed from one-fourth to one-half the
whole strength of the board. With
a full moiety of the members of the
landlord class, the territorial influ-
ence through the multiple vote,
which gives rated property from
one to six votes, and also voting
by proxy, the land magnates are
always able to command, if not a
majority, at least a large number, of
seats amongst the elected guardians,
and thus secure dominance in the
administration of the whole poor-
law.

Under the original act of 1838
the incidence of the poor's rate
was divided equally between the
occupier and the owner, while oc-
cupiers whose tenements were below
twenty-five dollars annual valuation
were exempt, the rate being charg-
ed to the landlord ; and, moreover,
a clause declared that any contract
made between owner and occupier
which would release the former
from liability to a moiety of the
poor's rate was null and void. The
landlord added, of course, the rates
to the rent, save in the case of
the small number of tenants hold-
ing under lease, so that the whole
cost of relief fell on the occupier;
while a clause in the Poor Law
Amendment Act passed hi 1849 re-

Ireland in 1878.

729

pealed the annulling provision of
the act of 1838, and legalized the
enabling power of the tenant to
contract himself, under compul-
sion, out of the protection secured
to him that property should bear a
moiety; of the cost of poor relief.
We may mention that the savage
quarter-acre clause continued in
operation from 1847 until partially
repealed in 1862, a period of fifteen
years, during which it quenched
many a hearth, dismantled thousands
of roof-trees, and sent more than a
million of the Irish race to the
grave or as scattered exiles over
the face of the globe. In 1862, its
fell purpose fulfilled, it was par-
tially repealed, to the extent that
destitute persons, although occu-
piers of a quarter of an acre of
land, may be relieved, but in the
workhouse only j so that still a cot-
ter with forty perches of a garden,
or a small farmer, suffering under
temporary distress from failure of
crop, sickness, or accident, must
either surrender his little holding
and enter the workhouse, or starve
under the scheme of legal charity
devised to extirpate the Irish from
the soil of which their ancestors
had been robbed through ages.

We write fact and law, and repu-
diate all but sober statement in our
attempt to illustrate the present po-
sition of the Irish people. In the
most acute throes of the famine,
July 22, 1847, an act was passed
for the punishment of vagrants and
persons offending against the laws
in force for the relief of the poor
in Ireland — an act worthy of the
worst days of Nero or Diocletian.
Let us inquire what was the condi-
tion of the country when this act
was passed. At the end of Febru-
ary that year there were 116,321
inmates in receipt of relief in the

workhouses, and in July there were
10,000 cases of fever, apart from
other terrible diseases, in those in-
stitutions, the mortality being enor-
mous. Under the Temporary Relief
Act there were issued, July 3, rations
equal to the support of 3,020,712
persons. Yet the Vagrant Act in-
flicted imprisonment in a common
jail and hard labor for a month
upon any person "placing himself
in any public place, street, highway,
court, or passage to beg or gather
alms," with the same punishment
for removing from one poor-law un-
ion, or even one electoral division,
to another for the purpose of relief.
More than half the population were
then in receipt of relief, a vast
portion of them being engaged upon
relief works, which necessitated the
migration to considerable distances
of the male heads of families. Yet
a clause in this act imposed impri-
sonment for three months, with
hard labor, for desertion or wilful
neglect of a family by its head —
desertion that might have arisen
from removal for some miles to
another union or electoral division,
in order to provide food for them.

Ireland was one uncovered la-
zar-house in 1847. We write from
vivid and painful remembrance of
personal travel of 5,000 to 10,000
miles yearly, in an official capacity,
over the most afflicted of the fa-
mine-stricken districts, from Water-
ford round to Sligo, during that
and subsequent years up to 1858.
We visited every workhouse, every
auxiliary, every fever hospital, eve-
ry relief depot, every soup-kitchen,
every centre of public works, by
way of relief, every missionary sta-
tion for proselytizing purposes,
every ragged-school, every jail,
and made a minute personal survey
of the most distressed localities in

730

Ireland in 1878,

the south and west of Ireland in
1847 and throughout the famine.
Holding an important commission
from the government, we had ac-
cess to and command of sources of
reliable information open to few,
while we had personal communica-
tion with the chief officers of seve-
ral public departments that enabled
us to understand thoroughly the
precise condition of the suffering
classes throughout the whole pe-
riod of acute distress in Ireland.
Charged, unsolicited, by the gov-
ernment with a special inquiry
connected with the condition of the
destitute and criminal classes which
embraced the whole kingdom, ow-
ing to experience acquired during
the famine period, we visited offi-
cially every county, every diocese,
every poor-law union, every parish
in Ireland, and willingly place the
results of that experience before
the readers of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. The history of the famine
is yet to be written, and, if not soon
prepared, the records of personal
experience will be lost, and a relia-
ble account of it rendered impossi-
ble. When political factions in the
United States traduce the Irish
race, and when factions in the se-
veral British colonies do likewise,
as regards .Irish immigrants, they
do so ignorant, it is to be hoped,
of the precise circumstances under
which these immigrants reached
those countries during pressure
of the famine. We have treated
the amount of decline of popu-
lation in Ireland, and the social
quality of that decline, in this
article. The decrease" of popula-
tion directly through the famine
is, as we have said, exaggerated.
The census commissioners of 1851
set down the deaths from extraor-
dinary causey between 1841 and

1851, or rather from 1845, as fol-
lows :

Deaths from fever 222,029

Deaths from dissentery and diarrhoea I34-35S

Deaths from cholera 35,989

Deaths from starvation 21.770

Total 414,143

These figures, sad and enormous
as they are, we are prepared to show
are an entire understatement of
the true facts of the case. The
whole condition of society below
the middle classes was disorganized
and demoralized. Panic and para-
lysis seized the" entire population.
The dependent perished at home
or in the workhouses, while those
with means to emigrate fled the
country. Flying from famine, fever,
and pestilence, these reluctant emi-
grants, numbers of whom perished
before settlement, have helped to
lay the foundation of the prosperity
of the United States and of the
British colonies. The author of
the Record of the O'Connell Cente-
nary, describing the character of the
early Irish emigrants, says, with
great truth and force :

" Snatched from rough rural labor,
little skilled in handicraft, a very large
number wholly illiterate, and many un-
able to speak any tongue save the
native Gaelic ; nearly half of them fe-
males, without that cultured training in
domestic service required by other coun-
tries ; a heavy, helpless juvenile element
hanging on them ; intensely clannish, yet
removed from those tribal and religious
standards of morality and social life
which powerfully influence the Irish a
home ; memory saddened with the re
collection of the roofless cabin and the
loved little ancestral farm lost for ever,
the dead who had been starved at home
or fell in fever, the dear relatives who
sought the shelter of the workhouse, but
through whose trap-coffin they were pre-
cipitated into the famine fosse without
shroud or requiem ; and the uncertainty of
despair as to the living remnant of the

The Blessed Virgin.

family left behind — agonized by such
feelings, the millions were hastily de-
ported on the shores of America,
Australia, and New Zealand, objects of
sympathy and affection to the generous,
of pity to the benevolent, of alarm and
horror to the timid, of contempt to the
misanthropic, and of scorn and hatred to
the enemies of the race and faith of the
Irish nation. Never before was specta-
cle so sad, so gigantic, so appalling sub-
mitted to the contemplation of humani-
ty ; the history of Ireland was dramatized
throughout Christendom, and its tragic
story personated on every hospitable
shore on both hemispheres, when Moore's

prediction was literally and amply ful-
filled :

' ' The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plain ;
The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep. ' ' '

We have given an outline sketch
of the condition of Ireland just be-
fore and irr the early stages of the
famine ; in our next we shall en-
deavor to trace what progress she
has made from that sad period to
her present improved position in
1878.

THE BLESSED VIRGIN.

LIKE chants which fade yet linger still to bless,
While float their formless notes of joy or dole,
So thought doth grieve for words beyond control,
That to itself it may thy charms confess,
And tell each grace with joyous eagerness,
As did the morning stars their anthems roll,
Or as the angels greet a ransom'd soul.
Such tongues alone could paint the loveliness
Which o'er thy face in sad, sweet beauty smiled ;
As though in unseen wingings, ever near,
The Dove had coo'd a legend in thine ear
Of some rare tenderness to grief beguiled —
Perchance of love which bought redemption dear,
With all its cost of sorrow to thy Child.

732

A)noiig the Translators.

AMONG THE TRANSLATORS.

VIRGIL AND HORACE — III.

THE work of translation seems in
an odd way to enlist that mimetic
impulse which is so strong an ele-
ment of human nature, and which
is- really at the bottom of so much
of human rivalry. To wish to do
as much as others in any given
line of effort is but an after-thought,
a secondary motion of the mind;
the initial instinct is to do the same
as they. That men do not rest
at this ; that they are not content
with merely duplicating what they
see done about them, like the late
lamented Mr. Pongo ; that they are
for ever seeking " to better their
instruction," is due to that further
instinctive yearning for perfection
which helps to differentiate them
from Mr. Pongo, and interferes so
sadly with many most ingenious and
scientific schemes for recreating the
universe without a Creator. All
literatures, it may be said, all poets,
begin with translation — that is, with
imitation of some other literature
or poet. Alcaeus and Sophron, no
doubt, are but Horace and Theocri-
tus to the unknown who went be-
fore them; Homer is first, doubt-
less, only because we know not the
greater than Homer — rapt from us
by the irrevocable years — whom
Homer may have copied, as Virgil
copied Homer.

This, however, is a law of litera-
ture which was known as long ago
as the days of Solomon, at least.
What is not so obvious, and even
more curious as well as more to the
present point, is why translators
under certain conditions should be
so fond of repeating one another in
regard to any particular bit of work.

For a generation or so some one of
the poets who are the favorite ob-
jects of the translator's zeal will be
neglected and seemingly forgotten.
Then some day appears a version
which attracts attention and gets
talked of, 2J\&,presto! a dozen pens
are in eager chase to rival or sur-
pass it. Now it is Homer which is
thus brought into notice, and we
have Professor Newman, Lord Der-
by, Mr. Wright, Mr. Worsley, Mr.
Dart, Professor Blackie, Mr. Bry-
ant— what muse shall catalogue
the host? — giving us in quick suc-
cession and in every kind of metr^
their versions of the Iliad or Odys-
sey, or both ? Again it is Virgil, and
within a brief interval Professor
Conington, Mr. Morris, and Mr.
Cranch have done the sEneid
into English. Or once more Hor-
ace sways the hour, and in a twink-
ling or thereabouts a dozen trans-
lations of the Odes are smoking hot
from the press on the critic's table,
and bewildering him to choose
among their various merits. With-
in the last half-century, nay, within
the last twenty-five years, we have
seen just this revolution. Is it be-
cause our own is so peculiarly one
of those transitional periods in the
history of a literature which are
most favorable to translation — in-
deed, most provocative of it ; one
of those intervals when the national
imagination is, as it were, lying
fallow after the exhaustion of some
great creative epoch, and intellectual
effort takes chiefly the form of criti-
cism, which in one sense translation
is ? Well, such generalizations are
as perilous as they are fascinating

Among the

and we must not yield to them too
rashly. In this case, if we did yield,
we should be told, no doubt, that
translation was no more a peculiar-
ity of a transitional period than of a
creative one ; that the notion of such
divisions in the history of a litera-
ture is preposterous and but an-
other invention of the arch-enemy,
like comparative philology and the
Eastern question, to set the mildest
and wisest of sages — even ourselves,
beloved reader — thirsting for each
other's blood ; or that, finally, an
epoch which has produced Tenny-
son and Browning, De Vere and
Arnold, Swinburne, Morris, and
Rossetti, and — let nothing tempt
us back to our own side of the At-
lantic, where poets grow like pump-
kins, big and little, in every garden
patch ; yet surely, if originality
goes for anything, we may add —
Tupper — that a time so prolific of
poetic genius is not to be counted
a transitional period at all.

This, or something like it, we
should no doubt hear, if we ventur-
ed upon putting forth as our own
the enticing proposition we have
but modestly thrown out as a sug-
gestion to the reader. And if we
were not withheld by that provi-
dential want of time and opportu-
nity which so often saves us from
our rasher selves, we should no
doubt go on to make the venture
even now : to assert that, in spite of
Tennyson and Browning, in spite
even of Matthew Arnold — in one
sense a truer voice of his time than
either of them — in spite of the pagan
and mediaeval renaissance piloted
by that wonderfully clever coterie
of the Rossettis, the present can in
no sense be called a creative epoch
in our literature, as we call creative
the two epochs of which Shakspere
and Wordsworth are, broadly speak-
ing, the representative names — re-

Translators.

733

presentative, however, in different
ways and in widely different de-
grees ; that it is, on the contrary, a
true transitional period, as the period
of Pope and Dryden was transitional,
and for analogous reasons ; and that,
because it is so, the art of transla-
tion flourishes now as then. Nor
should we forget, in saying this, the
numerous translations which mark-
ed the Elizabethan era. But it is
to be noted that while all, or near-
ly all, the then extant classics were
turned into English before the close
of the Elizabethan era, transla-
tions of any one of them were not re-
peated, and precisely for this reason :
that the age, being a creative epoch,
made its main effort in the direc-
tion of knowledge, and not of criti-
cism— sought to acquire ideas, and
not to arrange them, as was the
case with the translating periods
which came after it. Then, too, it
was the virtual beginning of our
literature, when translation, as we
have said, came natural to it.
Chaucer two hundred years before
was a creative poet, if the term may
be used, in a time that was not
creative, a time that was not his; a
time whose sluggishness not even
his pregnant genius could inform;
Chaucer was the glad premature
swallow of a lingering, long- delay-
ing spring, whose settled sunshine
came to us only with Spenser's
later bird-song,

" Preluding those melodious bursts that fill

The spacious times of great Elizabeth
With sounds that echo still."

Milton may be said to have con-
cluded, as Spenser preluded, that
mighty time, without fairly belong-
ing to it. They belonged rather to
each other. " Milton has owned to
me," says Dryden, " that his origi-
nal was Spenser." They were the
epilogue and the prologue of that
mighty opening chorus of our lite-

734

Among the Translators.

rature, in which the translators,
too, had their parts, but only as
prompters to the great singers, to
help them to add to their native
melody here and there some sweet-
ness of a foreign note.

The time of critical translation, of
translation for its own sake, as an art,
came in only with Dryden — perhaps,
on the whole, the greatest of the
transition poets. Then, too, transla-
tors began first to repeat each other's
work. Before the year 1580 most
of the classic poets had been trans-
lated into English verse. They
were not duplicated, because, as
we have said, the time wanted first
of all the knowledge of them, and it
was not fastidious as to the shape
in which it came. For a hundred
years after its appearance Phaer's
version of the dLneid had no rival.
Then came Vicars', only to disap-
pear almost as quickly. Doubly
lapped in lead, it sank at once in
that Stygian pool where Dulness
tries the weight of her favorites,
and there it has since remained, like
Prospero's book and staff, drowned

" Deeper than did ever plummet sound."

Undeterred by this untoward
fate, John Ogilby brought out his
translation soon after, first at Cam-
bridge and again in London, "adorn-
ed with sculptures and illustrated
with annotations " — " the fairest edi-
tion," grave Anthony a Wood assures
us, " that till then the English press
ever produced." This gorgeous
work, pronounced by Pope to be
below criticism, nevertheless went
through four editions before de-
scending to the congenial fellow-
ship of Vicars under the forgetful
wave — a proof how much a good
English version of the &neid was
desired. Ogilby had been a danc-
ing-master, and perhaps learned

in his profession to rival Lucilius,
who

" In hora saepe ducentos
Ut magnum versus dictabat stans pede in ur.o." *

At all events, although he took to
literature late in life — he was past
forty before he learned Latin or
Greek — he was a prodigious author,
as we learn from the Dunciad :

" Here groans the shelf with Ogilby the great.''

Besides translating remorselessly
everything he could lay hands on,
from Homer to y£sop, he found time
to write various heroic poems, and
had even completed an epic in
twelve books on Charles I., when
fate took pity on his fellows and
sent the great fire of London to the
rescue. Phillips, in the Thcatruin
Poetarum, styles Ogilby a prodigy,
and avers that his " Paraphrase on
^sop's Fables " " is generally con-
fessed to have exceeded whatever
hath been donebefore in that kind, "f
As Milton's nephew can scarcely
be suspected of a joke, we must
conclude that this is not one of the
critical judgments which Milton
inspired. Nevertheless, Ogilby's
translations and paraphrases pro-
cured him a " genteel livelihood "
which many better poems have
failed to do for their authors.

Neither Vicars nor Ogilby, how-
ever, was of sufficient note, nor
had their labors sufficient vitality, to
set the current of translation fairly
going. That was reserved for Dry-
den, whose famous work came out
in 1697. Dryden had all thequali-

* " Who, perched on one foot, as though 'twere

a feat,

Some hundreds of verses an hour would repeat."
— Horat , Sat. i. 4, 9.

t A couplet from this great work is quoted in the
Dunciad :

" So when Jove's block descended from on high
(As sings thy great forefather, Ogilby),
Loud thunder to its bottom shook the bog,
And the hoarse nation croaked, "God save King
Log!"

Among the Translators.

735

fications necessary to ensure him
a full harvest of imitation and ri-
valry at once. He was the most
famous poet and critic of his day,
and in either capacity had found
means to excite abundance of jeal-
ousies and resentments. Moreover,
his change of religion, and the
vigor with which he had espoused
the Catholic cause in his Hind ami
Panther, made him many additional
enemies. So it is not to be won-
dered at that when, as Pope puts it,

" Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose
In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaux,"

the parsons led the onslaught.
First came Parson Milbourn, " the
fairest of critics," who printed his
own version side by side with the
one he found fault with, and whom
Dulness also promptly claimed for
her own. Then Dr. Brady, giving
over to his worthy coadjutor, Tate,
for the nonce the herculean task of
promoting Sternhold and Hopkins
to be next to the worst poets in the
world, devoted himself to the equal-
ly gigantic labor of proving that
there was a work he could translate
more abominably than the Psalms.
His version in blank-verse, "when
dragged into the light," says Dr.
Johnson, "did not live long enough
to cry." Then Dr. Trapp, the Ox-
ford professor of poetry — majora
viribus audens — rushed to the at-
tack and did the ^Eneid into, if
possible, still blanker verse than
his predecessor's. It was he who
said of Dryden's version " that where
Dryden shines most we often see
the least of Virgil." This was true
enough ; and it was, no doubt, to
avoid the like reproach that the
good doctor forbore to shine at
all. On him was made the well-
known epigram apropos of a cer-
tain poem said to be better than
Virgil :

" Better than Virgil ? Ve», perhaps ;
But then, by Jove, 'tis Dr. Trapp's !'

This is only another form of Bent-
ley's famous judgment: "A very
pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but you
must not call it Homer." The doc-
tor has had no better luck than his
fellows.

" Olli dura quies ocu'os et ferreus urguet

Somnus ; in auernam clauduntur lumina ncctem."*

These efforts of the parsons,
however, were no doubt inspired
at least as much by odium theologi-
cum as by the genuine impulse of
emulation. The first true exem-
plification of this came about 1729
with the version of Pitt,f whose
choice of Dryden's couplet was a
direct challenge. Johnson's esti-
mate of the success of this rivalry
is not, on the whole, unfair — or, at
least, as fair as such comparisons
often are. " Dryden," he says,
"leads the reader forward by his
general vigor and sprightliness,
and Pitt often stops him to contem-
plate the excellence of a single
couplet; Dryden's faults are forgot-
ten in the hurry of delight, and
Pitt's beauties neglected in the lan-
guor of a cold and listless perusal ;
Pitt pleases the critics and Dryden
the people ; Pitt is quoted and
Dryden read." Dryden, however,
is probably oftener read nowadays
than Pitt is quoted. It is some-
thing to be a poet after all, and in
the exchange of translation we
allow for the purity of his metal
and the beauty of his coinage.
Most of us would rather have the
gold of Dryden, though it fall a

* " And iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed

down his eyes,
And shut were they for ever more by night that

never dies."
— /Entid^ x. 745-7,6, Morris' translation.

t The translation of the Earl of Lauderdale ap-
peared before Pitt's, but it was really completed be-
fore Dryden's, and the latter had the use of it in
MSS. in preparing his own, as he admits in his pre-
face. Some three or four hundred of the earl's lines
were adopted by Dryden without change.

736

Among the Translators.

piece or two short in the reckoning,
than the small change of Pitt, though
every silver sixpence and copper
farthing be accounted for.

Other translations of the ALneid
there were during the eighteenth
century, among them one by an-
other Oxford professor of poetry,
Hawkins, but none have survived.
Pope's translation of Homer, which
was published soon after Pitt's
s£neie/, diverted attention to the
Greek poet, and gave him with trans-
lators a pre-eminence over his Latin
rival which only within a few years
he can be said to have lost. Pope
had no imitators, however, till long
after. Even more absolutely than
Dryden he swayed the sceptre of
poetry in his time; and the pre-
sumptuous wight who had ventured
to challenge his sovereignty or to
measure strength with " that poeti-
cal wonder, the translation of the
Iliad, a performance which no age
or nation can pretend to rival,"
gods — critical gods — and men and
booksellers would have laughed to
scorn. It is true, Addison, that
most uneasy " brother near the
throne," was shrewdly suspected of
meditating such a design under the
cloak of his friend and follower,
Tickell, and even went so far as to.
publish — so ran the current gossip
of the coffee-houses — a version of
the first book of the Iliad in Tick-
ell's name. But the scheme stop-
ped there; Pope's triumph was too
splendid and overwhelming, and his
great work calmly defied competi-
tion, until the spell of his honeyed
couplet was broken, and Cowper
could find a hearing for his pon-
derous Miltonic periods, a full half-
century after Pope's death. The
battle which soon thereafter came
to be joined between the partisans
of the Popian and Cowperian me-
thods— both of them, as Mr. Arnold

assures us, really on a complete
equality of error — had the effect of
keeping Homer in the foreground
and Virgil in the shade, despite the
praiseworthy versions of the latter
by Simmons in rhymed couplets
about 1817, and Kennedy in blank-
verse some thirty years later, until
the critical furore created by the
appearance of Prof. Conington's
sEneid about ten years since once
more turned the tide and brought
our Mantuan to the front.

Conington's translation, by the
novelty of its metre, the freshness
of its treatment, the spirit of its
movement, its union of fidelity and
grace, took the public ear and at
once won a popularity which, if we
may judge from the fact that a new
edition has been lately advertised,
it has not yet lost nor is destined
speedily to lose. Moreover, its pe-
culiar metre gave rise to a discus-
sion among the critics, which has
no doubt had its share in bringing
out the two additional versions by
Mr. Crancfo and Mr. Morris at
brief intervals after Professor Con-
ington's, the former at Boston, the
latter in England and reprinted
here. . Each of these three versions
has that " proper reason for exist-
ing " in novelty of method and
manner which Mr. Arnold de-
mands, and without which, indeed,
multiplied translations are but cum-
berers of the book-stall and a wea-
riness to the flesh. Of Mr. Cranch
this assertion may sound a trifle
odd, since his work upon its face
presents little that is new. In
place of the galloping octosylla-
bics of Prof. Conington or the re-
surrected Alexandrines of Mr.
Morris, he offers us only the fami-
liar blank-verse which Kennedy
and Trapp and Brady used, or
misused, before him ; he has no
theories to illustrate, but translates

Among the Translators.

737

his author as faithfully as he knows
lio\v, and his rendering is neither
bo exceedingly good nor so exces-
sively bad as to give it any claim
to originality upon that score. But
then it is the first American trans-
lation of Virgil, and that is surely
novelty enough.

For as each age, so every coun-
try, looks at a classic author through
spectacles of its own. " Each age,"
as Conington well says in his pre-
face, "will naturally think that it
understands an author whom it
studies better than the ages which
have gone before it " ; and it is for
this reason, he adds, " that the great
works of antiquity require to be
translated afresh from time to time
to preserve their interest as part of
modern literary culture." But it
is not alone that each age -will un-
derstand an author better than pre-
ceding ages ; it will understand him
differently; it will see him in an-
other light, from far other points
of view, modified and interpreted
by its own spirit. What Heyne
says of the poet is in a measure
true of the translator — that he has
the genius of his era, which must
necessarily qualify his work. We
have sometimes fancied even .that
this business of translation was a
kind of metempsychosis through
which the poet's soul shall speak
to many different times and lands
through forms and in voices chang-
ing to suit the moods of each. This,
of course, is only one of those fan-
tastic notions which a writer must
sometimes be indulged in, if he is
to be kept in reasonable good-humor.
But we think we may venture to
say that two nations translating for
themselves what antiquity has to
say to them will insensibly find its
utterances modified for each of
them by their natural modes of
thought. Nay, may we not go
VOL. xxvi. — 47-

further and say that no t\vo human
minds will find precisely the same
message in Homer or Virgil or
Horace — so infinite are the grada-
tions of thought, so innumerable
the shades of meaning and sugges-
tion in a word. Of Virgil this is
especially true; for he has, says
Prof. Conington, "that peculiar
habit, . . . common to him and
Sophocles, of hinting at two or
three modes of expression while
actually employing one."

It is just for this reason that re-
peated translations of a great au-
thor are not only useful but de-
sirable ; that, to quote Conington
again, " it is well that we should
know how our ancestors of the Re-
volution period conceived of Vir-
gil ; it is well that we should be
obliged consciously to realize how
we conceive of him ourselves." How
true this is no one can fail to per-
ceive who contrasts Dryden's me-
thod in any given passage with Co-
nington's. The sense of Virgil
may be given with equal exactness
by each — we say may be, which is-
rather stretching a point, for, in re-
spect of verbal fidelity, the two ver-
sions are not to be compared — the-
interpretation may be equally poet-
ical, but there will remain a subtle-
something which stamps each, and
which we can only say -is the flavor
of the time. Or, again, compare-
the Abbe" Delille's French version^
with Dryden's English — perhaps a
fairer comparison; for both are-
equally free, though by no means
equally acquainted with their au-
thor, and both to a certain extent
belonged to the same school of com-
position. Nor are they so very far
apart as they seem in. point of time ;.
the century or so which divides-
them was a very much longer pe-
riod in England than in France.
Charles II. was nearer to Louis-

738

Among iJie Translators.

XV. than to George III. in point
of taste. Yet how different from
Dryden's Virgil, or from any Eng-
lishman's, is Delille's, even though
lie does not find in his text such
enchanting gallicisms as Jean Reg-
nault de Segrais could twist out of
the lines,

" Ubi templum illi centumqite Sabseo

Thure calent arse, sertisque recentibus ha-
< lant " : *

" Dans le temple oil toujours quelque Amant irrite
Accuse dans ses voeux quelque jeune BeauteV'

This is an extreme case, no
doubt, and there are Frenchmen
even who would not be beyond
laughing at it. We are not to for-
get, as we laugh at it ourselves, that
Segrais was not unknown in the
Hotel Rambouillet, and that al-
though his own poetry was not all
of this order, not even his sEneid —
Saint-Evremond liked it — he also
wrote novelswhich not even the Ho-
tel Rambouillet could read. But
Avhen that really able man and ac-
complished scholar, Cardinal Dti
Perron, turns Horace's. lines in the
•charming farewell to Virgil (Carm.

" Ventorumque regat Pater
Obstrictis aliis prater lapygia,"

irnto this sort of thing :

" Ainsi des vents 1'humide Pere
Ton cours heureusement temperc,
Tenant ses enfants emplumcz
Si bien sous la clef enfermez
Excepte 1'opportun Zephyr,"

'we have a version which no doubt
seems correct and poetical enough
to a Frenchman, but to an English
mind suggests nothing so much as
a damp and aged poultry-fancier
ilocking up his chickens in the hen-
house out of the rain. And a coun-
tryman of the cardinal can make

*•" There is her temple, there they stand an

hundred altars meet,

Warm with Sabaean incense smoke, with
new-pulled blossoms sweet."

—sEneid, i. 415-416, Morris' trans.

nothing more of the " laughing
eyes " of Dante's Piccarda :

" Ond' ella pronta e con occhi ridenti" *

than

" L'ombre me repondit d'un air satisfait .'"

as though the celestial phantom
had been a small girl bribed with a
tart to answer. To the post-aca-
demic Gaul, shivering in the chaste
but chilly shadow of that awful
Pantheon of the verbal proprieties,
the " Marguerite aux yeulx rians
et verds " whom his forebears loved
to sing would be but a green-eyed
monster indeed. Ronsard's paro-
dies of Pindar were no worse than
Ambrose Philips' travesties of the
deep-mouthed Theban — the spar-
row-hawk aping the eagle — and not
much worse, indeed, than West's or
even Wheelwright's, or any other
imitation of the inimitable that we
have seen. But the badness of the
one is thoroughly French and of
his time, even to his bragging that
it was his noble birth which ena-
bled him to reproduce Pindar,
wherein Horace, for lack of that
virtue, had failed ; the badness of
the other as thoroughly English
and of his age. And what more
salient instance could be given of
this natural difference in mental
constitution, in " the way of look-
ing at things," than Voltaire's treat-
ment of the scene in Hamlet
where the sentinel answers the
question, " Have you had quiet
guard?" by the familiar household
idiom, " Not a mouse stirring " ?
" Pas un souris qui trotte " the au-
thor of Zaire makes it, and pro-
ceeds to inform his countrymen
that this Shakspere was a drunken
savage.

* " Whence she with kindness prompt
And eyes glistering with smiles,"

Carey gives it, which is certainly English, but —

Among the Translators.

739

Now, while there is no such radi-
cal difference between English and
American ways of thought as be-
tween English and French ways,
there is still difference enough to
justify us in giving place to Mr.
Cranch's blank-verse sEneid, as
being a priori another thing from
the English blank-verse ALneids of
forty or one hundred and forty
years ago. So, without more ado, let
us repeat that these three versions
of the last decade are sufficiently
unlike one another or any that have
gone before to warrant attentive
notice.

In choosing for the vehicle of
his attempt the octosyllabic line —
the well-known metre of Scott's
Marmion — Prof. Conington turned
his back intrepidly on all the tradi-
tions. Scarcely any rhythm we
have would seem at first blush
worse fitted to give the unlearned
reader an adequate idea of the son-
orous march of the Latin hexame-
ter or of the stately melody of Vir-
gil's verse, of the dignity of his senti-
ments, or the noble gravity of his
style. For him who uses such a
metre to render the sEneid one
half anticipates the need of some
such frank confession as that Ron-
sard, in a fit of remorse, or per-
haps a verbal indigestion over his
own inconceivable pedantry, puts
at the end — at the end, mark you —
of one of his never-ending series of
odes :

" Les Francois qui mes vers liront,
S'lls ne sont et Grecs et Remains,
En lieu de ce livre, ils n'auront
Qu'un pesant faix entre les mains" —

which for our present purpose we
may paraphrase : My excellent
reader, if you don't know Virgil as
well as I do, you will find very little
of him here, and if you do you will
find still less. But Professor Con-
ington soon puts away from us all

such forebodings. He gives us, in
spite of his metre, for the most part,
in rare instances, by the help of it,
a great deal of Virgil — more, on the
whole, than almost any other of the
poet's translators. He has put the
story of the sEneid'mto bright and
animated English verse which may
be read with pleasure as a poem for
itself, and is yet strictly faithful to
the sense and spirit of its original,
as close as need be — wonderfully
close in many parts — to its language,
often skilfully suggestive of some of
the most salient peculiarities of its
form, and only failing conspicuous-
ly, where all translations most con-
spicuously fail, in rendering the
poet's manner, because the manner
of any poet — and we mean by man-
ner that union of thought and form
of the poet's way of seeing with his
way of saying things which is the
full manifestation of his genius —
only failing here because this part
of any poet it is next to impossible
to reproduce in a foreign tongue,
and because the vehicle chosen by
Prof. Conington, so opposite in every
way to Virgil's vehicle, increased
that difficulty tenfold. But a trans-
lation of a longnarrative poem is not
like the translation of a brief lyric.
Is the former to be written for
those who understand the original
and care for no translation, or for
those who,, not understanding the
original, ask first of the translator
that he shall not put them to sleep,
and, second, that he shall give them
all that his author gives as nearly
as possible in the same manner?
Two of these demands Prof. Con-
ington's version fully meets, and it
comes as near to the third as was
consistent with a metre which gave
him the best chance of combining
the other two. If any translation of
Virgil can hope to be popular it is
his; and we hold -to the belief

;4o

Among the Translators.

that it will share with Dryden's,
which, if only for its author's sake,
will live, the affections of the ////-
latined English reader for long to
come.

As might be expected, it is in
battle-pieces and in scenes of swift
und animated action, to which
Scott's metre naturally lends itself,
and with which it is as naturally
associated, that this version chiefly
excels. Take, for example, the on-
set in the eleventh book •

" Meantime the Trojans near the Wall,
The Tuscans and the horsemen all,

In separate troops arrayed ;
Their mettled steeds the champaign spurn,
And, chafing, this and that way turn ;
Spears bristle o'or the fields, that burn

With arms on high displayed.
Messapus and the Latian force,
And Coras and Camilla's horse,

An adverse front array ;
With hands drawn back they couch the spear,
And aim the dart in full career ;
The tramp of heroes strikes the ear,

Mixed With the charger's neigh.
Arrived within a javelin's throw,
The armies halt a space ; when, lo I
Sudden they let their good steeds go

And meet with deafening cry ;
Their volleyed darts fly thick as snow,

Dark-shadowing all the sky."

The Latin could scarcely be giv-
en with more spirit or closeness ;
though in neither respect does
Morris fall short of his predeces-
sor, from whom in manner, how-
ever, he differs toto

'• But in meanwhile the Trojan folk the city draw

anigh,
The Tuscan dukes and all their horse in many a

company
Well ordered ; over all the plain, neighing, the steed

doth fare,
Prancing and champing on the bit that turns him

here and there.
And far and wide the lea is rough with iron harvest

now,
And with the weapons tost aloft the level meadows

glow.
Messapus and the Latins swift, lo 1 on the other

hand,
And Coras with his brother-lord, and maid Camil-

la's band,
Against them in the field ; and, lo ! far back their

arms they fling
In couching of the level spears, and shot-spears

brandishing.
All is afire with neigh of steed* and onfall of the

men.
And now, within a spear-shot Gome, short up they

rein, and then

They break out with a mighty cry and spur the
maddened steeds ;

And all at once from every side the storm of spear-
shot speeds,

As thick as very snowing is, and darkens down the
sun."

It would be hard to say which
version is closer to the original.
Conington leaves out the epithet
celeres which Virgil bestows on
the Latins, and also — a graver omis-
sion— that brother whom Virgil
makes attend him like his shadow
(et cum fratre Coras) in every battle-
field of the sEneid. This frater-
nal warrior Morris gives us, in-
deed, but not very intelligibly, as
Coras' "brother-lord." On the
other hand, although Morris ren-
ders the Latin line for line, he is
not so concise as Conington, who
puts Virgil's fifteen hexameters into
twenty of his short lines as opposed
to fifteen of Morris' long ones.
Virgil has nothing of Morris' " iron
harvest " ; here —

" Turn late ferreus hastis
Horret ager, campique armis sublimibus ardent "—

we should give Conington the pre-
ference, while Morris excels in
rendering the verse :

" Adventusque virum fremitusque ardescit equo-
rum."

In Morris' version four words
are to be specially noted : folkt
dukes, maid, and very. They con-
tain the key to his method, and we
shall recur to them again.

Our American's blank-verse here
helps him to no greater degree of
fidelity than either of his rivals,
while even patriotism must own his
version, as compared, with theirs, a
trifle tame :

" Meanwhile, the Trojan troops, the Etruscan

chiefs.

And all the cavalry approach the walls,
In order ranged. The coursers leap and neigh
Along the fields, and fight against the curb,
And wheel about. An iron field of spears
Bristles afar, and lifted weapons blaze.

Among the Translators.

741

Upon the other side the Latins swift,

Messapus, Coras, and his brother come,

.Also Camilla's wing ; in hostile ranks

They threaten with their lances backward

drawn,

And shake their javelins. On the warriors press.
And fierce and fiercer neigh the battle steeds.
Advancing now within a javelin's throw,
Each army halted ; then, with sudden shouts,
They cheer and spur their fiery horses on.
From all sides now the spears fly thick and fast
As showers of sleet, and darken all the sky."

The word " cavalry " here is too
modern in its associations to suit
us entirely, nor strikes us as highly
poetical.

** Wave, Munich, all thy banners ware,
And charge with aH thy chivalry •,"

is the way Campbell put it. Again,
the rendering of the line Adven-
tusque virum fremitusque ardescit
equorum is less exact than Morris',
if not than Conington's, and much
less poetical than either ; and were
it not for the printer's aid, we
should be unable to tell such blank-
verse as " Messapus, Coras, and
his brother come, also Camilla's
wing," from the very prosiest of
prose. Mr. Cranch,like Prof. Con-
ington, omits Camilla's attribute of
virginis — though that is, perhaps,
better than to call her, as Dryden
does, a " virago" — and turns Virgil's

snow into sleet, no doubt having in
mind Gray's

" Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darkened air,''

or the " sharp sleet of arrowy show-
er " in Paradise Regained,

It may be of interest to set side by
side with these English translations
the French version of Delille. It
will show us, at least, where Mr.
Morris went, perhaps, for his " iron
harvest ":

" Mais deja les Troyens, deja les fiers Toscans
Pour attaquer vers I.ausente ont deploye" leurs

rangs;

Ils marchent ; le coursier de sa tSte hautaine
Bat 1'air, ronge le frein, et bondit dans la plaine ;
Les champs sont he'risse's d'une moisson de fer,
Et chaque javelot fait partir un eclair.
Et Messape, et Coras et son valeureux frere,
Et la chaste Camille et sa troupe legere,
Se presentent ensemble. On voit de toutes pans
Et s'alonger la lance et g'agiter les dards.
Sous les pas des guerriers les champs poudreux

gemissent ;

Et soldats et coursiers de colere fremissent.
Enfm, a la distance oil le trait peut porter,
Les partis ennemis viennent de s'arrtter :
On s't'crie, on s'clance, et d'un essor rapide,
Chacun pousse en avant son coursier intre'pide.
Pius presses que la neige au retour des hivers
Des nuages de traits en obscurci les airs,"

In a future number we purpose
concluding our present examination
and taking a final leave of the
translators.

742

TJie Home- Rule Candidate.

THE HOME-RULE CANDIDATE.

A STORY OF " NEW IRELAND."

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

ETC , ETC.

« CHAPTER II.

NEW IRELAND AND YOUNG ENGLAND.

How glad I felt when morning
came, as it brought me nearer to
seeing our fair guest! I gathered
a bouquet for her, wet with the
kisses of the lingering night-dew.
I flatter myself that my bouquets
are constructed with a tender re-
gard for tone. I have sat for hours
in Paris, upon an upturned empty
basket in the Marche aux Fleurs,
watching the fleuristes deftly com-
posing those exquisite poems in
color which serve to render flowers
a charming necessity. . Upon this
occasion I selected blood-red gera-
niums as the outer edge, with nar-
rowing circlets of stefanotis and
mignonette, the whole enshrined in
a bower of maiden-hair fern. How
lovely she looked when I presented
them to her at breakfast ; how en-
chanting her transparent complex-
ion, that flushed as she spoke, and
crimsoned when she was spoken to !
Alphonse Karr speaks of a similar
indefinable charm in his own de-
lightful way : " Elle avail ce charme
poetiquement virginal, qui est la plus
grande beautd de la femme" Alas !
my bouquet had been forestalled
by the gift of a Veritable last rose
of summer which Harry Welstone
had culled while I was engaged in
imparting some finishing touches
to my rather bristly hair. The
words " too late " to meet me on
the very threshold of my new ca-
reer! It was truly disheartening.

She was attired in a tightly-fit-

ting dress of pure white, adorned
by a series of coquettish blue rib-
bons, the edgings • being of the
same color. Her cavalier collar
and gauntlet cuffs finished a toi-
lette which almost recalled my Vir-
gil, as I could hardly refrain from
exclaiming " O Dca certe /"

" Might I ask, if it is not an unpar-
liamentary question, Mr. Ormonde,
at what hour you allowed poor papa
to retire to his bed ? Was it late
last night or early this morning?"
she asked with a droll archness.

" Well, it was rather late, Miss
Hawthorne ; but as your father was
good enough to favor me with
some exceedingly interesting pas-
sages in his senatorial career, the
time galloped by at a break-neck
pace and we took no note of it."

I had already learned to play
the hypocrite. O Master Cupid !
and this was thy first lesson.

" Is my memory mocking me, or
did I hear awful mention of Irish
whisky ?" she laughed.

This enabled me to explain the
blunder of my retainer in his de-
sire to uphold the honor of the
family, and to exonerate myself
from the soupfon of having neglect-
ed her society for that of the bottle.
Peter's ideas upon the family status
seemed to afford her the liveliest
merriment, and she laughed the sil-
very laugh with which, old play-
goers tell me, Mme. Vestris used to
brins down the house.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

743

" Peter is a character, then ?"

" You will find that out before
very long, Miss Hawthorne."

" I do so love characters !"

I ran over my characteristics like
a flash, and found them of the bald-
est and mildest nature. Not a
single strong point came to the
rescue, not a liking or a disliking.
Pah ! what a dull, drowsy weed; what
a prosy, colorless nobody.

" Peter is a great admirer of the
fair sex," said my mother. " You
must see him on Sunday standing
at the chapel gate ' discoorsin' ' the
pretty girls as they pass in to last
Mass."

" Is he a bachelor?"

" Oh ! yes. I have often asked him
why he doesn't marry, and his in-
variable reply is, ' I'd rayther keep
looking at them.' '

" Perhaps I might have a chance,"
said Miss Hawthorne, with a deli-
cious coquetry in her manner.

" Not a bit of it, my dear ; he
would not ally himself to a Saxon
for a crock of gold."

" He is a hard-hearted wretch,
then," laughed our guest, "and I
shall not endeavor to make a con-
quest."

Little did she imagine that she
might have uttered Vent, vidi, vici at
that particular moment. A poor
triumph, though — a paltry victory.
I did not feel myself worthy of pow-
der and shot.

Harry Welstone kept gazing at
Miss Hawthorne from out his su-
premely handsome eyes. How I
envied him those deep, dark, cor-
sair-like organs of vision, inwardly
railing against my own heavy blues !
He chatted with her upon every
conceivable topic, planning excur-
sions, arranging her boating, rid-
ing, walking, and even the songs
she was to sing, disposing of her
time to his own especial advantage,

and leaving me helplessly out in
the cold with the prosy member
for Doodleshire. I could not find
a solitary topic to speak upon ; at
least, just as I had summoned up
courage to " cut in," as they say at
whist, the wind had shifted and
the current of the conversation had
taken another turn, leaving my dis-
abled argosy high and dry. I had
spent my most recent years in the
secluded valley of Kilkenley with
my mother, my horses, and my
dogs. I had seen little or nothing
of the whirl of the world, and was
so purely, so essentially local as
to be almost ignorant of what was
going on in the outer circle of life.
Of course I read the Freeman s
Journal — generally two days old
when it reached us — and then I
merely glanced at the hunting fix-
tures or the sales of thoroughbreds
at Farrell's or Sevvell's. Of course
I had done some reading; and of
a lighter kind the Waverley Novels
and Dickens, the Titanic Thack-
eray and a few unwholesome
French effusions ; but of late I had
read nothing, and, as a conse-
quence, was local to a contemptu-
ous degree. In what did Peter,
my own servant, differ from me ?
Merely in the perusal of a few
books. He was a better judge of
a horse and — but why proceed ? My
reflections were all of this melan-
choly cast as I listened to disser-
tations upon Chopin, Schubert, and
Wagner, upon the novelists and
poets of the period, upon Gains-
borough hats and Pompadour floun-
ces, upon the relative merits of
Reve d'Amour and Ess' bouquet.
Harry and our fair young guest
kept the shuttlecock going be-
tween them, and I was forced to
bear the burden of my own igno-
rance in a stolid, stupid silence.
One chance was offered me which

744

The Home-Rule Candidate.

I took as I would a six-foot wall —
flying. The question of horses
came upon the tapis > and I vaulted
into the saddle. I rode down
Harry and scarcely spared Miss
Hawthorne ; nor did I draw rein
until I had described the run of
last season, from meet to death,
winding a " View-halloo !" that ac-
tually caused the teacups to ring
upon their saucers. This blew off
my compressed excitement, and,
although very much ashamed, I felt
all the better for it. My foot was on
my native heath, and I showed her
that my name was McGregor.

" What are you going to do with
Mr. Hawthorne to-day?" asked my
mother.

" What are you going to do with
Miss Hawthorne, mother?" I re-
torted.

"Oh! Harry Welstone and I
have arranged all that. You are
not in the baby-house."

This was gratifying intelligence
with a vengeance. I was told off
as bear-leader to the prosy Parlia-
ment man, while Harry was to re-
vel in the radiance of Miss Haw-
thorne's presence. This was grill-
ing. And yet what could I do or
say? My hands were tied behind
my back. I was host, and should
pay deference to the respected rites
of bread and salt, the sacred laws
of hospitality. A sacrifice was de-
manded, and in me was found the
victim.

" Could we not manage to unite
our forces?" I suggested, in the
faint, flickering hope that a compro-
mise might be effected.

"Impossible!" said Harry.

I could have flung my teacup at
his head.

"And why not, pray?" I asked
in a short, testy way.

"Because you are to take Mr.
Hawthorne over to Clonacooney,

and to talk tenant-right and land-
lord-wrong with old Mr. Cassidy ;
then, when exhausted there, you are
bound for the model farm at Rou-
serstowh, and any amount of steam-
ploughing and top-dressing; then
you can pay a flying visit to Phil
Dempsey's hundred-acre field, and
show the Saxon the richness of the
land he has invaded ; then you
are to call for Father O'Dowd,
where you can coal and do Home
Rule ; and then you may come
home to dinner, where we shall be
very happy to receive you." And
Harry laughed loudly and long at
my utter discomfiture — ci discomfi-
ture written in my rueful counte-
nance in lines as heavy as those
laid on the grim visage of Don
Quixote by Gustave Dore.

"You are very kind, Welstone — a
most considerate fellow. Why not
have arranged for Knobber, or the
other side of the Shannon — sayBal-
lybawn, or Curlagh Island?"

The iron had entered my soul.

"Is not this arrangement a very
heavy tax upon Mr. Ormonde's
good-nature ?" exclaimed our fair
guest, graciously coming to the
rescue, addressing my mother, who,
par parenthese, expressed herself
perfectly charmed with Miss Haw-
thorne.

" Tax ! my dear child ? On the
contrary, it is just the sort of day
my son will thoroughly enjoy : go-
ing about the country, talking se-
cond crops, turnips, and the price
of hay and oats. He is devoted to
all that sort of thing, and I doubt
if even his duties of gallantry to
you, Mabel, would get the better of
his devotion to Mine. Ceres."

I was about to blurt out some-
thing that might possibly have com-
promised me on all sides, when, as
luck would have it, the M.P. en-
tered.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

745

He stalked into the room as if
the division-bell were ringing, and
took his seat.as though below the
gangway, bowing gravely to the
assembled House. He lifted his
cup as he would a blue-book, and
handled his knife as an act of Par-
liament.

"You will — ahem! — I'm sure ex-
cuse my being a little late " — with
a preparatory cough — " but the
late sittings of last session have
totally unfitted me for bed until
the wee sma' hours."

" Surely, papa, you are not going
to carry the House of Commons
hours into the romantic glens of
Kilkenly?"

" I admit that I ought not to do
so, my dear, but, as a great states-
man once observed — I, ahem ! quite
forget his name at this particular
moment — habit is second nature ;
and were I to retire early, it would —
ha ! ha ! — be only for the purpose of
quarrelling with one of my best
friends, my best friend — Morpheus."

" You must find the fatigues of
Parliament very great," said my
mother.

" Herculean, madam. My corre-
spondence, before I go down to the
House at all, is a herculean task,
and one in which I am very consi-
derably aided by my daughter."

" Oh ! yes," she laughed ; " I can
write sucn diplomatic letters as ' I
beg to acknowledge receipt of your
communication of the blank in-
stant, which shall have my very
best attention.' Papa's constitu-
ents invariably hear from me in
that exact phraseology by return of
post. I have a whole lot of such
letters, as the Americans say, 'on
hand.' "

" If it were not for the off-nights,
madam," continued the member for
Doodleshire, " Wednesdays and Sa-
turdays, I should seriously think

of accepting the Chiltern Hundreds,
which is a gentlemanlike way of
resigning a seat in the House."

" And on the off-nights poor
papa devotes himself to me," ex-
claimed Mabel; "and I always ac-
cept invitations for those nights, so
the only chance he has for sleep is
during the recess."

I wondered who her friends
might be, what they were like,
where they resided, and if the men
were all in love witli her. She had
upon three distinct occasions refer-
red to a Mr. Melton, and somehow
the mention of this man filled me
with a grim foreboding.

" We take too much sleep. We
should do with as little as possible,
and divide that by three. Sleep is
waste of time. Sleep is a sad nui-
sance, a bore. It is born in a yawn
and dies in imbecility," cried Harry,
suddenly bursting into vitality.

" Is it thus you would designate
Nature's soft nurse, sir?" demanded
Mr. Hawthorne in a severe tone.

" This comes very badly from
Mr. Welstone," said my mother,
" who requires to be called about
ten times before he will deign to
leave off sleeping."

" You should see the panels of
his door — actually worn away with
knuckle-knocking," I added.

" In the country I sleep because
there's nothing else to do. I get
up early! What for? To see the
same mist on the same mountains,
and the same cows in the same
field, and the same birds in the
same trees ; though, mot (Thonneur,
I was up and out this morning at
eight o'clock, and played Romeo
to Miss Hawthorne's Juliet — at least,
so far as a garden and a balcony
could do it."

" Who ever heard of a Romeo by
daylight ?" I exclaimed sarcasti-
cally.

746

TJie Home -Rule Candidate.

" Let's see what that love-strick-
en wretch does 'neath the sun's
rays. We all know what he says
and does in the pale moonlight."

"He kills Tybalt," I interposed,
not utterly displeased in being
able to show Mabel that I was on
intimate terms with the Bard of
Avon.

" And buys a penn'orth of strych-
nine," added Harry with a grin.

" We know a gentleman who
plays Romeo to perfection," ob-
served Mabel. "Such a handsome
fellow ! And the dress suits him
charmingly."

How I hated this Romeo !

" A Mr. Wynwood Melton."

I knew it before she had uttered
the words.

"An actor?" I drawled in a care-
less sort of way.

" Oh ! dear, no ; he's in the For-
eign Office, and a swell. He is
nephew or cousin — I don't know
which — to- Mr. Gladstone or some
other great chief." This with an ani-
mation that sent a thrill of despair-
ing jealousy to my very soul.

" He is — ahem ! — a very promis-
ing young man, a great favorite of
ours, and will make his mark. He
is destined for the House. You'll
meet him, Mr. Ormonde, when you
come over. He is — ha ! ha ! ha ! —
rather a constant visitor," with a
significant glance in the direction of
his daughter.

She flushed crimson. The deep
scarlet glowed all over her like a
rosy veil. That blush tolled the
death-knell of my hopes. Our eyes
met; she withdrew her glance, as I
haughtily outstared her.

" He is a great favorite of pa-
pa's," she murmured, almost apolo-
getically.

" And how about papa's only
daughter?" laughed my mother.

" Papa's only daughter admires

him very much — thinks him very
handsome, very nice, very cultivat-
ed, very clever, et voil<* tout."

" What more would papa's only
daughter have ?"

A quaint little shrug, and a dain-
ty laugh.

" A thousand things," she said.

From that moment I marked
down Melton as my foe — as the man
who had dared to cross my path.
Not that I hoped for success, or
could ever hope for it ; yet to him
she had evidently surrendered her
heart, and he must reckon with me.
Meet him ! Rather ! I would now
accept the invitation to London
for the sole purpose of falling foul
of Melton. It would be such ex-
quisite torture to see them together ;
such racking bliss to behold them
pressing hands and looking into
each other's eyes. What pleasur-
able agony to look calmly on while
those nameless frivolities and gen-
tle dalliances by which lovers bridge
the conventionalities were being
performed beneath my very nose !
Ha! ha! I would close with Mr.
Hawthorne's offer and make ar-
rangements for proceeding to' town,'
as he would persist in calling the
English metropolis, at the earliest
possible opportunity consistent with
his, and Melton's, convenience.

" Miss Hawthorne," suddenly
exclaimed Harry, " do tell us some-
thing more about this Romeo.
You have only given us enough to
make us wish for more. What is
he like ?"

" Will you have his portrait in
oil or a twopenny photo ?" she
laughed.

" Let us strike ' ile ' by all means. "

" Imprimis — that's a good word
to begin with — he is tall."

" Good !"

" Graceful."

" Good again !"

The Homc-Riilc Candidate.

747

" Dignified-looking."

" Brarissimo .'"

" Parts his hair in the centre."

" I don't care for that," said
Harry.

" It becomes Aim."

"Possibly. Pray proceed. His
eyes ?"

" Gray."

"Nose?"

" Aquiline."

" Beard.? — men parting their
hair in the centre wear beards."

"Henri Quatre."

" Hands ?"

"Small and white."

I threw a hasty glance at mine;
they were of the same hue as the
leg of the mahogany breakfast-table
at which we were seated. Sun
and saddle had done their work ef-
fectually.

" Does he smile ?"

"Why, of course he does."

" Now," said Harry, "upon your
description of his smile a good deal
may depend."

"I object to this line of cross-
examination," said my mother.

" I consider the subject has been
sufficiently thrashed already," I
added. Truly, I was sick of it.

" I shall throw up my brief, if I
do not get an answer to my ques-
tion."

" I shall tell you by and by, Mr.
Welstone."

" By and by will not do."

" Well, then, Mr. Melton's smile
is like a sunbeam. Are you satis-
fied now?" »

" Mr. Hawthorne," said Harry,
turning to the M.P., "this is a
very bad case."

" I'm afraid— ha ! ha ! ha !— that
it looks somewhat suspicious," was
the significant reply.

'' If you mean — " Mabel began.

" I don't mean what you mean,"
laughed Harry.

"What do you mean?" she ask-
ed.

"What do you mean?" he play-
fully retorted.

At this juncture Peter O'Brien's
shock head appeared at the open
window, through which he uncere-
moniously thrust it, announcing, in
no very delicate accents :

" The yokes is ^«vaynient."

" That's a fine morning, Peter,"
exclaimed Miss Hawthorne, rising
and approaching the window.

"Troth, it's that same, miss,
glory be to God ! It's iligant weath-
er intirely for the craps."

"We've cut all our corn in Eng-
land, Peter."

"See that, now," gloomily ; but,
brightening up, he added : "Sorra
a haporth to hindher us from cut-
tin' it long ago, av it was only ripe
enough."

"An Irish peasant will never ad-
mit Saxon superiority in anything,"
said my mother, placing her arm
about Mabel's waist. " What 'yokes'
have you out to-day, Peter ?"

"The shay for you, ma'am, and
the young leddy there; though I'm
afeared it's not as nate as it ought
for to be, be raisin av a rogue av a
bin — a red wan, full av consait
an' impidence — makin' her nest
right-"

" Here, Peter," I cried, to put a
stop to these hideous revelations,
"get my car round at once." I
could have strangled him.

As all English visitors to Ireland
are possessed of a frantic desire to
experience the jolting of an Irish
jaunting-car, I ordered my own spe-
cial conveyance round, also from the
workshop of Bates — a low, rakish -
looking craft, with a very deep
well for the dogs when going out
shooting, and bright yellow cordu-
roy cushions ; an idea of my own,
and upon which I rather piqued

748

TJic Home-Rule Candidate.

myself. Harry Wei stone and the
ladies came to the doorsteps to see
us off, and while he explained the
beauties of the chariot to Miss
Hawthorne I endeavored to ini-
tiate her father into the mysteries
of clinging on, advising him not to
clutch the front and back rail so
convulsively, but rather to allow
his body to swing with every mo-
tion of the vehicle, and above all
things to trust to luck.

" Lave yourself as if ye wor a
sack o' male, sir," suggested Peter,
who was charioteer, " or as if ye
had a sup in. Sorra a man that
was full ever dhropped off av a car,
barrin' Murty Flinn ; an' shure that
was not his fault aither, for it was
intirely be raisin av a bargain he
med wud a lump av a mare he
was dhrivin' at that time."

"Who was Murty Flinn, Peter ?"
asked Miss Hawthorne.

" A dacent. boy, miss, that lives
beyant at the crass-roads — a rale
hayro for sperits," was the prompt
response, accompanied by a semi-
military salute.

"And how did he fall off the
car?"

" Troth, thin, mavournecn, it wasn't
Murty that fell aff av the car, so
much as that the car fell aff av
Murty ; an' this is how it happened :
Murty was comin' from the fair av
Bohernacopple, where he wint for
to sell a little slip av a calf, an'
afore he left the fair he tuk seve-
ral gollioges av sperits, an' had a
cupple uv haits wud Phil Clancy,
the red-hedded wan — not Phil av
Tubbermory — an' he was bet up
intirely betune the whiskey an" the
rounds wud red Clancy, so that
whin he cum for to make for home
he was hard set for to yoke the
mare, an' harder set agin for to
mount to his sate on the car. But
Murty is the persevarionist man ye

ever laid yer two purty eyes on,
miss, an' he ruz himself into the
sate afther a tremendjus battle; and
th' ould mare, whin she seen that
he was comfortable, tuk the road
like a Christian mare. Well, Murty
rowled backwards an' forwards, an'
every joult av the car ye'd think
wud sind him on the crown av his
caubeen; but, be me song, he was as
secure as a prisner in Botany Bay,
an' it's a sailor he thought lie was,
up in a hammock no less. Well,
miss, the night was a little dark
an' the road was shaded wud threes,
an' whin they cum to th' ould
graveyard at Killencanick never a
fut the mare 'ud go farther.

" ' What's the matther wud ye ?'
axed Murty; but sorra an answer
she med him.

"'Are ye bet,' sez he, 'an' you
so far from home ?' She riz a cup-
pie av kicks, as much as to say,
' Ye hit it off that time, anyhow,
Misther Flinn !'

" ' Did ye get a dhrink at the
fair beyant, Moria?' — the little
mare's name, miss. She shuk her
lied in a way that tould him that
she was as dhry as a cuckoo.

" ' Musha, musha, but that was
cruel thratemint,' sez he. ' What's
to be done at all, at all ?'

"Well, miss, he thought for a
minit, an' he sez : ' Moria, we're
only two mile from the Cock an'
Blackberry, an' I'll tell ye what I'll
do wud ye : you carry me wan mile,
sez he, 'an' I'll carry you th' other.'"

This proposition on the part of
Murty Flinn was received with a
peal of ringing laughter from Miss
Hawthorne, who, with flashing eyes
and an eager expression of delight-
ed curiosity, begged of Peter to
proceed.

" Av coorse, miss," replied the
gratified Jehu. "Well, ye see the
words was hardly acrass his mouth

The Home-Rule Candidate.

749

whin, cockin* her ears an' her tail,
th' ould mare darted aff as if she
was runnin' for the Cunningham
Coop at Punchestown, an' Murty
swingin' like a log round a dog's
neck all the voyage; an'theminnit
she come to the milestone tindher
Headford demesne she stopped
like a dead rabbit.

" ' Where are we now ?' axed
Murty.

" She sed nothin', but rouled the
car up to the milestone an' grazed
it wud the step.

" ' Well, yer the cutest little cray-
ture,' sez Murty, ' that ever wore
shoes,' sez he ; ' an', be the powers,
as ye kept yer word wud me, I'll
keep me word wud you.' And he
rouled aff av the car into the middle
o' the road, while th' ould mare
unyoked herself as aisy as if it was
aitin' hay she was insted av un-
doin' buckles that riz many a blis-
theron Murty's fingers; for the har-
ness was rtwtrairy, and more be-
token as rusty as a Hessian's bag-
gonet. When Murty seen the mare
stannin' naked in the road, he med
an offer for to get up, but he was
bet intirely be raisin av the sup he
tuk, an' he cudn't stir more nor
his arms; but the ould mare wasn't
goin' for to be done out av her
jaunt in that way, so she cum over,
an' sazin' him — savin' yer presence,
miss — be the sate av his small-
clothes, riz him to his feet, an', wud
a cupple av twists, dhruv him be-
tune the shafts av the car, an' in a
brace av shakes had him harnessed
like a racer.

" ' I'm reddy now, ma'am,' sez
Murty, mighty polite, for he seen
the whip in one av her forepaws —
'I'm reddy now, ma'am ; so up wud
ye, an' I'll go bail we'll not be long
coverin' the road betune this an'
the Cock an' Blackberry.'

" Well, miss, th' ould mare mount-

ed the car, an' Murty started aff as
well as he cud ; but he was bet up
afther runnin' a few yards, an' he
dhropped into a walk, but no soon-
er he done it than he got a welt av
the whip that med him hop.

" ' What are ye doin ?' sez he, an'
down cums the lash agin be way av
an answer.

" ' How dare ye raise yer hand
to a Christian ?' sez he. A cupple
av welts follied this.

" Til not stan' it !' he bawled ; but
the more he roared an' bawled the
heavier th' ould mare welted, an'
he might as well be spakin' to the
Rock o' Cashel.

" ' Hould yer hand!' he roared,
thryin to soothe her — 'hould yer
hand, an' ye'll have a bellyful av
the finest oats in the barony — ould
Tim Collins' best crap. Dhrop the
whip, an* sorra a taste av work ye'll
do till next Michaelmas. I can't
thravel faster, Moria, be raisin av a
corn,' and the like ; but the mare
had him, an' she ped off ould scores,
an' be the time they kem to the Cock
an' Blackberry poor Murty was bet
like an ould carpet, an' he wasn't
fit for to frighten the crows out av
an oat-field. An' that's how it all
happened, miss."

"And did he give Moria the
drink ?" asked Miss Hawthorne.

" He sez he did," replied Peter,
with a peculiar grin ; " but the peo-
ple that owns the public-house sez
that he niver darkened their doore,
an' that he was found lying undher
the yoke near the crass-roads, wud
th' ould mare grazin' about a half
a mile down the road. But it's a
thrue story," he added with some-
what of solemn emphasis.

"Si non e vero e ben trovato," laugh-
ed our guest, as she waved us a
graceful adieu.

It was one of those lovely morn-
ings nowhere to be found but in

750

The Home-Rule Candidate.

Ireland : the dim, half-gray light,
the heavily-perfumed air, the still-
ness that imparted a sort of sad so-
lemnity to the scene, the glorious
tints of green on hill and hollow
that mellowed themselves with the
sombre sky, a something that in-
spires a silence that is at once a re-
source and a regret. I became
wrapped up in my own thoughts —
so much so that, although I held
the " ribbons " I was scarcely
aware of the fact, and it was only
the exclamation from Peter: "Blur
an' ages ! Masther Fred, luk out for
the brudge " — a narrow structure,
across which it was possible to pass
without grazing the parapet walls,
and nothing more — that brought me
to my senses. My guest, in spite
of the earnest instructions of Peter,
was clinging frantically to the rails
at either end of the seat, and, in-
stead of allowing his body to swing
with the motion of the vehicle, was
endeavoring to sit bolt upright, as
though he were in the House of
Commons and in anxious expec-
tation of catching the Speaker's
eye. Upon arriving at the foot
of Ballymacrow hill Peter sprang
to the ground — an example fol-
lowed by myself; but Mr. Haw-
thorne retained his seat, as there
was plenty of walking in store for
him, and my horse could well en-
dure the weight of one, when the
weight of three would make a very
essential difference in so steep a
climb.

Peter, reins in hand, walked be-
side the " mimber," and in a few
minutes was engaged in"discoor-
sin' " him.

" Home Rule ? 3orra a wan o'
me cares a thraneen for it, thin."

"What is a thraneen?" asked
Mr. Hawthorne, eager for informa-
tion all along the line.

" A thraneen is what the boys

reddies their dhudeens wud," was
the response to the query.

" I am still in ignorance."

" Wisha, wisha ! an* this is a
mimber av Parliamint," muttered
Peter, "an' he doesn't know what
a thraneen manes, an' the littlest
gossoon out av Father Finnerty's
school beyant cud tell him " ; adding
aloud: "A thraneen is a blade av
grass that sheeps nor cows won't
ait, an' it sticks up in a field ;
there's wan," suiting the action to
the word, plucking it from a bank
on the side of the road, and pre-
senting it to the member for Doo-
dleshire.

" And so you are not a Home-
Ruler, my man ?"

" Sorra a bit, sir."

" Then what are you ?"

" I am a repayler. I'm for teeto-
tal separation; that's what Dan
O'Connell sed to Drizzlyeye."

" What did Mr. O'Connell say to
Mr. Disraeli ?" asked my guest in
very Parliamentary phraseology.

" I'll tell ye. ' What is it yez want
at all, at all, over beyant in Hiberni-
um ?' sez Drizzlyeye. ' Yez are al-
ways wantin' somethin,' sez lie,
4 an' what the dickens do yez want
now ?'

" ' I'll tell ye what we want,' says
Dan, as bould as a ram.

" ' What is it, Dan ?' sez Drizzly-
eye.

" ' We want teetotal separation,'
sez Dan.

" ' Arrah, ge lang ou' a that,' sez
Drizzlyeye. ' Yez cudn't get along
wudout us,' sez he.

" ' Cudn't we ?' sez Dan. ' Thry
us, Drizzlyeye,' sez he. ' How did
we get on afore?'

" ' Bad enuff,' sez Drizzlyeye —
'bad enuff, Dan. Yez were always
batin' aich other and divartin' yer-
selves, and, barrin' the weltin' Brian
Born gev the Danes at Clontarf,

The Home- Rule Candidate.

751

bad cess to the liaporth yez ever
done, Dan. England is yer best
frind. We always play fair,' sez
he.

" ' How dar ye say that to me ?'
sez Dan, takin* the Traity av Lim-
erick out av his pocketbuke. ' Luk
at that documint,' sez he, firin' up ;
'there's some av yer dirty work;
an' I ax ye square an' fair,' sez Dan,
in a hait, for he was riz, ' if the
brakin' av that wasn't as bad as
anything yer notorious ancesthor
ever done?' alludin' to Drizzlyeye's
ancesthor, the impenitint thief.

" ' That's none of my doin', Dan,'
sez Drizzlyeye, turnin' white as a
banshee.

" ' I know it's not,' sez Dan ; ' but
ye'd do it to-morrow mornin',' sez
he, ' an' that's why I demand the
repale an' a teetotal separation."

" ' Begorra, but I think yer right,
Dan,' sez Drizzlyeye."

" Such an interview could not
possibly have occurred," observed
the practical Englishman.

" Cudn't it?" with an indignant
toss of the head. " I had it from
Lanty Finnigan, who heerd it from
the bishop's own body-man." And
Peter, giving the horse a lash of the
ivhip, dashed into the laurestine-
bordered avenue leading up to
the cosey cottage wherein resided
the "darlintest priest outside av
Room," Father Myles O'Dowd.

Father O'Dowd's residence was
a long, single-storied house, white-
washed to a dazzling whiteness, and
thatched with straw the color of the
amber wept by the sorrowing sea-
bird. A border of blood-red gera-
niums ran along the entire fafade,
and the gable ends were embower-
ed in honeysuckle and clematis.
A rustic porch entwined with Vir-
ginia creeper jealously guarded the
entrance, boldly backed up by the
"iligantest ratter in the barony"

in the shape of a bandy-legged ter-
rier, who winked a sort of facetious
welcome at Peter and bestowed a
cough-like bark of recognition upon
me. The parlor was a genuine
snuggery, "papered with books,"
all of which, from St. Thomas of
Aquinas to Father Perrone, were of
the rarest and choicest theological
reading. Nor were the secular
authors left out in the cold, to
which the well-thumbed volumes
of the Waverley Novels and the
immortal facetice of Dickens bore
ample testimony. A charming
copy of Raphael's masterpiece stood
opposite the door, the glorious eyes
of the Virgin Mother lighting the
apartment with a soft and holy ra-
diance, while the fresh and rosy
flesh-tints of the divine Infant be-
spoke the workmanship as being
that of a maestro. A portrait of
Henry Grattan hung over the
chimney-piece, and facing it, be-
tween the windows, a print of the
review of the volunteers in Col-
lege Green, while some dozen valu-
able engravings, all of a sacred
character, adorned the walls in
graceful profusion. A statuette of
the Holy Father occupied a niche
. specially prepared for it, and an
old brass-bound rosewood bureau,
black as ebony from age, sternly as-
serted itself in defiance of a hustling
crowd of horse-hair-seated chairs ;
a shining sofa a little the worse for
the wear, and presenting a series of
comfortless ridges to the unwary
sitter, and a genuine Domingo ma-
hogany table bearing an honest
corned beef and cabbage and " boil-
ed leg with " completed a picture
that was at once refreshing and in-
vigorating to behold.

" Shure he's only acrass the bog,
Masther Fred," exclaimed Biddy
Finnegan, the housekeeper, with a
joyous smile illuminating the very

752

The Home- Rule Candidate.

frills of her old-world white cap,
"an' I'll send wan av the boys for
him. He'd be sore an' sorry for to
miss ye, sir. An' how's the mis-
thress — God be good to her! — an'
the major, whin ye heerd av him ?
It's himself that's kindly and dhroll."
And Biddy, dusting the sofa, re-
quested the member for Doodle-
shire to take a " sate."

"•Won't ye have a sup o' some-
thin' afther yer jaunt, Masther
Fred, or this gintleman ? Och !
but here's himself now."

Father O'Dowd had been attach-
ed to Imogeela since his ordina-
tion— a period of thirty years, dur-
ing twenty-five of which he was
its devoted parish priest. Respect-
fully declining the promotion in
the church which his piety, erudi-
tion, and talents claimed for him
as their natural heritage, he clung
with paternal fondness to his little
parish, ministering to the spiritual
wants of his flock with an earnest
and holy watchfulness that was re-
paid to the uttermost by a child-
like and truthful obedience. To
his parishioners he was all, every-
thing— guide, philosopher, friend.
He shared their joys and their
sorrows, their hopes and their fears.
He whispered hope when the sky
was overcast, urging moderation
when the sun was at its brightest.
He had christened every child and
married every adult in the parish ;
and those, alas ! so many, lying be-
neath the green grass in the church-
yard of Imogeela had been sooth-
ed to their long, long rest by the
words of heavenly consolation from
his pious lips. Ever at his post,
the cold, bleak nights of winter
would find him wending his way
through rugged mountain-passes,
fording swollen streams, or wading
treacherous bogs to attend to the
wants of the sick and dying, while

a granite boulder or the stump of
a felled tree, the blue canopy of
heaven overhead, has upon many
memorable occasions constituted
his confessional. A profound
scholar, a finished gentleman, and,
despite his surroundings, a good
deal a man of the world, I was
proud, exceedingly proud, to be en-
abled to present to Mr. Hawthorne
so true a specimen of that order
which Lord John Russell had been
pleased to describe as " surpliced
ruffians."

The priest entered, a smile illu-
minating his expressive face like a
ray of sunlight. Stretching forth
both hands, he bade me welcome,
exclaiming : "Ah ! you have made
your pilgrimage at last ; you come,
as old Horace hath it, inter silvas
Academi quarere verum. How is
your excellent mother ? I receiv-
ed your joint epistle, and I hope
you got my promissory note, due al-
most at sight."

Father O'Dowd was about fifty-
five or fifty-six ; hale, handsome,
and muscular; his silken, snow-
white hair and ruddy complexion,
with his lustrous, dark blue eyes
and glittering teeth, giving him an
air of genial cordiality pronounce-
able at a single glance. Tall, sun-
burnt, and powerfully built, he
carried that solidity of gesture and
firmness of tread sometimes so
marked in muscular Christianity.
I saw with feelings of intense plea-
sure that my guest was both pleas-
ed and impressed — an impression
strengthened by the cordial greet-
ing which the worthy priest ex-
tended to him.

" Welcome to Ireland, Mr. Haw-
thorne. It's about the best thing
Strongbow ever did for me — the
pleasure of seeing a friend of my
dear young friend's here. Collec-
tively you Saxons hate us; individu-

The Home-Rule Candidate.

753

ally you find us not quite the law-
less savages the Pall Mall Gazette
and Spectator would make us.

"We want to know you better,"
said the M.P.

" Ah ! that's the rub. You don't
know us, and never will know us ;
but we know you. Englishmen
come over to Ireland, believing
that a real knowledge of the coun-
try is not to be acquired from news-
papers, but that a man must see
Ireland for himself. They come ;
they go; and all they pick up is a
little of our brogue. We never can
hope for much more than what
Lucan calls concordia discors."

" I believe if Ireland were to take
the same stand as Scotland — "

" Scotland me no Scotland,"
laughed Father O'Dowd.

" Scotland is contented and
thrifty."

" And Ireland is poor and proud.
I tell you, Mr. Hawthorne, that we
have a big bill of indictment against
you that I fear may never be set-
tled in my day. Why should not
Scotland be contented ? Is she
not fed on sugar-plums ? Is there
not a sandy-haired Scotchman in
every position worth having, from
the cabinet to the custom-house ?
Do you not develop all her indus-
tries, and pat her on the back like a
spoiled child ? Are not your roy-
al family ipsis Hibernicis Hiberniores,
or, if I freely translate myself, more
Scotch than the Scotch themselves ?
Why should she not be contented
and prosperous when she gets
everything she asks for?"

" But you ask too much, rever-
end sir."

" It is scarcely asking too much
to ask for one's own."

4< Surely yours are at best but —
ahem ! — sentimental grievances, and
the House makes every — ahem ! —
effort at conciliation."

VOL. XXVI. — 48

" We can stand hard knocks and
square fighting, and possibly feel
all the better for it ; but when you
speak of conciliation and all that
sort of thing we get on our edge
at once, as we know that we are
going to be bamboozled."

" But surely you will admit that
we have done a good deal for the
country. See the Church Disestab-
lishment Act and the Land Act."

" Only two patches on our rag-
ged coats, my dear sir. We want
independence, and that you won't
give us ; nor will you offer us a quid
pro quo, as you did with Scotland,
because you know we would not
accept it. No, Mr. Hawthorne,
we'll have to fight you for this, and
our Irish members must do the Mrs.
Caudle for John Bull, and give him
sleepless and wretched nights in the
big house at St. Stephen's."

" Have you any fault to find
with the administration of the
laws ?"

" Fault ! When we find ourselves
gagged and fettered by a miserably
weak administration, and hedged in
by a set of uncertain and floating
laws, we begin to think about right-
ing ourselves. You send us a lord-
lieutenant who knows as much
about Ireland as he does of Bunga-
roo — who comes over with a hazy
idea that there's some one to be
conciliated and some one to be
hanged; a chief-secretary who knows
less ; an attorney-general who, if
active, means a necessity for
strengthening the garrison ; and a
commander of the forces who pants
for a chance of manoeuvring his
flying columns over our prostrate
bodies. But here comes Biddy Fin-
negan with a cutlet of mountain
mutton, and I can give you a drop
of the real mountain dew that never
paid the Saxon gauger a farthing
duty — or, at least, if we had our

754

The Home-Rule Candidate.

rights, ought not, according to Peter
O'Brien." And he laughed. "These
subjects are much better worth
discussing than English misrule.
Quantum est in rebus inane." And
ushering Mr. Hawthorne to a seat
upon his right hand, he proceeded
to do the honors with a courtly
grace blended with a fascinating
hospitality.

"'That poteen has its story. As
I have already told you, it never
paid duty. A friend of mine was
anxious that I should keep it on
tap, as he constantly comes this
way. It is somewhat difficult to
obtain it now, as the excise officers
are, like you members of Parlia-
ment, particularly wide awake."
The M.P. bowed solemnly in recog-
nition of the compliment. "At
last, however, he managed to drop
on a man, who knew another man,
who knew another man, in whose
cabin this particular crayture was
to be found. My friend ferreted
him out, and, upon asking the price
per gallon, was informed by the
manufacturer that he would only
charge him eighteen shillings.

" ' Eighteen shillings !' exclaimed
my friend. ' Why, that's an enor-
mous price.'

" ' Och ! shure,' replied the other,
with a droll look perfectly indescri-
bable, ' I cudn't part it for less, as
the dutys riz. ' '

It took a considerable time to
drive the point of Father O'Dowd's
fictitious narrative and the illicit
distiller's rejoinder into the head of
the member for Doodleshire ; and
when he did manage to grapple it,
wishing to lay it by in order to re-
tail it in the House, it was found
impossible to get him completely
round it, as the word " riz " invari-
ably balked him, and it is scarcely
necessary to observe that his An-
glican substitution failed in every

way to improve the story. The cut-
lets were deliciously tender, and
the potatoes in their jackets so
mealy and inviting that the Saxon
fell to with a vigor that fairly as-
tonished me. As dish after dish of
the diminutive shies disappeared,
and potato after potato left its
jacket in shreds behind it, 1 con-
gratulated myself upon the signal
success of this visit.

" My drive gave me an appetite,
father," he said. " I haven't eaten
luncheon for many months. In the
House 1 generally pair off with
some friend to a biscuit and a glass
of sherry ; but here I have — ahem !
— eaten like a navvy."

" I'm delighted to hear you men-
tion the drive as the cause of the
appetite; for I must endeavor to
induce you to repeat it and help
me to eat a saddle of mutton that
will be fit for Lucullus on Thurs-
day."

"I am in Mr. Ormonde's hands."

I was in an agony — another day
from Mabel !

"Oh ! Ormonde will do as I di-
rect him ; and I'll tell you what we
must conspire about to-night — to in-
duce the ladies to drive over. I
should be very pleased to show
Miss Hawthorne a little this side
of the county."

I breathed again.

"You shall have my vote," said
the M.P. ; "and, if I might dare
suggest an amendment to the sad-
dle, it would be in ' chops.' "

" We might do the swell thing,"
laughed the padre^ " and have two
disb.es — an entree ; how magnifi-
cently that sounds ! In any case I
can say with Horace :

" Hinc tibi copia
Manabit ad plenum, benigno
Ruris bonorum opulenta cornu."

" I have — ahem ! — almost forgot-
ten my Horace," sighed our guest.

The PIomc-RuIc Candidate.

755

" One might say to you, as was
said to the non-whist-player, What
an unhappy old age you are laying
up for yourself, Mr. Hawthorne !"

" Well, reverend sir, so long as a
man has the Times he can defy
ennui ; every leader is an essay."

" You cannot commit the Times
to memory."

" I read it every day, sir," was
the pompous reply.

" Apropos of the Times, they
tell a story of Chief-Baron Pigott
which is eminently characteristic.
He is one of the most scrupulous,
painstaking men the world ever
saw, who, sooner than do a criminal
injustice, would go over evidence
ad nauseam and weigh \\\o. pros and
cons, driving the bar nearly to dis-
traction. One day a friend found
him upon the steps of his house
superintending the removal of a
huge pile of newspapers.

"'What papers are those, Chief-
Baron ?' he asked.

" ' The London Times.1

" ' Do you read the Times regu-
larly?'

" ' Oh ! dear, yes.'

"'Did you read that slashing
leader on Slight's speech ?'

" ' No ; when did it appear ?'

"'Last Thursday.'

"'Oh! my dear friend, I shall
come to it by and by; but at pre-
sent I am a year in arrear' '

" Am I to understand that he
intended to read up to that
speech ?"

" Certainly. This will illustrate
the man. At his house in Leeson
Street, Dublin, the hall-door was
divided into two, and a knocker at-
tached to each door. The chief-
baron has been known to stand for
hours, pausing to consider which
knocker he would rap with, fearing
to act unjustly by the unutilized
one."

" I can scarcely credit this," ex-
claimed the member.

"Oh! you'll hear of stranger
things than that before you leave
Ireland." And the merry twinkle
in the priest's eye dissipated any
doubts still lingering in the pon-
derous mind of the learned member
for Doodleshire.

" That story is worthy of our —
ahem ! — charioteer."

"Who? Peter O'Brien? What
good company the rascal is ! Of
him one can safely say with Pub-
lius, Comes jueundus in via pro vehi-
culo est. Peter would lighten any
journey. What was the subject of
the debate to-day ?"

" Well — ahem ! — he gave us a new
and original version of A Strange
Adventure with a Phaeton" And
the little man chuckled at his wit.

" I know the story," said Father
O'Dowd. " It is one of Peter's
favorites, and it takes Peter to
tell it."

" From the phaeton he plunged
into Home Rule."

" Freddy," addressing me, "you
must get Peter to tell our English
friend here the story of how ' ould
Casey done Dochther Huttle out
av a guinea'; it's racy of the
soil."

" There are — ahem ! — some words
of his that I cannot exactly fol-
low. They are Irish, but they
have quite a Saxon ring about
them, which evidently shows the
affinity in the languages."

" And a further reason for unit-
ing us. You English will never
rest content until a causeway is
built between Kingstown and Holy-
head, garrisoned for the whole sixty
miles by a Yorkshire or Shropshire
regiment — one that can be depend-
ed upon."

" That idea has been mooted in
the House before now; I mean the

756

Outside St. Peter's.

— ahem ! — connection of the two
countries by a tunnel."

" So you would bind us in the
dark, Mr. Hawthorne?"

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! Father O'Dowd,
that is so good that I must book it
here," tapping his forehead in a
ghastly way. " Don't be surprised
if it is heard in the House. We
a^e very witty there."

" If there is any wit in the House
of Commons we send it to you.
But I doubt if there is a sparkle of
repartee among all the Irish mem-
bers even. I've seen a French mot
rehashed, with the epigram left out
in the cold, and an Irish story with
the point striking somewhere in
Tipperary."

" Tipperary is very Irish, is it
-not ? They speak the Irish lan-
guage there, and run their vowels
into each other."

u You are right, sir ; that is the

place where you'd get your two /'s
knocked into one."

Mr. Hawthorne saw this, and,
although the laugh was against
him, enjoyed it amazingly. Father
O'Dowd could hit from the shoul-
der, but could also pick up his
prostrate foe with the delicacy of a
woman. When creed or country
came up, one found a stalwart
champion in the worthy priest,
who could meet his adversary with
shillelah or polished steel, as the
requirements of the case demand-
ed.

" Finish that glass of wine, and
let me show you a set of the finest
boneens in the county." '

" Boneens ? What are boneens ?"

" This is more of your Saxon ig-
norance," laughed Father O'Dowd,
as, followed by Mr. Hawthorne and
myself, he led the way in the direc-
tion of the stable-yard.

TO PE CONTINUED.

OUTSIDE ST. PETER'S.

How grand the approach ! The dome's Olympian disc

Albeit has sunk behind the huge facade.
Lo ! with its cross the sentinel obelisk
Salutes as on parade.

'"Hewn from the red heart of primeval granite,"
It says, " among the monuments which man
Reared to outmass the mountains of his planet,
I was, ere Rome began.

"" By no dark hieroglyphs my sides are storied ;

My titular god, in Heliopolis,
In the world's morning burned into my forehead
The signet of his kiss.

Outside St. Peter 's. 757

" Converted like an ancient scroll rewritten,

What heeds the Sun of Righteousness my date ?
I lift his symbol on my brow, dawn-smitten,
And at his portal wait !"

And the twin fountains leap in joy, and twist

Their silvery shafts in foaming strength amain,
Whose loosening coil is whirled into a mist
Of sun-illumined rain.

Therein the bow of promise tenderly,

A Heart in glory, palpitates and glows ;
And musically, in words of melody,

The crystal cadence flows :

" Ho ! fallen ones, Eve's sorrowing sons and daughters !

In our lustration nothing is accurst ;
Ho ! come ye, come ye to the living waters,
Whoever is athirst."

The colonnaded, stately double-porch

For world-wide wanderers stretches arms of grace ;
The bosom of the universal church

Draws us to her embrace.

In their white silence the apostles look
Benignantly upon us. Waving hands
Of welcome — if our tears such vision brook —
In midst the Master stands.

" Humanity," he pleadeth, " heavy laden,

Come unto me, and I will give you rest !
Through this, my portal, to the nobler Eden
Enter, and be possessed !"

'Tis Easter ; and they sing the risen Christ —

How jubilant St. Peter's wondrous choir !
But now no vision of the Evangelist,
Preceding throne and tiar,

Is borne amid the mystic candlesticks ;

No waving feathers flash with starry eyes ;
In the gold chalice and the gold-rayed pyx,
For paschal sacrifice,

No pontiff consecrates the elements;

And dost remember, in the olden time,
How heaven was stormed with silver violence —
That trumpet-burst sublime,

758 Outside St. Peter s.

Like cherubim in battle? Or, all sound
Tranced for the elevation of the Host,
How tingling silence thrilled through worlds profound.
Where moved the Holy Ghost,

And then Rome rocked with bells ? If such things were,

They are not now. But we are strangely wrought
And vibrant, answering like a harp in air

The impalpable wind of thought.

O'er the Campagna's wastes of feverous blight

I've watched St. Peter's mighty dome expand
In soaring cycloids to the infinite,

When heaven was blue and bland.

When storm was on the mountains and the sea,

Have seen its whole empyreal glory tost
Like shipwreck on a wild immensity,

That heaved without a coast.

But it was grand through all. From far or near,

It seemed too vast for heresies or schisms ;
No colored glass, within its hemisphere,

Breaks white light as with prisms.

I have dreamed dreams therein : of charity
Wide as the world, impartial as the sun ;
That on such Sion, in fraternity,

Might all men meet as one.

Dreams ! Yet one cross, one hope — we scarce can err —

May, must all wanderers to one fold recall :
The Apostles' Creed, the bunch of precious myrrh,
Can purify us all.

"I have builded on a rock !" His word symbolic
He will make plain — the Eternal cannot fail :
" Earth shall not shake ray One Church Apostolic,
Nor gates of hell prevail V*

French Home Life.

759

FRENCH HOME LIFE.*

PHILOSOPHERS, theologians, and
political economists alike are
agreed that the family is the basis
of society and the type of govern-
ment. Home life and teaching,
therefore, is the most important
tiling in youth, and of whatsoever
kind it is, so will be the behavior in
riper years of the generation brought
up in its precepts. If parents did
their duty, the state would need few-
er prisons ; or, as a Chinese proverb
more tersely puts it, "If parents
would buy rods, the hangman would
sell his implements." Individual
effort, however heroically it may
make head against the stream, has
but a hard and uncertain task in
an atmosphere the very reverse of
Christian and Scriptural, and in the
teeth of laws becoming every day
more and more antagonistic to the
Ten Commandments. Still, since
the spirit of the age has almost
put on one side, as obsolete, the
ideal of reverence for age and ex-
perience, and the respect due to
parents, husbands, masters, and su-
periors, the preservation of the
worthy traditions of Christian home-
life falls necessarily to the hands of
families themselves. We have to
live not up to or within the laws,
but beyond them, and to train our
children not only as good and obe-
dient citizens but as earnest and
practical Christians. Not only in
one country is this the case, nor
even among the countries of one
race, but everywhere, from modern-
ized Japan to Spain, from Russia to
the reservations cf friendly Indians.

* La Vif Domcstique. ft MotMei ft *es Rtglis—
ifnfres les documents originaux. Charles de
Ribbe. Paris: Edouard Baltcnareck.

There is one country, however,
whose modern literature and prac-
tice for a century and a half has
been a synonym for looseness of
teaching, for disregard of family
ties, honor, authority, and restraint,
for every element brilliantly and
fatally disintegrating, for every
moral and philosophical novelty.
France is perhaps the nation most
misrepresented and maligned by
her public literature — at least the
France whose delinquencies have
been so shamelessly and with seem-
ing enjoyment dissected before our
eyes by her novelists and satirists.
The sound body on whose surface
these sores break out is ignored ; the
old tradition, rigid and artificial in
many points, but made so by the
very license of court and city
which for ever assaulted its simpli-
city, is overlooked, and the decent,
quiet, and strongsubstratum of man-
liness, truth, and purity underlying
the froth of vice in the capital and
the large towns is forgotten.

The first French Revolution was
prepared by atheistical epicures,
the airy and refined unbelievers of
the court of Louis XIV. and XV. ;
and though turbulent masses here
and there caught the infection, and
with cruel precision put in practice
against the court nobility the theories
about which the latter so compla-
cently wrote essays and epigrams,
yet the rural populations still be-
lieved in God and virtue — the evil
had not struck root among the
body of the nation. The infidelity
of the present century has complet-
ed the task left unfinished by
Voltaire and Rousseau ; newspapers
have carried doubt and arrogance

760

French Home Life.

among the simple people of the
country; the laws of partition
have destroyed many homesteads
once centres of families, and driven
people into crowded and unhealthy
cities ; the example of a noisily pro-
minent class of self-styled leaders
has carried away the senses of
otherwise sober and decent men ;
the* increase of drunkenness has
further loosened family and home
ties ; politics have become a mere
profession, instead of the portion
allotted by duty to the collective
body of fathers of families, and so
the old ideal is vanishing fast.
Frenchmen of the right sort look
despairingly into the far past of their
own country, and into the history
of foreign nations — English, Ameri-
can, Dutch, Hanoverian — for models
of pure living, respect for authority,
law-abidingness, and attachment to
home. Some have set themselves
to study Hindoo, Chinese, and
Egyptian models, and to put together
from the Proverbs and Ecclesiastes
of Solomon, and the exhortations
of Plato and Cicero, an ideal code
of home-life; some have gathered
together and published with loving
regret the memorials of French life
at its purest, of the patriarchal
ideal which survived even till the
seventeenth century — the age, pre-
eminently, of great Frenchmen and
women, and of which some shadows
lingered into our own century.
From the naif advice of Louis IX.,
the saintly king of France, to his
son and daughter, Philip and Isabel,
to the family registers of small yeo-
men of Proven9al valleys and the
grave admonitions of a judge to his
newly-married daughter just before
the French Revolution, the same
spirit breathes through the dying
addresses of Christian fathers of
families in what we only know as
infidel and immoral France. "The

seven thousand who bowed not the
knee to Baal" were always repre-
sented, though the licentious courts
of the Valois and the Bourbons
threw a veil over the virtues of the
country; not one class alone, but
all, from the titled proprietor to the
small tradesman and struggling me-
nager, or yeoman, contributed its
quota of redeeming virtue. But
it is noticeable that the majority
of these upright men were poor.
They could not afford to be idle ;
they had large families to support ;
they had their patrimony to keep
in the family, and, if possible, to in-
crease. All the customs that we are
going to see unrolled before us, the
sentiments expressed, the simple,
dull, serious life led, are utterly
alien from anything we call techni-
cally French. We shall be surpris-
ed at every page, but less so if we
remember that this patriarchal life
was generally spent in the country,
and cften in mountainous regions
and severe climates. While reading
of these scenes some may be re-
minded of a story placed in a sin-
gular region in the south of France,
— the Camargue, not far from Aigues-
Mortes — in which Miss Bowles has
embodied the characteristic traits of
a magnificent, healthy, hardy, and
upright race. One of these Proven-
gal farms had much in common
with some described in that book.
The reason which makes the au-
thor ofZtf Vie Domestique choose the
Courtois family register as the first
subject of his two volumes is that it
is the latest that has come to his
knowledge; and reproducing, al-
most in our own generation, the
traits of a vanished society, it is of
more interest and of greater weight
as a possible model. The author
of it, descended from a family of
lawyers and judges at least two
hundred years old, died in 1828,

French Home Life.

761

and his descendants still live in the
valley of Sault — one of those natu-
ral republics not uncommon in
mountainous districts — retired from
the outer world, faithful to ances-
tral tradition, and governing them-
selves patriarchally according to
their old and never-interrupted
communal liberties. There is a
vast field for research, and more for
meditation, in the liberties of the
old mediaeval states north and
south of the Pyrenees; it is start-
ling to see what bold claims the
parliaments of Aragon and Navarre
could enforce, and their Spartan
disregard of the kingly office unless
joined to almost perfect virtue.
But centralization, the genius of
our time, has ruthlessly declared
that sort of liberty antiquated, and,
after the decay of the despotism
which the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries began, the liberty of the
individual was insisted on rather
than that of the commonwealth.

The valley of Sault was ori-
ginally independent of any feudal
duties, and though later on its
lords, the D'Agoults, paid homage
and fealty to the counts of Pro-
vence and then to the counts D'An-
jou, they still retained the sove-
reign rights of coinage and inde-
pendent legislation. The country
is rocky and woody ; for, though
reckless wood-cutting decreased
the forests round this commune,
Sault itself remained a forest oasis,
which the provident inhabitants
have tried to perpetuate by plant-
ing young oaks on the barren slopes
of their hills. The Courtois were
assiduous planters of trees, and a
grove of fairly-grown oaks formed a
background to their farm buildings.
Quantities of aromatic herbs grow
in this neighborhood, and their
distillation into essences forms an
industry of the country. But the

beauty that Sault chiefly lacks is
that of water; for, though not far
from the famous fountain of Vau-
cluse, there is no local stream of
any importance. This is Alpine
scenery without Alpine torrents.
But, on the other hand, Sault has
a sulphur spring, as yet only locally
famous, and the meadows are green
and moist. The principal natural
curiosity of the valley is the Avens,
a kind of rifts in the earth, like
craters, which, at the rainy season,
gape open and absorb floods of
rain, leaving only a small portion
to feed the Nesque, a tiny tributary
of the Rhone. Beech, birch, and
maple abound, and pasturage forms
a surer road to fortune than agri-
culture. Yet the small freeholds
are pretty equally divided, and the
more advanced among the inhabi-
tants have very clear and approved
notions of practical farming. The
custom of selling or exchanging the
paternal acres was, till the last
quarter of a century, unknown, or
at least abhorred ; and a local tra-
dition dating hundreds of years
back had established a modified
right of primogeniture — one of the
sons, generally but not necessarily
the eldest, devoting himself to the
care of his aged parents, the settle-
ment of his sisters, the manage-
ment of the farm, and the accumu-
lation of a reserve fund from his
income for the unforeseen necessi-
ties of the younger branches of the
family. His portion in money was
sometimes double, according to the
Mosaic precedent, but it was under-
stood that the Support of the
House (such was the phrase)
should use his advantages only for
the general benefit of the family,
and also that his wife's dowry
should nearly cover the deficit
caused by the marriage and dow-
ries of his sisters.

762

French Home Life.

Those simple people knew noth-
ing of laws, such as shameful ex-
cesses have made necessary in An-
glo-Saxon countries, for the protec-
tion, against the husband and fa-
ther, of the wife's fortune and
children's inheritance. Antoine de
Courtois, one of these model yeo-
men of southern France, looked
urion any alienation of ancestral
property, or even any use of capi-
tal, as sheer robbery of his descend-
ants, and says in his family regis-
ter : " To sell our forefathers' land
is to renounce our name and dis-
inherit our children. Never be-
lieve that it can be replaced by
other property, and remember that
all those who have been ready to
exchange their ancestors' for other
land have ruined themselves. . . .
If our farm is well managed, it will
always bring in more than six per
cent. Any other land you could
buy would not bring in three per
cent., and would ruin you to im-
prove it. You would have a de-
creased capital and no income, and
it would break your heart."

The description of the home-
stead is interesting. The buildings
included the master's house, with
ten rooms on the ground-floor,
eight others on the first floor, three
granaries above, with a dovecote,
and three cellars below ; a farmer's
house, a shepherd's, hay-barns and
stables, a courtyard and fountain,
a garden and orchard with over a
hundred fruit-trees, a fish-pond,
fifty bee-hives, and two hundred
sheep. He had rebuilt much of
this himself, and spent ten thou-
sand francs on the work ; and in
laying some new foundations he
had put his wife's and children's
names below the corner-stone.
As to farm management, he em-
phatically preferred and advised
self-work with hired help, instead

of renting the place on shares or
otherwise to a farmer with a use-
less family. He gave very judi-
cious rules for sowing, hoeing, har-
vesting, etc., and impressed upon
his son the profit to be derived
from bees, and the increased value
of land of a certain kind, if planted
with young oaks. Work lie con-
sidered the only condition of hap-
piness, as well as the road to com-
fort, and he said he would sooner
see his sons shoemakers than idlers.
The family profession was the law,
though he himself in his youth stu-
died medicine, successfully enough
in theory, but not in practice, since,
after losing his first patient, his
scruples and disgust ended by forc-
ing him to leave his calling. The
business of a notary public was the
one he recommended to his son in
the choice of a profession ; his fa-
mily tradition led him in this groove,
where, indeed, he had been preced-
ed by some of the greatest men in
France.

This choice of a state is so much
a matter of custom .or of personal
inclination that we must carefully
discern between things in the Cour-
tois family which were models and
things of indifference. Their mo-
ral qualities alone are universal
types ; their local customs, worthy
in their own circumstances, would
probably be utterly unfit for a
country and race so different as
ours. But Courtois' native town,
of which he was mayor for nearly
twenty years, gives an example less
rare in foreign countries than in
either England or the United
States — that of supporting an insti-
tution containing an archaeological
museum, a botanical collection,
and a collection of local zoology
and mineralogy, besides a library
which occupies a separate building,
the whole under the care of a mem-

French Home Life.

763

ber of the French Archaeological
Society, M. Henri Clirestian — an
example which it would be well if
our own towns of three thousand
inhabitants (Sault has no more)
would be public-spirited enough to
follow. It is not the lack of money
that debars small rural towns of
such advantages ; they generally
contrive to keep three or four bar-
rooms going, a dancing-hall, a Ma-
sonic hall, an annual ball and sup-
per, half a dozen discreditable
places for summer picnics, and oth-
er things either useless and showy
or downright disreputable. In-
stead of paying money year by year
for the gratification of folly and
temptation to vice, and putting
money in the pockets of men who
deliberately trade on their fellow-
men's weakness or wickedness, why
not pay a subscription the full be-
nefits of which they reap them-
selves not for one day or night
only in a year, but every day ?
Where there is a library in a small
town, what books are most nume-
rous? Trashy novels vilely illus-
trated, and Saturday newspapers
with their ignoble, misleading, im-
moral tales and cuts. What a con-
trast to many a French, Italian,
German village of three to five
thousand inhabitants, or even to
some of the island-villages of North
Holland, remote and unvisited as
they are !

Antoine de Courtois was the na-
tural outcome of the secluded do-
mestic atmosphere in which his
family had grown up. The doc-
trines that led to the excesses of
the Reign of Terror — for we must
not confound the legal and rightful
reforms of 1789 with the bloody
fury of 1793 — and the abuses that
hurried on the great dislocation of
society, had not reached his val-
ley. In all lands where the local

land-owners had remained at home
and identified themselves with their
neighbors, keeping only as a badge
of their superiority a higher stan-
dard of honor and bravery, there
was no revolt against the gentle-
men. If any village followed the
example of the large cities, it was
sure to be owing to some scape-
grace who had left home and learnt
a more successful rascality among
the tavern politicians of some seeth-
ing city, and then come back to
play Robespierre on his own small
stage. f Courtois married in the
midst of the Revolution, in 1798,
and quietly took up the task of his
brother Philip, who had died sud-
denly without leaving any children,
and whose wife, though only a
bride of a few months, devoted
herself all her life to the family
interests. Antoine, always humane
and charitable, had given shelter to
two of the revolutionary commis-
sioners, pursued by enemies of an
opposite faction then uppermost,
for which he was speedily denounc-
ed by an informer and imprisoned.
His widowed sister-in-law travelled
to Nice and besought the interfer-
ence of the man he had formerly
saved — the young Robespierre. A
respite, then a pardon, was granted,
and Antoine retired for a short
time to Nice, sheltering himself be-
hind his nominal profession of me-
dicine, until one night the informer
who had betrayed him came trem-
bling to his door, begging him to
save his life. He fed and clothed
him, and gave him money to set
him on his way, as well as a pro-
mise to turn his pursuers from his
track should he be examined.

Such a man acted as he believ-
ed, and might say the Lord's
Prayer with a clear conscience.
His equable temperament, and his
firm reliance on reason as the cor-

French Home Life.

ner-stone of morality, are very un-
like what we attribute to the typi-
cal Frenchman — emotional, unre-
liable, fantastic, or affected; the Pa-
risian has blotted out all worthier
types from our sight. His advice
to his children on their duty of
consulting reason and moderation
in all things, and sternly repressing
mere inclination or passion, goes
so far as to seem exaggerated and
to banish from life even its most
legitimate pleasures. But he knew
the corruption pressing upon his
retreat, besieging it and luring it,
and to extreme evils he opposed
extreme remedies. Besides, ancient
custom sanctioned, or at least col-
ored, his advice as to marriage, in
which matter not only his daugh-
ters but also his son were not to
choose for themselves, but let their
mother choose and decide for
them. He required his children
to be wise beyond their years, and
would fain have put "old heads on
young shoulders "; but the fright-
ful license he saw around him
made the recoil only natural. Men
had need to be Solomons in early
youth, when hoary heads degrad-
ed themselves to play at Satyrs.
Among other precepts — and there
is not one that could not be match-
ed out of Proverbs and Ecclesi-
astes — he insisted on the duty of
neither borrowing nor lending;
his teaching was inflexible on this
point. " Better go shirtless than
borrow money " was his maxim.
In these days of lax and indiscrimi-
nate pity for all misfortune such
advice sounds selfish and harsh ;
it belongs to the conscience of
each man to interpret it and make
exceptions. As to the borrowing
we might be inclined to say, " Never
under any circumstances " ; but as
to the lending there may be ex-
ceptions. In the first you fetter

yourself, than which nothing is
less wise ; in the second you incur
no obligation, and, if you can afford
to lose the sum lent, there is an
additional excuse. Courtois' ob-
jection was founded on the prin-
ciple he set forth elsewhere, that
your property is not your own but
your posterity's, and that you have
no right to diminish it. If he had
had any other and absolutely per-
sonal property, the objection would
have been no doubt qualified. In
many cases he showed by his own
example that he had no objection
to give, and to be helpful to his
neighbor according to his ability.
He was rigidly opposed' to the
reading of novels, to games of
chance, to balls and theatre-going;
one could almost fancy one's self lis-
tening to an old Puritan on this
subject. But in this respect who
is more of a Puritan than St. Je-
rome in his instructions to Paula
for the education of her daughter ?
Reading consisted, with Antoine
de Courtois, chiefly of the Scrip-
tures and of the Following of
Christ, that universal book of de-
votion, with Chateaubriand's then
recently-published Ge'nie du Chris-
tianisme. The later development
of Christian literature, less florid
than Chateaubriand, might have
added other books in his own lan-
guage to his restricted library, but
they hardly existed in his day.
For instance, he would have sym-
pathized with Joubert, who wrote :
" Whenever the words altars, graves,
inheritance, native country, old
customs, nurse, masters, piety, are
heard or said with indifference, all
is lost."

The practical and physical ad-
vantages of virtue were always be-
fore his eyes, and he never ceased
showing his children how sensible
and rational are the laws of God.

French Home Life.

765

They preserved health and gave
success; they ensured happiness
and kept peace. Honesty is not
only the first duty of man to his
fellow, but is the safest road for
one's self, and brings with it the con-
fidence, the respect, and the love
of one's neighbors. On the sub-
ject of drunkenness it is worth
while to note what a Frenchman,
one of a nation of wine-drinkers —
who, it is said, are so sober as op-
posed to a nation of ale and spirit
drinkers — and of a generation long
preceding any agitation on the
temperance question, says in his
solemn advice to his children :

" Nothing is more contemptible than
drunkenness, and, in order that it may
be impossible for you to fall into this
sin, I advise you never to drink wine.
Water-drinkers live longer and are
stronger and healthier. Be sure of this :
it is easy to accustom yourself to drink
no wine, but, once the habit of drinking
wine is formed, it costs a good deal to
satisfy it, and often painful efforts to re-
strain it within the bounds of modera-
tion. I never drank wine till I was
five-and-thirty, and I should have done
better never to drink any. Wine
strengthens nothing but our passions ;
it wears out the body and disturbs the
mind."

He recommended work, not only
as a duty but as the essential con-
dition of happiness, and no one
knows how true this is but those
who have tried to do without regu-
lar employment. One often hears
people wonder why so-and-so, be-
ing so rich, continues in business,
and slaves at the desk instead of
enjoying the fruits of his wealth.
Nothing is more natural, unless a
man has a taste strong enough to
form an occupation, such as Schlie-
mann had from his boyhood, and
was able to indulge after he earn-
ed money enough by business to
prosecute researches in the East.

The leisure that some people re-
commend is only idleness under a
veil of refinement, and no man or
woman can be rationally happy un-
less through some special occupa-
tion which towers above all others.
Doing a score of things, and giving
an hour or so to each, never brings
any result worth mentioning; de-
voting all your spare time to one
pursuit strengthens the mind even
where it is not needed to support
the body. "If you have no pro-
fession," says Antoine de Courtois,
"you Avill never be anything but
useless men, a burden to yourselves
and a weariness to others."

Domestic economy is another car-
dinal virtue of this thrifty French
farmer, and the rule he prescribes —
that of laying by one-sixth of one's
income to form a reserve fund, so
as not to encroach on one's capi-
tal for repairs or other unexpected
expenses — is worthy of notice. Go-
ing to law, especially among rela-
tions, he utterly abhors, and ad-
vises his son, in cases of dispute, to
have recourse to the arbitration of
some mutual friend. On one oc-
casion, when he was compelled to
go to law against a neighbor, he
mentions the suit as that of "our

mill against 's meadow," and

takes the first opportunity to do
his adversary a personal favor,
carefully distinguishing between
the individual and the cause. In a
word, all the elements of discord
and dissolution most familiar to
ourselves, and too unhappily com-
mon to cause any surprise, or even
to elicit more than languid blame,
are, in this family register, studi-
ously held up to execration.

Family affection, again, was not
restricted to the brothers and sis-
ters ; it included all relations, and
was supposed, whenever necessary,
to show itself in practical help.

French Home Life.

Uncles and aunts were second fa-
thers and mothers; god-parents
were more than nominal connec-
tions ; cousins were only another
set of brothers and sisters. A
maiden aunt, Mile. Girard, call-
ed in the affectionate patois of
Provence "our good tata," helped
to bring up Antoine's children, and
her brothers, far from wishing her
to follow her first impulse, and, on
account of her feeble health, take
the veil in some neighboring con-
vent, argued with her in favor of
home life and duties. She died at
the age of fifty-two, a holy death,
as her life had been useful, humble,
and charitable. Courtois himself
considered marriage the natural
state of man, and said that, for his
part, he thought " there was no
true happiness, and perhaps no sal-
vation, outside of the married
state." But he looked upon it as
so much a means to an end that
he deprecated the interference of
personal inclination against such
practical considerations as health,
virtue, becoming circumstances of
fortune and stacion. He wisely
said that one was only the steward
of one's own property, and was
bound to hand it on unimpaired to
one's posterity; yet it is possible
that he had too little confidence
in the probably wise choice his
children would make for themselves.
It is true that the choice of mates
by the parents provides in each
generation a balance to the inabil-
ty of the parents to choose for them-
selves in their own case — a sort of
poetic retribution ; and it is true
also that men and women at the
age of parents with marriageable
children have just come to that
maturity and perfection of judg-
ment which enables them to be
good guides to their sons and
daughters while the latter are still

in that chrysalis state when obe-
dience is the wisest course. But
such an education as he had given
them should have made them more
capable of discernment than others,
and in his precepts there is per-
haps as much of old tradition as
of reaction against the subversive
theories which were rending French
society in pieces. How else in-
terpret such a sweeping assertion
as this: "A father is the only man
a young girl need not fear " J — a
withering comment, indeed, on the
general state of society. On the
important subject of marriage and
its duties Mine, de Lamartine, the
mother of the poet, has -a beau-
tiful passage in her journal, written
at Milly, near Macon, at a small
country house, whose orchards,
meadows, and vineyards brought in
the small income of six hundred
dollars a year. On this she had a
large family of sons to bring up
and workmen to pay, yet the family
life was as dignified and as calm as
Abraham's with his vast possessions.
Her husband she calls a peerless
man, "a man after God's own
heart," and, as is often the case
with the fathers of brilliant men,
his character stands contrasted
with that of the poet, as the oak by
the side of the willow. The father
of Macaulay was infinitely superior
in his moral character to his amia-
ble, genial, and gifted son — a man of
iron, austerely upright, and a rock
on which to depend, " through thick
and thin," but not what the world
calls charming. Here is Mme.
de Lamartine's judgment, worthy
to be graven in the heart of every
bride as she leaves the altar :

"I was present to-day, 5th Feb., 1805,
at a taking of the veil of a Sister of Mer-
cy in the hospital at Macon. There was
a sermon, in which the candidate was
told that she had chosen a state of pen-

French Ho ] tic Life.

767

ance and mortification, and, as an em-
blem of this, a crown of thorns was put
upon her head. I admired her self-sac-
rifice, but could not help remembering
also that the state of the mother of a fam-
ily, if she fulfils her duties, can match
the cloistered state. Women do not
think enough of it when they marry, but
they really make a vow of poverty, since
they entrust their fortune to their hus-
bands, and can no longer use any of it
except what he allows them to spend.
We also take a vow of chastity and obe-
dience to our husbands, since we are
hereafter forbidden to seek to please or
lure any other man. Over and above
this we take a vow of charity towards
our husbands, our children, our servants,
including the duty of nursing them in
sickness, of teaching them as far as we
are able, and of giving them sound and
Christian advice. I need not, therefore,
envy the Sisters of Mercy ; I have only
faithfully to fulfil my duties, which are
fully as arduous as theirs, and perhaps
more so, since we are not surrounded by
good examples, as they are, but rather
by everything which would tend to dis-
tract us. These thoughts did my soul
much good ; I renewed my vows before
God, and I trust to him to keep me al-
ways faithful to them." *

Her life was serious and busy :

" I go to Mass every morning with my
children at seven. Then we breakfast,
and I attend to some housekeeping
cares ; then study, first the Bible, then
grammar and French history — I sewing
all the while. . . . My chief object is to
make my children very pious and keep
them constantly in full occupation."

They had family prayer, too, and
she says in her journal :

" It is a beautiful custom and most use-
ful, if one would have one's house, as
Scripture recommends, a house of breth-
ren. Nothing is so good for the mind
of servants as this daily partaking with
their masters in prayer and humiliation
before God, who recognizes neither su-
periors nor inferiors. It is good for

* In regard to the heroic virtue that can be prac-
tised in the married state there can be no question.
As little can there be any question that in the scale
of perfection the religious is the higher state.—
ED. C. W.

the masters to be thus reminded of
Christian equality with those who are
their inferiors in the world's eyes, and
the children are thus early taught to
think of their true and invisible Father,
whom they see their elders beseech with
awe and confidence."

The Courtois family were cousins
of the Girards, one of whom, Philip
de Girard, invented a flax-spinning
machine in 1810, and many other
mechanical improvements. In 1823
his father's property was in danger
of being sold at auction, and, hav-
ing no capital but his genius, he
made a contract with the Russian
government, binding himself to be-
come chief-engineer of the Polish
mines for ten years. He thus saved
his patrimony. A new town grew
up around one of the factories es-
tablished in Poland on his system,
and took his name, Girardow ; the
present emperor has given the town
a block of porphyry as a pedestal for
the founder's statue. He, too, was
of the old French stock, a dutiful
son and sincere Christian, schooled
in tribulation in his own country,
but, notwithstanding his many dis-
appointments as an inventor, happy
enough to have been buried in his
own old home.

A better-known name is that of
the D'Agtiesseau family, a remark-
able house, both for inherited piety
and genius. The great chancellor
of this name was a model son to a
model father, and all his own chil-
dren were worthy of him. Perhaps
the La Ferronnays are equally fortu-
nate ; as far as their family life is
revealed in A Sister's Story, it seems
cast in the same mould. Fc\\,
however, so prominent, and there-
fore so open to temptation, as the
D'Aguesseaus have given such a
sustained example of high virtue.
The chancellor, whose family, al-
ways connected with the law. dated

French Home Life.

authentically from the end of the
fifteenth century, was dangerously
fortunate in his public career. At
twenty-two he was advocate-gene-
ral to the Parliament of Paris, and
procurator-general at thirty-two,
an orator famous all over France,
a historian, a judge, a philosopher,
and a writer. His name was sy-
nonymous with several important
laws. He held the seals of the
chancellorship for thirty-two years,
and died in 1751, over eighty. His
linguistic studies embraced Hebrew
and Arabic — rare acquirements at
that time — and he was also a good
mathematician. His own saying,
which he applied to his father, is
no less true of himself : " The way
of the righteous is at first but an
imperceptible spot of light, which
grows steadily by degrees till it
becomes a perfect day." Another
of his maxims was that "public re-
form begins in home and self-re-
form." His children's education
was his greatest solicitude, even
among his public duties, and one
gets an interesting glimpse of him
in Mme. d'Aguesseau's letters de-
scribing the business journeys of
inspection on which he had to go,
and which he made with his family
in a big coach. The mother would
open the day by prayer, and the
sons then studied the classics and
philosophy with their father, while
even the hours of leisure were
mostly filled up by reading; for
the chancellor wisely taught his
boys to choose subjects of interest
out of school-hours, that they might
not identify reading with compul-
sory tasks. School teaching he
considered only as a basis for con-
tinued education by one's self, and
his ideal of his daughter's educa-
tion was the union of domestic
deftness with scientific study. This
daughter, in her turn, left to her

sons advice such as truly proved
her to be a mother in Israel. His
wife he enthroned as a queen in his
heart and his home, and would
smile when others rallied him on
his domestic obedience. He trust-
ed to her for all home matters and
expenses ; and such women as she
and those she represented were fit
to be trusted.

The seventeenth century was es-
sentially the age of great women in
France, and the early part of the
eighteenth still kept the tradition.
Mme. de Chantal had a manly soul
in a woman's body, and yet proved
herself as good a housekeeper as
an administrator of her. son's es-
tate while a minor. Prayer, work,
and study went hand in hand in
these women, and the D'Aguesseaus
were only shining representatives
of whole families and classes of no-
ble wives and mothers. They re-
mind one of some Scotch mothers
and homes, in districts where old
customs still abide ; where servants
are part of the family, yet never, in
all their loving and rude familiarity,
approach to a thought of disrespect
or disobedience ; where there is in-
tense love but no demonstration ;
where honor and truth are loved
better than life, and simplicity be-
comes in reality the most delicate
and grave courtesy. D'Aguesseau
loved farming as his chosen recrea-
tion, and vehemently denounced
the rising prejudice of the young
who were ashamed of their father's
simple homestead and refused to
live such rustic lives. The Hebrew
ideal — than which no finer has ever
been invented — was his absolute
standard of home-life, and how his
father's character answered to it
we shall presently see. The publi-
cation of this manuscript biography
and other domestic writings of the
chancellor was due only to long-

French Home Life.

769

continued pressure, and his sons
consented only with the hope of
doing good to a perverse genera-
tion. In these days, when people
are rather flattered than otherwise
to see their names in print, even if
it be only in a local sheet, many
may wonder at this reticence which
denoted the delicacy of this excep-
tional family. Whether the publi-
cation did good we can hardly
judge ; it must have helped to stop
some on a downward career, or at
least strengthened the weak re-
solves of some few struggling against
the current.

The elder D'Aguesseau had sin-
gular natural advantages such as
the majority lack, but much of this
happy temperament was probably
the result of generations of clean,
temperate, and orderly living, such
as his forefathers had been famous
for. His son traces a portrait of
him which seems to unite the pri-
mitive Christian with the ancient
Roman :

" Exempt from all passion, one could
hardly tell if he had ever had any to fight
against, so calmly and sovereignly did
virtue rule over his soul. I believe the
love of pleasure never made him lose a
single instant of his life. It even seemed
as if he needed no relaxation to balance
the exhaustion of his mind, and, if he al-
lowed himself any at rare intervals, a lit-
tle historical or literary reading, a short
conversation with a friend, or a chat with
my mother was enough to strengthen his
mind for more work ; but these relaxa-
tions were so few and far between that
one would have thought he grudged
them to himself. Ambition never dis-
turbed his heart ; for himself, he had
never had any, and in his children's
careers he looked only for opportuni-
ties for them to serve their country and
avoid idleness and luxury, which he
considered a perpetual temptation to
evil. How could avarice come near a
soul so generous ? . . . Twenty years'
labor on public works and thirty-one in
the council never suggested to him the
VOL. xxvi. — 49

idea of asking for anything.* . . . He
died at the age of eighty-one, never hav-
ing received any extraordinary gratuity,
pension, or grant. Even his salary, in
spite of his share in the distribution of the
public treasury, was always the last to be
paid. Mr. Desmarets, finance minister,
said to me one day as we were walking
in his garden: ' I must say your father
is an extraordinary man. I found out
by chance that his salary has not been
paid for some time, though he needs it
Why did he not tell me? He sees me
every day, and he knows there is no one
I would oblige sooner than him.' I
answered with a laugh that the salary
never would be paid, if he waited for my
father to ask for it, for he well knew that
the word ask was the hardest in the
world for my father to utter. . . . What
defects could a man have who was so
insensible to pleasure, ambition, even
legitimate self interest ? Nearly all hu-
man weaknesses are the results of these
three passions, . . . and Despreaux was
only literally in the right when he said
of your grandfather : ' Such a man makes
humanity despair.' He did not know
justice only through the discernment of
his mind ; he felt it as the natural in-
stinct and impulse of his heart, spite of all
prejudices and predilections. Diffident
of his own judgment, he feared the illu-
sions of a first impulse and the snares
of a hasty conclusion. Wisely lavish of
his time in listening to causes and read-
ing the memoranda of his clients, he was
never contented till he had got to the
smallest details of the truth, for to
judge aright was the only anxiety or
disturbance of mind he ever experienc-
ed. Mindful only of things in the ab-
stract, he wholly lost sight of names and
persons ; and if in the exercise of his
functions he was ever known to give
way to emotion, it was only on behalf of
endangered justice, never of individuals
as such. In this there was no obstina-
cy or arrogance. Zeal for justice and
love of truth would often so move him
that he was unable to contain his thoughts,
and would admonish others of the dan-
ger of trusting too much to what is erro-
neously called common sense, though it
be so rare a gift ; of the duty of learning

* He refused the chancellorship when Boucherat
gave up the seals, but did his work effectually as
commissioner of finance and overseer of public work
in the south and west of France between 1650 and
1690.

770

French Home Life.

accurately the principles of justice, and
of forming one's judgment on the expe-
rience of the wisest men."

His gentleness and patience, his
prudence and discretion, were no less
conspicuous ; his son says further :
" No one knew men better, and no
one spoke less of them." His gen-
tjeness was a companion virtue of
his courage. Apparently timid, he
was yet impassible ; neither moral
nor physical danger awed him.

" From this mixture of justice, pru-
dence, and bravery resulted a perfect
equipoise as little in danger from varia-
tions of temper as from tempests of pas-
sion. . . . He was always the same, al-
ways himself, always lord of his thoughts
and feelings. Hence that groundwork
of moderation that kept him in an at-
mosphere so serene that pride never
puffed him up, nor weakness degraded
him, nor extreme joy upset him, nor im-
moderate sorrow depressed him. Duty,
ever present to his mind, kept him with-
in the bounds of the most solid wisdom,
and one might epitomize his character
thus : he was a living reason, quickening
a body obedient to its lessons and early
accustomed to bear willingly the yoke of
virtue."

Of lesser qualities, having these
greater ones, he could not be des-
titute, and in his daily life, his eating
and drinking, his recreations, his
domestic relations, he was equally
steady and perfect. He disliked
dinner-parties especially, as involv-
ing a loss of time, though, if oblig-
ed to be at them, he never went
beyond the frugal portion equiva-
lent to his home meals ; he drank
so little wine that it scarcely co-
lored the water with which he mix-
ed it; and as to display, he was
such an enemy to it that he would
use only a pair of horses where his
colleagues and subordinates osten-
tatiously used two pair. He was sick-
ly of body, but retained his gentle
and equable temperament through-

out his life ; his servants found him
too easy to serve, so careless was he
of his personal comfort ; his friends,
few but sincere, found in him an-
other self, so forgetful was he of
his interests in theirs. In conver-
sation he repressed his natural
turn for pleasantry, because he de-
spised such frivolous talents; but
his esprit pierced his gravity at
times, and he was always a hearty
laugher. Piety was inborn in him,
and his faith was as childlike as
his morals were pure. Scripture
was his favorite reading, the Gos-
pels especially, and his grave devo-
tion in church was a rebuke to
younger and more thoughtless men.
He laid aside a tenth of his in-
come for the use of the poor, whom
he looked upon collectively as an
additional child of his own ; and a
famine, or local distress of any
kind, always found him with a re-
serve fund ready to help the needy.
On the other hand, he practised the
strictest domestic economy, and on
principle shunned all display beyond
what was necessary for simple com-
fort and the respect due to his official
position. We might go further in
this eulogium, but, having pointed
out the steadiness of character
which was peculiar to him, we
need not enlarge on qualities
which he shared with many weaker
but still well-meaning men. All
real saints are first true men ;
wherever an element of weakness
crosses the life of a servant of God
there is a corresponding flaw in
his perfection. The death of Hen-
ri d'Arguesseau was worthy of his
life ; the consideration for others,
the solicitude for some poor clients
whose interests he feared would
suffer through the time lost in for-
malities after his death, the strong
reliance on God, the frequent re-
petition of the Psalms, " the pos-

French Home Life.

771

sessing his soul in patience," which
distinguished his dying hours, all
pointed to the " preciousness"
which it must have worn in God's
sight.

The Chancellor d'Aguesseau
walked in his father's footsteps.
Among his teachings to his son,
who at nineteen was leaving home,
he insists especially on the study
of Holy Scripture, supplemented
by a practice of marking and bring-
ing together in writing all such pas-
sages as relate to the duties of a
Christian and a public life, to serve
as a body of moral precepts for his
own guidance. Others, he says,
have commented upon Scripture in
this direction, but he does not ad-
vise his son to follow them in their
methods, for " the true usefulness
and value of this sort of work is
only for the person himself, who
thereby profits at his leisure, and
imbues himself with the truths he
gathers." In his book, Reflections
on Christ, he says : " The charac-
teristic of Gospel doctrine is that
it is as sublime, while it is also as
simple, as one, as God himself.
There is but one thing needful : to
serve God, to imitate him, to be
one with him. This truth includes
all man's duties." Simplicity and
uprightness, singleness of purpose
and love of truth, were for him the
practical synonym of religion. His
father's death he calls " simple and
great " ; Job's eulogium he empha-
tically points out as having been
that of " a man simple and upright,
fearing God and eschewing evil."
Other moralists, public and pri-
vate, have harped, not unnecessa-
rily, on the same string. The Pro-
venyal poet, Frederick Mistral, adds
another element to the definition
of goodness — work. Brought up
on a farm, among all the interests
and details of agriculture and the

vintage, in a household whose head
was his father and teacher, and
where daily family prayer and read-
ing in common ended a day of hard
work, he was a strong and rustic
boy. All old customs were in
vogue : the father solemnly blessed
the huge Yule-log at Christmas,
and then told his children of the
worthy doings of their ancestors.
He never complained of the weath-
er, rebuking those who did in these
words : " My friends, God above
knows what he is about, and also
what is best for us." His table
was open to all comers, and he had
a welcome for all but idlers. He
would ask if such and such a one
was a good worker, and, if answer-
ed in the affirmative, he would say :
" Then he is an honest man, and I
am his friend." The men and
women on the farm were busy,
healthy, strong, and pious. The old
man had been a soldier under Na-
poleon, and had harbored proscrib-
ed and hunted fugitives in the Reign
of Terror. His adventures were a
never-ending source of interest to
his family, his hired men, and to
strangers. We are perhaps wrong
in saying so, but there is always a
tendency, when we see or hear of
such men, to say : " There are none
such now." Certainly there are
fewer, but in every age the same
lament has been raised. The " good
old times," if you pursue them
closely, vanish into the age of fa-
ble; yet in hidden corners one may
always find some of their represen-
tatives, and goodness, alas ! has al-
ways been exceptional. M. Taine,
in his Sources of Contemporary
France, wisely says : " In order to
become practical, to lord it over
the soul, to become an acknowledg-
ed mainspring of action, a doctrine
must sink into the mind as an ac-
cepted, indisputable thing, a habit,

772

French Home Life.

an established institution, a home
tradition, and must filter through
reason into the foundations of the
will ; then only can it become a
social force and part of a national
character." Unfortunately, it takes
centuries, or at least generations,
to produce such results; but the
continual and unchanging teaching
'of religion, running parallel to, and
yet distinct from, all local changes
of circumstance, may often supply
much of this natural tradition. In
the sixteenth century Olivier de
Serres, in a manual of agriculture,
touches on the duties of a land-
holder, and the old principles of
the Bible are revived in his ar-
chaic French. He bids masters,
" according to their gifts, exhort
their servants and laborers to fly
sin and follow virtue."

" He (the master) shall show them
how industry profits every business, spe-
cially farming, by means of which many
poor men have built houses ; and, on the
other hand, how by neglect many rich
families have been ruined. On this sub-
ject he shall quote the sayings of the
wise man, ' that the hand of the diligent
gathers riches,' and that the idler who
will not work in winter will beg his
bread in summer. Such and like dis-
courses shall be the ordinary stock of
the wise and prudent father of a family
concerning his men, whence also he will
learn to be the first to follow diligence
and virtue, and to let no word of blas-
phemy, of lasciviousness, of foolishness,
or of backbiting ever pass his lips, in
order that he may be a mirror of all
modesty."

Gerebtzoff's History of Ancient
Russian Civilization gives curious de-
tails of the patriarchal rules of life
in that country, the respect lavish-
ed on parents and elders, the early-
imbibed love of truth, and the fa-
miliar use of proverbs embodying
these doctrines. Why do these
things seem new to us, or at least
why is their repetition so necessary ?

St. Marc Girardin, lecturing at the
Sorbonne thirty years ago on the
fifth chapter of Proverbs, distrusted
the effect on his audience of youths
" of the period." He handled the
subject manfully, but so well that
his audience caught his own en-
thusiasm and rained down ap-
plause on those noble, ancient He-
brew maxims, so dignified in theory,
so beautiful in practice. But if the
world would not listen to such
teaching, the same precepts would
meet it unawares in the books cf
classic writers — in the Republic of
Plato, in the speeches of Cicero,
the Politics of Aristotle, in the laws
of Solon. The ancients 'constantly
startle us with their maxims of
more than human virtue ; much of
their heathen teaching puts to
shame the practice of their pseudo-
Christian successors. Those among
them who do not uphold piety, fil-
ial respect, obedience, and faith be-
long to a time when literature as
well as morals was degenerating;
but it would have required a Sar-
danapalus in literature to teach
unblushingly what Rousseau taught
to the most polished society of
Europe. All law is contained in
the Ten Commandments, and in
China, relates one of the mission-
aries whose " letters," unpreten-
tious as they are, are the greatest
help to science, a committee of
learned men, on being ordered to
report flaws in Christian doctrine,
said they had considered well, but
dared not do it, for all the essen-
tial doctrine was already contain-
ed in their own sacred books, the
King. Again, Christian practice in
old times revived the precept of
Deuteronomy to bear the com-
mandments " on the wrist, and en-
grave them on the threshold of the
house and the lintel of the door"
(Dent. vi. 6-9). In Luneburg,

French Home Life.

773

Hanover, a farm-house built in
1000, and which for six hundred
years has been in the family of its
present owner, a small yeoman,
Peter Heinrich Rabe, has this text
over the door : " The blessing of
God shall be thy wealth, If, mind-
ful of naught else, thou art Faith-
ful and busy in the state God has
given thee, And seekest to fulfil
all thy duties. Amen." English
and Dutch, German and French,
houses have more or less such
decorations and reminders on their
walls ; churches abounded with
them, and men and women wore
illuminated texts as jewels. The
immutable law of which Cicero, in
his Republic, gives a definition
worthy of the Bible, and to deny
which, he says, is to fly from one's
self, deny one's own nature, and be
therefore most grievously torment-
ed, even if one escapes human
punishment ; the law of conscience,
of which a Chinese family register
says : " Nothing in the world should
turn your heart away from truth
one hair's breadth," and " If you
set yourself above your conscience,
it will avenge itself by remorse ;
heaven and earth and all the spi-
rits will be against you " ; the law
which Pere Gratry resumed in
three passages of Scripture: "In-
crease and multiply, and possess the
earth," " Man is put on earth to
set order and justice in the world,"
and " Seek first the kingdom of
God and his justice, and all things
else shall be added unto you "; the
law which Garron de la Beviere, a
victim of the Revolution, though
himself a sincere advocate of lib-
erty, translates thus : " He who
knows not how to suffer knows not
how to live " ; that law which
does not deal only in magnificent

generalities, but carries its dignity
into the smallest details of practi-
cal life, so that Pere de Ravignan
could apply it from the pulpit of
Notre Dame to the sore point of
a fashionable audience whom he
startled by asking if they paid their
debts — that law was the shield and
the groundwork of the heroic old
family life of French provinces.
Simple tradesmen and untaught
peasants lived under it as blame-
lessly as gentlemen and statesmen,
and taught their sons the same tra-
ditions, the same honesty, the same
truth, the same deference to their
conscience, the same fear of evil
for evil's sake, and not for the pun-
ishments it involves or the misfor-
tunes it often brings on. The cus-
tom of keeping family registers is
a very old one ; even before St.
Louis' famous instructions to his
children it was common : Bayard's
mother left him a similar manual,
and people of all conditions made
a practice of it. From these docu-
ments, and the sentiments written
in them from time to time by fa-
thers for the guidance of their
children, M. de Ribbe has col-
lected many memorials of domestic
life in France — chiefly in remote and
happy neighborhoods, but also in
more populous and disturbed ones ;
and the sameness of the precepts in
all is less strange than the likeness
they bear to those of the Chinese
family books, which date back
often more than 2,000 years. He
has found in the recently-discover-
ed papyri in Egyptian tombs the
same eternal rules, set forth in
language almost equal to the simple
grandeur of the Bible, while the
Hindoo hymns and books of morals
teach in many instances the same
truths in nearly the same words.

774

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

DR. DRAPER AND EVOLUTION.

AT a meeting of Unitarian min-
isters held at Springfield, Massa-
chusetts, on the nth of October,
1877, Dr. J. W. Draper delivered a
lecture on " Evolution : its Origin,
Progress, and Consequences." Prof.
You mans publishes it in the Popu-
lar Science Monthly, with the remark
that "some passages omitted in the
lecture for want of time are here
introduced"; which means, so far
as we can understand, that Dr.
Draper, before allowing the publi-
cation of his lecture, retouched it,
and introduced into it some items,
views, or considerations which the
lecture delivered to the Unitarian
meeting did not contain, but which
he considered necessary as giving
the last finish to his composition.
It seems, in fact, that the doctor
must have felt a little embarrassed
in the performance of the task
which he had accepted ; for he
well knew that in speaking to a
body of sectarian ministers he could
not make the best use of the ordi-
r;..ry resources of free-thought with-
out breaking through the barriers
of conventional propriety; and he
himself candidly informs his hear-
ers that, when he received the re-
quest to deliver this lecture before
them, he was at first disposed to ex-
cuse himself, giving the following
reason for his hesitation : " Hold-
ing religious views which perhaps
in many respects are not in accord-
ance with those that have recom-
mended themselves to you, I was
reluctant to present to your con-
sideration a topic which, though it
is in truth purely scientific, is yet
connected with some of the most
important and imposing theological

dogmas." This was, perhaps, one
of the motives (besides the want of
time) why in the delivery of the
lecture some passages were omitted
which have subsequently found
their way into the pages of the
scientific monthly.

It would be interesting to know
what " imposing theological dog-
mas " Dr. Draper considered it to
be his duty to respect while lectur-
ing before a Unitarian .audience.
Unitarians do not generally over-
load their liberal minds with dog-
mas. Their creed is very short.
They simply admit, as even the good
Mahometans do, that there is one
God. This is all. What that one
God is. they are not required to
know ; their denial of the Holy
Trinity leaves them free to con-
ceive their God as an impersonal
being, a universal soul, or a sum
total of the forces of nature. On
the other hand, their denial of ec-
clesiastical authority and of the in-
spiration of the Scriptures leaves
them absolutely free to disbelieve
every other dogma and mystery of
Christianity. It seems to us, there-
fore, that Dr. Draper, who had n^
need, and certainly no inclination,
to descant on Trinitarian views or
to defend the inspiration of the
Bible, ought not to have feared to
scandalize the good souls to whom
lie was requested to break the
bread of modern science. It is
clear that only an unequivocal pro-
fession of scientific atheism could
have been construed into an of-
fence; and even this, we fancy,
would have been pardoned, for the
sake of science, by the easy and
accommodating gentlemen whose

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

775

"liberality of sentiment " triumph-
ed at last over Dr. Draper's hesita-
tion.

Whether or not the assembled
Unitarian ministers were satisfied
with the lecture, and converted to
the scientific views maintained by
the lecturer, we do not know; this,
however, we do know : that Dr.
Draper's reasoning and assertions
about the origin, progress, and con-
sequences of evolution, even apart
from all consideration of religious
dogmas, are not calculated to com-
mand the assent of cultivated in-
tellects.

The lecture begins with the state-
ment that two explanations have
been introduced to account for the
origin of the organic beings that
surround us; the one, according
to the lecturer, " is conveniently
designated as the hypothesis of
creation," the other as " the hypo-
thesis of evolution." This state-
ment, to begin with, is incorrect.
It may, indeed, be very "convenient"
for Dr. Draper to speak of creation
as a mere hypothesis: but the device
is too transparent. The creation or
original formation of organic beings
by God is not a hypothesis, but an
historical fact perfectly established,
and even scientifically and philoso-
phically demonstrated. Evolution,
on the contrary, as understood by
the modern school, is only an empty
word and a dream, unworthy of the
name of scientific hypothesis, under
which sciolists attempt to conceal
its absurdity. In fact, even the
little we ourselves have said on this
subject in some of our past numbers
would amply suffice to convince a
moderately intelligent man that the
theory of evolution has no real
scientific character, is irreconcilable
with the conclusions of natural
history, and has no ground to stand
upon except the worn-out fallacies

of a perverted logic. To call it
" hypothesis " is therefore to do it
an honor which it does not deserve.
A pile of rubbish is not a palace,
and a heap of blunders is not a hy-
pothesis.

" Creation," says Dr. Draper, " re-
poses on the arbitrary act of God ;
evolution on the universal reign of
law." This statement, too, is en-
tirely groundless. Creation is zfree
act of God; but a free act needs
not to be arbitrary. We usually
call that arbitrary which is done
rashly or without reason. But an
act which forms part of an intellec-
tual plan for an appointed end we
call an act of wisdom ; to call it
" arbitrary " is to falsify its nature.
If Dr. Draper admits that there is
a God, he ought to speak of him
with greater respect. But, omitting
this, is it true that evolution "re-
poses on the universal reign of law" ?
By no means. We defy Dr. Draper
and all the modern evolutionists to
substantiate this bold assertion.
Not only is there no universal law
on which the evolution of species
can repose, but there is, on the
contrary, a well-known universal-
law which sets at naught the specu-
lations and stultifies the pretensions
of the Darwinian school. The law
we refer to is the following : In the
generation of organic beings there
is no transition from one species to
another. This is the universal
law which rules the department of
organic life; and it is almost incon-
ceivable how a man who is not re-
solved to injure his scientific repu-
tation could so far forget himself
and his science as to pretend a
blissful ignorance of this known
truth, in order to propagate a silly
imposture exploded by philosophy
and contradicted by the constant,
unequivocal testimony of nature
itself.

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

Had we been present in the Uni-
tarian audience when the doctor
uttered the assertion in question,
we doubt if it would have been
possible for us to let him proceed
further without interruption ; for
the recklessness of his doctrine
called for an immediate challenge.
When a man, in laying down the
foundations of a theory, takes his
stand upon the most evident false
premises, he simply insults his
hearers. Why should an intelligent
man accept in silence such a glar-
ing absurdity as that " evolution
reposes on the universal reign of
law" ? Why should he not rise and
say : " I beg permission, in the name
of science, to contradict the state-
ment just made, and to express my
astonishment at the want of con-
sideration shown to this learned
assembly by the lecturer"? How-
ever contrary to the received usages,
such an interruption would have
been highly proper and meritorious
in the eyes of a lover of truth.
But, unfortunately, the assembled
ministers had no right to remon-
strate. They had requested the
doctor to lecture, and to lecture on
that very subject ; they knew be-
forehand the doctor's views con-
cerning evolution ; and they were
not ignorant that his manner of
reasoning was likely to exhibit that
disregard of truth of which so many
striking instances had been discov-
ered in his history of the conflict
between religion and science. The
assembled ministers were simply
anxious to hear a bit of genuine
modern thought ; hence, whatever
the lecturer might think good to
say, they were bound to listen to
with calm resignation, if not
with thankful submission.

Dr. Draper told them, also, that
the hypothesis of evolution de-
rives all the organisms which we

see in the world " from one or a
few original organisms " by a pro-
cess of development, and " it will
not admit that there has been any
intervention of the divine power."
But when asked, Whence did the
original organisms spring ? he re-
plies : "As to the origin of organ-
isms, it (the hypothesis) withholds,
for the present, any definite ex-
pression. There are, however,
many naturalists who incline to
believe in spontaneous generation."
Here we must admire, if not the
consistency, at least the sincerity,
of the lecturer. He candidly ac-
knowledges that, as to the origin
of organisms, the theory of evolu-
tion " withholds, for the present,
any definite expression." This
phrase, stripped of its pretentious
modesty, means that the advocates
of evolution, though often called
upon to account by their theory
for the origin of organic life, and
though obliged by the nature of the
case to show how life could have
originated in matter alone "with
no intervention of the divine pow-
er," have always failed to extricate
themselves from the difficulties of
their position, and have never of-
fered an explanation deserving the
sanction of science, or even the at-
tention of thoughtful men. The
axiom Omne vivum ex ovo still stares
them in the face. They cannot
shut their eyes so as to lose sight
of it. At the same time they can-
not explain the origin of the ovum
without abandoning their princi-
ples ; for if the first ovum, or
vital organism, is not the product
of evolution, then its existence
cannot be accounted for except
by the intervention of the divine
power, which they are determined
to reject ; and if the first vital or-
ganism be assumed to have been
the product of evolution, then they

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

777

cannot escape the conclusion that
it must have sprung from lifeless,
inorganic matter — a conclusion
which few of them dare to main-
tain, as they clearly see that it is
absurd to expect from matter alone
anything so cunningly devised as
is the least seed, egg, or cell of
a living organism. To confess,
therefore, that the evolution theory
cannot account for the origin of
the primitive organisms is to con-
fess that the efforts of the evolu-
tionists towards banishing the in-
tervention of the divine power and
suppressing creation have been,
are, and will ever be ineffectual.

But this legitimate inference was
carefully kept out of view by thelec-
turer, who, not to spoil his argument,
hastened to add that " many natural-
ists incline to believe in spontane-
ous generation." This, however,
far from making things better, will
only make them worse. It is only
when a cause is nearly despaired
of that the most irrational fictions
are resorted to in its defence.
Now, spontaneous generation is an
irrational fiction. Even in our
own time, when the world is full of
organic matter, and when the
working of nature has been sub-
jected to the most searching in-
vestigations, the spontaneous for-
mation of a living organism with-
out a parent of the same species is
deemed to be against reason ; for
reason cannot give the lie to the
principle of causality, by virtue of
which nothing can be found in the
effect which is not contained in
its cause. Hence very few natu-
ralists (though Dr. Draper calls
them many} are so reckless as to
support, or countenance by their
example, a belief in spontaneous
generation. Nothing would be
easier to them than to imitate Dr.
Draper by assuming without proof

what is not susceptible of proof;
but, although some scientists have
adopted this convenient course,
few have dared to follow them, be-
cause the inadmissibility of spon-
taneous generation has been con-
firmed by the best experimental
methods of modern science itself.
Now, if this is the case in the pre-
sent condition of the world, and
with such an abundance of organic
matter, how can any one, with any
show of reason, maintain that in
the remote ages of the world, and
before any organic compound had
made its appearance on earth, cells
and seeds and eggs burst forth
spontaneously from inorganic mat-
ter without the intervention of the
divine power ?

At any rate, if it would be pre-
posterous to assume that inert,
lifeless, unintelligent matter has
the power of planning and making
a time-piece, a sewing-machine,
a velocipede, or a wheelbarrow,
how can a man in his senses as-
sume that the same inert, lifeless,
and unintelligent matter has the
power to plan, form, and put to-
gether in perfect harmony, due
proportion, and providential order
the organic elements and rudiments
of that immensely more complicat-
ed structure which we call an ovum
or a seed, with its potentiality of
life and growth, and its indefinite
power of reproduction ? And
who can believe that the same
inert, lifeless, and unintelligent
matter has been so inventive, so
crafty, and so provident as to de-
vise two sexes for each animal
species, and to make them so fit
for one another, with so powerful
an instinct to unite with one an-
other, as to ensure the propagation
of their kind for an indefinite se-
ries of centuries ?

We need not develop this argu-

778

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

ment further. Books of natural
history are full of the beauties and
marvels concealed in millions of
minute organisms, which proclaim
to the world the wisdom of their
contriver, and denounce the folly
of a science which bestows on
dead matter the honor due to the
living God. Evolution of life
under the hand of God would have
a meaning; but evolution of life
" without the intervention of the
divine power " means nothing at
all, as it is, in fact, inconceivable.

Dr. Draper quotes Aristotle in
favor of spontaneous generation.
The Greek philosopher, in the
eighth book of his history of ani-
mals, when speaking of the chain
of living things remarks : " Nature
passes so gradually from inanimate
to animate things that from their
continuity the boundary between
them is indistinct. The race of
plants succeeds immediately that
of inanimate objects, and these
differ from each other in the pro-
portion of life in which they parti-
cipate ; for, compared with mine-
rals, plants appear to possess life,
though when compared with ani-
mals they appear inanimate. The
change from plants to animals is
gradual ; a person might question
to which of these classes some ma-
rine objects belong." This doc-
trine is unobjectionable; but we
fail to see its bearing on sponta-
neous generation. Aristotle does
not speak here of a chain of beings
genetically connected, nor does he
derive the plant from the mineral,
or the animal from the plant. On
the other hand, even if we granted
that Aristotle " referred the primi-
tive organisms to spontaneous gen-
eration," we might easily explain
the blunder by reflecting that a
pagan philosopher, having no idea
of creation, could not but err when

philosophizing about the origin of
things.

We need not follow our lecturer
into the details of the Arabic phi-
losophy. When we are told that
the Arabian philosophers " had re-
jected the theory of creation and
adopted that of evolution," and
that they reached this conclusion
" through their doctrine of emana-
tion and absorption rather than
from an investigation of visible na-
ture," we may well dismiss them
without a hearing. Dr. Draper
seems to be much pained at the
thought that a religious revolt
against philosophy succeeded in
"exterminating" such progressive
ideas so thoroughly that they " ne-
ver again appeared in Islam." But
that which causes him still greater
disgust is that " if the doctrine of
the government of the world by
law was thus held in detestation by
Islam, it was still more bitterly re-
fused by Christendom, in which
the possibility of changing the di-
vine purposes was carried to its
extreme by the invocation of an-
gels and saints, and great gains ac-
crued to the church through its
supposed influence in procuring
these miraculous interventions."
These words, and others which we
are about to quote, must have given
great pleasure to the assembled
Unitarian ministers ; for we all
know that to throw dirt at the
church is a task singularly conge-
nial to the natural bent of the sec-
tarian mind. But, be this as it
may, whoever knows that our lec-
turer is the author of the history of
the conflict between religion and
science, so truly described by the
late Dr. Brownson as " a tissue of
lies," will agree that Dr. Draper's
denunciations deserve no answer.
When a man undertakes to speak
of that of which he is absolutely

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

779

ignorant, the best course is to let
him blunder till his credit is en-
tirely gone. The reader need not
be informed that Christendom never
opposed the doctrine of " the gov-
ernment of the world by law," and
never imagined that there was a
" possibility of changing the divine
purposes " through the invocation
of angels and saints; whilst, if
"miraculous interventions " brought
" great gains to the church," the
fact is very naturally explained by
the principle that "piety is useful
for all things," and that God's in-
tervention cannot be barren of be-
neficial results. But Dr. Draper,
who does not understand how
God's intervention is compatible
with the universal reign of law,
denies all miracles, and denounces
the church as a school of deceit,
superstition, and hypocrisy, his ha-
tred of miracles being his only
proof that all miracles are frauds.
His assumption is that, because the
natural order is ruled by law, there-
fore no supernatural order can be
admitted ; which, if true, would
equally warrant the following : Be-
cause bodies gravitate towards the
centre of the earth, therefore no
solar attraction can be admitted.

The papal government, Dr. Dra-
per assures us, could not tolerate
"universal and irreversible law."
How did he ascertain this ? Per-
haps he thought that the papal
government was embarrassed to re-
concile irreversible law with mira-
cles. But the popes never taught
or believed that a miracle was a
reversal of law ; they only taught
that the course of nature, without
any law being reversed, was sus-
ceptible of alteration, and that this
alteration, when proceeding from a
power above nature, was miracu-
lous. We fancy that even Dr. Dra-
per must concede this, unless he

prefers to say with the fool that
"there is no God."

" The Inquisition had been in-
vented and set at work." To do
what ? To overthrow the " uni-
versal and irreversible law "? Cer-
tainly not. What was it, then, called
to do ?

" It speedily put an end, not
only in the south of France but all
over Europe, to everything sup-
posed to be not in harmony with
the orthodox faith, by instituting a
reign of terror." It is scarcely ne-
cessary to remark that what the
lecturer calls " a reign of terror "
was nothing but self-defence against
the murderous attacks of the Albi-
genses and other cut-throats of the
same dye, who were themselves the
terror of Christendom — a circum-
stance which Dr. Draper should
not have ignored. But whilst the
Inquisition caused some terror to
the enemies of Christian society, it
actually restored the reign of law
and secured the benefits of reli-
gious peace to countries which, but
for its remedial action, would have
sunk again into a lawless barbar-
ism. And if the Inquisition " put
an end to everything contrary to
the orthodox faith," no thoughtful
man will find fault with it. False
doctrines are a greater curse than
even armed rebellions. Dr. Dra-
per will surely not complain that
the United States "put an end " to
the rebellion of the Southern Con-
federates, though they were gallant
fellows and fought for what they
believed to be their right. But,
while he finds it natural that thou-
sands of valuable lives should have
been destroyed for the sake of the
American Union, he pretends to
be scandalized at the punishment
which the Inquisition, after regular
trial, inflicted on a few worthless
and contumacious felons for the

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

sake of religious and civil peace
and the preservation of the great
Catholic union. Such is the deli-
cacy of his conscience ! Then he
continues :

" The Reign of Terror in revolutionary
France lasted but a few months, the
atrocities of the Commune at the close
of tbe Franco-German war only a few
days ; but the reign of terror in Christen-
dom has continued from the thirteenth
century with declining energy to our
times. Its object has been the forcible
subjugation of thought."

This is how Dr. Draper mani-
pulates history. It would be su-
perfluous to inform our readers
that there has never been a reign
of terror in Christendom, except
when and where Lutherans, Cal-
vinists, Anglican Puritans, or infi-
del revolutionists held the reins of
power, and crowned their apostasy
by tyrannical persecution, by plun-
dering, and burning, and murder-
ing, and demolishing, and prostitut-
ing whatever they could lay their
hands on, with that diabolical
fiendishness and cool brutality of
which we had lately a new instance
in the Paris Commune here men-
tioned by the lecturer. This very
mention of the Commune, and of
the reign of terror inaugurated by
it, is a blunder on the part of
Dr. Draper. The heroes of the
Commune belong to his school ;
they are infidels; they are men
whose thought has not been "sub-
jugated " by the church ; and to
confess that their ephemeral tri-
umph constituted a reign of terror
amounts to a condemnation of un-
subjugated thought and a vindica-
tion of the principle acted on by
the church, that from unbridled
thought nothing can be expected
but discord, confusion, and vio-
lence. Yet Dr. Draper, who is a
profound chemist, knows how to

make poison out of innocent drugs ;
and whilst the church aimed only
at preserving the loyalty of her chil-
dren from the attacks of heresy
and the snares of hypocrisy, the
doctor depicts her as " subjugating "
thought. This is just what might
be expected. The snake draws
poison from the same flowers from
which the bee sucks honey :

Spesso del serpe in seno
II fior si fa veleno ;
Ma in sen dell" ape il fiore
Dolce liquor si fa.

— Metasfasio.

We have dwelt longer than we
intended on this subject, which is,
after all, only a digression from
the principal question ; yet Dr.
Draper furnishes us with the op-
portunity of a further remark,
which we think we ought not to
omit. He says : " The Reforma-
tion came. It did not much change
the matter. It insisted on the Mo-
saic views, and would tolerate no
natural science that did not accord
with them." On this fact we argue
as follows. If the reason why Ca-
tholics rejected certain theories
was that they were " under a reign
of terror," and that their thought
had been " forcibly subjugated," it
would seem that the Protestants,
whose thought could not be subju-
gated, who laughed at the Inquisi-
tion and were inaccessible to ter-
ror, should have embraced those
long-forbidden theories, were it
only for showing to the world that
they had broken all their chains
and recovered unbounded liberty.
What could prevent them from
throwing away the book of Gene-
sis and reviving the Arabian theo-
ry of evolution ? Had they not
rejected other parts of the Bible ?
Had they not freed themselves from
the confession of sins, explained
away the Real Presence, set at

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

781

naught authority, and inaugurated
free-thought ? The truth is that
they could not resuscitate a theory
for which they could not account
either by science or by philosophy,
and which would have involved
them in endless difficulties. It is
common sense, therefore, and not
reverence for the Mosaic views,
that compelled them to abide by
the Biblical record of creation.
The consequence is that men of
common sense had no need of be-
ing " forcibly subjugated " to the
Mosaic views, and that the Inqui-
sition had nothing to do with the
matter. Hence Dr. Draper's de-
clamation against the Inquisition
was entirely out of place in a lec-
ture on evolution. But his bias
against the church led him still
further. He wanted to denounce
also the Congregation of the Index ;
and as he knew of no book on evo-
lution condemned by it, he charg-
ed it with having condemned the
works of Copernicus and Kepler.
The reader may ask what these
two great men have done for the
theory of evolution. The lecturer
answers that " the starting-point in
the theory of evolution " among
Christians " was the publication
by Copernicus of the book De Rcvo-
lutionibus Orbium Ccelestium." At
this we are tempted to smile ; but
he continues :

" His work was followed by Kepler's
great discovery of the three laws that
bear his name. ... It was very plain
that the tendency of Kepler's discovery
was to confirm the dominating influence
of law in the solar system. ... It was,
therefore, adverse to the Italian theo-
logical views and to the current reli-
gious practices. Kepler had published
an epitome of the Copernican theory.
This, as also the book itself of Coperni-
cus, was placed in the Index and for-
bidden to be read."

It is evident that these statements

and remarks have nothing to do
with the subject of evolution, and
that they have been introduced
into the lecture for the mere pur-
pose of slandering " the Italian
theological views " which were the
views of the whole Christian world,
and of decrying the Congregation
of the Index, which opposed as
dangerous the spreading of an
opinion that was at that time a
mere guess, and was universally
contradicted by the men of science.
Dr. Draper ignores altogether this
last circumstance, and remarks
that " after the invention of print-
ing the Index Expurgatorius of pro-
hibited books had become essen-
tially necessary to the religious
reign of terror, and for the sti-
fling of the intellectual develop-
ment of man. The papal govern-
ment, accordingly, established the
Congregation of the Index." It is
a great pity that we have no room
here for instituting a comparison
between the intellectual develop-
ment of the Catholic and of the
Protestant or the infidel mind.
Such a comparison would show
whether the Index Expurgatorius has
stifled our intellectual development
as much as Protestant inconsisten-
cy, and the anarchy of thought
which followed, have stifled that of
other people. We are still able,
after all, to fight our intellectual
battles and to beat our adversaries
with good arguments, whereas they
are sinking every day deeper into
scepticism, and know of no better
weapons than arbitrary assumption,
flippancy, and misrepresentation.

The lecturer goes on to say that
Newton's book substituted mechani-
cal forcefor the finger of Providence ;
and thus " the reign of law, that
great essential to the theory of evo-
lution, was solidly established."
This sentence contains three er-

782

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

rors. The first is that the New-
tonian theory of mechanical force
suppresses Providence. The sec-
ond is that the reign of law was
not solidly established before the
publication of Newton's work.
The third is that the establishment
of the law of mechanical forces
lends support to the theory of evo-
lution. Is this the result of " in-
tellectual development," as under-
stood by Dr. Draper? Newton,
whose intellect was undoubtedly
more developed than that of the
lecturer, did not substitute mecha-
nical force for the finger of Provi-
dence, but continued to acknow-
ledge the finger of Providence as
the indispensable foundation of his
scientific theory. Nor did he im-
agine that his theory was calculat-
ed to establish the reign of law.
The reign of law was already per-
fectly established, so much so that
it was on this very ground that
Newton based his deductions. Fi-
nally, neither Newton, nor any
really " developed intellect," ever
confounded the mechanical with
the vital forces so as to argue from
the law of gravitation to the law of
animal propagation. From this
we can form an estimate of the in-
tellectual development of man by
free-thought. The lecturer blun-
ders in philosophy by contrasting
law against Providence ; he blun-
ders in history by attributing to
Newton the discovery of the reign
of law ; and he blunders in logic
by tracing the theory of evolution
to a mere law of mechanics.

Further cm Dr. Draper gives a
sketch of Lamarck's theory. La-
marck was Darwin's precursor. He
advocated the doctrine of descent.
According to him, organic forms ori-
ginated by spontaneous generation,
the simplest coming first, and the
complex being evolved from them.

"So far from meeting with acceptance,"
says Dr. Draper, " the ideas of Lamarck
brought upon him ridicule and obloquy.
He was as much misrepresented as in
former days the Arabian nature-philoso-
phers had been. The great influence of
Cuvier, who had made himself a cham-
pion of the doctrine of permanence of
species, caused Lamarck's views to be
silently ignored or, if by chance they
were referred to, denounced. They were
condemned as morally reprehensible
and theologically dangerous."

The fact is, however, that there
had been no necessity of " misrep-
resenting " Lamarck's ideas, and
that his infant Darwinism was con-
demned not only as morally repre-
hensible and theologically danger-
ous, but also as scientifically false.
Cuvier had certainly the greatest
influence on the views regarding
this branch of knowledge ; but his
influence was not the result of a
Masonic conspiracy, as is the case
with certain modern celebrities, but
the honest result of deep know-
ledge and strict reasoning ; for men
were not yet accustomed to believe
without proofs, and scientists had
not yet forgotten philosophy.

Dr. Draper tells his audience
that Geoffrey St. Hilaire " became
the opponent of Cuvier, and did
very much to break down the in-
fluence of that zoologist." Yes ;
but did he succeed in his effort ?
Did he destroy the peremptory ar-
guments of the great zoologist?
Did he convince the scientific world,
or make even a score of converts ?
No. The influence of Cuvier re-
mained unimpaired, and evolution
did not advance a step. Then Mr.
Darwin came. Mr. Darwin is, we
have reason to believe, the mouth-
piece or chief trumpeter of that in-
fidel clique whose well-known ob-
ject is to do away with all idea of a
God. Owing to this circumstance,
he was sure to have followers. A

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

783

few professors in Germany, and a
few others in England, proclaimed
with boldness the new theory ;
they wrote articles, delivered lec-
tures, printed pamphlets in his
honor; his works were widely ad-
vertised and strongly recommend-
ed ; and the curiosity of the public,
which had been raised by all these
means, was carefully entertained
by the scientific press. People
read Darwin and smiled ; read
Wallace, the friend of Darwin, and
were not converted ; read Huxley,
the great Darwinian oracle, and re-
mained obdurate. Only two class-
es of men took to the new theory —
professors of unbelief and simple-
tons. Thus Darwinism in Europe,
in spite of the great efforts of its
friends, has been a failure. Here
in America the same means have
been employed with the same ef-
fect. No sooner was anything pub-
lished in England or Germany in
support of the new theory than
some worthy associate of the Euro-
pean infidels republished it for the
American people. New original
articles were also added by some
of our professors; and even Mr.
Huxley did not disdain to devote
his versatile eloquence to the en-
lightenment of our free but be-
nighted citizens concerning the
subject of evolution. What has
been the result ? Are the Ameri-
can people converted to the new
doctrine? No. They laugh at it.
The failure of Darwinism is as con-
spicuous and as complete in Ameri-
ca as it has been in Europe.

Has Dr. Draper, after all, con-
verted any of the Unitarian minis-
ters who attended his lecture ? We
think not ; and the lecturer him-
self seems to have felt that his words
fell on sceptical ears and failed
to work on the brains or touch
the hearts of his hearers. Towards

the end of his lecture he exclaims :
" My friends, let me plead with you.
Don't reject the theory of evolu-
tion !" It is manifest from this ex-
hortation that the audience, in the
. opinion of the lecturer himself, was
still reluctant to accept the theory.
Had the lecturer thought otherwise,
he would have said : " My friends,
I need not plead with you. You
have heard my arguments. I
leave it to you to decide whether
the theory of evolution can be re-
jected by intelligent men." This
language would have shown the
earnest conviction of the lecturer
that he was right, and that his rea-
sonings were duly appreciated and
approved. But to say, " Don't re-
ject the theory," is to acknowledge
that the arguments had not com-
manded the assent of the intellect,
and that no other resource remain-
ed than a warm appeal to the good-
will of the hearers. Such an ap-
peal, in a scientific lecture, may
seem out of place ; but it is in-
structive, for it reads us to the
conclusion that even Dr. Draper
was convinced of the futility of his
attempt.

The only argument which we
could find in his lecture in support
of the Darwinian theory is so
puerile that we believe not one of
the assembled ministers can have
been tempted to give it his adhe-
sion. After pointing out that " each
of the geological periods has its
dominating representative type of
life," the lecturer introduces his ar-
gument in the following form :

" Perhaps it may be asked : ' How can
we be satisfied that the members of this
long series are strictly the successive
descendants by evolution from older
forms, and in their turn the progenitors
of the latter? How do we know that
they have not been introduced by sud-
den creations and removed by sudden
extinctions?' Simply for this reason:

784

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

The new groups make their appearance
while yet their predecessors are in full
vigor. They come under an imperfect
model which very gradually improves.
Evolution implies such lapses of time.
Creation is a sudden affair."

O admirable philosophy ! The
predecessors were still vigorous
when the successors made their ap-
pearance ; therefore the former
were the progenitors of the latter !
And why so ? Because " evolution
implies lapse of time," whilst " crea-
tion is a sudden affair " ! Even a
child, we think, would see that
such reasoning is deceptive. But,
since Dr. Draper is bold enough to
take his stand upon it, we must be
allowed to ask him two questions.

First, admitting that " creation
is a sudden affair," does he believe
that God could not create the suc-
cessors before the disappearance of
their predecessors ? If God could
do this, what matters it that crea-
tion is " a sudden affair " ? And if
God could not do this, what insu-
perable obstacle. impeded the free
exertion of his power ?

Secondly, is there no alternative
between genetic evolution and cre-
ation strictly so-called ? If between
these two modes of origination a
third can be introduced, the doc-
tor's argument falls to pieces.
Now, " production " from pre-exist-
ing materials (earth, water, etc.) in
obedience to God's command is
neither genetic evolution nor crea-
tion strictly so-called, and need
not be " a sudden affair." And this
mode of origination is just the
one which seems more clearly
pointed out by the Sacred Scrip-
tures;* and therefore it should
not have been ignored' by the lec-
turer, if he wished to argue against

* Dixit etiam Deus : Producant aqua reptile
nnima viventts, et •volatile sut>er terrain. . . .
ProducAt terra animant viventem in genere
«*» . . . et factutn est ita. — Gen. i. 20, 24.

the Scriptural record. Why did he,
then, keep out of view this excel-
lent explanation of the origin of
species? Is it because it was con-
venient to conceal a truth which
could not be refuted ?

Thus the only reason by which
Dr. Draper attempts to prove the
theory of evolution is a demon-
strated fallacy, and the theory fails
to the ground, in this sense, at least :
that it remains unproved. But if
every attempt at proving it involves
some logical blunder, if it implies
contradictories, if it is based on un-
scientific assumptions, as is evident
from the argumentations of Darwin,
Huxley, Youmans, and Other ad-
vanced writers on evolution, and if
history, geology, and philosophy
unitedly oppose the theory with
arguments which admit of no reply,
as is known to be the case, then we
must be allowed to conclude that
the theory, besides being unproved,
is fabulous and absurd.

Dr. Draper, after citing some
controvertible facts, of which he
gives a yet more controvertible ex-
planation from the Darwinian as-
sumptions, says :

"Now I have answered, and I know
how imperfectly, your question, ' How
does the hypothesis of evolution force
itself upon the student of modern sci-
ence? ' by relating how it has forced it-
self upon me ; for my life has been spent
in such studies, and it is by meditating
on facts like those I have here exposed
that this hypothesis now stands before
me as one of the verities of Nature."

Yes. The student of modern
science, if he is unwilling to admit
creation, must appeal to evolution,
and call it " one of the verities of
Nature "; but, though he may call
it a " verity," he also admits that it
is a mere " hypothesis," by which
the origin of organisms cannot be
accounted for and against which a

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

785

host of facts and reasons are daily
objected by science and philoso-
phy.

" In doing this I have opened
before you a page of the book of
Nature — that book which dates
from eternity and embraces infin-
ity." Is this a " verity," a hypoth-
esis, or an imposture ?

" No council of Laodicea, no
Tridentine Council, is wanted to
endorse its authenticity, nothing
to assure us that it has never
been tampered with by any guild of
men." This is an allusion to the
declarations of councils regard-
ing the authenticity of the Bible.
Does, then, modern science trans-
form educated men into sorry
jesters ? If so, why does not Mr.
Draper derive the monkey from
the gentleman ?

" Then it is for us to study it as
best we may, and to obey its gui-
dance, no matter whither it may
lead us." Yes, it is for us to study
the book of nature as best we may ;
but we must not forget that the au-
thor of this book is God, and that
God does not contradict in the
book of nature what he teaches in
the book of Genesis. It is for us
" to obey its guidance." Yes ; and
therefore it is not for us to pervert
its evidences, as Dr. Draper does,
in order to exclude " the interven-
tion of the divine power."

As to " whither it may lead us "
we have no doubts ; but the lectu-
rer seems to believe that it may
lead in two opposite directions.
Here are his words :

" I have spoken of the origin and the
progress of the hypothesis of evolution,
and would now consider the consequen-
ces of accepting it. Here it is only a
word or two that time permits, and very
few words must suffice. I must bear in
mind that it is the consequences from
your point of view to which I must al-
lude. Should I speak of the manner in
VOL. XXVI. — 50

which scientific thought is affected . . .
I should be carried altogether beyond
the limits of the present hour. The con-
sequences ! What are they, then, to you ?
Nobler views of this grand universe of
which we form a part, nobler views of
the manner in which it has been devel-
oped in past times to its present state,
nobler views of the laws by which it is
now maintained, nobler expectations as
to its future. We stand in presence of
the unshackled, as to Force ; of the im-
measurable, as to Space ; of the unlimit-
ed, as to Time. Above all, our concep-
tions of the unchangeable purposes, the
awful majesty of the Supreme Being be-
come more vivid. We realize what is
meant when it is said : 'With him there
is no variableness, no shadow of turn-
ing.' Need I say anything more in com-
mending the doctrine of evolution to
you ?"

These are, then, the consequen-
ces " from the point of view " of
the Unitarian ministers, as the
lecturer very explicitly declares.
As to the consequences " from the
point of view " of advanced scien-
ists, the lecturer gives only a hint,
because, had he spoken of the
manner in which scientific thought
is affected, the lecture would have
proved rather too long. It is ap-
parent, however, that the " verity '*
or the " hypothesis " which leads
the Unitarians to a " Supreme Be-
ing" can lead Dr. Draper and
the scientific mind to some-
thing different, according to the
manner in which scientific thought
is affected. We may well say, al-
though Dr. Draper preferred not
to say it, that it leads to atheism or
to pantheism ; for the new " verity"
was invented with the aim of escap-
ing "the intervention of the divine
power " and of subjecting every-
thing in the world to the " universal
reign " of an abstraction called
" Law." Dr. Draper himself tells
us, as we have just seen, that the
book of Nature (with a capital N)
" dates from eternity and embraces

786

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

infinity"; and surely, if the world
is eternal and infinite, Nature is
everything, and a personal God be-
comes an embarrassing superfluity.
It seems, then, that Dr. Draper,
when he mentions the divine power
or the Supreme Being, does not
speak the language of his " scien-
tific " conscience, but the language
wliich he considers to express the
convictions of the Unitarian body.
Perhaps it would have been more
in keeping with the requirement of
the subject, if he had frankly stat-
ed the " consequences " which he,
•as a scientist, would draw from the
" verity " he had proclaimed ; but,
as he may have feared that a frank
statement would have created a
little scandal, we are inclined to
acquit him of the charge of "scien-
tific " dishonesty — the more so
as the consequences which he de-
duces, taken in connection with
the rest of the lecture, give a suffi-
cient clue to the private views of
the speaker.

It is difficult, however, to under-
stand how the acceptance of the
theory of evolution can lead to
" nobler views of this grand uni-
verse," or to " nobler views of the
manner in which it has been de-
veloped," or to " nobler views of
the laws by which it is now main-
tained." To us these " conse-
quences" are incomprehensible;
for is it nobler to view this grand
universe as a mere mass of matter
than to view it as full of the di-
vine power of which it is the work ?
or is it nobler to derive man from
the brute than to view him as the
son of God and the image of his
Creator ? On the other hand, the
laws by which the universe is now
maintained are in direct opposition
to the theory of evolution, as all
men of science confess ; hence a
view of such laws suggested by the

theory of evolution must be a false
and contradictory view, and Dr.
Draper, when calling it a " nobler
view," amuses himself at the ex-
pense of his audience. Fancy an
assembly of grave men listening in
silence to such rhetoric ! and fancy
a professor of materialism serious-
ly engaged in the highly scientific
business of beguiling such a grave
audience !

It is no less difficult to under-
stand how the theory of evolution
makes us " stand in presence of
the unshackled, of the immeasur-
able, and of the unlimited." These
epithets do not designate God, for
it is manifest that the theory of
evolution has no claim to the
honor of showing God as present
in his creatures; nor can they be
applied to the universe, for it is
not true that the universe is " un-
shackled as to Force, immeasurable
as to Space, and unlimited as to
Time " ; and, even were it true, it
would not be a " consequence " of
evolution. What do they mean,
,then?

But the most unintelligible of all
such "consequences" is that by
the acceptance of the theory of
evolution "our conceptions of the
unchangeable purposes, the awful
majesty of the Supreme Being be-
come more vivid." What " pur-
poses " can the Supreme Being
have formed with reference to a
universe which is not subject to
"the intervention of the divine
power " ? Is it wise to entertain
purposes which one has no power to
carry out ? Or is the " Supreme
Being " of Dr. Draper so unwise
as to cherish purposes which must
be defeated by <; universal, irrever-
sible law "? We strongly suspect
that his "Supreme Being" is no-
thing but the universe itself, and
that it is for this reason that he

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

787

writes force, Space, and Time witli
capital letters, thus forming a mock
Trinity "unshackled, immeasurable,
and unlimited," but consisting of
material parts and controlled by
the laws of matter, with which
"" there is no variableness, no sha-
dow of turning." If so, then Dr.
Draper has no God but the uni-
verse, the sun, the moon, and the
stars, light, heat and electricity,
gravitation, affinity, and motion ;
and this is "the awful majesty"
before which he bends his knee in
scientific adoration.

Having drawn these devout
" consequences " for the edification
of the meeting, the lecturer, with a
happy stroke of audacity, asks his
hearers : " Need I say anything
more in commending the doctrine
of evolution to you?" As if he
said : " Do you expect that an in-
fidel has anything more to say in
favor of your Supreme Being ?
Have I not given you a sufficient
proof of deference and self-abne-
gation by putting together a few
•equivocal phrases in honor of your
•divinity? Need I torture my brain
any longer for the sake of a view
which is not mine?" But, fortu-
nately for Dr. Draper, a sudden
recollection of the fact that Unita-
rianism and infidelity agree in re-
jecting the authority of the Index
Expurgatorius suggested to him
the following words :

" Let us bear in mind the warning of
history. The heaviest blow the Holy
Scriptures have ever received was in-
flicted by no infidel, but by ecclesiastical
authority itself. When the works of
Copernicus and of Kepler were put in
the Index of prohibited books the sys-
tem of the former was declared, by what
called itself the Christian Church, to be
' the false Pythagorean system, utterly
contrary to the Holy Scriptures.' But
the truth of the Copernican system is now
established. There are persons who de-
clare of the hypothesis of evolution, as

was formerly declared of the hypothesis
of Copernicus, ' It is utterly contrary to the
Holy Scriptures.' It is for you to exam-
ine whether this be so, and, if so, to find
a means of reconciliation."

\Ve do not doubt that the lectu-
rer honestly believes what he says
about the " heaviest blow " inflict-
ed on the Holy Scriptures. But
we would inform him that the Con-
gregation of the Index does not
make definitions of faith, and
that its authority, however respec-
table, is disciplinary, not dogmatic.
If he consulted our theologians, he
would learn that not even oecume-
nical councils are considered infal-
lible as to the reasons by which
they support their decisions, but
only as to the decisions themselves.
Much less can the theologians of
the Index bind our judgment by
giving expression to their theolo-
gical views. The books which
they forbid are forbidden ; but the
reasons for which they are forbid-
den are not all necessarily incon-
trovertible, and this suffices to
show that it is not " the Christian
Church " that declared the Coper-
nican system contrary to the Holy
Scriptures, for the church never
defined such a point ; such a de-
claration was the expression of a
theological view which was then
common, but which had no dog-
matic consequences and could give
no " blow " to the Holy Scriptures.
Dr. Draper remarks that evolution,
too, has been declared to be " con-
trary to the Holy Scriptures."
The fact is true ; but he should
have added that the same hypothe-
sis has been refuted by philosophy
as a logical blunder, and rejected
by science as a monstrous falsehood.
Hence the two cases are not similar.

" Let us not be led astray," continues
Dr. Draper, " by the clamors of those
who, not seeking the truth and not car-

;88

Dr. Draper and Evolution.

ing about it, are only championing their
sect or attempting the perpetuation of
their profits. My friends, let me plead
with you. Don't reject the theory of
evolution. There is no thought of mod-
ern times that more magnifies the unut-
terable glory of Almighty God !"

How edifying ! how pathetic !
but how ludicrous on the lips of an
unbeliever ! For the God of the
lecturer is no creator, as creation
is inconsistent with the pretended
eternity of matter ; he is not omni-
potent, for he cannot work mira-
cles ; he is not provident, for Dr.
Draper rejects all intervention of
the divine power in the govern-
ment of the universe, and says
that "the capricious intrusion of a
supernatural agency has never yet
occurred " ; whence we see that God,
according to him, would be an in-
truder, and even a capricious one,
if he dared to meddle with the af-
fairs of the material, moral, or in-
tellectual world. Such being the
God of the evolutionist, who does
not see that the only meaning
which can be legitimately attached
to Dr. Draper's words is that the
theory of evolution " magnifies the
unutterable glory of almighty mat-
ter " and does its best to suppress
Almighty God ?

He gives another grave warning
to his clerical hearers :

" Remember, I beseech you, what was
said by one of old times : ' Ye men of Is-
rael, take heed to yourselves what ye in-
tend to do. And now I say unto you, if
this counsel be of men it will come to
naught ; but if it be of God, ye cannot
overthrow it, lest haply ye be found to
be fighting against God.' Shall I contin-
ue the quotation ? — ' And to him they all
agreed.' "

This quotation from a speech of
Gamaliel in the Jewish council
would be appropriate, if the evo-
lutionists, like the apostles, had

wrought public miracles to prove
their divine mission. In the case
of the apostles all tended to prove
that they were right, and that God
was on their side. They spoke
languages that they had never
learned, they cured the sick with-
out medicine, by a word or by
their shadow, and filled the city
with wonders which their enemies
could not deny. When Mr. Dar-
win or Dr. Draper shall give us
like evidences of their divine mis-
sion, we will " take heed to our-
selves what we intend to do " with
their doctrine; but, as things are
now, everything compels us to look
on them as emissaries and minis-
ters of the kingdom of darkness.
We cannot put in the same balance
evolution and creation ; for all the
weight would be on the side of the
latter. A dream, a nonentity, an
unscientific fiction, a paralogism,
have no weight ; whilst effects
without causes, conclusions with-
out premises, phrases without
meaning, weigh only on the con-
science of modern thinkers, but
without affecting in the least the
balance of truth. Thus we are not
afraid that we "be found fighting
against God " while fighting for
creation against evolution. The
matter is too evident to need fur-
ther explanation.

We are tired of following Dr.
Draper through his tortuous rea-
sonings, and the reader is probably
equally tired. On the other hand,
there is little need of exposing the
mischievous glorification of modern
science in which the lecturer in-
dulges in the interest of his materi-
alistic views. When we are told
that " profound changes are taking
place in our conceptions of the
Supreme Being," or that " the doc-
trine of evolution has for its foun-
dation not the admission oi inces-

After Castel-Fidardo*

789

sant divine intervention, but a rec-
ognition of the original, the immu-
table fiat of God " — of a God, how-
ever, who did not create matter,
and who must respect the domin-
ion of universal and irreversible
law under pain of being stigmatiz-
ed as a "capricious intruder" — or
when we are told that " the estab-
lishment of the theory of evolution
has been due to the conjoint move-
ment of all the sciences," and that
*' Knowledge, fresh from so many
triumphs, unfalteringly continues
her movement on the works of
Superstition and Ignorance," we
need no great acumen to under-
stand the meaning of this " scien-
tific " slang. Declamation is the
great resource of demagogues and
charlatans. Unfortunately, there
are charlatans and demagogues
even among the doctors of science,

and their number, though small, is
apt to increase in the same propor-
tion as their vagaries are diffused
among the rising generation. Ca-
tholics, thank God ! are less expos-
ed to seduction than sectaries who
have no guide but their inconsis-
tent theories ; but even Catholics
should be on their guard lest they,
too, be poisoned by the foul and
infectious atmosphere in which
they live. Indeed, all the modern
errors have been refuted ; but when
a taste for error becomes predomi-
nant, and such fables as evolution
are styled " science," then human
weakness and human pride are
easily drawn into the vortex of
scepticism ; and then we must be
watchful and pray, for the time is
at hand when even the elect, as the
Gospel warns us, shall be in danger
of seduction.

AFTER CASTEL-FIDARDO.
A SOLDIER'S LETTER.

FROM THE ITALIAN.

WOUNDED, my friend, and dying,
Waiting the end, I lie —

A sword-cut in my right leg,
A ball in my left thigh ;

Dying, and ever hoping —
And in that hope I die —

One day — not here — to see you,
But in our home on high.

Of this our earth all thought now
For me has useless grown,

All its bright days are ended,
Its last dark shadow thrown.

After Castel-Fidardo.

For my dear faith so freely
My blood with joy I gave,

And for the Holy Father,
His earthly realm to save.

Content am I, and fortunate,
My duty to have done ;

And valorous too, as truly
Became the church's son.

Yet no\v our dear Lord calleth,
And in his hands I leave

My cause so dearly cherished :
May he all loss retrieve

Who will not me abandon,
Nor valiant comrades mine,

Nor yet his church, nor Vicar
Who guards his spouse divine !

Dear friend, to me be pitiful ;

Pray unto God for me ;
Leaving the world, this charity

I beg so earnestly.

This world I leave untroubled,
Save by this one regret :

That none of mine are near me —
Kind eyes that would be wet

With tears of long-tried loving.

My friends, in mercy pray
For my poor soul, that draweth

So near eternal day !

A kiss my blood has tinted

I beg each one receive
That now I send you, waiting

From life a last reprieve ;

Hoping one day to give you
The blessed kiss of peace

In our dear, common country —
Fair-shining Paradise.

E'en as I am, earth leaving,
Your true and loving friend,

So shall I be in heaven

With love that knows no end.

Michael the Sombre.

79 1

MICHAEL THE SOMBRE.

AN EPISODE IN THE POLISH INSURRECTION, 1863-1864.

CONCLUSION.

ON my arrival at the camp I
found Father Benvenuto already
installed as head chaplain and
everything prepared for my recep-
tion. The poor general had died
only two hours after my departure.
He had been buried at Gory ; but
his soldiers, having heard that the
Russians intended to dig up his
body in order to mutilate it in their
barbarous fashion, dug up the coffin
and carried it to Koniec-Pol.

The Russians, furious at finding
the grave empty, hanged the parish
priest of the village for having
given permission for the removal
of the body. The mother of the
priest, who was seventy-five years of
age, was dragged to the foot of the
gibbet, and, like the Mother of
Dolors, was made to assist at the
execution of her only son. When
they tried to remove her she fell
down dead. Her soul had flown
to heaven after that of her boy.

No sooner had I entered on my
new duties than I determined to
start immediately with my squa-
dron to protect Countess L 's

flight. But General C , at the

head of the Russian garrison from
Kielce, never ceased pursuing and
attacking us, harassing our march
day and night; so that it was not
for fifteen days after my departure
from the castle that I was enabled
to carry out my plan. My troops,
who always saw me with a frown,
which I had adopted to keep them
at a greater distance, had nicknam-
ed me "Michael the Sombre," and
I signed all orders in that name.

After repeated marches and
counter-marches we managed at
last to escape from our enemies, and
arrived one evening at Syez after a
forced march of ten hours. I en-
camped my men in a field about
twenty minutes from the castle,
whither I galloped, accompanied
only by my orderly, whom I left at
the outer gates to keep watch, while
I asked an audience of Countess

L for " Michael the Sombre."

A footman admitted me directly
without recognizing me in the least,
and took me into a room where a
lamp with a dark-green globe pre-
vented any object from being eas-
ily distinguished. Overcome with
fatigue, I threw myself into an arm-
chair. I was full, however, of
thankful emotion. God had in-
deed heard my prayer and brought
me back in safety to be the preser-
ver of those whom I held so dear.
The door opened ; the countess and
her sister appeared, and began by
the usual formal words of welcome
and courtesy, asking me to be seat-
ed— for I had, of course, risen on
their entrance. As I did not an-
swer, and continued looking at them
with my eyes full of tears, they sud-
denly looked up too, and, with a
joint cry, threw themselves into my
arms. I had suffered terribly from
hunger, cold, and fatigue during the
past fortnight ; but that moment
of intense joy made me forget
everything. Five minutes after I
was surrounded by all the children;
the youngest had scrambled up on
my knees and thrown her arms

792

Micliael tlie Sombre.

tiglitly around my neck; Sophia
had seized my helmet, and, putting
it on before the glass, compared
herself to Minerva. Stanislas had
unhooked my sword, and Stephen
was trying to take off my spurs.
Half the night was spent in telling
one another all that had passed in
that eventful fortnight ; and al-
though I made light of my difficul-
ties and position, yet I saw that
the poor countess could hardly
bear to realize what I must still go
through before I was released from
my command.

This, however, was not a moment
for doubt or hesitation. It was
necessary to move immediately
before the Russian spies could give
the alarm ; so that by daybreak the
following morning the countess'
carriage, escorted by my flying
column, started on the road to the
frontier. Fortunately, we were
not molested on the way, and,
when we arrived at about a quarter
of a mile from Myszkow, I halted
my soldiers, and. putting on the or-
dinary dress of a civilian, I accom-
panied the ladies to the station and
busied myself with their passports,
tickets, and baggage with all the
feverish anxiety of one who strove
to forget the terrible ordeal through
which I had yet to pass before I
should be able to rejoin them.
When the train came up I brought
the ladies out on the platform, and,
having procured a special compart-
ment for them, made them get into
it with the children. Then at last
I could breathe freely. No one had
discovered them — they were safe !
"Adieu!"! exclaimed, as I shook
hands with them at the carriage-
door. " You are now out of dan-
ger, for which I thank God with my
whole heart. You will tell the
count that I have fulfilled my pro-
mise to him, will you not ? And

you will not forget me ?" I added
with a faltering voice.

They looked at me as if stupe-
fied. " But, Mika," exclaimed the
countess, " we cannot go without
you ! You must be joking. It is
not possible for you to stay behind.
What on earth is there to detain
you ?"

" You forget," I replied as calm-
ly as I could, " my promise to the
dying general; my vow to remain
with his troops until replaced, if he
would only grant me this escort ;
Poland, which I have sworn to de-
fend."

" But this is dreadful !" murmur-
ed the poor countess. " How can
we enjoy our liberty, purchased at
such a price ?"

Mme. de I said nothing.

She was as white as a sheet ; her
hand tightened on mine, and she
fixed her eyes on me as if she were
turned into stone. More fully
than the countess did she realize
the full peril of the position. I
was broken-hearted ; but, fearing
lest this scene should attract the
attention of the officials or of any
Russian spies, I left the carriage-
door under pretence of having for-
gotten something. When I return-
ed the train was already moving
out of the station. The countess
rushed to the window and wrung
my hand convulsively for the last
time. She could not speak. My
eyes followed the receding train
with a feeling of despair in my
heart. It was carrying off all I
loved best on earth, and I was
alone. All of a sudden I heard my
name called out with a cry of an-
guish from the carriage, and then, I
think, for a moment I lost con-
sciousness, as if struck by light-
ning, and remained motionless and
stunned. Till that moment I had
not realized the full bitterness of

Michael the Sombre.

793

the sacrifice. I woke from this
kind of stupor to hear voices in
hot dispute behind me. I turned
round and saw a Polish soldier,
covered with dust and in a tattered
uniform, struggling with two of the
porters of the railroad, who were
trying to stop him.

" What do you want to do ?" I
exclaimed. " Who are you looking
for?"

" Michael the Sombre," replied
the soldier.

" I am the man," I replied quiet-
ly, drawing him aside out of the
station to a part of the road where
we could talk without being heard.

"O sir! make haste," the poor

fellow cried. " Generals O , De

la Croix, and Zaremba are fight-
ing at Koniec-Pol and are being
overwhelmed by the superior forces
of the enemy. If they be not rein-
forced by two o'clock they will all
be cut to pieces."

I instantly sent off a messenger
to General Chmielinski to warn
him of the danger; and then, with-
out giving myself time to put on
my uniform, I buckled my sword
over my black coat, and galloped as
hard as I could to the scene of ac-
tion. I divided my squadron into
three columns, and sent each, under
the command of an officer, in three
different directions. The Russian
sentinels consequently gave the
alarm on three sides at once, and
the Russians, fancying themselves
surrounded by a large force, were
seized with an uncontrollable panic
and fled in the direction of Shepca;
Chmielinski's column, advancing
exactly in that direction, met them,
and the three infantry companies of
which they were composed were lit-
erally cut to pieces. During the
charge a ball had passed through my
boot and wounded me in the right
leg. Father Benvenuto was at my

side in a moment and had me remov-
ed to Chezonstow, where the good
Mother Alexandra, of whom I have
before spoken, was at the head of
the ambulance. She gave me up
her own cell and would allow no
one but herself to nurse me. Dur-
ing my illness a division arose
among my troops. They dispersed ;
some went home, others joined a
corps under the orders of Lange-
wiecz, while the remainder followed
Norbut. When sufficiently recover-
ed from my wound, finding I was
still too lame for active service, I
accepted a mission for the Central

Polish Committee at P , but was

unable to obtain my release. From

thence I started for N , where I

made my will and a general con-
fession, and then started again for
the front, having my passport drawn
up under the name of Michael

L . This time I enlisted as a

common soldier under the orders
of General Sokol. After the first en-
gagement I was appointed quarter-
master and interpreter to a French
officer, Ivon Amie, dit De Cha-
brolles. On the next brush we had
with the enemy I was promoted to
be sub-lieutenant for having rescued
the national flag from a Russian.
Between Secemin and Rudnick we
were attacked by six hundred Rus-
sians with two field-pieces. We
were only two hundred and fifty
men, with no cannon. Chabrolles,
in his mad zeal, rushed forward,
pistol in hand, and fired straight at
the men who were loading their
guns at only twenty paces off.
Then he turned to give an order,
and the enemy's fire (both pieces
being pointed in his direction) car-
ried off part of his shoulder. Re-
gardless of his wound, he cheered
on his men by word and deed, and
they were on the point of captur-
ing the guns when a Cossack thrust

794

Michael the Sombre.

him through and through with his
lance. I was by Chabrolles' side
and fired at his adversary, who fell
before he had had time to draw
out his weapon. This sad office
devolved upon one of our own men.
Chabrolles, when falling, gave me
his hand. " My brother," he said
faintly, " if you get back to France
go to Paris and see my mother.
She is at 37 Rue Clerc au Gros
Caillou. Tell her that her son has
died as a brave Christian should
die." Unable to reply, I tore my
crucifix out of my breast and pre-
sented it to him. He made a last
effort, kissed it with fervor, made
the sign of the cross, and expired,
his eyes raised to heaven.

Our detachment was then entire-
ly defeated. In vain I tried to
rally our men ; they fled in the ut-
most disorder. With a few braver
spirits than the rest I managed, at
least, to protect our retreat. I was
just beginning to congratulate my-
self on our escape when a Cossack,
with his lance at rest, rode straight
at me. I had fired off my last pistol.
With one hand I seized my sword
to parry the charge ; with the other
I pressed my crucifix to my breast.
The lance turned aside, went through
the sleeve of my uniform and out
at my back without touching my
flesh. If I never believed in a mira-
cle J should at this moment, when
I realized that I was really unhurt,
although death had seemed so in-
evitable. In this terrible fight we
lost, besides Chabrolles, Major Za-
chowski and Captains Piotraszkie-
wicz and Krasmicki. At the close
of the day I was promoted to be
lieutenant of the Uhlans.

One day I was ordered to con-
vey some arms and ammunition to
a distant outpost, and loaded the
bottom of a britzslca with about
twenty guns and swords and fifty

revolvers. I was in plain clothes,
and my orderly, Badecki, acted as
coachman. The road was suppos-
ed to be quite safe. Judge, then, of
our fright when we discovered a
large body of Russian cavalry rid-
ing directly towards us. It was
too late to think of beating a re-
treat. A shudder passed through
me ; for it was the worst kind of
death which threatened us — not a
glorious one on the field of battle,
but a slow torture, or else to be
hanged on the nearest tree. I
prayed with my whole heart for
deliverance, and felt that the hand
of God alone could save us. After
this moment of recollection calm
again fell upon me and my pre-
sence of mind returned. Theofficer
who commanded the corps came up a
few seconds after and asked me who
I was and where I was going. I
replied " that I was the German
tutor of Princess Ikorff (a Russian
lady), and that I was going to Kiel-
ce to buy books." My story was
confirmed by my Berlin accent ;
and as at this moment the Prus-
sians were in odor of sanctity with
their brethren, the Russians, the
officer simply bowed and let us pass
without interruption or suspicion.
But the last Cossack of the band
drew near to the carriage-door.
" Noble Sir !" he exclaimed in
that cringing voice which is na-
tural to the race, " give me some
kopecks to drink your health."
In the state of excitement I was
in I did not think of what I was
doing, and threw him three ducats
instead of kopecks. The poor fel-
low was so amazed that he hasten-
ed to show his gratitude after the
Cossack fashion — that is, by kissing
my feet- and calling me by every
imaginable title : prince, duke, etc.
This was a terrible moment for me.
The guns were under my feet, only

Michael the Sombre.

795

hidden by a slight covering of hay,
the least displacement of which
would have exposed them. God,
in his mercy, did not allow it, and
my Cossack, after a thousand obei-
sances and calling down on my
head every blessing from St. George
and St. Nicholas, left me and rejoined
his companions. I arrived at my
destination without further alarms,
my heart filled with thankfulness
to Him who had so mercifully pre-
served us from the worst of deaths.

About the beginning of Septem-
ber Gen. Iskra was attacked by a
strong corps, and I was sent off to
his relief with about one hundred
men. The Russians were repulsed ;
but we lost in this skirmish our
Italian doctor, M. Vigani, and M.
Loiseau, a French officer of artil-
lery. During the night the Rus-
sians, having received reinforce-
ments, returned to the attack. We
were too few in numbers and too
exhausted to attempt to fight, and
retreated on Pradla. During this
retreat my horse, which belonged
to a private in the corps, made a
false step and fell. I had fired the
last barrel of my revolver, and one
of my legs had got doubled up un-
der my horse, which made me pow-
erless. At this moment a Cossack
galloped straight at me. I felt that
my last hour was come, and re-
commended my soul to God.

" Yield thyself, rebel !" he cried
out in bad Polish.

" A Frenchman dies, but never
yields," I replied.

My enemy hesitated for a mo-
ment, and then lowered his sword,
which he had already raised to cut
me down.

" Listen," he said : " In the Cri-
mea a Frenchman who had me at
his mercy spared my life; for his
sake I will spare thine. But give
me all the money thou hast."

I threw my purse to him, which
contained about twenty roubles.
The Cossack helped me to rise,
and then said :

" Now fly for thy life ; for my
comrades are at hand, and they will
not spare thee !"

During the whole war this was
the only instance of humanity I
ever heard of on the part of the
Cossacks, and I gladly record it
here.

The following day Princess Elo-

die C came to the camp, at the

head of a deputation of Polish la-
dies, to thank me for my devotion
to the cause of Poland.

One day I was sitting, sadly
enough, under a pine-tree. My
troops, silent and sombre, were
warming themselves by a great fire.
For two days we had eaten noth-
ing. As for me, I was thinking of
the absent, and felt terribly lonely.
When I looked up I saw two beau-
tiful, intelligent heads watching me,
as if saying : " Are we, then, noth-
ing to you — we who have shared
all your sufferings and dangers ?"
They were my two only friends
and companions : Al-Mansour, my
Arab horse, and Caesar, my faithful
Newfoundland dog. I got up and
caressed them both. " O my best
friends!" I exclaimed, "you will
be with me till death, and if you
survive me you will mourn for me
more than any one else." And as
I kissed them my eyes filled with
tears. Al-Mansour laid his head
on my shoulder, and Caesar licked
my hand. They were my only
comfort. One minute after a cou-
rier arrived to beg for reinforce-
ments. Gen. Iczioranski was fight-
ing at Piaskowa-Scala. I whistled
to Caesar, who was an excellent
bearer of despatches, and would
even fight to defend them, and fas-
tened a note under his collar. Then,

796

Michael the Sombre.

showing him the direction he was
to take, I cried : " Hie quickly,
Caesar ! and return as soon as you
can." And the dog started off like
a shot.

We mounted and galloped to
Piaskowa-Scala. The action was
short, and we managed to free
Iczioranski, who was surrounded
on all sides. At the very moment
when the Russians were giving
way Al-Mansour bounded with
me up in the air, gave a terrible
cry, and fell. I had hardly time to
get my feet out of the stirrups.
He had been shot by a ball in the
chest. The poor beast had a mo-
ment of convulsion, and then turn-
ed his beautiful, soft eyes towards
me, as if to implore my help ; then
his legs stiffened and he trembled
again all over. I bent over him
and passed my hand through his
thick and beautiful mane, calling
him for the last time ; and then
... I covered my face with
both hands and sobbed like a little
child. Al-Mansour had been a
real friend to me. I had had him
when quite young and unbroken;
I had trained him entirely myself,
and from Breslau to Warsaw I
defy any one to have found a more
beautiful or intelligent animal. I
alone could ride him ; he never
would allow any one else on his
back. For four years I had ridden
him every day. The countess had
given him tome, and I had brought
him with me to the camp. Alas !
he was no longer the splendid
beast which used to excite the ad-
miration of everybody in the castle
stables. Fatigue and privations of
all kinds had reduced him to a
skeleton, so that his old grooms
would not have known him again.
I only loved him the more ; and it
used almost to break my heart
when I saw him, for want of hay,

oats, or even straw, eating the bark
of trees to deaden the pangs of his
hunger. He loved me as much as
I loved him. I used to talk to him,
and he understood me perfectly
and answered me after his fashion.
Although people who read this
may laugh at me, it was yet a fact,
which I am ready to maintain, that
when I was wounded Al-Mansour
had tears in his eyes ; and noth-
ing on earth will ever efface his
memory from my heart.

Another anecdote which I must
relate here refers to a lad — a very
child — whom I had in my squad-
ron, and whose name was, Charles

M . At fifteen years of age he

was a perfect marvel of cleverness,
and had received, besides, an excel-
lent education. He was born in
Paris, his father being a Polish ex-
ile, and. his mother, after twenty
years' residence in France, still
yearned for the arid plains and
marshes of Poland. " Boze e
Polska /" (God and Poland)—
those were the first words she
taught her boy to pronounce ;
and Charles could never separate
his worship of one from the other.
This double love, strengthened by
all the surroundings of his child-
hood, became in him a kind of
fanaticism. When the insurrection
broke out in Poland Charles was a
boarder in the Polish college of
Batignolles. He was just fifteen.
From that moment his life became
a continual fever. To go to Po-
land to fight, and, if necessary, to
die for the soil of his fathers were
the thoughts which took such pos-
session of the lad that they became
irresistible. He saved from his
pocket-money and from whatever he
gained in prizes the sum necessary
for the journey, and, when he
thought he had enough, he escaped
from the college, leaving a note to

Michael the Sombre.

797

explain his intentions, and, after
many difficulties, arrived at the
camp.

I was then in command of the
second squadron of Uhlans, under
Gen. Sokol. Charles came straight
to me to be enrolled. I flatly re-
fused to accept him, saying he was
too young and too weak to bear
arms.

" What does it matter if one's
arm be weak," he exclaimed, " if
hatred for our oppressors drive my
blows home ? It is true that I have
only the height of a child, but in
my love for Poland I have the
heart of a man, and I will fight like
a man !"

I remained inflexible. At that
moment the general came into my
tent and asked what was the ques-
tion in dispute. I told him. After
a moment or two of reflection he
turned to me and said :

" You must accept him. I am
apt to judge of character by peo-
ple's heads; and this one is fill-
ed with indomitable energy and
courage."

Charles was consequently enlist-
ed, to his intense joy. I got him a
little pony, and arms proportioned
to his size, and he fought by my
side like a lion in every encounter.

After the fight at Piaskowa-Scala
we returned to the camp, having
fortunately found some provisions.
The night was so dark that we
were obliged to light torches, which
the soldiers carried at certain dis-
tances. Passing before a pine-tree,
the new horse I was riding suddenly
shied and nearly threw me. I look-
ed to see what had frightened him,
and discovered a black object
hanging from a branch of the tree.
I called a soldier to bring his torch,
that we might find out what it was.
The light fell on the hanging form ;
it was my dear dog, Caesar. On the

trunk of the tree was fastened a
paper with this inscription : " We
hang the dog until we can hang
his master." I was thunderstruck.
Al-Mansour, Caesar, both my friends
in one day, perhaps at the very
same hour ! " Nothing, then, is left
to me!" I exclaimed with bitter-
ness, feeling that my poor dog was
quite cold — " nothing, not even
those poor faithful beasts who loved
me so much."

" Yes," said a voice in my ear,
" a countryman is left to yo-.i, and,
if you will, a friend!"

I turned round; it was little
Charles, who was holding out his
hand to me with looks full of sad-
ness and sympathy. I pressed the
child's hand. "Charles!" I ex-
claimed, " we will try and avenge
them." And spurring my horse, I
left the fatal spot far behind me in a
few minutes.

A day or two later we went to
join the larger corps of General
Chmielinski at the camp at Ted-
czyjowa. When I say " camp " I
make a mistake. None existed;
we had only a few miserable tents
and hardly any baggage. The men
slept by parties of ten in the woods,
on the cold ground, with such cov-
erings or sheepskins as they could
get together ; many had only cloth
cloaks. At break of day the rt-
veil sounded, ordinarily at the en-
trance of some glade where the ve-
dettes could embrace a wide space.
At the first bugle sound the sol-
diers emerged from the forest.
The men were gentle and sad.
The indomitable and calm energy
of their souls was reflected on their
faces, though blanched with cold
and worn with hunger and suffer-
ings of every description. They had
a kind of interior brightness in
their look that cast over them a
sort of sacred halo, before which I

Michael the Sombre,

believe the veriest sceptic would
have bowed with reverence. These
men were all possessed with one
idea : to die for their faith and
their country. Nothing else, in-
deed, was left for them. The strug-
gle was becoming more hopeless
every day, and they knew it ; yet
they never dreamt of giving it up.
The roll-call over and the sentries
relieved, Father Benvenuto came
in the midst of us, and every knee
was bowed before the sacred sign
he bore — the sign of our redemp-
tion. There was indeed something
glorious in that prayer in the open
air, joined in audibly by all those
men, united in one thought and in
one wish, who were fighting with
the certainty of eventual defeat,
but who only asked of God the
grace not to falter or turn back
from the path which duty and the
love of their country had marked
out for them, albeit that path
might have no issue but exile or
death. Happy were those who fell
in battle ! They went at once to
swell the glorious army of martyrs.
The others, when not hanged, chain-
ed in a long and mournful proces-
sion, were sent to Siberia after
that terrible word of farewell ad-
dressed to fathers and mothers, and
wives and children, gathered sob-
bing by the roadside : " Do nie wid-
zenia .'" — Never to meet again.
Many of these poor fellows were
fastened to an iron bar, sometimes
ten of them together, and car-
ried off in the direction of Kiew.
Those who survived the horrors of
the march or the lash of their dri-
vers were taken across Greater Rus-
sia. A "soteria," or company, of
Cossacks surrounded these inno-
cent men on every side as they toil-
ed on and on, loaded with chains
and treated worse than the vilest
criminals. The lance and the

whip were the only answer to pleas
of exhaustion or sickness. A re-
signed silence was the sole refuge
from the brutality of their escort,
whose only orders were not to spare
the blood of those Polish dogs. Any
complaint brought down a hail-
storm of blows on the unfortunate
victims, even when not followed by
death. Truly, the sufferings endur-
ed by the Poles will never be
known till the day when all things
shall be revealed.

When we arrived at the camp we
found that Father Benvenuto had
preceded us by four or five hours.
He had been commissioned to re-
ceive about one hundred volun-
teers who had arrived that morning
from Galicia. The greater part of
them were dressed in the gray
konttisz (or Bradenburg great-
coat), with the large leathern gir-
dle of a g/ral (a mountaineer). On
their heads they wore the roqatka
(a kind of square cap, something
like the czapka of the Lancers).
They generally had a common
fowling-piece with two barrels, and
a little hatchet in their waistbands.
Each had a canvas bag and a
hunting-pouch. These might be
considered as the flower of the
flock. They were mostly students
from Lemberg and Cracow. Others
were peasants dressed in short
tunics with scythes in their hands.
These were the kopynicry (or mow-
ers), half-soldiers, half-peasants,
and famous in all the struggles of
Poland. Besides these there were
men of every age and condition of
life, but all animated with the same
patriotic spirit : citizens, villagers,
Catholics, Protestants, Jews even,
some wearing black coats, others
workmen's blouses. Their arms
were as varied as their costumes :
parade swords, sabres blunted in
the great wars with Napoleon, old

Michael the Sombre.

799

muskets of Sobieski's days, hal-
berds, and even old French weapons.
Some had only hunting-knives and
sticks. This curious assemblage
of discordant elements, which any-
where else would have seemed gro-
tesque, assumed under the circum-
stances an imposing, and even a
touching, character.

At the extreme end of the glade
Father Benvenuto was praying be-
fore a great Christ stretched on his
cross. When he rose he fastened an
amaranth and white flag (which was
the Polish banner) to the end of a
lance. This flag bore on one side
the picture of Notre Dame de Czen-
stochowa, the patroness of Poland ;
on the other a Lithuanian cavalier
with the white eagle. He fixed the
lance in the ground before the
cross, and then made a sign to the
volunteers to lay down their arms
and draw near. When each had
taken his place the good priest re-
mained for a moment in silent
prayer and recollection. His thin
cheeks with their prominent cheek-
bones, his long white beard, his
forehead furrowed with wrinkles
and glorious wounds, and his tall
and commanding figure gave him
an appearance of energy, strength,
and majesty which impressed the
beholders with deep and affection-
ate veneration.

"Brothers!" at last he said,
"" it is a holy and yet a fearful
cause to whicli you are about to
devote yourselves. It is one be-
yond mere vulgar or animal cou-
rage ; and before you enroll your-
selves in our ranks— before, in fact,
you engage yourselves any further
in the matter — it is right you should
know and fully realize what awaits
you and what is expected of you."

The patriots listened respectful-
ly, their heads bare, standing be-
fore the crucifix and the banner.

Around them, and as if to protect
them, stretched the virgin forests,
those fortresses of the Polish in-
surgents, while the sun shed its
pale rays over the whole scene.

" What you have to expect," con-
tinued the good father, "is this:
You will suffer daily from hunger,
for we have no stores ; you will
have to sleep on the bare ground,
for we have no tents ; you will
have to march more often with
bare feet than with shoes and
stockings ; you will shiver with
cold under clothes which will be
utterly insufficient to protect you
from the rigors of this climate.
If you are wounded, you will fall
into the hands of the Muscovites,
who will torture you. If you are
afraid and refuse to go forward,
your own comrades have orders to
shoot you."

"We are prepared for every-
thing," they replied simply.

The good father continued :

" Have you a family ? They
may as well mourn for you before-
hand ; for we have no leave in our
ranks, except to go to the mines of
Siberia or to death. Have you
reconciled yourselves to God ? I
can only lead you to death and
prepare you to meet it. Are you
ready to die for your country ?"
He paused, and then added : "There
is still time to draw back. I can
facilitate your return to your homes.
Weigh the matter well before you
decide."

" No, no !" they exclaimed with
one voice, " we will not turn
back. We wish to fight to-day, to-
morrow— when you will — but to
fight and die for our country. A
cheer for Poland ! Another cheer
for our Mother !"

"My brethren," began the ven-
erable priest again, " do not give
way to illusions. You are lost if

8oo

Michael the Sombre.

you imagine that you can conquer
the enemy in a few months. Woe
be to us all if we forget that it is a
giant's struggle in which we are en-
gaged, and that a whole generation
must perish before we can expiate
the sins of our fathers ! Therefore
I ask you again : Are you ready to
march to battle, knowing that in
the end you must be defeated, that
you must be overpowered by num-
bers, and that you have nothing
to hope for either in victory or de-
feat— nothing, not even glory, which
lays its crowns of laurel on the
graves of the brave ?"

Here his voice faltered ; but, mas-
tering his emotion, the venerable
old man, lifting his eyes to heaven
and stretching out his hands to-
wards the crucifix, exclaimed with
almost superhuman enthusiasm :
"O my God! them who knowest
the hearts of all men, give to these
thy servants the spirit of courage,
self-sacrifice, and faith. Blot out
the memory of our beloved Warsaw
from their hearts, and with it the
remembrance of their mothers, their
sisters, their betrothed ! Let them
henceforth see naught but the glo-
rious army of martyrs and their
mother Poland, torn and blood-
stained. Let their ears be closed
to all whispers of home, and be
open only to hear the laments of
the widows and orphans, the groans
from the depth of the dungeons,
the cries which the east wind brings
us across Muscovy from the Sibe-
rian mines ! May they have but
one thought, one wish, one will — to
pursue and annihilate this Russian
vampire, which for nearly a cen-
tury has fastened on the breasts of
our Virgin of Poland, and has be-
come drunk with her tears and with
her blood !"

" May God hear and grant thy
prayer!" replied the volunteers

with one voice. " What thou wili-
est we will ; what thou command-
est we will do. Lead us to death
or to torture ; we will not shrink
from either."

A look of deep joy lit up for a
moment the old man's face and
made him seem as one inspired.
He blessed the banner, and then
gave out the Polish national hymn,
Boze cos Polske przesz tak licznie
wieki, of which the following is
an English translation :*

O God ! who gave Poland her wonderful dower
Of faith through long ages, of strength and of

glory.
And now spreadst that faith like a shield o'er an

hour
The saddest and darkest of all in her story

CHORUS.

Great God ! to thine altars we suppliants come ;
Give us back the blest freedom of faith, hearth,
and home.

O thou who, in pity, and touched by her fall, .
Still strengthens! thy children to fight in thy

name.
And showeth the world, 'midst her sorrow and

thrall,
The deeper her suffering, the brighter her fame ;

in.

O God ! whose all-powerful arm can o'er-

throw
The proudest of kingdoms, like huts built on

sand,

Avert from thy children these dark clouds of woe.
Raise the hopes of the Poles ; give them back
their dear land.

Give back to old Poland her bright days of yore,
To her fields and her cities the blessings of
peace.

Give plenty, give freedom, give joy as before ;
Oh ! cease to chastise us and fill us with grace.

O merciful God ! by thy marvellous might
Keep far from us slaughter and war's fierce de-
spair ;

'Neath the sway of the angel of peace and of light
Let all be united in love and in prayer.

Great God ! to thine altars we suppliants come ;
Give us back the blest freedom of faith, hearth,
and home.

* The translation is from the graceful pen of
Lady Georgiana Fullerton.

Michael the >V inbrc.

80 1

The soldiers, kneeling, repeated
this in chorus, and, rising, gave an-
other cheer for Poland. Then
Gen. Chmielinski, who was stand-
ing to the right of Father Benve-
nuto, turned to them and said:
" Now, my children, go and rest
and recruit your strength. You
will need it all ; for the enemy we
have to fight is strong and numer-
ous, and many among us will ap-
pear before God to-morrow."

The soldiers did as they were
bid, and prepared themselves to
pass the night as comfortably as
they could, feeling that it was in-
deed the last many would spend
on earth. I was going to do the
same when I was sent for by Gen.
Sokol, whom I found talking over
plans with Gen. Chmielinski.

" Lieut. LT ," he said to me,

" we are very anxious for exact in-
formation as to the amount of the
Russian force. Are you tired?"

" Yes, but not enough to refuse
a perilous mission. What is there
to be done ?"

"To go with a picked body of
men on whom you can rely, and re-
connoitre the Russian strength and
position ; but, for heaven's sake, be
very prudent. You know the full
extent of the danger."

" Yes. Thanks for having cho-
sen me," I replied ; and, bowing to
the two officers, I withdrew and
told Badecki to have my horse
saddled immediately. Whilst I
was looking to the loading of my

pistols young Charles M came

up.

" Lieutenant," he exclaimed,
" you are going to reconnoitre the
Russian army ?"

" Yes," I replied. " Why do you
ask ?"

" Will you let me go with you ?"

" No, my boy. To-morrow's
fight may be a serious one, for
VOL. xxvi. — 51

v.-hicli you will need all your
strength."

The poor little fellow made a
wry face, but went and lay down
again at the foot of a tree. I only
took with me Badecki and an old
soldier named Zeromski, who had
distinguished himself in the cam-
paign of 1830. He had an austere
and severe countenance, which,
however, brightened into the sweet-
est and gentlest smile possible
when you spoke to him. He was
as laconic as a Spartan and kept
himself always aloof; but under
fire his bravery was heroic, and
almost amounted to rashness. His
comrades had nicknamed him
Stalowy-serce (heart of steel).

We reconnoitred the enemy's po-
sition without being discovered,,
and were returning towards the
edge of the camp, when my horse
stumbled against the root of a tree
and fell on one knee. My orderly,
Badecki, looked at me anxiously,,
shook his head, coughed, sigh-
ed, and turned uneasily in his sad-
dle.

u What on earth is the matter^
Badecki?" I exclaimed. "One
would think you were sitting on a
wasp's nest."

" Lieutenant," he answered,
sighing, " it is because your horse
stumbled just now."

" Well, and what is that to you ?'*
I replied.

" Don't you know, lieutenant,
that if a horse stumbles before a
battle it forebodes misfortune to his
rider ? I always remarked that in
the campaign of 1830."

" Oh ! you believe that, do you ?"
I said, smiling. "And you, Zerom-
skj — have you remarked it too ?"

" No, I have not done so my-
self, but I have been always told
so."

Arrived at the camp, I hastened

8C2

MicJiael the Sombre.

to give in my report to General So-
kol. He thanked me warmly, and
added :

" Now is your opportunity, lieu-
tenant, to win your captain's epau-
lets."

"Yes, general, or a good sabre-
cut. I hope it may be one or the
ot,her."

Sokol laughed and said :

" It is certain that, if these un-
licked cubs of Russians are as nu-
merous as you say, they will give
us trouble."

Leaving the general's quarters, I
went and wrapped myself up in my
bear-skin, and, throwing myself un-
der a tree, fell asleep in a moment.
J was completely worn out with fa-
tigue.

Only two hours later, however, I
was awakened by the sentries being
relieved. The day had just dawn-
ed. The first thing which recur-
red to my memory was Badecki's
words. I had a sort of presenti-
ment that they would turn out to
be true. After a few moments offer-
vent prayer I took out my pocket-
book and made a slight sketch of
the spot where the battle would
most likely be fought, and where,
perhaps, that very night they would
dig my grave. I wrote a few lines
with the sketch, folded them up,
and directed it.

Scarcely had I made my last
preparations in this way than our
advanced posts gave the signal that
the enemy was approaching. It
was part of the army of Gen.
C , and consisted of two bat-
talions of infantry, several soterias
of Cossacks and dragoons, and
four pieces of artillery. They
numbered upwards of three thou-
sand men. We had only twelve
hundred, many of whom were but
raw recruits.

Very soon every soul was on the

alert and armed. Father Ben-
venuto was the first to appear.

" My children !" he cried, " many
amongst us will fall this day. You
are all, thank God ! prepared for
whatever may be his will. Kneel,
and I will give you all a last abso-
lution and benediction."

Every one knelt with the vene-
rable priest, who prayed for a few
minutes in a low voice and com-
mended us all to God. Then, ris-
ing, he added with emotion :

" My children, I absolve you
and bless you all, in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of
the Holy Ghost."

"Amen!" we all responded, and
rose filled with fresh strength and
courage.

" Let every one of you do his
duty," continued he; "that is all I
will say at this moment to patriots
who wish to free our dear and holy
Poland or die in the attempt."

The men went silently to take
each his place in the ranks. Gen.
Zaremba was to assume the chief
command that day.

" What will do us the most mis-
chief and paralyze our operations,"
he said, " are those field-pieces. If
they had not those cannon we
should win."

Count S , captain of artillery,

came forward. " If you will give
me leave, general, I will go and
spike their guns. Are there two
hundred men amongst you who
will follow me to certain death?
Let them make the sacrifice of
their lives for the safety of all."

Nearly a thousand men volun-
teered for this terrible service,
though they knew perfectly well
that, in all probability, not one
would return alive.

" Well," exclaimed the general,
" we are twelve hundred men ; let
us draw lots."

Michael the Sombre.

803

A few minutes later the two
hundred, favored by fate and their
own heroism, separated themselves
from the rest and gathered round
their intrepid leader, forming what
might well be called the phalanx of

death. Charles M burst into

tears at not having been one of
those selected.

" Don't be afraid," I said to him;
" to-day we shall all be equally fa-
vored."

The general then disposed of his
small force in the best manner he
could. He desired no one to fire
a single shot till the enemy was
within one hundred paces. Those
among the sharpshooters and zou-
aves who had breech-loaders were
to reserve their second shots till
those who had only single-barrelled
guns were reloading. In the event
of confusion or defeat I was order-
ed with my Uhlans to charge the
fugitives, always taking care to
double back with my column be-
hind the fusileers. These dispo-
sitions having been made, and dis-
tinct orders given to each corps,
we all remained at our posts in si-
lence, awaiting the enemy's ap-
proach. On they came, in the
well-known serried masses of the
Russian troops, and not a shot was
fired till they arrived at the ap-
pointed distance. Then, with a
shout and a sharp cry, the signal
was given, our men fired, and up-
wards of one hundred Russians
fell. So unprepared were they for
this sudden discharge that the men
behind the front rank fell back, in
spite of the efforts of their officers,
and, scattering to the right and left,
became the victims of my Uhlans
or were cut to pieces by the
scythes of the kopinicry. Then
the Russians in their turn fired,
and twenty of our Poles fell. This
was the moment chosen by Count

S and his two hundred heroes

to dash in amidst the Russian ar-
tillery and try and silence their
cannon. Passing through the Rus-
sian ranks like a flash of lightning,
the count and my brave old Zerom-
ski succeeded in spiking two of
their field-pieces. Whilst ramming
in his gun a ball broke the count's
arm ; the next took off his head.
Zeromski had his head broken by
the butt-end of a musket, and fell
at the very moment when he had
succeeded in spiking a gun to the
cry of " Niech zeja Polske /" (Hur-
rah for Poland !)

We could not look on in cold
blood and see the horrible massa-
cre of these two hundred. Com-
rades and all with one accord
threw themselves into the enemy's
ranks. The voice of our officers
fell on dead ears ; we were engag-
ed in a hand-to-hand fight with
equal fury on both sides. Now
and then, when our Poles gave way
before superior numbers, the Rus-
sian artillery had time to load their
remaining guns, and when our poor
fellows came back to the charge
they were simply mowed down be-
fore the heavy fire that opened
upon them. But still no one
thought of self-preservation, only
how to deal the hardest blows.
All strategy or tactics had become
impossible, and officers and men
alike fought inch by inch for
their lives. From the first mo-
ment when the fighting had be-
come general I was attacked by a
quartermaster of dragoons. We
both fought with swords ; but I
was so exhausted that I could
hardly keep my saddle, and all
I could do was to try and parry
the strokes of my adversary. All
of a sudden a violent cramp seized
my right arm ; but at that critical
moment I heard the voice of little

804

Michael the Sombre.

Charles behind me : " Hold on for
a minute longer !" he cried ; and,
galloping with his pony across a
heap of dead, he fired off his pistol
close to the head of my enemy,
who dropped without a word. But
at the same instant I saw the
heroic child stagger and turn
deadly white ; a ball had struck
him in the chest.

" Adieu, lieutenant ! Adieu,
brother !" he murmured, as he slip-
ped off his horse to the ground.
" My poor mother ! How she will
cry ! My Lord and my God, have
mercy upon me !"

Those were his last words. I
bore him on my shoulders, and car-
ried him out of the field of battle,
and laid him down under a tree.
I put my hand on his heart; it had
ceased to beat. The generous
child had died to save me. He
had a beautiful smile on his face,
and two tears glistened on his
cheeks. I closed his eyes, and, kiss-
ing his forehead, said : " Sleep in
peace, my brave boy ! If I survive
this day I will carry these tears to
your poor mother."

I called two of the pioneers, and
told them to dig a separate grave
for poor Charles, that his body
might not fall into the enemy's
hands ; and then, jumping on the
horse of a Cossack who had just
been killed, I threw myself again
into the fray. All my strength had
come back. I" fought like one pos-
sessed ; and this over-excitement
lasted till I felt the cold steel going
through me. A Cossack had thrust
his lance into my left breast. I lift-
ed up my heart to God for one mo-
ment, and then fell, pressing my
crucifix convulsively. My order-
ly, seeing me fall, carried me off
rapidly to a carriage which was
already full of wounded men.
Thanks to Father Benvenuto, who

never ceased watching over me, I
came back to life again and met
the loving and sisterly eyes of
Mother Alexandra, who again in-
sisted on my sharing her cell. I
was in great danger for five days,
and, if I did not sink under my suf-
ferings, it was owing to the devot-
ed care of which I was the object.
One night my secret was well-nigh
discovered. Mother Alexandra
had been called away to some other
patient and had left me to the care
of a young sister. My fever ran
high, and, being delirious, I tore off
the bandages from my wound and
threw them away. Frightened at
my state, the sister luckily ran to
fetch Mother Alexandra, exclaim-
ing : " Come as quickly as you can ;
the lieutenant is dying !" She flew
back to me, and remained alone by
my bedside. Her presence calmed
me at 'once, and I allowed her to
bandage me up again and stop the
blood, which had burst out in
streams from the wound.

In the same house we had forty-
five wounded from this battle,
wherein the Poles had displayed
prodigies of valor. The Russian
loss was very great, and if they
were not altogether crushed, it was
owing to their numerical superior-
ity. As it was, they retired in
good order, for we had not suffi-
cient men to follow them in their
retreat. When I was allowed to
go out of my cell I went to see my
comrades. I helped the sisters in
dressing their wounds, and, when
my strength would allow me, I used
to read aloud to them as we sat
round the stove. At the end of a
month, out of forty-five wounded
thirty-two were convalescent.

At the end of six weeks I
felt myself strong enough to bear
the motion of a horse, and so ac-
cepted a mission for my old gene-

MicJiael the Sombre.

805

ral, who, by the orders of the Central
Committee, came to take the com-
mand of the forces in the place of
General Iskra, who had been con-
demned to death for high treason.
As ill-luck would have it, on this
occasion my usual good-fortune
deserted me and I fell into the
hands of a Russian patrol, who
seized me, tied my hands behind
my back, and marched me off to
the little town of Kielce. As I was
still very weak and walked with
difficulty, they accelerated my
march by blows from the butt-ends
of their muskets. At Kielce I was
taken straight to the headquarters

of Gen. C . All Polish soldiers

who had fallen into the hands of
this brute since the beginning of
the war had been hanged. From
the window, close to which I had
been placed, I could see the gibbet,
with two shapeless bodies hanging
from it on which birds of prey were
already feasting. The sight filled
me with horror, and feeling sure
this time that my last hour was at
hand, I recommended my soul to
God, made a fervent act of contri-
tion, and prepared myself as well as
I could to die.

The general came in for the
usual interrogatory, and frowned
when he looked at me.

" You are from the rebel army ?"
he exclaimed in bad Polish.

" I do not know any rebels, " I
replied proudly. " I am of the
army of the Crusaders." (We call-
ed the war a Crusade, and all of us
wore a white cross sewed on our
uniforms.)

At this reply General C 's

face darkened and, with a furious
gesture, he made a step toward me.

"Do you know," he cried, "to
what fate you have exposed your-
self by falling into my hands?"

"Yes, perfectly," I replied, turn-

ing my head in the direction of the
dead bodies.

" And you are not afraid ?"

" No. I belong to a nation which
does not know the feeling."

" Yet you are very pale. "

"Oh!"' I replied eagerly, "do
not think it is from fear. Six weeks
ago I was wounded in an engage-
ment with your troops, and to-day
I have gone out for the first time."

Here the Muscovite smiled.

" What is your age ? Nineteen ?
Do you know that there are very
few Poles as young as you are who
would face death in this way with-
out a shudder ?"

" But I am not a Pole ; I am
French."

" Do you speak the truth ?"

" I never lie," I replied, present-
ing him my man's passport.

He examined it carefully.

" This saves you," he said at last,
beginning to be almost civil. "We
have not yet the right to hang the
French, even though they may
have fought with the rebel troops.
I shall send you with an escort
across the frontier of Silesia ; but
if ever you again set foot on Russian
soil you will be hanged without
mercy and without shrift."

I was sent out of his presence,
escorted by two Cossacks, thorough-
ly unlicked bears, who had orders
to shoot me on the least suspicious
movement on my part. I had
the pleasure of these gentlemen's
society in a third-class carriage
during the whole journey from
Myszkow to Szczakowa — that is,
for four mortal hours. You can
imagine, therefore, that I did not
breathe freely till I had stepped out
of the carriage and found myself
once more on Silesian soil, released
from their attentions.

I felt now that my vow had been
kept and my promise fulfilled. I

8o6

The late Dr. T. W. Marshall.

had shed my blood for Poland, and
any further effort on my part would
have been worse than useless.

I determined, therefore, to rejoin
the countess and her children, who
were at that moment at the waters
of Altwasser. I pass over the joy
of our reunion. We soon went on
to Dresden for the winter, and once
more that happy family were to-
gether, though in exile.

I heard soon after that Father
Benvenuto had been struck by a
ball in the heart at the battle of
Swientz-Krszysz, at the very mo-
ment when he was lifting up the

crucifix to bless his soldiers. The
memory of this saint will be for ever
revered in Poland, and in the hearts
of all those who had the happiness
of knowing him. With his heroic
death I close my account of this
episode in a war which, however
mistaken on the part of those who
first conceived so hopeless an at-
tempt, was carried on to the last
with a faith, a courage, and a patriot-
ism that deserve to be immortaliz-
ed in the history of any country,
and will redound to the eternal
honor of this persecuted and un-
happy people.

THE LATE DR. T. W. MARSHALL.

THE renaissance of English Ca-
tholic literature has been a growth
of the last quarter of a century.
From the time when Dr. Newman
became a convert to the church
there has been a continual stream
of the most ardent Catholic litera-
ture, didactic, controversial, and de-
votional. Of devotional works we
need hardly speak at all, since
they are much the same in all Ca-
tholic countries, and are mostly
modelled on one spirit of one faith.
Of works which are didactic it is
superfluous to say anything, for all
teachers of the Catholic faith teach
the same thing. But of works
which are controversial it is desi-
rable to take notice, because they
indicate the peculiar spirit of the
age, the nature of the anti-Catho-
lic opposition, and the growth or
the decay of old prejudices. There
is probably no literature in any
country in the world which is so
full of original lines of pure con-
troversy as that of the mod-

ern English school of Catho-
lic converts. Nor is there any
difficulty in accounting for this
fact. When we remember that
English converts have stepped
across that huge gulf which divides
old-fashioned Protestantism from
Catholicity ; that they have brought
with them from the " Establish-
ment" the most perfect knowledge
of all the arguments which can be
devised against the acceptance of
" the faith " ; that they are often
highly educated men, who have
been as " intellectually " as they
have been " spiritually " convert-
ed— we should be surprised if they
did not sometimes write controver-
sy with both a newness and a rich-
ness of intuition.

For example, let us take the great
Dr. Newman, whose vast stores of
digested learning often sparkle or
are sweetened with delicious touches
of the perception of the humorous
— a boon to his readers which is
not only due to his wit but to the

The late Dr. T. W. Marshall.

807

drolleries of the old heresy which
he has left. Or let us take Dr.
Faber — that " poet of Catholic
dogmas," as a Protestant lady has
described him — and note the ex-
quisite appreciation with which
he contrasts Catholic truths with
their denial or their imitation in
Protestantism. These two writers
could not have written as they
have done unless they had been
brought up as Protestants. They
might have been equally luminous
and profound; they might have
wanted nothing of Catholic sci-
ence; but their appreciation of
contrast, which is one of the es-
sentials of humor, could not have
been nearly so developed.

Yet, delightful as it would be to
dwell on the rich gifts of these two
writers — the profound Newman
and the poetical Faber — it is with
reference to another writer that
we would say something at this
time — to one who has but recently
passed away. Dr. T. W. Marshall,
who twice visited the United States,
and who gained great repute as a
lecturer, was among the most gift-
ed of the controversialists — in some
senses he was unique — who have
contributed to English Catholic
literature. We are not speaking
of his learning, though this was
considerable; nor of his reason-
ing power, though this, too, was
very striking; for there are many
English Catholic writers who, both
in learning and in reasoning, may
be esteemed to have surpassed Dr.
Marshall ; but we are speaking of
him as a " pure controversialist,"
as one who made controversy his
sole pursuit, or who, at least, will
be always remembered as a polem-
ic, and this both as a speaker and
as a writer. Now, in the capacity
of a polemic — of a " popular " po-
lemic— we have affirmed that Dr.

Marshall w;is unique ; and let us
indicate briefly in what respects.

We have spoken at the begin-
ning of the immense advantage
which is possessed by those Catho-
lics who attetnpc to write contro-
versy when their first years have
been passed in the camp of the
Anglican " Establishment," and so
they have learned all its secrets.
Dr. Marshall was " bred and born "
an Anglican. He was the de-
scendant of a long line of Protes-
tants. He was educated at two
English public schools, and subse-
quently spent three years at Cam-
bridge ; emerging from the uni-
versity to " take orders " in the
Establishment, and soon becoming
incumbent of a parish. Finding
his lot cast in a pleasant rural dis-
trict, where he had but very few
clerical duties, he devoted his
spare time to the study of the Fa-
thers ; and, while reading, he made
copious notes. The present wri-
ter, who had the happiness to be
his pupil, remembers well with
what avidity he used to devour the
big tomes which he borrowed from
the not distant cathedral library.
Finding, as he read on, that the
Fathers were "strangely Roman
Catholic," that " they most dis-
tinctly were none of them Protes-
tants," he may be said to have read
and to have written himself into the
faith, which he embraced the mo-
ment that he realized it. And no
sooner was he received into the
Catholic Church than he devoted all
his talents to the proving to Eng-
lish Protestants the truths of which
lie himself wasconvinced. Christian
Missions was his first great work,
though it had been preceded by more
than one brilliant pamphlet ; and My
Clerical Friends and Protestant Jour-
nalism followed in much later years.
Besides these works there was the

8o8

Ike late Dr. T. W. Marshall.

unceasing contribution to more
tli an one of the English Catholic
papers, to several magazines or
periodicals, and also to a few secu-
lar weeklies. It may be remem-
bered with what raciness, and at
the same time with what depth, he
used to punish "our Protestant con-
temporaries " for their inventions
and their puerilities about the
church. His series on the " Rus-
sian Church "was especially brilliant,
and produced much sensation among
High-Churchmen. But his many
other series, such as " Fictitious
Appeals to a General Council,"
" Sketches of the Reformation,"
" Two Churches," " Modern Sci-
ence," were all deserving of most
careful digestion, and produced
their due effect upon Anglicans.
It was when probing the Ritualists,
week after week, with the most
terrible weapons of Catholic logic,
that Dr. Marshall was seized with
his last illness, and he laid aside
for ever that pen which, for thirty
years, had been the dread of many
insincere Protestants.

If we examine critically into the
merits and demerits of this accom-
plished theologian and controver-
sialist, we shall find three points in
particular which mark him off from
other men, and which render him,
as we have said, unique. First, he
had the capacity of uniting exten-
sive learning with a lightness, even
a gayety, of style ; weaving scores
of quotations into a few pages of
easy writing, without ever for a
moment becoming dull. He play-
ed and he toyed with any number
of quotations, as though he had
them all at his fingers' ends; and
he " brought them in " in such a
way that, instead of cumbering his
pages, they made them more di-
verting and light. Let it be asked
whether this one particular art is

not worthy of universal imitation?
Nine out of every ten of even good
polemical writers " drag their quo-
tations in by the head and shoul-
ders," or hurl them down upon the
pages as though they had been
carted with pitchforks and had to
be uncarted in similar fashion. A
lightness and a tripping ease in the
introduction of quotations is one of
the most captivating of gifts ; for
it takes the weight off the learning,
the drag off the style, the " bore "
off the effort of controversy. It
would be very easy to name half a-
score of good books, vastly learned
and admirably fitted for the shelves,
which are simply rendered unread-
able by that after-dinner sleepiness
which comes from too heavy a ta-
ble. Now, is it not desirable that
even wise men should make a study
of this art of trippingly weaving
quotations ? — for, as a matter of fact,
a quotation badly used might just
as well not be used at all. Dr.
Marshall made quotations a grace
of his style, instead of an interrup-
tion of his text; and so neatly did
he " Tunbridge-ware" them into
his pages that they fitted without
joint and without fissure. This is,
we think, a great merit ; and if Dr.
Marshall had done nothing more
than suggest to learned writers that
it is possible to quote immensely yet
trippingly, he would have rendered
a service to all polemics. He has
been, perhaps, ;< an original " in this
respect ; or, if not an original, he
has at least been unique in the ex-
cellence of the practice of the art.

The second feature in his writ-
ings which strikes us as admirable
is an individuality in the neatness
of expression. Short sentences,
quite as pithy as short, with a calm
grace of defiant imperturbability,
make his writings equally caustic
and gay. Scholarly those writings

The late Dr. T. W. Marshall.

809

certainly are ; they have all the
honeyed temperance of art and
much of the perfection of habit.
No one could write as Dr. Mar-
shall could write unless he had
made writing his study. No doubt
style " is born, not made " ; but
most styles are better for education,
and we could name but few writers
of whom we could say that their
style was apparently more natural
than it was acquired. Of Dr. New-
man it might be said " the style
is the man," for there is a person-
al repose in his writings ; and we
could imagine Dr. Newman, even if
he had not been a great student,
still writing most beautifully and
serenely. "The perfection of Dr.
Newman's style is that he has no
style " was a very good remark of a
learned critic; but then we cannot
talk of such very exceptional men
as giving a rule for lesser writers.
Now, Dr. Marshall had a very
marked style. It was ease, with
equal art and equal care. The
care was as striking as the ease.
This, it will be said, proves at once
that Dr. Marshall was not what is
called " a genius." Well, no one ever
pretended that he was. A man
may be both admirable and unique
without having one spark of real
genius ; and a man may have graces
of style, with highly cultured arts
of fascination, and 'yet be no more
than just sufficiently original to at-
tract a marked popular attention.
Few men attain even to this stan-
dard; and certainly, as writers of
controversy, very few men even ap-
proach to it. What we assert is that
to be " controversially unique " a
writer must be exceptional in
certain ways, and especially in the
two ways we have particularized
— namely, light quoting and light
writing. We return, then, to the
opinion that for neatness of phrase-

ology; for the "art," if you will,
of suave cuttingness ; for the clever
combination of the caustic with the
calm, of the profoundly indisputa-
ble with the playful, Dr. Marshall
was really remarkable. He could
say a thing quietly which, if rob-
bed of its quietness, would have
been, perhaps, a veritable insult.
Perhaps it was the more pungent
because quiet ; and here we touch
the third and last of the literary
characteristics which we propose
to notice briefly at this time.

" Milk and gall are not a pleas-
ing combination," observed a gen-
tleman— who was an Anglican at
the tirne — after reading Our Pro-
testant Contemporaries. He add-
ed that he did not care for
milk — he was too old to find it
sufficiently stimulating — but he ob-
jected to gall, at least when it was
directed against some favorite con-
victions of his own mind. Most
persons will agree with this old
gentleman, who, however, became a
convert to the church. Yet it may
be said that there are two apolo-
gies which may be offered for this
defect — if defect, indeed, it be — of
"milk and gall." First, let it be
remembered that the keen percep-
tion of the ridiculous, which is
generally a characteristic of supe-
rior minds, finds its richest explora-
tion in what, from a certain point
of view, may be regarded as those
immense fields of folly which are
popularly denominated English Pro-
testantism. To the humorous mind
there is nothing so humorous as
the mental gymnastics of Protes-
tants. To suppress this humorous
sense becomes impossible to any
writer who does not look on gloom
as a duty. Dr. Newman only sup-
presses it in this way : that his huge
mind works above the mere play-
ground, or avoids it as too provoca-

8io

The late Dr. T. W. Marshall.

live of games. He descended into
it once in Loss and Gain, and he
became fairly romping towards the
close; now and then, too, we can
detect the laughing spirit which
only veils itself, for decorum, in his
grave writings ; but he feels pro-
bably that his weapons are too
sharp to need satire, for he is not
a controversialist, but a reasoner.
When he does, for the moment,
write satire, he shows what he
could do, if he would ; but we
are glad that the normal attitude
of his mind is rather didactic than
playful.

Of lesser writers we cannot ex-
pect that their discrimination should
be hampered by a grave sense of
doctorship ; it is not necessary that
they should sit in professors' chairs ;
they are writing for the million,
whose perceptions of what is true
must be aided by their perceptions
of what is false. Moreover, the
English mind, not being normally
humorous — which is a great na-
tional loss in all respects — requires
to be -jolted and jerked into an at-
titude which would be most useful
for the intelligence of truth. If we
could only get Englishmen to see
the comedy of heresy, they might
soon want the gravity of truth ;
but they are constitutionally dull
in apprehending those fallacies
which southern peoples can see
through in a moment. Now, a wri-
ter who can teach Englishmen to
laugh at their Protestantism, to ap-
preciate its anomalies and its shams,
to see the difference between a par-
son and a priest, between ten thou-
sand opinions and one faith, and
generally to get rid of morbid
sentiment and prejudice, and to
look at things in a thoroughly
healthful way, has " taken a line "
which is as salutary for feeble
souls as is bright mountain air for

feeble bodies. Dr. Marshall used
to laugh with Protestants at their
shams much more than he used to
laugh at the victims. But it is true
that there was sometimes an acer-
bity in his remarks which gave of-
fence to those who loved not the
humor. Could this be helped ?
Be it remembered that acerbity, in
the apparent mood of expression,
is often more intellectual than it is
moral ; it is simply an attitude of
conviction, or it is the natural vex-
ation of a profound religious faith
which cannot calm itself when pro-
testing against folly. Nor do we
think it at all probable that, if there
were no gall in controversy, more
converts would be made to the
truth. And, after all, what do we
mean by the word " gall " ? Is
humor gall ? Is satire gall ? Is
even acerbity, when it is obvi-
ously but vexation, a fatal undo-
ing of good ? Much will depend
on the mood of the reader. Some
readers like spice and cayenne
even in their " religious " oppo-
nents. Most readers know that
mere literary temperament cannot
make a syllogism out of a fallacy.
All readers distinguish between
caprices of temperament and the
attitude of the reason and the
soul. It is only on account of the
mental babes among Protestants
that it is to be regretted that all
Catholics are human. For the
ordinary, strong reader a good
dash of human nature is much
better than is too much of "the
angel." Take mankind for what
they are, and we like the honesty
of the irritation which sometimes
puts the gall into the milk. It
might be desirable that our first
parent had not fallen. If he had
not fallen we should not have had
controversy. But since he has
fallen, and since we must have

Papal Elections.

811

controversy, we must also of neces-
sity have gall.*

We have only to express regret
that so useful a writer as Dr. Mar-
shall has passed away out of the
ranks of controversialists. As a
speaker, too, Dr. Marshall was most
delightful ; indeed, he spoke quite
as well as he wrote. At the time
when he was in the United States
it was thought by some persons that
Dr. Marshall was quite th'e model
of a speaker ; for he was at once
gentle and commanding, refined
yet highly pungent, scholarly yet
most easy to be understood. These
praises were allowed by every one
to be his due. We have, then, to
lament the loss of a really richly-
gifted Catholic, who, though an

Englishman, was cosmopolitan.
And when we remember that such
men as Dr. Marshall (with Dr.
Faber, or Mr. Allies, or Canon
Oakeley) were born Protestant — in-
tensely Protestant — Englishmen, we
can appreciate what was involved
in their conversion to the church,
both in the intellectual and in the
purely social sense. Conversion
means more than a change of con-
viction to such Englishmen as have
been b«rn of Protestant parents ; it
means the revolution of the whole life
of the man, as well as of the whole
life of the Christian. Such men
seem to be born over again. When
they have passed away we can say
for them, with as much hope as
charity, Requiescant in pace.

PAPAL ELECTIONS.

IN the twelfth century the car-
dinals of the Holy Roman Church
were in full and undisputed posses-
sion of the right of electing the
Sovereign Pontiff; and although the
exercise of this right is commonly
attributed to the Sacred College,
only from the passing of the famous
decree of the Third Council of La-
teran, in 1179, beginning Licet de
vitanda discordia in electione Romani
Pontificis (cap. vi. de Elect.}, it
rather supposes the cardinals to be
already the sole papal electors, and
merely determines what majority of

* As for " gall," there is, according to the writer's
own showing, more of fallen than regenerate hu-
manity in it. The less gall, then, the better. The
Holy Father has recently favored the Catholic
press by selecting St. Francis de Sales as its patron
saint. The more closely writers adhere to the
saint's spirit the nearer they will approach their
divine model, and the more abundant will their
labors be in good fruits. — ED. C. W.

their votes shall constitute a valid
election.* Factious and semi-ig-
norant persons have often protest-
ed against this exclusive right of
the cardinals to elect the visible
head of the church. Of such a
kind was Wycliffe, whose diatribe,
Electio Papce a cardinalibus per dia-
bolum est introducta, wa^ condemned
by the Council of Constance (artic.
xl. sess. viii.) ; and Eybel, whose
errors were exposed by Mamacchi,
under his poetical name of Pisti
Alethini, as a member of the Acade-
my of the Arcadians. f

In early times, when the pope
died at Rome the cardinals met to
elect a successor in the Lateran
or the Vatican basilica, or in the

* Marchetti, Critica al fleury, vol ii. p. 193.
t Ad auctorem of use. Quid est Pafaf vol. ii.

P. 112.

812

Papal Elections.

cathedral of any other city in which
they might have determined to hold
the election. Conclave is the term
used exclusively for many centuries
for the place in which the cardinals
meet in private to elect a pope ;
but it was used in the early mid-
dle ages of any room securely shut,*
just as, among the ancient Romans,
conclave was a covered and enclosed
apartment or hall that could be
fastened with a lock and key — cum
clavi. Long before the pontificate
of Gregory X. the cardinals who
assembled for a papal election met
in some part of a large and noble
building — generally the sacristy of
a cathedral — where they transacted
the business of the day, and return-
ed after each session to their pri-
vate abodes. The gloss Nullatenus,
on the decree of Alexander III.,
says that if two-thirds — the majori-
ty required — of the cardinals will
not agree upon a candidate, they
should be closely confined until
they do — includantur in aliquo loco
de quo exire non valeant donee consen-
serint — and mentions several popes
elected after the cardinals had been
subjected to a reasonable duress.
This is precisely the conclave. It
was not, however, until the year
1274 that the mode of procedure in
a papal election was settled — after
the incursions of the barbarians
and the many vicissitudes to which
the Holy See then became subject
had deranged the earlier and apos-
tolic manner — and the. rules and
regulations of the modern conclave
were published. After the death
of Clement IV. in Viterbo, on Nov.
22, 1268, the eighteen cardinals
composing the Sacred College met
there to elect his successor ; but not
agreeing after a year and a half, al-
though the kings of France and

* Du Cange, Gloss., ad verb.

Sicily, St. Bonaventure, General of
the Franciscans, and many influen-
tial, learned, and holy men came in
person to urge them to compose
their differences and relieve the
church of her long widowhood,
they were all got together one day,
by some artifice, in the episcopal
palace, which was instantly closed
upon them and surrounded with
guards. Even this imprisonment
did not change their temper, and
after some further delay the cap-
tain of the town, Raniero Gatti,
took the bold resolution of remov-
ing the entire roof and otherwise
dilapidating the edifice, in , hopes
that the discomforts of the season,
added to their confinement, might
break the stubbornness of the ven-
erable fathers.* This move suc-
ceeded, and a compromise was ef-
fected am.ong the discordant cardi-
nals on the yth of September, 1271,
in virtue of which the papal legate
in Syria, Theobald Visconti, Arch-
deacon of Liege, was elected. This
was not the first time that extra-
ordinary and almost violent mea-
sures had been taken to bring the
cardinals to make a prompt elec-
tion. At Viterbo the captain of
the town coerced their liberty ; at
Naples the commandant of the cas-
tle bridled their appetite when,
after the death of Innocent IV., in
1254, he diminished day by day the
quantity of food sent in to them —
cibo per singulos dies imminuto — until
they agreed upon a worthy sub-
ject.f

Gregory X., who was so singu-
larly elected at Viterbo while far
away in Palestine, called a gene-
ral council, which met at Lyons on
May 2, 1274. Five hundred bi-
shops, over a thousand mitred
abbots and other privileged eccle-

* Maori, Hierolexicon, ad verb. Conclave.
t Biondo da Forli, lib. vii. decad. 2.

Papal Elections.

siastics, the patriarchs of Constan-
tinople and Antioch, the grand
master of the famous Knights of St.
John of Jerusalem, the kings of
France and Aragon, besides am-
bassadors from Germany, England,
Sicily, and other important nations,
took part in it. The pope was re-
solved to establish the manner of
electing the Roman Pontiff on a
better principle, and now drew up
a constitution which, in spite of
considerable opposition from the
cardinals, was read between the
fourth and fifth sessions, and finally
received the approbation of the
fathers. This is substantially the
code that still regulates the con-
clave. The original constitution,
which had been suspended by
some popes and not observed by
the cardinals in several elections,
was introduced into the body of
canon law * by Boniface VIII.,
in order to impress it, if possible,
with a more solemn and perpetual
obligation of observance ; and when
some of the cardinals, incensed at
the transfer of the see to Avignon,
maintained that, despite all this, the
Sacred College could modify or
abolish it at discretion, it was con-
firmed by the General Council of
Vienne and their factious spirit re-
proved. This conciliar decree has
also a place in the canon law,
where it is found among the Cle-
mentines (Ne Romani, 2 de elect.} f

* Cap. Ubi fericulum. 3 de Elect, in 6.

t Ne Romani electioni Pontificis indeterminata
opinionum diversitas aliquod possit obstaculum vel
dilationem afferre ; nos, inter caetera praecipue at-
tendentes, quod lex superioris per inferiorem tolli
non potest, opinionem adstruere, sicut accepimus
satagentem, quod constitutio felicis recordationis
Gregorii Papz X. praedecessoris nostri. circa elec-
tionem prsefatam edita in concilio Lugdunensi, per
coetum cardinalium Romanee ecclesiit ipsa vacante
modificari possit. corrigi vel immutari, aut quicquam
ei detrahi sive addi, vel dispensari quomodolibet
circa ipsam seu aliquant ejus partem, aut eidem
etiam renunciari per cam tanquam veritati non
consonam de fratrum nostrorum consilio reprobamus,
irritum nihilominus et inane decernentes, quit-quid
potestatis aut jurisdictionis, ad Romanum, dum

" Where the danger is known to
be greatest," says the preamble to
Pope Gregory's constitution, " there
should most care be taken. How
many risks and what great incon-
venience a long vacancy of the
Holy See entails is shown by look-
ing back upon the disorders of
other days. It is, therefore, wise
that, while diligently engaged in re-
forming minor evils, we should not
neglect to provide against calamity.
Now, therefore, whatever our pre-
decessors, and particularly Alex-
ander III., of happy memory, have
done to remove a spirit of discord
in the election of the Roman Pon-
tiff, the same we desire to remain
in full force ; for we do not intend
to annul their decrees, but only by
our present constitution to supply
what experience points out to be
wanting."

The whole decree may be di-
vided into fifteen paragraphs, which
are called the Fifteen Laws of the
Conclave. They are summarized
as follows :

On the death of the pope the
cardinals, having celebrated for
nine days his obsequies in the city
where he died, shall enter the con-
clave on the tenth day, whether
absent colleagues have arrived or
not, and be accompanied by a
single attendant, whether lay or
clerical, or at most, in case of evi-
dent necessity, by two attendants.
The conclave shall be held in the
palace last occupied by the pope,
and there the cardinals must live
in common, occupying a single
spacious hall not cut off by cur-
tains or partitions, and so carefully
closed on every side that no one
can secretly pass in or out. One
room, however, may be cut off for

vivit, Pontificcm pertinentis (nisi quatenus in con
stitutione prxdicta permittitur) coetus ipse duxcrit
eadem vacante ecclesia exercendum, etc.

814

Papal Elections.

private purposes — reservato libero
ad secretam cameram aditu — but no
access shall be allowed to any car-
dinal, nor private conversation with
nor visits to him, except from those
who, by consent of all the other
cardinals, may be summoned to
consult on matters germane to
the affair in hand ; nor shall any
one send letters or messages to
their lordships or to any of their
familiars, on pain of excommunica-
tion. A window or other opening
shall be left in the hall of conclave,
through which the meals are intro-
duced, but it must be of such a size
and shape that no human being
can penetrate thereby. If, after
three days from the opening of the
conclave, no election has been
made, the prelates appointed to at-
tend to this shall allow each cardi-
nal no more than one dish at din-
ner and supper during the next
five days, after which only bread
and water until they come to a con-
clusion. The cardinals shall take
nothing from the papal treasury
during the vacancy of the see ; but
all its revenues are to be carefully
collected and watched over by the
proper officers. They shall treat
of nothing but the election, unless
some imminent danger to the tem-
poralities of the Holy See may de-
mand their attention ; and, laying
aside all private interests, let them
devote themselves entirely to the
common weal ; but if any cardinal
shall presume to attempt by bribes,
compacts, or other arts to entice
his brethren to his own side, he
shall suffer excommunication, nor
shall any manner of agreement,
even if sworn to, be valid. If a
cardinal draw off from the con-
clave, or should he retire from mo-
tives of health, the election must
still proceed; yet, if he recover,
he 'shall be readmitted. Cardinals

arriving late or at any stage of the
proceedings, as also those who may
be under censures, shall be receiv-
ed. No one can give his vote out-
side of the conclave. Two-thirds
of the votes of all the electors pre-
sent * are requisite to elect; and
any one not radically disqualified!
is eligible to the Papacy. The
feudal superiors of the territory
and the municipal officers of the
city in which the conclave is held
are charged to observe these regu-
lations, and shall swear in presence
of the clergy and people to do so.
If they fail to do their duty they
shall be excommunicated, be de-
clared infamous and lose their fiefs,
and the city itself shall be inter-
dicted and deprived of its episco-
pal dignity. Solemn funeral ser-
vices are to be held in every im-
portant place throughout the Ca-
tholic world as soon as news ar-
rives of the pope's death ; prayers
are to be recited daily and fast
days appointed for the speedy and
concordant election of an excellent
pontiff.

In this provident constitution of
Gregory X. are contained in brief
the rules and regulations which
have ever since governed the con-
clave. In a few points, however,
its severity has been relaxed, par-
ticularly by Clement VI. in the
bull Licet de Constiiutione, dated
December 6, 1351; and in others
some small modifications have been
introduced, in accordance with the
manners and customs of a more re-
fined age, by Gregory XV. (Ludo-
visi, 1621—1623) in n's comprehen-
sive ceremonial. J Thus Clement

* Voting by proxy is not recognized in the con-
clave.

t Such, for instance, is a woman, a manifest here-
tic, an infidel — i.e., one who is not baptized.

t C<rremonia.le continens ritus electionis Ro-
mani Pontificis, cui prttfiguntur Constitutiones
Pontr/icier, et Conciliorum decreta ad earn retn
pertinentia. Romz, 1622, in 410.

Papal Elections.

815

VI. (De Beaufort, 1342-1352), while
recommending the greatest frugal-
ity at table during the seclusion of
the conclave, removed the alimen-
tary restrictions and left it to the
cardinals themselves to select the
kind, quality, and amount of their
food, but forbade the prandial civ-
ilities of sending tidbits from one
table to another. The same pope
allowed each cardinal to have his
bed enclosed by curtains, and to
have two attendants, or conclavists,
in every case. The monastic sim-
plicity of a common sleeping-room
was done away with in the sixteenth
century, when each cardinal was
allowed the use of a separate cell,
which Pius IV. commanded should
be assigned by lot. When a cardi-
nal's name and number have been
drawn, his domestics upholster it
with purple serge or cloth, if their
master was created by the late
pope ; but if by a former one, with
green — a difference in color that
was first observed in the conclave
for the election of Leo X. A few
articles of necessary furniture, such
as a bed, table, kneeling-bench,
and a couple of chairs, complete
the interior arrangements. On the
outside of -his cell each cardinal
affixes a small escutcheon embla-
zoned with his arms, which serves
as a substitute for that vulgar mod-
ern thing called a door-plate.
While great care is still taken to
hinder suspicious communications
between the conclave and the outer
world, it is no longer prohibited to
visit a cardinal or member of his
suite, although the colloquy must
be held at some one of the entries,
and whatever is spoken be heard by
the prelates doing duty there. In-
stead of the single small window —
more like an oubliette than any-
thing else — which Gregory prescrib-
ed, openings in the shape of pivo-

tal or revolving wooden frames, like
those used in nunneries and called
tours in French, were adopted at the
suggestion of Paride de' Grassi,
master of ceremonies to Leo X.
Eight of them are always connect-
ed on different sides with the hall
of conclave, wherever it may be.
The ten days before the conclave
can open begin from the very day
of the pope's death ; but sometimes
a much longer time has elapsed — as,
for instance, after the death of
Alexander VI., when the violence
of Caesar Borgia and the presence
of a French army in Rome occa-
sioned a delay of thirty days ; and
again, when Cardinal Ferreri was
arrested on his way from Vercelli
to the conclave by the Duke of
Milan, his loyal colleagues waited
for him eight days beyond the usu-
al time. The conclave in which
Julius III. was elected in 1550 was
not opened until nineteen days af-
ter his predecessor's death, to oblige
the French cardinals, who had not
yet all arrived at Rome. In early
ages, before it became customary to
give the hat to occupants of episco-
pal sees other than the seven sub-
urbican ones, and when cardinals
were strictly bound to reside /'//
curia — i.e., to live near the pope of
whose court they were the princi-
pal personages — there was generally
no necessity for a considerable de-
lay. Anastasius the Librarian *
says that Boniface III., in the year
607, made a decree forbidding any
one to treat of a future pope's elec-
tion during the lifetime of the liv-
ing one, or until three days after
his death ; but, as Mabillon sho\vs,f
this three days' delay was observed
in the Roman Church long before
the seventh century, as appears from
the despatch sent to the Kmperor

• Lib. Panti/., torn, iv., in fitd Bout/.
t Mm. //W..cap. xvii. p. 112.

8i6

Papal Elections.

Honorius after the death of Pope
Zosimus in the year 418. It is not
known when it began to be observ-
ed as a law. In many cases an
election took place either on the
very same day that a pope died or
on the following one, particularly
during the era of persecutions and
in the tenth and twelfth centuries,
when the seditious disposition of
the populace and the factions of
rival barons made any unnecessary
delay extremely hazardous. During
the fifteenth, sixteenth, and follow-
ing centuries the conclaves have
generally been short, averaging
about two weeks each. But during
the greater part of the middle ages,
after the supremacy of the Sacred
College during the vacancy of the
Holy See was undisputed, and the
cardinals had little to fear from
princes or people, their own dissen-
sions often occasioned an interreg-
nurii of months, and even years, to
the discredit of their order and the
scandal of the Christian world.

The election should take place
in Rome, if possible, because Rome
is, or ought to be, the ordinary resi-
dence of the Sovereign Pontiffs ;
but both before and after Pope
Gregory's constitution many elec-
tions have been held elsewhere, ac-
cording as the Curia was in one
place or another. Urban II. was
elected in Terracina ; Calixtus II.
in Cluny ; Lucius III. in Velletri ;
Urban III. in Verona; Gregory
VIII. in Ferrara; Clement III., Al-
exander VI., Honorius III. in Pisa ;
Innocent IV. in Anagni ; Alexan-
der IV. and Boniface VIII. in Na-
ples; Urban IV., Gregory X., and
Martin IV. in Viterbo ; Innocent
V. in Arezzo ; Honorius IV., Celes-
tin V., and Clement V. in Perugia.
During the stay of the popes in
France John XXII., Benedict
XII., Clement VI., Innocent VI.,

Urban V., and Gregory XI. were
elected at Avignon. John XXIII.
was elected at Bologna, and Martin
V. at- Constance, since whom all his
successors, except Pius VII., have
been elected in Rome. The law of
Gregory X. commanded that the
conclave should be held there
where the last pope died — Statuimus
uf, si eundem pontificem in civitate,
in qua cum sua curia residebat, diem
claudere contingat extremum, cardi-
nales omnes conveniant in palatio, in
quo idempontifex habitabat — because
in one sense, as of ancient Rome,

. . . Vejos habitante Camillo,
Illico Roma fuit ;

and of modern Rome, Ubi Papa, ibi
Roma. When, however, he was ab-
sent only on some extraordinary
occasion, the election was to be
held in Rome itself, no matter
where he died. Gregory XI., who
brought back the see from Avignon,
intending to return to France on
business and to better his health,
but wishing to assure an Italian
election and the permanent re-
transfer of the Holy See to Rome,
made a decree on March 19, 1378,
ordering a majority of the cardi-
nals, should his death occur during
his absence, to meet in any part of
Rome, or, if more convenient, in
some neighboring city, and there
elect a successor. Clement VIII.
restricted the place of holding the
conclave to Rome alone, in a bull
issued October 6, 1529, on occasion
of his journey to Bologna to crown
the Emperor Charles V., and in
another one, dated August 30, 1533,
when going to France to confer
with Francis I.

When Pius IV. had a mind to go
to Trent and preside in person at
the council, he declared on Sep-
tember 22, 1561, that a papal elec-
tion— should one become necessary

Papal Elections.

817

by his death while away — was to
be held in Rome, unless it were
under an interdict, in which case
in Orvieto or Perugia. Clement
VIII., when going to Ferrara to
receive back the fief which had
reverted to the Holy See on the
death of Alphonsus d'Este, de-
clared on March 30, 1598, that,
should he die before returning, the
subsequent election was to be held
nowhere but in Rome. Long usage,
continued up to the beginning of
the present century, has consecrated
the. Vatican as the most proper seat
of the conclave. The first pope
elected there was Benedict XI. in
1303, and the next was Urban VI. in
1378. When Honorius IV., of the
great house of Savelli, died where
he had lived and held his court, in
his family mansion on the Aventine,
some remains of which are seen
near the convent of Santa Sabina,
the cardinals, in scrupulous observ-
ance of the first law of Gregory's
constitution, met there and elected
his successor, Nicholas IV., on Feb-
ruary 22, 1288. Eugene IV. in
1431, and Nicholas V. in 1447, were
elected in the Dominican convent
of the Minerva, the great dormitory
of the friars being fitted up for the
cardinals, and the election itself
being held in the sacristy behind
the choir, over the door of which a
large fresco painting and a Latin in-
scription commemorate the event.
There were several projects on
foot in the seventeenth century to
establish with every possible con-
venience, and in accordance with
the prescriptions of the Roman
ceremonial of election, a hall of con-
clave which should serve for all fu-
ture occasions. The venerable La-
teran and the more modern Qui-
rinal each had its advocates, and
Pius VI. is said by Cancellieri to
have intended the vast and magni-
VOL. xxvi. — 52

ficent sacristy building which he
erected alongside of St. Peter's
for such a purpose ; but his imme-
diate successor was elected in Ven-
ice on account of the French trou-
bles, and all of his successors have
been elected in the Qtiirinal pa-
lace.

On the pope's death the Sacred
College, or apostolic senate of Rome,
succeeded to the government of
the States of the Church. All the
officers of the government were
instantly suspended until provi-
sion was made to carry on the pub-
lic business. Only the chamber-
lain of the Holy Roman Church,
the grand penitentiary, and the
vicar-general, who are always car-
dinals, continued to exercise their
powers by a privilege granted to
them by Pius IV. The chamberlain
(camerlengo) was the executive or
head of the government, acting as
a quasi-sovereign, and was conse-
quently honored with a special
guard and allowed to coin money
stamped with his family arms and
the distinctive heraldic sign of the
vacancy of the see, which is a pavil-
ion over the cross-keys. With him
were associated three other cardi-
nals, each for three days at a time,
one from each of the three orders,
beginning with the dean, the first
priest, and first deacon, and so on
in turn of seniority. The secre-
tary of the Sacred College, who is
always a prelate of very high rank,
was prime minister and transacted
all the correspondence and other
relations of the cardinals with for-
eign ambassadors and the repre-
sentatives of the Holy See at for-
eign courts. Clement XII. pro-
vided that if the chamberlain and
grand penitentiary should die dur-
ing the conclave, the cardinals are
to elect a successor to him within
three days; but if the cardinal-vi-

8i8

Papal Elections.

car die, the vicegerent, who is al-
ways a bishop in partibus, succeeds
ex-officio to his faculties. The
Sacred Congregation of Rome are
privileged to transact business of
small importance through their
secretaries, and even to finish af-
fairs of whatever importance, if at
"the pope's death they were so far
advanced as to need only the secre-
tary's signature.

If a cardinal fall ill and choose
to remain in conclave, provision is
made to. take his vote; but he may
retire, if he wish, losing his vote,
however, which cannot be given
outside of the conclave or by
proxy. If he recover he is oblig-
ed in conscience to return, because
it is a duty of his office, and not
a mere personal privilege, to take
part in papal elections. All car-
dinals, unless specially deprived by
the pope before his death of the
right of electing and of being elect-
ed, can vote and are eligible, even
if under censures. Thus, cardinals
De Noailles and Alberoni were in-
vited to the conclave at which
Innocent XIII. was elected ; but
cardinals Baudinelli-Saoli and Cos-
cia had been deprived, the one by
Leo X. and the other by Clement
XII., of what is called in canon
law the active and passive voice.
The cardinals may elect whom
they please; nor is it necessary to
be either a member of the Sacred
College or an Italian to become
pope. In former ages the choice of
subjects was more confined than
it is at present ; for we learn from
the acts of a council composed
chiefly of French and Italian bish-
ops, convened at Rome in 769 by
Stephen III., alias IV., to con-
demn the anti-pope Constantine,
who was not even a cleric, that no
one who was not either a cardinal
priest or deacon could aspire to the

Papacy — Nullus unquam pncsumat
. . . nisi per distinctos gradus ascen-
dens, diacomis aut presbyter cardina-
lisfactusfuerit, adsacrumpontificatus
honor em promoi'eri*

Nevertheless, in view, presumably,
of the greater good of the church,
many persons have since been
elected who did not answer to this
description. This was the case with
Gregory V. in 996 ; Sylvester II. in
999; Clement II. in 1046; Dama-
sus II. in 1048 ; Leo IX. in 1049 ;
Victor II. in 1055 ; Nicholas II. in
1058; Alexander II. in 1061 ; Ca-
lixtus II. in 1119; Eugene III. in
1145; Urban IV. in 1261; Grego-
ry X. in 1271; Celestine V. in
1294; Clement V. in 1305 ; Urban
V. in 1362, and Urban VI. in
1378, since whom no one not a
cardinal has been elected, although
several have come near being cho-
sen. At the conclaves at which
Adrian VI. and Clement VII.
were elected Nicholas Schomberg,
a celebrated Dominican and arch-
bishop of Capua, received a num-
ber of votes; and as late as the
middle of the last century, at the
conclave from which proceeded
Benedict XIV., Father Barberini,
ex-general of the Capuchins and
apostolic preacher, was repeatedly
voted for. No matter what may
have been a man's previous condi-
tion, he can be elected ; and there
are not a few instances of persons
of ignoble birth or mean antece-
dents having been exalted to the
Papacy, which they have illustrated
by their virtues or their learning:
" Choose the best, and him who
shall please you most of your mo-
ther's sons (children of the Catholic
C/iurc/i), and set him on his father's
throne " f (as vicegerent of God in
his kingdom on earth).

* LabW, Concil.^ torn. vi. col. 1721.
t 4 Kings x. ^.

Papal Elections.

819

However, since Sixtus V. (1585-
1595), who is said to have been a
hogherd in his youth, all the popes
have belonged to noble families ; for,
says Cardinal Pallavicini, the cele-
brated Jesuit and historian of the
Council of Trent, nobility of birth,
although no necessary condition,
adds dignity and splendor to the
pontificate — reca grandecoro ed
ornamento al pontificate.* But then
he belonged to a princely family
himself and wrote two centuries
ago.

Almost every European nation-
ality has had a representative on
the papal throne ; but for several
centuries the Italians have jealous-
ly guarded its steps from any one
but themselves, and perhaps with
reason so long as the pope was
temporal sovereign of a large part
of the Peninsula. Adrian V., of
Utrecht (1522-1523), was the last
foreigner ever allowed to wear the
tiara, and he for his relations with
the powerful emperor Charles V.,
rather than for his undoubted vir-
tues and learning; and yet so great
was the indignation of the Ro-
mans when his name was announc-
ed that the cardinals were insulted
and some of them maltreated as
they left the conclave. But if a
Hollander might be tolerated for
some grave political reasons — not
a Frenchman under any condition.
In the conclave of 1458 the worth-
iest subject to very many of his
brethren seemed the Cardinal d'Es-
touteville, Archbishop of Rouen —
the same who built the magnificent
church of San Agostino at Rome.
But Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes ;
so when there was a fine chance of
his getting the requisite number of
votes, Orsini and Colonna, as heads
of the Roman party, deliberately

•Hist.ofAltx. VII.

turned the tide in favor of Piccolo-
mini, although his record was bad
and his health not good. When
Clement V. (Bertrand de Got, arch-
bishop of Bordeaux, 1505-1514)
was elected, he summoned the
Sacred College to Lyons to assist
at his coronation. When the order
reached the cardinals old Rosso
Orsini, their dean, rose and said :
" My venerable brethren, soon we
shall see the Rhone — but, if I know
the Gascons, the Tiber will not soon
see a pope again." And so D'Es-
touteville, with all his wealth and
learning and high connections, was
made to feel that

Necdum etiam causse irarum saevique dolores
Exciderant animo.

Gregory X. prescribed that a
strict watch should be kept over
the conclave wherever it might be
held. When held in Rome the re-
presentatives of the noblest fami-
lies have a principal part in main-
taining order in the city and pro-
tecting the cardinals from any kind
of interference. The marshal of
the Holy Roman Church and guar-
dian of the conclave watches over
the external peace and quiet of the
Sacred College. This is one of
the highest offices held by a lay-
man at the Roman court. It is
hereditary, and belonged for over
four hundred years to the great
baronial family of Savelli until its
extinction. It passed in 1712 to
the princely family of Chigi. The
very ancient and now ducal family
of Mattei was charged with pre-
serving the peace of the Ghetto and
Trastevere. For this purpose it
used to raise and equip a small
body of troops which was kept up
as long as the conclave lasted.
The majordomo of the late pope is
ex-officio governor of the conclave
since the time of Clement XII.

820

Papal Elections.

(Corsini, 1730-1740). Although he
also exercises some external juris-
diction, he is more particularly re-
quired to attend to the domestic
wants of the cardinals and preserve
order within the palace where the
conclave may be held. Delega-
,tions from the various colleges of
the Roman prelacy — apostolic pro-
thonotaries, auditors of the pope,
clerks of the chamber, etc. — taking
their orders daily from the gover-
nor, are to be stationed at one or
other of the Ruote, or turnstile win-
dows, during the whole of the con-
clave. Prizlati, says Pius IV.,* ad
custodiam condavis deputati, sub poena
perjurii et suspensions a divinis, max-
ima et exquisita diligentia utantur in
inspiciendis ac perscrutandis epulis,
aliisve rebus, ac personis conclavi in-
trantibus, ac de eo exeuntibus, ne sub
earum rerum vdamine litertz, aut note,
vel signa aliqua transmittantur.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, when every species of
gambling and games of chance was
practised with frenzied passion in
Italy, it was very common in Rome,
although prohibited under severe
penalties by Pius IV. and Gregory
XIV. as a sort of sacrilege, to bet
on the cardinals whose " backers "
thought they had a chance of being
elected.

* Const. In eligendis Bullar. Rom., torn. iv.
part ii. pag. 145.

The collect Pro eligendo Pontifice
— that God may grant a worthy
pastor to his church — is said at all
Masses throughout the world from
the beginning of the conclave until
news arrives of the pope's election.
In Rome there is a daily proces-
sion of the clergy from the Church
of St. Lawrence /;/ Damaso to St.
Peter's basilica (if the conclave be
held in the Vatican), chanting the
litany of the saints and other pray-
ers. When the procession arrives
there a Mass de Spiritu Sancto is
said by a papal chaplain in a
temporary chapel fitted up near
the main entrance to the con-
clave. The singing is by 'the papal
choir.

The literature, if we may call it so,
of papal elections is varied and ex-
tensive. Besides the letters, bulls,
and conciliar decrees of twenty-
eight popes from Boniface I. in 419
to Pius IX., there is a host of
writers on the subject, some of
whom are distinguished for piety
and learning, while others are noted
for their hatred of the Holy See.
Almost every conclave from Clem-
ent V.'s down has had its chroni-
cler or historian. The oldest
special treatise extant on a papal
election is one written by Cardi-
nal Albericus, a monk of Monte
Cassino, in 1050 — De Election*
Romani Pontificis, liber.

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

THE HOLY CAVE OF MANRESA.

DIGITUS DEI ESTHIC t

IT is difficult to bring it home to
one's mind that Manresa is a place
of petty industries and striving for
worldly gain ; that it ever had a
hand in war or bloodshed, or, in-
deed, ever took any active part in
the turmoil of ordinary life ; for its
very name has for more than three
hundred years been almost syno-
nymous with solitude and ascetic
piety, on account of the Santa Cu-
eva, or Holy Cave, so celebrated
throughout the Christian world,
where, amid the ecstasies of divine
contemplation and the severities of
the most rigorous penance, St. Ig-
natius de Loyola laid the founda-
tion of the Society of Jesus, and by
the infusion of supernatural light,
to use the expression of the Con-
gregation of the Rota, composed
his famous Spiritual Exercises — a
work which, said St. Francis de
Sales two hundred years ago, " has
given as many saints to the church
of God as it contains letters."

But Manresa is, in fact, a busy,
thriving place of about fifteen thou-
sand inhabitants, on the direct
railway line from Barcelona to
Zaragoza. It is a centre of indus-
try, and contains a number of cot-
ton and woollen mills by no means
in harmony with its mediaeval walls
and towers that rise up out of the
plain, gray and time-worn, and
with many a mark of ancient con-
flict. For it is a walled town, and
was in existence before the Roman
conquest. We should say a'/y, for
so it has been styled ever since the
ninth century, at least ; and Don
Jaime of Aragon, by a diploma of

April 22, 1315, conferred on it, for
its loyal services, the perpetual ti-
tle of buena y leal cindad. Nay,
more, after Marshal Macdonald
came here in 1811, and burned
five hundred houses and factories,
and slaughtered many of the in-
habitants with a ferocity almost
unequalled, the Spanish Cortes gave
it the qualification of muy noble y
muy leal city (for these Spanish
towns have their gradations of ti-
tled rank, of which they are as
jealous as an ancient hidalgo of
his family quarterings), on account
of the bravery of the people, who
rallied in their desperation and
madness, and, pursuing the enemy,
amply avenged their dead in true
national fashion.

We arrived at Manresa after
dark, and, as there was not a single
vehicle at the station, we gave our
travelling-bags to a porter, and
followed after him on foot through
narrow, ascending, tortuous, dimly-
lighted streets to the Fonda de
San Domingo, very Spanish in
character, with a court full of dili-
gences and stables on the ground
floor, and an enormous dining-room
above, out of which opened the
bed-rooms — at least, ours did.
This was by no means favorable to
repose, for the hilarity of its habi-
tue's was kept up to a late hour, to
say nothing of the singing and
music in the neighboring streets.
This would not have surprised us in
Andalucia, but in an industrious
place like Manresa we expected to
find that labor had laid its repress-
ing hand on the fpeople, as is so

822

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

often the case with us in the north.
But the elastic temperament of the
race causes a rebound as soon as
the hour of toil is over. Then the
dance and the song have their
time, and castanets and the tam-
bour take the place of the shuttle
.and the spindle." Manresa is noted
for the publication of romanceros,
ballads, and complaintes, illustrat-
ed with coarse engravings, which
are sold under the general name of
pliegos. This kind of literature is
a key to the character of the peo-
ple, and therefore not without its
interest ; but the sound of these
jolly songs in such a place, and at
so late an hour, was, it must be
confessed — unreasonable as we may
appear — very much to our disgust ;
for not only were we fatigued with
our journey, but our thoughts were
continually wandering off to the
lonely cave and its mystic tome.

We were up betimes in the morn-
ing, notwithstanding, and, seeing
the tower of a church from our
window, we hurried out ; for all
through Spain, as in Italy, if there
is anything worth seeing in a town,
it is certainly the churches. How-
ever, it was not a question of art
with us, though by no means insen-
sible to the grand in architecture
or to the beautiful in painting and
sculpture. The church we soon
came to had given its name to the
Fonda. It was the church of St.
Dominic, an edifice of the four-
teenth century, formerly connected
with a Dominican convent. It is a
grim, mouldy church, with a tomb-
like atmosphere about it — and, in-
deed, it is partly paved with me-
morial stones of those who sleep in
the damp vaults below. But it was
quiet and solemn, and there was a
certain grave simplicity about it
peculiar to the Dominican churches
in Spain. A priest was saying

Mass in subdued tones at the very
altar where St. Ignatius once saw
the glorious Humanity of our Sa-
viour at the elevation of the Host,,
and a few people were kneeling
here and there on the flag-stones,
praying devoutly. St. Dominic
and the dog with a flaming brand
still seemed to be keeping watch
and ward over the place, though
his children are banished from his
native land. The adjoining con-
vent often gave St. Ignatius hospi-
tality, and it was at one of its win-
dows, after being tempted to de-
spair in view of his sins, that he ex-
claimed : " Lord, I willt not do
aught that will offend thee !" He
often made the Via Crucis in the
cloisters, bearing a large wooden
cross on his shoulders from station
to station, shedding floods of tears
over the divine Sufferer. This
cross is still religiously preserved,
and bears the inscription :

Enecvs A
Lohola porta
bat hanc crv
cem, 1522

— Ignatius de Loyola bore this
cross, 1522.

We found Manresa exceedingly
picturesque by daylight, rising
abruptly, as it does, out of the val-
ley of the Llobregat on one side
and that of the Cardoner on the
other. The railway station is at
the foot of the eminence, with the
river between, and the effect of the
steep cliffs, crowned by the noble
and loyal city, is very striking.
Directly opposite, as if it sprang
out of the mount, rises the Seo, a
venerable cathedral of the four-
teenth century, beautifully mellow-
ed and embrowned by time. Fur-
ther to the left are the spires of the
Carmen and the tower of San Mi-
guel ; while at the right, but lower

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

823

down, built into the very side of
the cliff, so that it seems like a con-
tinuation of it, is the church of the
Jesuits, with the Santa Cueva which
gives celebrity to the city. One
would like to see the Holy Cave in
its primitive simplicity; but such
was the devotion of pilgrims who
came here in thousands after the
canonization of St. Ignatius that,
to save it from being carried off
piecemeal, it was found necessary
to place some safeguard around it,
and it is now enclosed within the
walls of the church.

Crossing the bridge that leads
from the station, and walking along
the opposite bank beneath the long
arms of the umbrageous plane-trees
for five minutes, we turned to the
left, and, going up a short street,
found ourselves directly beneath
the overhanging cliff, which is tap-
estried with vines and the delicate
fronds of the maiden-hair, kept
green and fresh by little cascades
of clear water that come trickling
down the rocks with a pleasant
murmur, glittering like the facets
of a thousand jewels in the bright
morning sun. Here is the Holy
Cave, though no longer open on
the side of the valley, towards
which turn with interest so many
hearts from the ends of the earth.
We passed beneath the church
walls, with its long line of sculptur-
ed saints, of rather coarse work-
manship in the Renaissance style,
but producing a striking effect from
the valley below. One more turn
to the left up a steep path, and we
were on the terrace leading to the
entrance. A statue of St. Ignatius
is over the door. One always re-
cognizes his striking physiognomy,
with the noble dome of solemn
thought that crowns it, and we sa-
luted it with reverence and love, as
we had done in many a strange

land, as a symbol of the paternal
kindness we had met with from the
order to which he has bequeathed
his spirit.

The church consists of a single
aisle, with four small chapels on
eacli side, and a latticed gallery
above for the inmates of the resi-
dence. There is nothing remarka-
ble about it, and, in fact, it was
never completed according to the
original plan, owing to the sup-
pression of the order in Spain.
Seeing an open door on the gospel
side of the sanctuary, we went di-
rectly towards it and found our-
selves in a long, narrow passage
lined with portraits of the Jesuit
saints, and, at the further end,
a doorway secured by a strong iron
grating, above which is graven :

SANTA CUEVA.

Finding the grating ajar, we
pushed it back, and, descending
three stone steps, found ourselves
in the Holy Cave. It is long and
narrow, being about thirty feet in
length, seven in width, and about
the same in height. A small octa-
gon window is cut through the
wall that closes the original en-
trance, and there is a feeble lamp
hanging before the altar, but neith-
er gives light enough to disperse
the gloom, and, as there was no one
in the cave, it was as silent and
impressive as a tomb. You could
only hear the pleasant rippling of
the water over the rocks without.
The pavement is the solid rock,
and the upper part of the cave is
in its rough state, but the lower
part of the walls is faced with mar-
ble, and jasper, and a series of
bas-reliefs that tell the history of
the saint. An inscription on the
wall says :

" In this place, in the year 1522,

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

St. Ignatius composed the book of
Exercises, the first written in the
Society of Jesus, which has been
approved by a bull from his Holi-
ness Paul III."

At the right, as you enter, is a
projection, or shelf, in the wall, on
wJiich the Spiritual Exercises were
written, and there is a cross hol-
lowed in the rock where the saint
used to trace the holy sign before
beginning to write. One's first im-
pulse is to kiss the ground where
his holy feet once stood, and pray
where he so often prayed. St. Ig-
natius said he learned more in one
short hour of prayer in the cave of
Manresa than all the doctors in
the world could have taught him.
Here, like St. Jerome, trembling
before the judgments of God, he
used to smite his breast with a
hard stone. Here he wept over
the sufferings of Christ, with whose
bodily Presence he was often fa-
vored, as well as the presence of
the angels and their Queen. "Flow
fast, my tears," wrote he in this
very place, " break forth, my heart,
in bitter sighs, that I may weep
worthily over the sorrows of my
Saviour ! O Jesus ! may I die before
I cease to have a horror of sin.
God liveth, in whose sight I stand ;
for while there is breath in me, and
the spirit of life in rny nostrils, my
lips shall not give utterance nor
my heart consent to iniquity." *

A phalanx from his right hand is
preserved here in a crystal reli-
quary, set in gold and jewels, on
which is graven the Scriptural ex-
clamation of Pope Paul III. after
reading the Constitutions of St. Ig-
natius :

Digitus Dei est hie. Paulus III.
— The finger of God is here ! . . .

* Spiritual Exercises. Second Day.

Over the altar is a large bas-re-
lief of the saint, kneeling before
a cross in the Holy Cave and gaz-
ing up at the Virgin, who, enthron-
ed on a cloud, is dictating to him
the Spiritual Exercises, according
to the constant local tradition.
This relief is framed in black mar-
ble with white mouldings, and on
each side are angels of white mar-
ble playing on musical instruments.
These, as well as the other sculp-
tures, were done by Francisco
Grau, a Manresan artist of local
celebrity. Among the others is
one in which St. Ignatius, arrayed
like the Spanish caballero he was,
with sword in hand, is keeping his
vigil before the altar of Our Lady
of Montserrat. In the next he is
giving his rich garments to a beg-
gar, coming down from the mount.
Beyond is the miracle of the Pozo,
of which we shall speak further on,
and many such.

There were, at the time of our
visit, four Jesuit Fathers in the ad-
joining Casa, and a daily service
was held in the Santa Cueva.
Many indulgences are attached to
the place, on the usual conditions,
granted by Pope Gregory XV. and
other pontiffs. The cave, of course,
was regarded from the time of St.
Ignatius as a place singularly fa-
vored by Heaven. In his day it
belonged to Don Fernando Rovi-
ralta, a great friend of the saint.
He lived to be over a hundred
years of age, and at his death he
bequeathed it to his nephew, Don
Mauricio Cardona, who sold it
January 27, 1602, to the Marquesa
de Ailona, who in the following
year gave it to the Jesuits. As
soon as it fell into their possession
means were used to ornament it,
and in the course of time a Casa de
retire was built adjoining, with a
church intended to be one of the

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

825

finest in Catalonia. The Countess
of Fuentes, a native of Manresa,
gave one thousand escudos to or-
nament the Holy Cave. Don
Pedro Osorio, commissary-general
of Lombardy, came here on foot
from Barcelona when seventy years
of age, and presented eight thou-
sand escudos for the same purpose.
And finally the crown took it
under its protection, and Philip V.
gave it a valuable chalice on which
were graven the royal arms. Not
only Don John of Austria, but seve-
ral of the kings of Spain, came here
to visit a place of historic as well as
religious interest, for the mysteri-
ous influences that have gone out
of this Holy Cave have been a
power in the world. The public
documents of Manresa show the
devotion of the Christian world to
have been such that some days in
the year 1606 there were more
than a thousand visitors, many of
whom came from a distance. They
used to carry away with them
pieces, of the Holy Cave, which
they preserved as relics. A frag-
ment was sent to Queen Margaret
of Austria, who had it set in gold
surrounded by rubies and diamonds,
and wore it on festivals of great
solemnity,.

When St. Ignatius came to Man-
resa there were only about a thou-
sand families in the place, it hav-
ing been reduced by wars and pes-
tilence to one-fourth its former
size. It is said that he stopped at
the bridge leading to the city to
pray at the chapel of Nuestra Seflora
de la .Guia — Our Lady of Guid-
ance— and was there supernatu-
rally directed to the cave. It was
then surrounded by shrubs and
brambles, and was almost inacces-
sible. Though so near the city, it
seemed retired, for it lay towards
the broad valley, and was shaded

by thorn-bushes and the cistus»
which gave it an aspect of solitude.
The pavement was uneven, and it
was much smaller than at the pre-
sent day. The birds of the air
made it their home, and water
trickled down the walls. The first
thing the saint did was to prostrate
himself on the ground and kiss it,
then, with a sharp stone, trace a
cross on the wall, still to be seen.

From the windows of the passage
now leading to the Santa Cueva is
the same landscape St. Ignatius
had before him from the mouth of
the cave; only in his day the coun-
try was wilder, and therefore more
beautiful, if possible, and there
were no factories, no railway, in
the valley to disturb the peaceful
solitude. It is certainly a land-
scape of surpassing beauty, and we
could imagine his exaltation of
soul in gazing at it; for St. Igna-
tius had the soul of a poet and was
a great admirer of nature. He
loved to walk in the meadows and
gardens, to observe the form, color,
and odor of flowers ; and from
time to time, when at Rome, used
to go forth on his balcony to look
at the starry heavens, as if to re-
fresh his soul.

Directly beneath the cliff is the
swift-gliding stream, and, beyond
it, a hill crowned with the tower
of Santa Catalina, then dark with
sombre pines and gigantic oaks,
but now descending in gentle ter-
races covered with the silvery olive.
At the left opens the smiling valley
of the Llobregat, covered with per-
petual verdure, once called the Valle
del Paraiso — the Vale of Paradise
— and in the distance, against the
bluest of heavens, rise the marvel-
lous pinnacles of Montserrat, the
sacred mountain of Spain.

Over the present entrance to the
Holy Cave is an ancient stone cru-

826

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

cifix, once part of the famous
Cruz del Tort, at which St. Igna-
tius so often went to pray. On the
eve of his festival, 1627, the Christ
was seen, to the astonishment of
every one present at Vespers, to
exude blood, first from the side,
then- from the hands and feet, and
finally from the thorn-crowned
head. We went to visit the cross
from which it was removed for pre-
servation. On leaving the Santa
Cueva we kept on, up the side of
the hill, by a circuitous road the
saint must often have trod, then
towards the east by an old narrow
street. We passed a crucifix in a
niche, with red curtains before it,
and a hanging lamp. Just beyond
came several peasants with scarlet
Catalan caps, broad purple sashes,
blue trowsers, black velvet jackets,
and alpargatas laced with wide
blue tape across their white stock-
ings. They were driving mules
that looked as gay as their owners,
with their heads streaming with
bright tassels and alive with tink-
ling bells. We soon came to a
house on which was a fresco re-
presenting the Virgin appearing to
St. Ignatius. Just opposite this
was a terrace on the edge of the
hill, where stood the Cruz del Tort,
a lofty stone cross with several
stone steps around the base. It
was on these steps that St. Igna-
tius, while praying here one day, as
he was accustomed to do, and shed-
ding floods of tears, had the mystery
of the Holy Trinity made cleartohim
by some vision which he compares to
three keys of a musical instrument.
His eyes were opened to a new
sense of divine things. His doubts
fell off like a garment. His whole
nature seemed changed, and he felt
ready, if need were, to die for what
was here made manifest to him.
On the cross is this inscription :

Hie habvit St. Ignativs
Trinitatis visionem, 1522.

While we were saying a prayer
at the foot of the cross a peasant wo-
man, who was passing by, stopped
to tell us how San Ignacio came
here to do penance and had a vis-
ion of God. The terrace occupies
an opening between the houses
which frame an incomparable view
over the valley of the Llobregat,.
with the solemn turrets of Mont-
serrat in full sight. The tall gray
cross against that golden sky, with
the Vale of Paradise spread out at
the foot, is certainly one of the
most ravishing views it is possible
to conceive. Steps descend from,
the cross, winding a little way
down the side of the cliff, which is
covered with ivy, to a pretty foun-
tain fed by clear water bubbling
from the rocks.

Turning back from the Cruz del
Tort, and passing through the sub-
urbs, we soon came into the city
among streets that looked centuries
old. We passed San Antonfo in a
niche, and soon came to a small
Plaza with a painting of St. Domi-
nic at the corner, and in the cen-
tre a stone obelisk with a long in-
scription, of which we give a literal
translation :

" To Ignatius de Loyola, son of Bel-
tran, a native of Cantabria, the founder
of the Society of Jesus, who, in his thir-
tieth year, while valiantly fighting in de-
fence of his country, was dangerously
wounded, but being cured by the special
mercy of God, and inspired with an ar-
dent desire to visit the holy places at
Jerusalem, after making a vow of chasti-
ty, set forth on the way, and, layihg aside
his military ensigns in the temple of
Mary, the Mother of God, at Montserrat,
clothed himself in sackcloth, and in tliis
state of destitution came to this place,
where with fastings and prayers he wept
over his past offences, and avenged
them like a fresh soldier of Christ. In
order to perpetuate the memory of his-

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

827

heroic acts, for the glory of Christ and
the honor of the Society, Juan Bautista
Cardona, a native of Valencia, bishop of
Vich, and appointed to the see of Tor-
tosa, out of great devotion to the said
father and his order, dedicates this stone
to him as a most holy man to whom the
whole Christian world is greatly indebt-
ed, Sixtus V. being pope, and Philip II.
the great and Catholic king of Spain."

On another side is the follow-
ing:

"This monument, having been over-
thrown during a time of calamity, has
been restored and commended to pos-
terity by the most noble ayuntamiento
of the city of Manresa, out of ineffaceable
love, Pius V. being Sovereign Pontiff,
Carlos IV. king, and Ignacio de la Jus-
ticia governor of the city. 1799."

Bishop Cardona, the first to set
up this monument, was an able
writer of the golden age of Spanish
literature, and a man of such vast
knowledge that he was employed
by Philip II. in the formation of
the royal library at the Escorial.
He was a great admirer of St. Ig-
natius, and left an inedited manu-
script, now in the National Library,
entitled Laus St. Ignatti.

While we were standing before
this obelisk we were agreeably con-
vinced that, notwithstanding all the
ravages of pestilence and the mas-
sacres of the French, the good and
loyal city was in no danger of be-
ing depopulated ; for the doors of a
large edifice on one side of the
square opened, and forth came a
swarm of boys that could not have
been equalled, it seemed to us,
since the famous crusade of chil-
dren in the thirteenth century.
They came from a school in what
was once the Jesuits' college, built
out of the ancient hospital of Santa
Lucia, where St. Ignatius used to
minister to the sick, and sometimes
seek shelter himself. This was what
we were in search of. Connected

with the college is the modern
church of St. Ignatius, and from
one side of the nave you enter the
old church of the hospital, which
has been carefully preserved. Here
we found the Capilla del Rapto, a
small square chapel, opening into
the aisle and covered with frescos.
It is so called because it was here
St. Ignatius lay rapt in ecstasy from
the hour of complines on the eve of
Passion Sunday till the same hour
on the following Saturday. It was
during this wonderful withdrawal
into the spiritual world that the
foundation of the Society of Jesus
was revealed to him, as is stated in
an inscription on the wall. For
more than two centuries a solemn
octave has been annually celebrat-
ed here in commemoration of this
divine ecstasy. Beneath the sim-
ple altar lies the saint in effigy,
wearing the coarse robe which made
the gamins cf that day call him El
Saco, or Old Sackcloth, till they
found out he was a saint. Over
the altar is a painting of the Rapto,
in which, unable to endure the vi-
sion of Christ Glorified with mortal
eyes, St. Ignatius is mercifully rapt
in ecstasy. Angels bend around
him, holding the banner of the
Holy Name that has become the
watchword of the Society. //; hoc
vocabitur tibi nomen. On one side of
the chapel he is represented ca-
techising the children, and on the
other he stands in his penitential
garments, exhorting the patients of
the hospital, while some lord,
doubtless Don Andres de Amigant,
is kneeling to him in reverence.

The original pavement of stone
is covered with a wooden floor to
preserve it, but a brass plate, on
which is inscribed the name of
Jesus, is raised to show the spot
where the saint's head lay in his
ecstasy. The stone is worn with

828

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

kisses, and has been partly cut
away by pilgrims. Behind the
chapel is the room where he used
to teach children the catechism,
and there is the same old stone
stoup for holy-water that was used
in his day. Here, too, is an inscrip-
tion :-

Serviendo en este Hospital
Ignacio a gloria Divina,
Ensenaba la Doctrina
En las piedras de este umbral.

A few months after his arrival at
Manresa St. Ignatius fell ill and
was taken to this hospital among
the poor with whom he now identi-
fied himself. But Don Andres de
Amigant, a nobleman of the place,
soon had him removed to his own
house, where he and his wife nurs-
ed him till he recovered. It was a
pious custom of theirs to take two
patients from the hospital every
year, and tend them as if our Sa-
viour in person. For this Don
Andres was styled " Simon the
Leper " by the wits of Manresa,
and Dona Ines, his wife, was called
Martha. -This admirable charity
had been practised in the family
nearly two hundred years. It ap-
pears by a MS. in possession of
the Marquis de Palmerola, its pre-
sent representative, that a remote
ancestor of his, Caspar de Ami-
gant, introduced the practice into
his family in 1364, out of devotion.
He added two rooms to his house,
where he kept two poor patients,
providing every remedy and means
of subsistence, and, as soon as they
recovered, diligently sought out
others to supply their places, that,
as he said, so religious an exercise
might never be wanting in his
family. How faithful his descend-
ants were to so holy a practice ap-
pears from the statement that Juan
de Amigant in 1478, having, " ac-

cording to his custom," received
a woman named Ignes Buxona
into his house, she bequeathed to
him when she died, having no re-
lations, the patronage of the bene-
fice of San Francisco in the Seo of
Manresa.

Many traditions concerning St.
Ignatius have been preserved in
this pious family. A cross has
been recently discovered on the
wall of the chapel of S. Ignacio
enfermo during some repairs, simi-
lar to that in the Santa Cueva.
And there is a curious old family
painting commemorating his illness
in the house. The convalescent
saint is represented sitting up in
bed, supported by the left hand of
Don Andres, who with his right
offers him a cup of broth. Behind
are Dona Angela, his mother, Dona
Ines, his wife, and all the other
members of the household, each
one with some restoring dish in
hand. In front of the bed is the
inscription :

Stvs
Ignativs
de Loyola

lang

vens

— that is, St. Ignatius ill.

At the foot of the bed is another:

Haec omniaevenervnt 22 Ivlii anno 1522.

— All these things took place July
22, 1522. His illness, by this, ap-
pears to have occurred about four
months after his arrival at Manresa.

The honor of having St. Ignatius
was disputed by many noble fami-
lies of the place. In the patio of
one of the houses he sometimes
visited, in the street called Sobre-
roca, is a picture of him, now in-
dulgenced by the diocesan au-
thority.

The college of St. Ignatius was

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

829

founded in 1603. The ayuntami-
ento of Manresa, touched by a dis-
course during the Lent of 1601 at
the Seo, purchased the ancient
hospital of Santa Lucia, and estab-
lished the Jesuits here soon after.
The college became a flourishing
institution, and they were before
long able to build a new church
and adorn the precious chapel of
the Rapto.

When Carlos III. issued the de-
cree for the expulsion of the Jesu-
its, April 3, 1767, the residence at
Manresa was at first overlooked,
and the fathers, as usual, celebrated
the octave of the Maravilloso Rapto.
On the very day it ended, April n,
the eve of Palm Sunday, at the
same hour when St. Ignatius awoke
from his mysterious trance, crying :
"Ay Jesus! Ay Jesus!" the ven-
erable fathers were seized and car-
ried away amid the tears of the citi-
zens to Tarragona, where they
were put on a vessel of war, and,
with nine hundred from Aragon,
were transported to Ajaccio. The
island of Corsica had on it at one
time three thousand Jesuits who,
for no crime, had been barbarously
torn from their native land. Among
them were the venerable Pignatel-
li and several who were eminent
for letters. But on the 15111
of August, 1769, Napoleon Bona-
parte was born at Ajaccio, who prov-
ed the scourge of Spain.

The churches of the Jesuits
were dismantled and the tempo-
ralities sold. The vestments and
sacred vessels were given to poor
churches of the diocese, but even
these were mostly sold afterwards
to help to defray the expenses of
the war of independence. The
chalice of Philip V., given to the
Santa Cueva, was, however, saved.

Manresa has the glory of having
been the first city in Catalonia to

sound the war-cry against Bona-
parte, and by the battle of Bruch,
in which a handful of men rout-
ed the French army, to convince
Spain that the Great Captain's
troops were not invincible. After
the French had captured Tortosa
they came to Manresa, and the
house of the Santa Cueva was turn-
ed into a barrack and the church
into a stable. With the restoration
of the Bourbons returned the Jesu-
its. At Manresa the people rang
the bells, and went out to meet
them with cries of Viva la Com-
pania ! The mules were taken from
their carriages, and men drew them
to the Seo, where the clergy and
people with tears of emotion chant-
ed the TtDeum. On July 25, i8i6»
they were reinstated in their for-
mer places, the keys of the Santa
Cueva were presented to them in a
silver basket, and on the 3151
of July the festival of St. Ig-
natius was celebrated with solemn
pomp in the Seo, with a congratu-
latory discourse on the restoration
of the society.

Manresa has always been a reli-
gious city, as is to be seen by the
number of solidly-built churches
and the remains of its monastic in-
stitutions. When St. Ignatiusquitted
the place it is said there was hard-
ly a person left unconverted. And
when he was canonized there was
a general explosion of joy, exhi-
bited in Spanish fashion by dances,
comedies, Moorish fights, illumina-
tions, fire-works, salvos of artillery,
triumphal arches and bowers — all of
which contrast strangely with the
penitential life of thesaint in hiscave.

There is something very friendly
and cordial about the people. In-
quiring our way to the Seo of an
old woman, she said as she pointed
it out : " Go with God ; may he
preserve you from all ill."

830

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

We went on through the steep,
narrow streets, which are often
hewn out of the rock. The houses
show traces of war and violence,
and would be gloomy but for the
galleries and hanging gardens with
flowers and orange-trees. The wo-
men were gossiping from balcony
to balcony. The plazas were lively
with trade. Everywhere was an
interesting picture of Spanish life.
In one place we passed a group
of women around a well, washing
at a huge tank, beating their clothes
with wooden paddles, all laughing,
all talking, all looking up with a
flash of wonderful expression in
their brown faces.

The Seo is an immense Gothic
edifice, the first stone of which was
laid October 9, 1328, but the crypt
is several centuries older. The
nave is of enormous width, which
gives it an air of grandeur, and
there are some fine stained win-
dows, though greatly injured by
the French. It is gloomy, but,
when lighted up for a solemn ser-
vice, presents an imposing appear-
ance. There are queer Saracens'
heads on the walls of the choir, and
steps lead to one of those subter-
ranean churches full of solemn
gloom so favorable to meditation
and solitary prayer.

Among the notable things to be
seen at Manresa is the Pozo di
Gallina, where took place what is
called the primer milagro of St. Ig-
natius. Tradition says, as he was
crossing the principal street of the
city, called Sobreroca, on his way
from the Carmen to the hospital of
Santa Lucia, he met a child crying
for fear of her mother, because the
hen she was carrying home had es-
caped and fallen into an old well
close by. Touched by her grief,
the saint paused a moment, as if in
prayer, and, while he stood, the

water in the well rose to the brim,
bringing with it the hen, which
with a smile he restored to the
child and went on his way. An
oratory was afterwards built here,
and the healing virtues of the wa-
ter— such is the power of charity —
have often been experienced by
the people of Manresa, as is testi-
fied by the inscription from the pen
of the learned Padre Ramon Sola :

Disce, viator, amor quid sit quo Igna-
tius ardet

Testis aqua est, supplex hanc bibe, doc-
tus abi.

S. Ignacio de Loyola
en el afio del Sefior de 1522
hizo aqui el primer milagro
sacando viva a flote hasta el
borde una gallina ya ahogada.

This favored hen naturally be-
came an object of special care, and
it seems to have become the ances-
tress of an illustrious breed which
kings did not disdain to have set
before them at table.

We can fancy this gallina resuci-
tada laying now and then an egg, as
Hawthorne says of the Pyncheon
hens, " not for any pleasure of her
own, but that the world might not
absolutely lose so admirable a
breed." Brillat-Savarin pretended
that the redeeming merit of the
Jesuits was the discovery and intro-
duction of the turkey into Europe.*
Had he only known of this race of
hens, rendered meet for the palates
of princes by their great founder,
they might have had an additional
title to his approbation. Father
Prout, speaking of the Jesuits being
accused of having a hand in every
political disturbance for the last
three hundred years, compares
them to Mother Carey's chickens,

* Turkeys were introduced into France by the
Jesuits in 1570, in which year they were first eaten
at M^zieres, department of Ardennes, at the mar-
riage of Charles IX. and Elizabeth of Austria.

The Holy Cave of Manresa.

831

which always make their appear-
ance in a storm, and, for this rea-
son, give rise to a belief among
sailors that it is the fowl that has
raised the tempest ! How ominous,
then, was this Spanish hen of Man-
resa ! We could not find out wheth-
er there are any scions of this time-
honored race still living in their
ancestral coops, or whether they
were all suppressed with the order
as dangerous to the state ; but we
do know that six of the breed — three
/0/Avand three pollas — in a line di-
rect from the famous hen, were, in
the beginning of the year 1603 (the
miracle of the Pozo, it must be re-
membered, took place in 1522),
sent to her Catholic majesty, Queen
Margaret of Austria, who received
them with as many demonstrations
of pleasure as would have been
consistent with royal etiquette in
Spain.

We trust no supposititious egg
was ever smuggled into the nest of
this illustrous gallina to deteriorate
the breed. Pere Vaniere, a learned
French Jesuit of note in the last
century, has described in an able
Latin poem, part of which has been
translated by Delille, the sorrows
of a poor old hen when she found,
for instance, that she had hatched
a brood of ducks, which became
the torment of her life by their
inclination for 'water. As Hood
has it :

" The thing was strange — a contradiction
It seemed of nature and her works,
For little chicks beyond conviction
To float without the aid of corks."

Imagine, then, the woes of this ma-
ternal hen, in her new-fledged pride
of race, should any Moorish or
Guinea fowl taint her ennobled
Spanish blood !

There is a hotel at Manresa,
called the Chicken, of about the
same stamp as the San Domingo,

though Mr. Bayard Taylor, whose
experience in such matters trans-
cends ours, satisfied himself that,
"although the Saint has altogether
a better sound than the Chicken,
the Chicken is really better than the
Saint!"

It was one of St. Ignatius' favo-
rite devotions, while at Manresa, to
visit the sanctuary of Our Lady of
Viladordis, on the banks of the
Llobregat, about three miles from
the city. The last time he went
there he gave his hempen girdle of
three strands to the tenant of a
neighboring farm-house who had
often offered him hospitality, and
assured him that as long as he and
his posterity should continue to aid
the poor they would never lack the
means of a decent livelihood, and,
though they might not attain great
wealth, they would never be re-
duced to absolute poverty ; which
prophecy has been fulfilled to the
present day, for the family still
continues to exist. In this rural
church a solemn jubilee is celebrat-
ed every year on Whitmonday in
memory of St. Ignatius. Over the
altar is a picture of the saint inscrib-
ed : " St. Ignatius, founder of the
Jesuits, in the year 1522, the first
of his conversion, frequented this
church of Our Lady ot Viladordis,
and here received singular favors
from Heaven, in memory of which
this devout and grateful parish de-
dicates this portrait, Feb. 19, 1632."

In 1860 Queen Isabella II., the
great-granddaughter of Carlos III.,
came to Manresa, and, after visiting
the Santa Cueva, expressed a wish
to the city authorities that a monu-
ment so important in the religious
history of Spain, and associated
with the chief glory of Manresa,
should be carefully preserved.
This excited fresh interest. Spon-
taneous contributions from the tie-

832

Thf Holy Cave of Manresa.

votes tie S. Ignacio flowed in for the
restoration of the church and the
ornamentation of the cave. To
the former was transferred the
miraculous image of Nuestra Senora
de la Guia, before which St. Igna-
tius often used to pray. Pope Pius
IX, conferred new indulgences on
the Holy Cave, and its ancient
glory had already revived when
the revolution of September, 1868,
broke out, overthrowing the royal
government and compelling the
Jesuits once more to take the road
of exile. But the bishop of the
diocese has watched over the cave,
and it continues to be visited by
pilgrims from all parts of the world.
A visit to the Santa Cueva marks
an era in one's life ; for it is one of
those places that produce an inef-
faceable impression on the soul.
Thank God! there are such places
where the claims of a higher life
assert themselves with irresistible
force. Who that ever made a re-
treat with the Spiritual Exercises in
hand has not turned longingly to
the Holy Cave in which they were
written ? Followed there, they seem
to acquire new significance and au-
thority. Wonderful book, that for
three hundred years has on the
one hand been regarded with ad-
miration and love, and on the other
been the object of distortion and
abuse ! Some have gone so far as
to declare it a book of servilism
and degradation ; others, more
happy, look upon it as an inexhaus-

tible mine of wise directions in the
practice of virtue. The sons of St.
Ignatius have never ceased to medi-
tate on the little volume which em-
bodies the religious experience of
their founder. They cherish it the
more for giving them so large a
draught in the chalice of ignominy,
and they carry it with them through
the wilderness of this world, as the
children of Israel did the ark, to
ensure their happy progress in the
spiritual life. Pope Paul III., in
his bull Pastoralis Officii, says :
"Out of our apostolic authority
and certain knowledge, we approve,
we praise, we confirm by this docu-
ment these teachings and ' these
spiritual exercises, exhorting in the
Lord, with all our might, the faith-
ful of both sexes, one and all, to
make use of these Exercises, so full
of piety, and to follow their salutary
directions."

Manresa may well be proud of
her Holy Cave, for it was here the
great soul of St. Ignatius was tem-
pered for his vast undertakings.
But he did not indulge in any
spiritual dalliance. His work once
planned, he went boldly forth to
achieve it.

Forth to his task the giant sped ;
Earth shook abroad beneath his tread,
And idols were laid low.

1 India repaired half Europe's loss ;
O'er a new hemisphere the cross

Shone in the azure sky,
And, from the isles of far Japan
To the broad Andes, won o'er man

A bloodless victory !"

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

833

THE MIRACLE OF SEPTEMBER 16, 1877,

ABRIDGED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. HENRI LASSERKE.

IN the month of August, 1874,
Canon Martignon, previously curd-
archipretre of Algiers, arrived at
Lourdes. He was a man of about
forty years of age, and while in
Africa had been attacked by an
affection of the chest which entire-
ly deprived him of the use of his
voice ; he had therefore crossed
the Mediterranean to seek healing
in the city of Mary.

At the rocks of Massabielle he
prayed, drank of the miraculous
font, and bathed in the piscina,
but without obtaining the cure he
sought.

Not disheartened, he resolved to
make a novena. This, too, was un-
accompanied by any change for the
better.

" Well, then," he said, " I will
make a novena of weeks." And
he took up his abode at Lourdes
for sixty-three days.

On the sixty-fourth day, finding
himself in absolutely the same
state, he left for Pau, to seek a
temporary alleviation in the mild-
ness of its climate. But soon re-
proaching himself for having quit-
ted Lourdes, and regarding his
having done so as an act of weak-
ness and a want of faith, and, more-
over, possessing in the depth of
his heart a conviction that sooner
or later the Blessed Virgin would
grant his prayer, he returned to the
sacred grotto and took up his
abode in the town.

An invalid, he constituted him-
self the guide and guardian of the
sick and suffering. Pilgrims who
of late years may have spent any
VOL. xxvi. — 53

time at Lourdes will recollect
having seen there a priest, still
young, with a long, light beard, a
distinguished countenance, with a
bright earnestness and sweetness
in the expression of the eyes ; a
tall, slight figure, the chest some-
what narrowed and the shoulders
bent by suffering — a priest who
led the blind, assisted the lame and
infirm, to the piscina, and spent the
whisper of his failing voice in
cheering and consoling the afflicted.
This was the Abbe Martignon.

" If Our Blessed Lady does not
cure me this time," he would say,
smiling, "I have made up my mind
for a novena of years, then a nove-
na of centuries ; and after that I will
stop."

He had the joy of seeing several
of the sick of whom he had been
the guide and stay miraculously
cured ; but he himself, though ex-
periencing at times some slight al-
leviation, did not obtain the com-
plete recovery he sought.

Did he at last feel that there was
some secret resistance on the part
of the Blessed Virgin to grant the
favor he solicited ? We do not
know ; but it seemed to us that,
while his faith continued the same
and his charity ever on the in-
crease, the virtue of hope was with
him gradually turning into that of
resignation — or, to speak more ac
curately, that he was postponing his
hope. Happy to remain in this
corner of the earth, on which the
feet of the Queen of Heaven had
rested, and to pray daily at the
sacred grotto, he did not begin the

834

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

novena of years and of centuries of
which he had smilingly spoken.

" I stay here," he would say,
•" at the disposal of Our Lady of
Lourdes, like a person sitting in
an ante-chamber waiting for an au-
dience. She will hear me when she
pleases. My turn will come ; I
shall have my hour or minute, and
will take care not to let it escape
me."

For this hour and this minute he
waited three years. Then, a few
•months ago, he felt an impulse
within him urging him to knock
.again at the heavenly gate. He
resolved to make a novena which
should end on the Feast of Our
Lady of the Seven Dolors. He had
not observed that, this being a mova-
,ble feast, the first day of the nove-
jia would this year (1877) coincide
with the Nativity of the Blessed
Virgin,* and that his prayer would
thus go, as it were, from the birth
-of Mary to the last sigh of Jesus —
from the cradle of the Mother to
.the sepulchre of her Son.

Had the Abbe Martignon been
•cured he would have returned to
Algeria; and we imagine that if at
first the Blessed Virgin refused his
request, it was because she had no
intention of so soon granting leave
•of departure to such a servant.
Neither God nor his priest were los-
ing anything by this refusal. When
such and such a temporal blessing —
that is to say, the copper coin — is
•denied to our prayers, it is because
the gold and the rich increase are be-
ing laid up in store for us, either
in this world or the world to come.
Besides, a new mission had been
imposed on the ardent zeal and
charity of the Abbe Martignon :

* The Feast of Our Lady of Dolors is on the jd
Sunday of September. This Sunday, in 1877, fell
on the i6th — i.e., the ninth day after the Nativity of
•Our Lady, which is on the 8th of September.

one which flowed naturally from
the function to which he devoted
himself of consoling the afflicted.

From the commencement of his
sojourn at Lourdes he had found a
man more suffering than the sick
and more tried than the ordinarily
afflicted, and to him also he had
ministered aid and support. He to
whom we allude — the Abbe Pey-
ramale — had had the signal honor of
receiving a message from heaven,
and of accomplishing, in spite of
every obstacle, the divine command.
But the Blessed Virgin, doubtless
reserving for him a higher place,
had said: "I will show him how
much he must suffer for love of
me " ; and the most unlooked-for
troubles had been sent to torture
his heroic heart.

By a strange contrast he was at
the same time on Calvary and on
Thabor. While his name was cele-
brated throughout Christendom,
while he was blessed by the people
whose beloved father and patriarch
he was, he had also, especially dur-
ing these latter times, the bitter
pain of being misjudged, forsaken,
and obstinately persecuted in that
matter which he had most at heart —
in his zeal for the Lord's house.
Like the Cyrenian, he was the man
bearing the cross, and his robust
shoulders were bruised and bleed-
ing beneath the sacred burden,
while around his sufferings, as
around those of his Master, many
shook their heads, saying : " He has
been the instrument of Mary; let
her now help and deliver him!"

When, at the time of the appari-
tions, now nearly twenty years ago,
he had asked Our Lady to make
roses bloom in the time of snow,
she, who was in that same place to
work so many miracles, refused this
one, and to the priest whom she
had chosen replied by the austere

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

835

word, " Penance." The illustrious
Abbe Peyramale, the priest of the
Immaculate Conception, had thus
been condemned to suffer. It was
he of whom, for some years, the
Abbe Martignonwas the filial com-
forter and the friend of every hour.

It is not our purpose here to
dwell on the sorrows beneath the
weight of which sank the venerable
cure of Lourdes; we would only
call to mind that, when the basili-
ca of the grotto was completed and
enriched with the gifts of all the
world — the basilica which was to be
the point of arrival for the proces-
sions commanded by Our Lady — he
undertook to rebuild the parish
church, which ought to be their
point of departure.

He died at his work, without
having been able to complete it,
and having more than once an-
nounced his death as a sort of ne-
cessity— a last sacrifice on his part
in the interest of the house of
God.

The unfinished church had stop-
ped at the height of the arches.
Aid on which he had been led to
rely had failed him, and his efforts
had been impeded by inconceivable
hostilities.

" I shall not enter the promised
land," he would say; " I shall only
see it afar off. / must die to repair
the ruin. When I am here no more,
all difficulties will be smoothed.
My death will pay all " — sorrowful
words, which brought tears to his
eyes and to the eyes of those who
loved him! We ourselves had the
sad consolation of being present
at his departure. God chose the
Feast of the Nativity of Our Blessed
Lady to open the gates of eternity
to her faithful servant.

Around the death-bed of Mgr.
Peyramale were his brother and
other relations, his vicaires, friends,

and those of his flock who had
been able to penetrate into his
room. Among this tearful family
was the Abbe Martignon, broken
down with grief, and scarcely think-
ing of himself, his malady, or his
cure, or yet of his novena to Our
Lady of the Seven Dolors, which,
tby a curious coincidence, was to
begin that same day.

Mgr. Peyramale, after a long
agony, had just rendered his last
sigh to earth and his immortal
soul to God. In that hour of grief
and desolation his friend, while
raising his heart to her who is the
Consolatrix Afflictorum, recollected
his promised novena.

What was passing in his mind ?
Kneeling by that bed and holding
in his the lifeless hands of the cure
of Lourdes, he remained for some
time bowed down in silence. Then,
rising, he said to some of those
present : " I have just said the first
prayer of my novena to Our Lady
of Sorrows, and made my request
for a cure, in presence of these holy
remains ; and I conjure Our Lady
of Lourdes to permit that in her
own name, and on the ninth day, our
friend may himself transmit to me
the answer"; adding: "The choice
God has made of the 8th of Septem-
ber to call to himself the Priest of
the Apparitions sufficiently author-
izes me to associate his first remem-
brance (souvenir) with my humble
supplication."

Side by side with a great sorrow
a great hope from this moment en-
tered in and possessed the heart of
the sick priest. The thought of
recovery did not, assuredly, lessen
his grief for the loss of his friend ;
but seeing himself henceforth alone
in France, it was a happiness to
him to know that his protector was
in heaven, and that it would be
doubtless owing to the intervention

836

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

of that friend, next to that of God
and Our Blessed Lady, that he
should receive' the favor so long
solicited.

He spoke of this with conviction.
It seemed to him that, with such
an intercessor, the Blessed Virgin
would, on the ninth day, put herself
in some sort at the disposal of his
prayer. He even wrote to Paris,
to the Rev. Pere Picard of the As-
sumption, to tell him of his hope.
Already he spoke of what he would
do when he was cured, and how he
would employ himself in furthering
the unfinished work of the cure of
Lourdes. He prayed with fervor ;
friends joined him in his novena;
and thus the time went on until
Saturday, the i5th of September —
the eve of the ninth day.

On this Saturday,* in the morn-
ing, he received a telegram to tell
him that M. and Mme. Guerrier
were on their way to Lourdes, and
to ask if he would kindly meet them
at the station with a carriage.

M. and Mme. Guerrier were ut-
terly unknown to him. A letter
only, which he had received from
the cure of St. Gobain twenty-four
hours before the telegram, informed
him that Mme. Guerrier had for
several years been suffering from a
very serious illness, and was start-
ing for Lourdes to seek a cure, full
of faith that it would be granted.
This lady and her husband were
earnestly recommended to the Abbe
Martignon, as this was their first visit
to the city of the Blessed Virgin.

The canon gladly undertook this
act of charity, and went to the sta-
tion in good time to meet the three
o'clock train. Leaving him for a
time occupied with his Breviary in
the waiting-room, we will relate by
what series of circumstances M.
and Mme. Guerrier were brought
to Lourdes on that day.

M. Edouard Guerrier, judge of
the peace at Beaune, married, about
fifteen years ago, Mile. Justine Biver,
a religious and excellent lady. Her
father was a distinguished physician,
and her two brothers occupied high
commercial positions, one being
general director of the Company of
St. Gobain, and the other director
of the celebrated glass manufac-
tories of St. Gobain and Chauny.

God had blessed this union with
three children, healthy and intelli-
gent, to whose training and educa-
tion their mother devoted herself,
bringing them up especially in the
love of God and of the poor.

Thus passed eleven years of un-
broken happiness. In 1874, how-
ever, a dark cloud suddenly over-
shadowed this clear sky. The
health of Mme. Guerrier broke
down rapidly, and violent head-
aches, frequent faintings, and in-
creasing weakness were succeeded
by a general state of paralysis,
which seized successively several
important organs of the frame.
The spine and lower limbs became
powerless, and the sight dim and
enfeebled. The sufferer was una-
ble to sit up in bed, and obliged to
remain always lying down. Finally
the lower limbs became not only in-
capable of movement but insensible
to pain, so that, if pinched or prick-
ed, they remained without feeling.
During the long fits of fainting it
often seemed as if life must become
extinct. Death was knocking at
the door, and mourning had al-
ready entered the home lately so
bright with happiness.

Unable to continue the educa-
tion of her children, the poor mo-
ther could only assist them in
their religious duties. Night and
morning they knelt at her bedside,
adding to their prayers an earnest
petition for her recovery.

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

837

In this state Mme. Guerrier had
continued about two years, when
Alice, her eldest girl, was about to
make her First Communion, on
April 2, 1876. This great day con-
stantly occupied the thoughts of
this Christian mother. She thought
of it for her child, and also a little
for herself. It seemed to her as if,
in coming to take possession of this
young heart, the compassionate Sa-
viour would surely bring some relief
to her own great needs, and leave in
the house some royal token of his
visit and sojourn there. Had he
not, on entering the house of Si-
mon Peter, healed the sick mother-
in- law, enabling her to rise and serve
him ?

"I am certain of it," she said.
*' On that day I shall get up and
walk."

Alice made her First Communion
on the appointed day ; and in the
evening the priest who had prepar-
ed her, and a few members of the
family, were assembled at dinner.
No change, however, had taken
place in the state of the sick lady,
and her place was remaining empty,
as for so many months past, when,
at the moment the party were
about to sit down to table, sudden-
ly recovering her lost powers, she
rose, dressed, and came to take her
place amid her family circle. . Her
sight was clear, the spine had re-
covered its strength, and she walk-
ed and moved with the same ease
as before her illness.

The priest intoned a hymn of
thanksgiving, all present answer-
ing. Every one felt that He who
that morning had given himself in
the divine Banquet was invisibly
present at the family feast. Dur-
ing the night Mme. Guerrier's
sleep was calm and profound ; but
in the morning, when she attempt-
ed to rise, her limbs refused their

service, having fallen back into
their helpless state. Was it, then, a
dream or an illusion ? Was it an
effect of the nerves, the imagination,
or the will ?

The day of her daughter's First
Communion He would not disap-
point the mother's hope and faith. . . .
But afterwards he willed her to un-
derstand that, for purposes known
to him alone, she was still to bear
the weight of her trial. The in-
tolerable headaches returned no
more, the faintings ceased, and the
sight remained clear and distinct.
From this day the resignation of
Mme. Guerrier, already very great,
became greater still. Her soul
as well as her body had received
grace from on high. The dim-
ness of vision which had hidden
from her the faces of her hus-
band and children had disappear-
ed before the breath of Heaven,
and, although she remained infirm
and always stretched upon her bed,
she was filled with thankfulness
and joy. From the beginning of
her illness she had never seen her
aged parents. She lived at Beaune,
in the Cote d'Or, and they at St.
Gobain, in the department of
Aisne, one hundred and forty
leagues away, and, Dr. Biver being
then in his eighty-second year, any
journey was a difficulty to him.
His daughter longed to see him
once more, and from April to Sep-
tember this longing continued to
increase. In vain the exceeding
risk as well as difficulty of travel-
ling in her state was represented to
her ; she at last persuaded her hus-
band to consent to the imprudent
undertaking upon which she had
set her heart.

As the physicians had foreseen,
the journey very seriously aggra-
vated Mme. Guerrier's sufferings,
which increased to such a degree

838

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

that, even after some weeks of re-
pose, it was impossible for her to at-
tempt to return to Beaune. The
slightest movement often brought
on an alarming crisis.

The consequence of such a state,
under existing circumstances, was
nothing less than the breaking up
of the family. The husband, on
account of his duties as judge of
the peace, was compelled to reside
at Beaune, while the condition of
his wife rendered it impossible for
her to quit St. Gobain. She had
asked to have her children with
her, and thus, between every two
audiences, when possible, M. Guer-
rier took a journey of one hundred
and forty leagues and back, in
order to spend a few days with
those who made all the happiness
of his life.

Nearly a year passed in this way.
A moment of improvement was
constantly watched for which
might permit Mme. Guerrier to
travel ; but this moment was waited
for in vain. On the contrary, the
paralysis was beginning to affect
the left arm, and the thought of
her journey thither made that of
the homeward one very alarming.

Last August, M. Guerrier being
at St. Gobain in the same painful
state of hope deferred, his wife as-
tonished him by saying : " My dear,
I wish to make a pilgrimage to
Lourdes. I shall be cured there.
You must take me."

M. Guerrier, seriously alarmed at
this proposal, energetically with-
stood an idea which he believed
could not be acted upon without a
fatal result.

" My dear wife, you are asking
impossibilities," he said. " Think
what it has cost us for having,
eleven months ago, yielded to your
wishes by attempting the journey
from Beaune to St. Gobain ! Re-

member that from that time you
have not even been able to bear
being carried into the garden or
drawn a few paces in a sofa-chair.
And yet you would venture to tra-
vel across France, to a part of the
country where we are utter stran-
gers, with the pleasant prospect of
being unable to get away again \
Do not think of it, dearest ! It
would be tempting God and run-
ning a risk that would be simply
madness."

" I am certain that I shall be
cured at Lourdes," was the an-
swer, " and I wish to go thither."

It was a struggle of reason
against faith and hope, and, both
parties being resolute, the struggle
lasted for some days. Mme. Guer-
rier's faith, however, communicated
itself to her two brothers; they ad-
vised her husband to grant her
wish, and he, weary of contention,
at last gave a reluctant consent.
Provided with a medical certificate
as to the state of his wife's health,
he requested of the minister a few
weeks' leave of absence, in order to
take her to the Pyrenees.

It was on Saturday, the 8th of Sep-
tember, Feast of the Nativity, that
the journey was resolved upon.

M. Guerrier felt, however, no
small anxiety at the prospect (in
case his worst fears should be real-
ized) of finding himself in a place
where, knowing no one, he could
expect no aid or support beyond
the services to be had at hotels.

" If only," he said, " I knew of
any one there who could guide us
a little ! I shrink from this plunge
into the unknown."

On the loth or nth of Septem-
ber the Abbe Poindron, cure of St.
Gobain, saw, announced in a news-
paper, the death of Mgr. Peyra-
male, and in the account given of
his last moments observed the

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

839

name of the Abbe Martignon. He
went immediately to M. Guerrier,
and said : " You will have some
one at Lourdes to receive and
direct you. I know Canon Martig-
non, and am writing to recommend
you particularly to his kind care.
On the way telegraph to him the
hour of your arrival. He will be
prepared for it."

The exact time of the dreaded
departure was then fixed for Wed-
nesday, the 1 2th of September. It
was arranged that the travellers
should stop at Paris for a day's re-
pose, and that the rest of the jour-
ney should, if possible, be made
without another halt until they
reached Lourdes. An invalid car-
riage was engaged of the railway
company to be in readiness.

Great was the anxiety of the
family. . . . The children, however,
rejoiced beforehand, implicitly be-
lieving that their mother would be
cured: Marie, the youngest, who
never remembered seeing her other-
wise than in bed and infirm, ex-
claimed : " Mamma will come back
to us like another mamma, and we
shall have a mamma who can
walk."

"And, "joined in little Paul, who
in this respect had sometimes en-
vied other children of his acquain-
tance, " mamma will be able to take
us on her lap."

"Yes," said Alice, "she will
come back quite well."

In order to spare Mme. Guer-
rier's aged father the uncertainties
and anxieties which preceded the
decision, he had not been told what
was in contemplation until every-
thing was arranged, and the only
thing that remained was to obtain
his consent.

The venerable physician was
deeply moved on hearing from his
daughter her intention of visiting

that distant sanctuary to seek from
the Mother of God a cure which
human science had proved power-
less to effect. He consented with-
out hesitation, and, when the mo-
ment of departure arrived, raised
his hands over his afflicted child in
a parting benediction.

The journey was painful. At
Paris it was not without great diffi-
culty that Mme. Guerrier was trans-
ported to the house of her brother,
M. Hector Biver.

Their brother-in-law, M. Louis
Bonnel, professor at the lycte at
Versailles, met them there. " I
have just ascertained," he said,
" that Henri Lasserre is at Lourdes.
I knew him formerly ; he is a friend
of mine. Here is a letter for him."
And thus it was that the writer
of the present account was enabled
later to learn all its details.

Notwithstanding the courage of
the sick lady, her prostration was
so complete when the train entered
the station at Bordeaux that her
husband dared not allow her then
to go further, and insisted on her
again taking a day's repose.

On Saturday, the i5th of Sep-
tember, the travellers arrived at
Lourdes. The Abbe" Martignon
was at the station, having prepared
everything necessary. Two porters
bore Mme. Guerrier to a commo-
dious carriage, and the three re-
paired to the furnished apartments
of Mme. Detroyat, where the abb£
had engaged a room. This room
was on the first or second story,
and the helpless state of Mme.
Guerrier rendered it absolutely ne-
cessary that she should have one
on the ground floor. The canon
had not been made aware of this,
and was consequently in much per-
plexity.

" Do not be uneasy," said Mme.

840

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

Detroyat. " You are very likely to
find a room that Will suit you,
close by, at the house of M. La-
vigne."

M. Lavigne is the owner of a
very pleasant house, surrounded by
shrubs and flowers. The garden
gat£ opens on the highroad which
passes through Lourdes and forms
its principal street. The house is
in the lower part of the town, be-
tween the citi and the station.

M. Lavigne, with the greatest
kindness, put his house at the dis-
posal of the pilgrims, and thus
they were soon installed in a large
room on the ground floor, tempo-
rarily transformed into a bedroom
and opening into the garden.

After resting for a time they re-
paired to the grotto; M. Guerrier
having engaged two men-servants
to assist him in lifting his wife from
the carriage to the foot of the statue
of Mary Immaculate. It was then
about five o'clock. There it was
that we first saw Mme. Guerrier.
Her husband gave us the letter of
M. Louis Bonnel, and thus we be-
came acquainted with the trials of
this family.

The prayer of Mme. Guerrier
was ardent and absorbed. Mo-
tionless and fixed, as if in ecstasy,
her gaze never quitted the material
representation of the Holy Virgin,
who had appeared where now her
image stands, and whom she had
come so far to invoke. Every-
thing in her countenance and as-
pect expressed faith and hope.

Before setting out Mme. Guer-
rier had received absolution, and as
much as possible disposed her soul
for the reception of the great grace
she implored. She was ready.
Her husband, though a practical
Christian, was still a little behind-
hand. Burdened as he had been
with all the weight of temporal

anxieties, he had not been quite so
active in arranging for his spiritual
needs. With an exceeding watch-
fulness he had attended to every-
thing relating to the comfort of his
charge, but the preparation of him-
self he had delayed, awaiting for
this, the decisive moment and the
latest hour.

At Lourdes this hour came.

Late in the evening he request-
ed the Abbe Martignon to hear his
confession. As he had all along
intended, he desired on the mor-
row to receive Holy Communion
with his wife.

And thus in the sacrament of
penance, after the avowal of his
faults, he had the consolation of
pouring out his troubles and deep
anxieties into the sympathizing
heart of his confessor. The details
of these confidences are the secret
of God, but this we know well : that
the confessor, who is God's lieute-
nant for the time, and who, in the
name of the Father of all, pro-
nounces the words of pity and par-
don, often experiences, more fully
than other men, the sentiment of
deepest compassion. And great
was the compassion of the Abbe
Martignon for the misfortune of
this distressed husband, for the suf-
ferings of the wife, and the mourn-
ing of their family. He put aside
all consideration of himself to think
only for them. Not that he forgot
his own sufferings, or the bright
hope with which he was looking
forward to the morrow ; on the
contrary, he remembered this ; but
a thought of a higher order, which
had already presented itself to his
mind, recurred to him now, and he
at once acted upon it.

" Let your wife have confidence,"
he said to his penitent, " and do
you have confidence as well. I
saw her when she was praying this

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

841

evening at the grotto. She is one
of those who triumph over the
heart of God and compel a mira-
cle." Then, telling him about his
own novena, he added : " To-mor-
row, then, at eight o'clock I shall
celebrate the Mass which is my
last hope ! . . . Well, say to Mme.
Guerrier that not only will I say
this Mass/<?r her, but that, if I am
to have a share in the sensible answer
which I solicit, I give up this share to
her, I make over to her intention
all the previous prayers of this no-
vena, and / substitute her intentions
for mine, so that, if the answer is to
be a cure, // shall not be mine but
hers. Let her, before she goes to
sleep to-night, and to-morrow on
awaking, associate with her prayers
the name of Mgr. Peyramale, and
at eight o'clock come, both of you,
to my Mass at the basilica. I have
good hope that something will hap-
pen."

In accepting with simplicity such
an offer as this M. and Mme. Guer-
rier could not measure the heroism
and the extent of the sacrifice which
the Abbe Martignon was making
in their favor. For this the know-
ledge of a long past was necessary —
a past of which they knew nothing.

The sick lady did not fail to
mingle in her prayers the name of
Mgr. Peyramale, and towards eight
o'clock in the morning she was
taken to the basilica to be present
at the last Mass of this novena, her
feeling of assured confidence in her
recovery being singularly strength-
ened by the noble act of self-de-
nial made in her favor.

Since the previous day the crypt
and upper church had been filled
by the pilgrims from Marseilles. It
would have been difficult to carry
a sick person through the dense
multitude, especially one to whom
the least shock or movement caus-

ed suffering and fatigue. One of
the first chapels on entering was
therefore chosen in which to say
the Mass. It happened to be the
first on the left, dedicated to Ste.
Germaine Cousin.

Mme. Guerrier heard the Mass
seated on a chair, her feet, abso-
lutely inert, being placed on a prie-
dieu in front of her.

While reading the epistle the re-
membrance of Mgr. Peyramale sud-
denly presented itself with extra-
ordinary clearness before the mind
of the celebrant, when he came to
the last lines, and saw these words,
whose striking fitness impressed
itself irresistibly upon him :

" The Lord . . . hath so magnifi-
ed thy name this day that thy praise
shall not depart out of the mouth
of men, who shall be mindful of
the power of the Lord for ever ; for
that thou hast not spared thy life
by reason of the distress and tribu-
lation of thy people, but in the
presence of the Lord our God thou
hast repaired our ruin" *

" I must die to repair the ruin,"
had often been the words of Mgr.
Peyramale.

At the moment of the Elevation
all were kneeling except the para-
lyzed lady. In her powerlessness
she was compelled to remain re-
clining, the sacred Host being
brought to her where she lay.

Scarcely had she received the
Blessed Sacrament when she felt
in herself a strange power which
seemed as if impelling her to rise
and kneel, while an inner voice
seemed to command her to do so.

Near to her knelt her husband,
absorbed in prayer and thanksgiv-

* Hodie nomen tuum ita magnificavit, ut non re-
cedat laus tua de ore hominum, qui memores fucrint
virtu t is Domini in sternum, pro quibus non peper-
cisti aniraac tuae propter angustias et tribulationem
generis tui, sed subvenisti ruinz ante conspectum
Dei nostri (Epistle in the Mass of Our Lady of
the Seven Dolors, third Sunday in September).

842

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

ing after Communion. He heard
the soft rustling of a dress, looked
up, and saw his wife kneeling by his
side.

Respect for the holy place alone
prevented the exclamation of won-
der that rose to his lips. Instinc-
tively he looked towards the altar —
it was at the moment of the Dominus
vobiscum — and his eyes met those of
the priest, which were radiant with
joy and emotion. At the Last
Gospel Mme. Guerrier rose with-
out effort and continued standing.
As for her husband, he could
scarcely remain upright, his knees
trembled so. He gazed at his wife,
afraid to speak to her or to believe
the testimony of his senses, while
she remained praying and giving
thanks in the greatest calmness and
recollectedness of spirit.

The priest laid aside his sacred
vestments and knelt at a corner of
the altar to make his thanksgiving,
with what fervor may be imagined.

The sign he had asked had been
given, luminous and unmistak-
able, on the ninth day, when, at the
Mass said by himself, the request-
ed answer came which by an heroic
act of charity he had transferred to
another. Whatever may have been
the joy of the recovered lady, that
of the priest was greater still. His
friend, the Cure Peyramale, now in
heaven, had already begun to mani-
fest his presence there, while the
circumstances attending the mira-
cle seemed to show that Mary her-
self took in hand the glorification
of the faithful servant who had
been here below the minister of her
work.

Neither the Abbe Martignon nor
those who had accompanied him
had then paid any attention to the
details of the little side-chapel in-
to which a hand more delicate and

strong than that of man had led
them ; and yet the stones, the
sculptures, and inscriptions there
were so many voices which repeat-
ed the same name. It was the
first chapel on entering, and the
commencement of the basilica.
Under the window, on three large
slabs of marble, is inscribed an
abridged account of the eighteen
apparitions, including the message
with which Bernadette was charged
by Our Blessed Lady : " Go and
tell the priests that I wish a chapel
to be built to me here " — a mes-
sage which indicated the mission
and the person of him who had
dug the foundation and laid the
first stone.

Above the great arch which
forms the entrance to this chapel
is inscribed the -word." Penitence" —
the answer to the request for roses
to bloom in February, and which
spoke of suffering ; while on the
right of the altar, over the smaller
arch leading to the next chapel,
the sculptor has represented Simon
the Cyrenian bearing the cross of
Jesus.

On the altar is carved the young
shepherdess saint (also of the
south of France) who seemed best
to typify the favored child of
Lourdes — namely, the pure and in-
nocent Ste. Germaine Cousin. Ber-
nadette was wont to say : " Of all my
lambs I love the smallest best."
Ste. Germaine is represented with a
lamb at her feet, while behind her
is the dog, symbol of Vigilance, Fi-
delity, and Strength, these virtues
recalling the energetic pastor who
had never suffered persecution to
touch the child of Mary.

If, in granting this cure, Our
Lady of Lourdes had not intended
specially to associate with it the-
remembrance of her servant, would
she not have chosen another mo-

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

843

ment than this ninth day, asked for
beforehand, another//*?^ than this
significative chapel, and another cir-
cumstance than the last Mass of the
novena made by that servant's in-
timate friend? In all these deli-
cate harmonies of detail we seem
to perceive the divine hand.

We resume the narrative.

After her act of thanksgiving
Mme. Guerrier rose from her knees,
calm and serene, without the least
excitement, physical or moral, but
still radiant from the heavenly con-
tact, and, turning to her husband,
she said: "Give me your arm,
dear; let us go down."

Still fearing that what he saw
was too good to last,'M. Guerrier
wished to summon the porters.

" No," said the Abbe Martignon ;
"let her walk."

Taking her husband's arm, she
pressed it for a moment to her
heart, full of happiness and grati-
tude ; then, with a firmer step than
he, descended the two steps of the
chapel and crossed the nave.

The Marseilles pilgrims throng-
ed the church, singing the power
of the Immaculate Mother of God,
not knowing that close beside them,
in a little side-chapel, during the
stillness of a Low Mass, that benig-
nant power had just been put
forth.

On leaving the basilica Mme.
Guerrier descended with ease the
twenty-five steps of the stone
flight at the foot of which the car-
riage was waiting.

The coachman gazed at Mme.
Guerrier in amazement and re-
mained motionless, until, on a sign
from her husband, he got down
and opened the door.

"No," said the cured lady; "I
wish to go to the grotto."

"Certainly; we will drive there."

" Not at all. Your arm is enough.
I will walk."

" She is cured," said the Abbe
Martignon; "let her do as she
wishes."

So, all together, they walked to
the grotto.

Here Mme. Guerrier made hei
second act of thanksgiving before
the image of Mary Immaculate.
Then, after drinking of the miracu-
lous spring, she went to the pis-
cina, in which, though cured, she
wished to bathe. After this im-
mersion she lost entirely a certain
stiffness which had remained, and
which had somewhat impeded the
free play of the articulations.

She made a point of returning
on foot to the town, the carriage
preceding at a slow pace ; but
about half-way the Abbe Martig-
non said, smiling : " Madame, you
are cured, but I am not ; and I
must own that I can go no further.
In charity to me let us get into the
carriage."

"Willingly," she replied, and,
hastening to it, she sprang lightly
in.

They traversed Lourdes, until, a
little below the old parish church,
they turned into the Rue de Lan-
gelle, and stopped near the rising
walls of the new one.

Mme. Guerrier and her com-
panions alighted, and, descending
some steep wooden steps, entered
the crypt. Here was a tomb, as
yet without inscription. She sprin-
kled some holy water over it with
a laurel spray that lay there, and
then knelt down and made her
third act of thanksgiving by the
venerated remains of Mgr. Peyra-
male.

During the week which had fol-
lowed the death of this holy priest
no pilgrimage had appeared in the
mourning town. It was on this

844

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

same day of glory that the first, that
of Catholic Marseilles, came to pray
at his tomb, and thus the first crown
(from a distance) placed upon it
bears the date of the event we have
just related : " Les Pelerins Mar-
seillais, 16 Septembre, 1877."

When M. and Mme. Guerrier
returned to the house of M. La-
vigne great was the joy of those
who had so kindly received them.
They regarded this miracle as a
benediction upon their house, and
heard with deepest interest the de-
tails of what had taken place.

"Madame," then said M. La-
vigne, " are you aware into what
place exactly Providence led you
in bringing you to us ? ... You
are in the house which was the
presbytery of Lourdes at the time
of the apparitions ; and you occupy
the room in which M. le Cure Pey-
ramale questioned Bernadette and
received from her mouth the com-
mands of the Blessed Virgin."

After remaining some days at
Lourdes M. and Mme. Guerrier
returned to St. Gobain. The jour-
ney was rapid and without fatigue.
Passing over its earlier details, we
quote the following portions of a
letter from M. Guerrier, now be-
fore us :

" When we reached Chauny my
wife's younger brother, M. Alfred
Biver, was waiting for us at the
station, full of anxiety ; for, in
spite of the letters and telegrams,
he could not believe. What was
his surprise when my beloved wife
threw herself into his arms ! — a
surprise from which he could not
recover, and which drew from him
repeated exclamations during the
drive of fourteen or fifteen kilome-
tres from Chauny to St. Gobain.
We drove rapidly, for we were ea-
ger to reach home. How long the
way appeared ! At last there was

the house ! It was then about five
in the evening. We saw the whole
family waiting for us, great and
small : sisters, sisters-in-law, ne-
phews, nieces, and, above all, our
dear little ones — all were at the
door, eager to make sure that their
happiness was real.

" Ah ! when they saw their moth-
er, sister, aunt alight alone from
the carriage and .hasten towards
them, it was a picture which no
human pencil could paint. What
joy ! what tears ! what embraces !
The mother of my Justine was
never weary of embracing the
daughter whom Our Lady of
Lourdes restored to her upright,
walking with a firm step — cured.

" Detained by his eighty-three
years, her father was in his sitting-
room up a few stairs. We mount-
ed ; he was standing at the door,
his hands trembling more from
happiness than age, and his noble
countenance glistening with tears.

" ' My daughter ! . . .'

" Mme. Guerrier knelt before him.
' Father,' she said, ' you blessed
me when, incurably afflicted, I
started for Lourdes ; bless me now
that I return to you miraculously
cured — as I said I should. . . .'

" And, as if nothing were to be
wanting to our happiness, it so
happened that this very day was
the * fete of her who returned thus
triumphantly to her father's house.
What a glad feast of St. Justine we
celebrated !

" But this is not all. The family
had its large share ; the church also
must have hers. The excellent cure
of St. Gobain, the Abbe Poindron,
had obtained from the lord bishop
of Soissons authority to have so-
lemn benediction in thanksgiving
for the incomparable favor that had
been granted to us.

" On the day after our arrival,

The Miracle of September 16, 1877.

84*

therefore, we repaired to the parish
church, through crowds of awe-
struck and wondering people. The
bells were ringing joyously, and the
church was full as on days of great
solemnity. Above the congrega-
tion rose the statue of Notre Dame
de Lourdes, and, facing it, a place
was prepared for her whom Mary
had deigned to heal. The priest
ascended the pulpit, and related
simply and without comment the
event that was the occasion of
the present ceremony, after which
some young girls, veiled and clad
in white, took upon their shoulders
the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes,
and the procession began ; my dear
wife and myself walking immediate-
ly behind the image of our hea-
venly benefactress, amid the enthu-
siastic singing of hymns of praise
and the triumphal sound of the
organ. . . . Then the Te Deum
burst forth. Our Lord God was
upon the altar. ..."

If earth has festivals like this,
what must be the festivals of Para-
dise ?

Here we would fain close our
narrative, leaving the hearts of our
readers to sun themselves in these
heavenly rays. But in this world
there is no light without a shadow.

In the letter we have just quoted
M. Guerrier, after speaking with
fervent gratitude of the heroic
charity of Canon Martignon, says
how earnestly he and his are pray-
ing for the restoration of his health.
Alas ! these prayers are not yet
granted. A few weeks after the
event here related he left Lourdes
for Hyeres, being too ill to return,
as he had desired, to his own arch-
bishop in Algiers.

In the midst of her joy Mme.
Guerrier has a feeling very like re-
morse. " Poor Abbe Martignon !"
she lately said to us ; " it seems to
me as if I had stolen his cure."

No ! This lady has, it is true,
received a great and touching fa-
vor ; but assuredly a still more sig-
nal grace was granted to that holy
priest when he was enabled to per-
form so great an act of self-renun-
ciation and charity — an act which
bestows on him a resemblance to
his divine Master, who said : " Great-
er love than this no man hath, to
lay down his life for his people."
Let us not presume to pity him,
for he has chosen " the better part."

May his humility pardon us the
pain we shall cause him by pub-
lishing, contrary to his express
prohibition, this recent episode of
his life !

846

Pius the Ninth.

PIUS THE NINTH.

IN the afternoon of Thursday,
February 7, our Holy Father, Pope
Pjus IX., died.

In his person passes away one
who to two hundred millions of
spiritual subjects was the greatest
figure of the age, and who to all
the rest of the world, if not the
greatest, was certainly the most
conspicuous. The history of the
last thirty years — that larger history
that takes within its scope the whole
human family rather than this or
that nationality or people — will in
after-times centre around him. It
will be seen that he has had a hand
in shaping it, though to-day it may
seem that that hand was brushed
rudely aside or lifted only in impo-
tent menace against the irresistible
movements and the natural aspira-
tions of the age. Time is a great
healer and revealer of truth ; and
time will deal gently and justly with
the memory of Pius IX. When the
smoke of the long battle that has
been raging in Europe, and more
or less over all the world, during
the last half-century, shall have
finally cleared away, and men's
eyes be better prepared to regard all
things honestly, truth, now obscur-
ed and hidden, will come to light,
and the persistent action, misnam-
ed reaction, of Pius IX. will ap-
pear to have been the truest wis-
dom and the soundest policy.

The field, of which this wonderful
life is the central figure, is so vast, its
lights and shadows so changing, its
surface so diversified, and the events
with which it is crowded are so many
and so great, that one shrinks from
attempting to picture it even faintly.
Yet we cannot, even with the brief

time allowed us, permit the Holy
Father to go to his grave without
a tribute of admiration and respect
for his memory, however inade-
quate that tribute may be. Into
the minute details of his life we do
not purpose here to enter. These
are already sufficiently well known,
and there are ample sources of in-
formation from which to gather
them. We purpose rather passing
a rapid glance over the most promi-
nent events that mark the career
of the Pope, that give it its signifi-
cance and make of it one of the
most remarkable in history.

Whoever attempts to deal with
Pius IX., with a view to what the
man was, what he achieved, what
he failed to achieve, the meaning,
the purport, and the influence of
his life, must necessarily regard
him in a twofold aspect : first, as a
temporal prince, a man occupied
with human and secular affairs ;
secondly, as the supreme head of
the Catholic Church, the vicar of
Christ on earth, and the father of
the faithful. As the one his life
was a failure, outwardly at least.
He has gone to his grave shorn
of all his earthly possessions and
dignities ; and his successor will
enter into office much as the first
pontiff entered, with no authority
save that bequeathed him by his
divine Master. As the second — as
supreme pastor of the church —
Pius IX. yields to none of his illus-
trious predecessors in point of mo-
ral and real dignity and grandeur.
This is the strange and significant
contrast in the man's life : the de-
cadence and utter loss of the tem-
poral power and principality of the

Pius the Ninth.

847

church under his reign, with a
contrary deepening and strength-
ening of the bonds that bind him
to the faithful as their spiritual fa-
ther and guide. In both these as-
pects we shall look at him : as a
prince who failed in much that he
attempted, and as a spiritual ruler'
who grew stronger by his very
losses ; under whom the church has
marvellously, almost miraculously,
developed; and who leaves it to-
day in a spiritually stronger condi-
tion than perhaps it has ever been
in. As a temporal sovereign there
may have been greater popes than
he; as a spiritual, few, if any, have
surpassed him. And much, very
much of the growth of the church
within the period of his troubled
reign is undoubtedly to be attri-
buted to the personal influence of
the pontiff, to his own high exam-
ple of virtue and burning zeal, and
to the keen eye he had for the
church's truest interests and wel-
fare.

He was ushered into a revolu-
tionary epoch, in a time when dis-
aster was heaped upon the church
and on civil society. Lacordaire
says of himself: "I was born on
the wild and stormy morning of
this nineteenth century." The same
is true of him who became Pius IX.
He was born at Sinigaglia, May
13, 1792, while Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette were prisoners
and waiting for the scaffold to re-
lease them from their woes. Na-
poleon I. had not yet arisen. The
United States had not much more
than come into being. Joseph II.
ruled and reigned in Austria.
France was in the hands of the
progeny of Voltaire. Sardinia did
not exist. Catholic Ireland did
not exist politically. Australia was
almost an unknown land. It was
a period of moral earthquakes.

The progeny of Voltaire were very
active in the propagation of their
doctrines ; and Italy, which for cen-
turies had been the battle-ground
of kings and the theatre of petty
rival factions, offered an inviting
soil for the evil seed. In 1793
the heads were struck off from
Louis and his queen ; the Goddess
of Reason was enthroned in Notre
Dame; and the reign of "liberty,
fraternity, equality " began and end-
ed with — " death."

Then came that grim child of the
Revolution, Napoleon, and chang-
ed everything. He had an eye to
religion, and he wanted a sort of
tame pope whom he might use as
a puppet. Italy felt his iron heel,
and things went from bad to worse
there. It saw the pope, with others
of its treasures, carried off by this
rough-and-ready conqueror. In
1805 this same conqueror had him-
self crowned " King of Italy " —
king of a kingdom which did not
exist, save as a pillage-ground for
whoever chose to enter. In 1808
the Papal States were " irrevocably "
incorporated with the French Em-
pire. So decreed the omnipotent
conqueror. Where is his empire
now ? Where was it and where
was he a few years afterwards ?
He was eating his heart out at St.
Helena; his empire had vanished;
and the pope whom he had cap-
tured and imprisoned was back in
Rome.

ROME PREPARED FOR REVOLUTION.

All this time the young Giovanni
Mastai-Ferretti was pursuing his
studies as conveniently as he could
under such circumstances. We do
not recall these events in the ear-
lier life of the boy idly, but with
a very distinct purpose : to show
that when in 1846 Pius IX. was ele-

Pius the Ninth.

vated to the Papacy, and to the
guardianship of the church's tem-
poralities, he stepped into no bed
of roses. He stepped, on the con-
trary, into a very hot-bed of revolu-
tion— a revolution that, with less or
more of secrecy, had overspread
Europe, and that found its most
convenient as well as its most ne-
cessary centre of attack in Rome
and in the Papal States. Italy had
long been the prey of Europe.
The people had suffered terribly
from foreign invasions. They suf-
fered almost equally from home in-
trigues and jealousies. With all
this the popes had nothing to do.
It was simply a repetition of the
history of the Italian peninsula
from the disruption of the Roman
Empire down. The outer bar-
barians were always knocking at
her gates and trampling on her
soil, invited there by native quar-
rels.

It is necessary to bear these
things well in mind, in order to
judge rightly of the difficulties
against which Pius IX. had to con-
tend. He was elected to an impov-
erished and disturbed principality,
to a centre of revolution in an era
of revolution. All Italy groaned
with trouble. The people were
ripe for any mad-cap scheme which
should profess to better their con-
dition. There was revolution in
the air, all around them, all over
the world. There were burning
ideas afloat of people's rights, and
people's wrongs, and people's fu-
tures. Schemes of regeneration for
the human race were abundant as
the schemers; and some of these
were very keen, far-sighted, and
resolute men. Mazzini was one of
them. His policy was simple
enough, and it is the policy of all
his followers to-day : For the peo-
ple to rule you must first destroy the

rulers — kings ; before destroying
the kings, who (in Europe at least)
are the representatives of authority,
you must destroy the priests who
preach submission to lawful autho-
rity. Death to the priests ! death
to the kings ! and then, long live
the people !

That, we believe, is a fair pre-
sentation of the Mazzini pro-
gramme for the regeneration of
Italy and of the rest of the world.
It has its fascinations for empty
minds and empty stomachs, and
the masses of the people, particu-
larly of the Italians, just about the
time of which we write had both
empty minds and empty stomachs.
The people of the Papal States, in
common with the people of all the
other Italian States, and, indeed, of
states generally, were not in the hap-
piest condition possible. Wars and
foreign invasions and constant tur-
moil from day to day are not the
best agents of good government.
So Pius IX. came to an uneasy
throne.

PIUS IX. AS A POLITICAL REFORMER.

The cry of the Roman people, of
the whole Italian people, as of all
people just then, was for reform.
They wanted a share in the gov-
ernment ; and there was no harm
in that. The new pontiff began
his reign by at once setting about
practical reform. His scheme was
excellent. The details of it must
be found elsewhere. Practically
it amounted to letting the people
have a just and rational share in
the government. It was not uni-
versal suffrage. But the Papal States
were not the United States ; and
there are intelligent and patriotic
men in the United States even who
begin to doubt about the actual
efficacy of universal suffrage as a

Pius the Ninth.

849

panacea for all political or social •
evils. It is not long since Mr.
Disraeli laid down the daring doc-
trine in the English House of Com-
mons that universal suffrage was
not a natural right of man, to
which doctrine nobody seemed to
object. The Pope, then, set ear-
nestly and practically to work at
every kind of reform. He set on
foot a scheme of government which
should admit the laity to their
lawful place in civic functions.
He looked to the laws of com-
merce, which were in a very bad
.state. He struck at vicious mono-
polies, in return for which the mo-
nopolists struck viciously at him.
He was very careful about the
finances, his treasury being low in-
deed, or rather non-existent. He
advised the people, who, under
the impulse of a steady conspiracy,
seized every opportunity at the be-
ginning of his reign of getting up
festivals in his honor, to spend
their money at home, or hoard it
for an evil hour, or devote it to
some charitable or educational
purpose. He was clement to po-
litical offences. He was kind and
charitable to the oppressed Jews of
Rome, and removed their civil disa-
bilities before England thought of
doing so.

All this is matter of fact, beyond
question or dispute. It was recog-
nized by the outer world. All the
crowned heads of Europe, with the
exception of Austria and the Italian
principalities, who found themselves
in a position of painful contrast,
sent their hearty congratulations to
the Pope ; and the voice of New
York — non-Catholic New York —
joined in with them. The Pope
was, for the time being at least,
the most popular man in the
world as well as in Italy. And
he deserved his popularity, for he
VOL. xxvi. — 54

was real and resolute in what he
attempted.

WHY HE FAILED AS A REFORMER.

How, then, came the sad sequel ?
Why did all this fail? Pius IX.
looked even beyond the Papal
States in his political schemes. He
wished for a united Italy. He
was a true Italian. He proposed a
confederation of the Italian States,
which, without infringing on any
people's rights, should constitute
one Italy, show a united front to
the foreigner, and remove all ex-
cuse for foreign interference. Why
was this, too, a failure ?

Because it was intended that it
should be a failure. Because the
men who used the clamor for re-
form as an agitating force among
the people wanted nothing so little
as actual reform, least of all in the
prince of the church. Good gov-
ernment was what most they feared ;
for good government makes, as far
as government can make, people
happy and well off and reconciled
to order. But order and content-
ment among the people were pre-
cisely what Mazzini least desired.

Pius IX. was in heart and soul
and act a reformer of reformers.
As a temporal ruler he desired
nothing in this world so much as
the welfare and happiness of his
people, and he took all honest means
to bring about that happiness and
welfare. But he was met at the
outset by a strong and wide-spread
conspiracy — a conspiracy that had
existed long before his time, that had
laid its plans and arranged its mode
of action, and that was ready to do
any diabolical deed in order to
carry its purpose through. The
very willingness of the Pope to con-
cede reforms helped it. It took
him up and petted and played with

Pius the Ninth.

him. The clubs that roamed the
streets and shouted themselves
hoarse with Viva Pio Nona ! and
Viva Pio Nona solo! were instru-
ments of the conspirators. The
offices which the Pope threw open
to the laity were seized upon by
conspirators. His guards and sol-
diers were corrupted and led by
corrupt officers and generals. Some
of the clergy even felt the contami-
nation. Ministry after ministry
was tried and changed, and only
succeeded in exasperating the minds
of the people, as it was intended
they should. The Pope had faith
in human nature, and could not
believe but that the honest mea-
sures which he devised for the bene-
fit of his subjects would be honestly
accepted by them. Although he
knew of the conspiracy against his
throne and against society, perhaps
he scarcely realized its depth and
intensity. The horrible assassina-
tion of De Rossi undeceived him,
and the reformer and gentle prince
had to fly for his life and in dis-
guise from his own subjects.

TRIUMPH OF THE REVOLUTION.

Not two years of his reign have
passed, and the Pope is already an
exile at Gaeta. Pandemonium
reigned in Rome. It was not the
secret societies alone who brought
all this about. They were aided
by some, at least, of the crowned
heads of Europe ; and Palmerston,
as infamous a politician as ever
conspired against the right, was
hand and glove with them, ably
seconded by Gladstone, whose re-
cent attack on the Pope cannot
have surprised those who remem-
bered his political career. Mean-
while Piedmont was creeping to the
front in Italy, and though at first
Mazzini was as thoroughly opposed

to Charles Albert as to the Pope
and the priests, the conviction
grew Upon the conspirators that
kings might sometimes be utilized
as well as killed, and that Italy
might, for the time being at least,
be united under the Sardinian.
This conviction only came slowly,
and there was a man at the head
of affairs in Piedmont who was
keen in reading the signs of the
times, and who never missed a
chance. Cavour utilized the se-
cret societies, and the secret so-
cieties utilized Cavour. In like
manner Louis Napoleon, then com-
ing to the front in France, utilized,
and was in turn utilized By, them.
Palmerston, Cavour, Louis Napo-
leon, a dangerous and powerful
triad, were with the conspirators,
while Austria blundered on with
characteristic stupidity, actually
courting the fate which has since
overtaken it.

It may be said that we concede
too much power to the secret so-
cieties. Who and what are they
after all ? A handful of men work-
ing in the dark, led by crack-brain-
ed enthusiasts who write inflamma-
tory letters and publish silly pamph-
lets at safe distances from the scene
of action. They are more than
this, however. They are well or-
ganized, and they trade on real
wrongs and disaffection too well
grounded. Certainly, in the earlier
period of the Pope's reign men
were far from being, as a whole,
well governed in Europe. They
were not at rest ; they had not been
at rest from the beginning of the
century. Reforms from their ru-
lers came very slowly and grudg-
ingly. The conspirators possessed
all the daring of adventurers, and
spread out a political El Dorado
glittering before the hungry eyes of
bitter and disappointed men. In

Fins t/ie Ninth.

such a state of affairs the wildest
chimeras seem possible to the com-
mon mind, and in this lies the real
strength of secret societies, which
find their growth cramped only
where men are freest and best off,
as among ourselves.

A fair idea of what the reign of
" the people " meant may be gather-
ed from the state of Rome while
the pontiff was in exile at Gaeta.
It was cousin-german to the reign
of the Commune in Paris in more
recent days. And for this the Pope
was driven from his own city.
These were the reformers who
could not be satisfied with the Holy
Father's rational measures of real
reform. These were the " heroes "
honored by England, by the Unit-
ed States, by all the enlightened
and advanced men of all lands. It
was for opposing and condemning
these that Pius IX. is regarded by
enlightened non-Catholics as a re-
actionist of the worst type, a foe to
progress, an enemy to popular lib-
erties. A government of assassins
was preferred by the world, or at
least by a very large portion of it,
to the mild and beneficent sway of
Pius IX. For condemning cut-
throats he is against the spirit of
the age ; and for refusing to honor
men like Mazzini and Garibaldi —
men who openly professed and
caused to be practised murder as
a necessary political instrument —
he is condemned as one who re-
fused to recognize the progressive
spirit of the times in which we live.

THE POPE AND LOUIS NAPOLEON.

While the Pope was at Gaeta,
and while Rome was in the hands
of what, without fear of contradic-
tion, may be described as the vilest of
vile rabbles, the baleful star of Louis
Napoleon was rising over France.

He was false from the very begin-
ning to the Pope, and the Pope un-
derstood him. Hut he was tricky
and adroit. He had the born con-
spirator's liking for mystery and
secrecy and intrigue. He sec-incd
by nature incapacitated to speak
and act openly. He never was
a friend to the Pope. By means
that are already known and
stamped in history he came to-
the lead of what, in spite [of all
vicissitudes and awful changes,,
remained at heart a Catholic-
nation. The trickster realized his
position and trimmed his sails ac-
cordingly. He cared nothing for
the Pope or for Catholicity ; but
the French people did. Moreover,
the protection of the Pope and
French predominance in Italy was
a part of the Napoleonic legend,
and likely to advance his own
cause. French cannon, then, and
French bayonets cleared the way
for the return of the Pope to Rome.
Not France, Catholic France alone,
but all the world, had been shocked
at the awful excesses perpetrated
by the revolutionists in Rome, as
was the case earlier still at the out-
break of the first French Revolu-
tion. France only anticipated Eu-
rope in its action by staying the
reign of blood.

Louis Napoleon thenceforth as-
sumed the character of protector
of the interests of the Holy See.
He was the persistent enemy of
those interests. He was altogether
opposed to ecclesiastical rule in an
ecclesiastical state. This friend
and protector of the Pope labored
all his political life, and used the
great influence of a Catholic na-
tion, to bring about what has since
been consummated: the robbery of
the States of the Church, the in-
vasion of the Holy See, the Pied-
montese ascendency in Italy, and

852

Pius the NintJi.

the reducing of the head of the
Catholic Church to a political ci-
pher in his own states. Yet intel-
ligent men are surprised at the in-
gratitude displayed by Pius IX.
towards Louis Napoleon ! Pius IX.
loved France ; he despised the dis-
honest trickster to whose hands the
fate of so noble a nation was for a
time committed. He despised him,
for he knew him with that instinc-
tive knowledge by which all honest
and open natures detect duplicity
and fraud, under whatever smiling
guise they may appear. Some good
qualities the man may have had.
Open honesty was not one of them.
Some regard for the Catholic reli-
gion he may have had. He never
allowed it to interfere with his
schemes or with the schemes of
those of whom after all he was a
tool, never a master. Louis Na-
poleon knew perfectly well that
the Pope understood him and his
schemes.

THE POPE AGAIN AS A REFORMER.

Pius IX. returned to Rome in
1850. He immediately set to work
to repair the losses which his sub-
jects had sustained during his ab-
sence. He proceeded in his work
of reform. Within seven years
he succeeded in clearing off the
enormous debt with which the
country had been saddled. The
French commission, of which M.
Thiers was a member, appointed to
examine and report on the politi-
cal wisdom and practical value of
the institutions granted to his
states by Pius IX., reported to the
Republican Government (1849) :

" By a large majority your commis-
sion declares that it sees in the motu
proprio (the Pope's decree reorganizing
the government of the Pontifical States)
a first boon of such real value that

nothing but unjust pretensions could
overlook its importance. . . . We say
that it grants all desirable provincial
and municipal liberties. As to poli-
tical liberties, consisting in the power
of deciding on the public business
of a country in one of the two assem-
blies and in union with the execu-
tive— as in England, for instance — it is
very true that the motu proprio does not
grant this sort of political liberty, or
only grants it in the rudimentary form
of a council without deliberative voice.

"... That on this point he (the Pope)
should have chosen to be prudent, that
after his recent experience he should
have preferred not to reopen a career ol
agitation among a people who have
shown themselves so unprepared for
parliamentary liberty, we do not know
that we have either the right or the cause
to deem blameworthy."

And Palmerston, whose testimony
is surely as unbiassed as that of
Thiers, said of the same act in
1856:

" We all know that, on his restoration
to his states in 1849, the Pope published
an ordinance called iiiotu proprio, by
which he declared his intentions to be-
stow institutions, not indeed on the large
proportions of a constitutional govern-
ment, but based, nevertheless, on popu-
lar election, and which, if they had only
been carried out, must have given
his subjects such satisfaction as to ren-
der unnecessary the intervention of a
foreign army."

We have gone into this matter
of reform and home government in
the Papal States at some length,
because it is precisely on this
ground of all others that the tem-
poral power of the popes is attack-
ed. Priests are unfit to rule, it is
said ; their business is with the
souls of men, to tend to spiritual
wants. They should have no con-
cern with the things of this world.
This may be all very well, and is a
very convenient way of disposing
of rights and properties which do
not belong to us. If the invasion
of the Papal States and their occu-

Pius the Ninth.

S53

pation by a hostile power is justi-
fied on the ground that the Pope
was a priest, and, because a priest,
unfit to rule his subjects, that at
least is intelligible. We have
seen, however, that Pius IX. was
in heart and in act a wise and
just ruler, who aimed at doing no-
thing but good, and who did no-
thing but good, to his people, but
who was steadily prevented from
doing all the good he wished and
attempted to do by conspiracy at
home and abroad. Had he been
left alone to work out the constitu-
tion he framed, to carry through
the reforms he proposed and enter-
ed upon, it is beyond question that
the States of the Church would have
been more happily governed and
more peacefully ordered than any
states in the world. But he was
prevented from ruling as he wished
as well by the opposition of govern-
ments, such as those of Palmer-
ston, Cavour, and Louis Napoleon,
as by the organized conspiracy
within his own domains — a conspi-
racy that sprang from causes with
which he had had nothing to do,
which assailed him because by his
very position he was the symbol
and type and fountain-head of all
earthly order, and which would. not
be reconciled to good. He trod
on volcanic ground from the be-
ginning. All that a good man could
do to dissipate the evil elements
he did. But the conspiracy abroad
and the conspiracy at home were
too much for him. Indeed, the ex-
istence of the Papacy as a temporal
power always depended on the
sense of right and the good-will
of men. There have been a few
fighting popes in other days ;
but as a matter of fact the Pa-
pacy has always been a power
built essentially on peace; and if
powerful enemies insisted on in-

vading it, it was always open to
them. The pope, like the Master
whose vicar he is, is " the prince
of peace."

It is needless here to enter into the
details of the intrigues and events
that led up to the invasion of the
Papal States, and to their forced
blending into what is called united
Italy. We cannot here go into the
question as to when invasion is
necessary and justifiable. Com-
mon sense, however, is a sufficient
guide to the doctrine that no inva-
sion of another's territory or pro-
perty is justifiable or necessary, un-
less the holder of that property is
incapable ; unless that property has
been and is being grossly abused ;
unless those who live on that pro-
perty invite the invasion on just
grounds ; and unless the invader
can guarantee a better holding and
guardianship of the property, a re-
form in its administration, a sa-
cred regard for rights that are sa-
cred. If any man can show us
that any one of these conditions
was fulfilled by the Sardinian in-
vasion of the Papal States, we are
open to conviction. Nor in this
matter are we taking the rights and
property of the church as some-
thing apart from ordinary rights
and property, though they are so.
We base our whole opposition to
this most infamous usurpation and
robbery on known and accepted
natural rights common to all pro-
perty and holders of property. It
is useless to tell Europe that it sol-
emnly sanctioned a sacrilege. Eu-
rope has forgotten the meaning of
the word sacrilege. It has still
some sense of what robbery and
wrong mean, though constant prac-
tice in robbery and wrong and nefa-
rious proceedings has so blunted
its moral sense that it can always
readily connive at the wrong, espe-

854

Pins the Ninth.

cially when the wrong is done to
the Catholic Church.

We invite all honest men to con-
trast the condition of the Papal
States to-day, under the present
Italian regime, with their condition
under the Papal regime. They
cannot show that that condition is
bettered. All Italy is in a chronic
state of legal and secret terrorism.
There was no terrorism under Pius
IX. The people groan under taxes
such as in their worst days they
never had to sustain. Parliamen-
tary representation and freedom of
election in Italy is a farce. As for
the social and moral effects of the
invasion, they have been dwelt
upon so often and are so patent
that they need no mention here.
Pius IX. failed as a political leader
and ruler, not because he was not
a wise and just and benevolent ru-
ler, but because, as we said, it was
intended that he should fail. The
combinations against him were too
powerful. The wonder is that he
withstood them so long. But his-
tory will faithfully record that the
last ruler — the last, at least, as things
are at present — of the temporalities
of the church was the best and
most just prince in Europe, and
the one who cared most for the
material and moral advance of his
people.

PIUS IX. AS HEAD OF THE CHURCH.

So much for one aspect of the
Pope's life and character. It is a
sad and a saddening one — the one
in which he is most bitterly and
unjustly assailed. Thus far the story
has been one of a long and disas-
trous failure. We turn now to look
at him in his greater character as
Pontiff and High-Priest of the Ca-
tholic Church

Here the heart lifts, the eyes

grow dim, the pen falters, as we
glance across the ocean and see
the meek old man who has done
so much for the church, who has
served her so faithfully, who has
given her so high and holy an ex-
ample of undaunted faith, of burn-
ing zeal, of universal charity, of
meekness and long-suffering, laid
out at last on the bier to which the
eyes of all the world turn in sor-
rowing sympathy and respect. In
this is his true triumph. In the
midst of universal disaster the
great and mighty church, which
was entrusted to him in a condition
that was truly deplorable, so far as
its existence in the various states
of the world went, has gathered
together its strength, has renewed
its youth like the eagle, has flown
abroad on the wings of the wind to
the uttermost parts of the earth.
In 1846 how stood the church in
Europe ? In England the Ecclesi-
astical Titles Bill had not yet been
passed. The Act of Catholic Eman-
cipation had only been granted in
1829. Ireland was still a political
nonentity. Catholicity in France
was suffering under the worst fea-
tures of the Napoleonic Code. In
Austria it was strangled by Joseph-
ism. In all places it was under a
ban. In the United States and
Australia it was still almost a
stranger.

WONDERFUL GROWTH OF THE
CHURCH.

But a new spirit was awakening
among men. The American Revo-
lution was productive of important
results to mankind. The French
Revolution, which followed, gave a
startling impetus to these. All
over the world men were rising
to a new sense of their natural
rights. The awakening found ex-
pression in deplorable and revolt-

Pius the Ninth.

855

ing excesses here and there, but
there were some right principles
under the mass of extravagances
and chimeras afloat. These princi-
ples good, earnest Catholics hasten-
ed to grasp and utilize. They beat
the progeny of Voltaire, they beat
the liberal philosophers, the apostles
of liberty, equality, and fraternity,
with their own weapons. They
gave the right and lawful meaning
to those words and would not sur-
render their claims. Thus uprose
O'Connell, who gave the cue and
the lead to so many other illus-
trious champions of civil and reli-
gious liberty. O'Connell roared
and thundered in England, and
made himself heard over the world.
Montalembert and Lacordaire and
the unfortunate De Lamennais
took up the great Irish leader's cry
in France. Gorres sharpened his
pen in Germany. Balmes arose in
Spain. Brownson was won over in
the United States. Louis Veuillot
found the antidote to his infidel
poison, and the school of Voltaire
found one of their doughtiest war-
riors heart and soul in the Catho-
lic ranks. A crowd of men, equal-
ly illustrious or nearly so, sprang
up and around these leaders. Ca-
tholic laymen took heart, entered
zealously into good works and po-
litical life, and many a one lent his
powerful pen and voice to the ser-
vice of the church, in places often
where the priest could not well
enter. Catholicity assumed, if we
may so say, a more manly and aggres-
sive tone. The children of Voltaire
were wont to laugh at it as a thing
of cassocks and sacristans. They
were astonished to find the young,
the enthusiastic, the noble entering
on what was veritably a new cru-
sade, and defending their faith
courageously and ably wherever
they found it attacked. What Pius

IX. had attempted in his temporal
dominions had actually and, as it
were, spontaneously come to pass
in the spiritual domain. The laity
assumed their lawful place in the
life of the church. The Holy Fa-
ther encouraged them in every way
possible ; and his aged eyes have
been gladdened by witnessing in all
lands a new army of defenders of
the faith growing up and disci-
plined, and daily increasing in
numbers, strength, and usefulness.

He saw the faith in France and
in the German states revive won-
derfully. Able and zealous bishops
were appointed ; the education of
the clergy, on which he always in-
sisted with especial vehemence, was
very carefully cultivated. Bands
of missionaries followed the newly-
opened rivers of commerce and
carried the faith with them to new
lands. The Irish famine of 1846-
1847 sent out a missionary nation
to the United States, to Australia,
to England itself. Priests went
with them, or followed them, and
in time grew up among them.
While Sardinia was confiscating
church property, destroying mo-
nasteries and institutions of learn-
ing, and turning priests and monks
out of doors, England and her pos-
sessions and the United States
were beginning to receive them,
and, in accordance with the princi-
ples of their government, letting
them do their own work in their
own way.

And so the church has gone on
developing with the greatest im-
petus in the most unpromising soil.
Already men say wonderingly that
it is strongest and best off in
Protestant lands. Pius IX. had
the happiness of creating the hier-
archy in England, in the Unit-
ed States, and in Australia, in
the British possessions — wherever

856

Pins the Ninth.

the faith is to-day reputed to be
in the most flourishing condition.
But all this has not come about by
accident. There was a very active,
keen, and observant man at the
head of affairs. It is wonderful
how the Pope, with the troubles
that were for ever pressing upon
him regarding the affairs of the
Papal States, could have found time
to attend to those wider concerns
of the universal church. But if he
loved Rome and its people with a
love that was truly paternal, his
first care was always for the church
of which he was the guardian.
His heart was in every work and
enterprise for the advancement of
the faith. His eye was all-seeing.
His prayers were unceasing.

GREAT EVENTS OF THE PONTIFI-
CATE.

The definition of two great dog-
mas marks the pontificate of Pius
IX. and will make it memorable
for ever in the annals of the church :
the dogma of the Immaculate Con-
ception of the Blessed Virgin Mo-
ther, and of the Papal Infallibility.
The last was a death-blow to schism
and heresy. We do not mean that
schism and heresy will die out be-
cause of it. But it roots them out
of their holes; and henceforth they
will know that over them hangs a
voice, not often used, indeed, or
idly, but which, once it has uttered
its last and final and solemn de-
cision, is irrevocable. The scenes
that Rome witnessed in its last de-
clining days as the city of the popes
will dwell in the memory of men.
The bishops of all the earth, in
numbers unprecedented, flocking
to what was vainly thought to be
the rocking chair of Peter, was per-
haps one of the most striking testi-
monies to a scoffing and unbeliev-

ing age of the immense vitality of
the faith, of the vastness, the splen-
dor, and renown of the Catholic
Church. A more solemn testimony
still was the joyful acceptance by
the faithful of the dogma of Papal
Infallibility, which, it was thought
by those who knew not the Catho-
lic faith, would rend the church
asunder. The canonization of the
martyrs of Japan, the thronging of
the bishops and faithful to Rome
on the occasion of the various ju-
bilees, and the crowning event of
last year, when all the Catholic
world assisted at the celebration of
the fiftieth episcopal jubilee of Pius
IX., are other events that mark
this great pontificate with signifi-
cance and splendor. These last
were as much personal tributes to
the man as of respect to the su-
preme head of the church, and they
showed, if aught were needed to
show, that Pius, stripped of his do-
minions, bereft of his possessions,
imprisoned in the Vatican, lived
and reigned as, perhaps, no other
pope lived and reigned in the hearts,
not of a small section of his people,
but of all the great church that
covers the earth.

THE POPE'S PERSONAL CHARACTER.

One feature of all others marks
the character of Pius IX. Per-
sonally the meekest and most
yielding of men, he was always fill-
ed with the sense of his position
and his sacred charge. We do not
mean that as Pope he was proud,
overbearing, intolerant. He was
anything but that. But in all that
touched the faith and the sacred
prerogatives that had been placed
in his pure hands he was simply
inflexible. He would not yield a
jot of them. He would not com-
promise. He would not tempo-

Pius the Ninth.

857

rize. A singularly open, honest, and
frank character, ready to trust all
men, he seemed to scent out dan-
ger from afar off when it threaten-
ed what was dearer to him than
life — life was always a small matter
in his eyes — the chair of Peter and
the faith of Christ. The utteran-
ces of his bulls and encyclical let-
ters, the speeches that he deliver-
ed, sometimes off-hand, on impor-
tant subjects, bear all one tone,
never contradict one another. They
are resolute and bold and breathe
authority throughout. He saw from
the first the movement of the age,
and that it was moving in a false di-
rection. The movement was, in one
word, towards a complete rejection
of divine authority, of divine revela-
tion, and consequently of the church
as a divine institution, and of all au-
thority save such as men choose to
set up for themselves. From his
first papal allocution to the Sylla-
bus of Errors to be condemned, he
always struck at this spirit, and
this spirit recognized its vigilant
foe and master. Hence the rage
with which his utterances were re-
ceived in the courts of Europe; and
by the infidel press. But he never
swerved from his course. He was
never weary of condemning what
he knew to be wrong; and the state
of public opinion to-day regarding
rights that were once held as sa-
cred even by large and powerful
non-Catholic bodies is a sufficient
vindication, if any were needed, of
the pontiff's course. Rights, natu-
ral and supernatural, are every-
where invaded. The cloister is
desecrated. The home is threat-
ened with disruption by divorce
and an easy marriage that is no
marriage. Innocent infants are no
longer consecrated to God. " Free "
thought finds its issue in " free "
religion, and free religion means

no religion. The sense of right
has yielded to the sense of force.
Education is handed over to infi-
dels. This is the larger growth
of the conspiracy that swept away
the States of the Church only by
way of a beginning to a wider
sweeping that was to desolate the
earth.

All this was what Pius IX. felt
coming on and resisted to his last
breath. He guarded the church
well, and, if human judgment be al-
lowed to follow him, he goes before
his divine Master with a clean
heart and untroubled conscience,
having done his work thoroughly.
We shall miss that majestic figure
from our busy scene. We shall
miss the grand old man seated
prophet-like on the now bare and
barren rock of Peter, the storms of
the earth roaring around and threat-
eningtooverwhelmhim, and hecalm
and unmoved, his head lifted above
them clear and lovely in the white
light of heaven. We shall miss the
face that we all know as we know
and cherish the picture of a father :
with its large, bright eyes, its sweet
lips, and that smile that could only
come from a heart free from guile
and clear from constant commun-
ings with heaven. Set the men of
the age beside him, and see how
they dwarf and dwindle away.
Set Cavour, Louis Napoleon, Bis-
marck, Thiers, Palmerston, those
known as the greatest among the
leaders of men, by Pius IX., and
what a contrast ! The story of
the struggle that he waged is told
in this. Ages stamp themselves in
the men they deify. In brutal, de-
based, but "civilized " pagan Rome
statues were set up to men like
Nero and Domitian and Claudius
and Diocletian ; and these were the
gods of the degenerate Romans.
The gods of to-day, the idols of

858

New Publications^

the people, are the men we have
mentioned above and the lower
brood of the Mazzinis, Garibal-
dis, Victor Emanuels, Gambettas.
To the worshippers of these heroes
Pius IX. was a despot and a
ruler of a brood of despots, an
enemy of the human race. The
gown of the cleric has become the
garb of ignominy and darkness ;
the blood-red cap of the revolu-
tionist the beacon of liberty and
light. The intellectual stream of
Voltaire and the Voltairists, the
men of " science " of to-day, filters
down into the mud and blood cf
the rabble. These dainty gentle-
men prepare the dynamite, leav-
ing others more ignorant to fire
it. This is the progress that Pius
IX. stigmatized, and these the

lights of the age whom he con-
demned. But his work has been
effectual. He guarded the vine-
yard of the Lord. He made
straight its paths. He weeded it
well and watered it, if not with his
heart's blood, with the labors and
sufferings of a long life that never
knew rest or thought but of good
to the whole human race. He has
left to the world the example of a
life of unspotted virtue, of large
and wise charity, of undaunted
courage and zeal, of meekness and
childlike simplicity. He goes to
his grave amid the tears and bene-
dictions of the mightiest body on
earth, followed by the sorrowing
sympathy of all who esteem piety,
honor integrity, and admire cou-
rage.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MORNING OFFICES OF PALM SUNDAY,
HOLY THURSDAY, AND GOOD FRIDAY.
Together with a Magnificat for Holy
Saturday and a few selections for the
Tenebrae Function. Arranged and
edited by Edwin F. MacGonigle, St.
Charles' Seminary, Overbrook, Pa.
The publication of this work is anoth-
er comforting evidence of the reality of
the revival of a better taste amongst
church musicians, and of the demand of
church people for a style of music at the
divine offices which, at least, shall not
outrage every sentiment of religious
reverence and respect which they have
for the house of God.

Although giving but few selections
from the vast number of sentences, an-
thems, etc., enjoined to be sung during
the great week, the choice made proves
that there is a more general knowledge
of the Rubrics than has hitherto prevail-
ed amongst church musicians, and a con-
sequent desire to produce the offices of
the church in their entirety. It will also
serve a purpose — to us a very desirable
one — which is to turn the attention of
choir-masters and organists to the

sanctioned chant melodies for the Holy-
Week services, which are, in our judg-
ment, after long experience, quite un-
equalled by any musical melodies that
were ever written.

We fail to see any possible reason for
a harmonized morceau de musique to take
the place of the cantor's chanting of the
Recordare at the Tenebm function, nor
can we discover any special merit in the
composition itself. The works of Sig.
Capocci seem to us to be better suited
for exhibition at one of our " Vesper
Series" concerts at Chickering and oth-
er halls than for practical use in
choro before an altar — unless, indeed,
the hearing of a musical concert is to be
the proper and most edifying manner of
satisfying the precept of hearing Mass
devoutly, or of piously assisting at Ves-
pers and Benediction.

Can the editor give any authority for
the whining Fa$ in the first member of the
cadence of the Benedictus, No. i, here
treated as Do$. ? Sig. Capocci may have
so written it ; but then he ought to have
known better.

Those who use concerted music for

New Publications.

859

their church services, and who possess
capable singers, will no doubt be pleas-
ed to add this publication to their col-
lection of " church music."

A VISIT TO THE ROMAN CATACOMBS. By
Rev. J. Spencer Northcote, D.D., can-
on of Birmingham. London : Burns
and Gates. 1877. (For sale by The
Catholic Publication Society Co.)

This book is another proof of the un-
tiring attention that Canon Northcote
continues to devote to the object of his
special studies — the Roman Catacombs,
to which, as he modestly tells us, he
first applied himself in 1846. The length
of time that he has devoted to the sub-
ject, his diligence, scholarship, and per-
fect orthodoxy, make him the standard
authority among English-speaking Ca-
tholics on all matters connected with
those wonderful subterranean cemeteries
which are inexhaustible mines of trea-
sure to students of Christian antiqui-
ties, and points of attraction to all really
learned, as well as to some ignorant
and conceited, visitors to Rome. The
traveller to the Tiber and the Seven
Hills who does not visit the Catacombs
has not seen one of the three Romes,
and returns with a very inadequate
knowledge of the Eternal City. A study
of the Roman Catacombs is as necessary
to enable one to understand the manners
and customs of the early Christians, and
to appreciate the various stages of the
doctrines and practices of the church
from apostolic times to the period that
followed the triumph of religion under
Constantine, and its splendid develop-
ment of ritual and of ceremonial during
the middle ages, as the careful exami-
nation of the deeply-planted roots of a
mighty oak is wanted to show the lover
of nature how so noble a tree grows up
the monarch of the forest, " and shoot-
eth out great branches, so that the birds
of the air may lodge under the shadow of
it" (Mark iv. 32).

We are glad to learn from the preface
of this short but interesting and instruc-
tive Visit to the Roman Catacombs that a
second and enlarged edition of the Ro-
ma Sotleranea of the same author, pub-
lished in conjunction with Rev. W. R.
Brownlow in 1869, and which will con-
tain the substance of De Rossi's recently-
issued third volume, is in preparation.
We shall heartily welcome it. The pre-

sent little book contains a great amount
of information in a convenient, attrac-
tive, and well-written form.

MATERIALISM : A Lecture by P. J. Smyth,
M.P., M.R.I. A., Chev. Leg. d'Hon.
Dublin : Joseph Dollard. 1877.

This is a strong and outspoken de-
fence of Christianity by a layman from
the lecture platform against the attacks
of materialism on religion as address-
ed to popular assemblies under the
cloak of science. The lecture reaffirms
the primitive convictions of the soul
and the common consent of mankind
against the unsupported assertions of
the modern materialist school. The Irish
people have heroically withstood the as-
saults made against their religious faith
— assaults more cruel and persistent than
have been even charged upon the Span-
ish Inquisition — and that, too, from a na-
tion which boasts of being the champion
of religious liberty. It is a cheering
sign to see that they are fully able to
defend their faith with personal intelli-
gent conviction against the materialism
of the demagogues of science. Ireland
has a class of thoroughly-educated lay-
men, and when religion is invaded from
every quarter, as it is in our day, it is
time that men who have deep and strong
religious feelings should speak out
in words which are fraught with the
power of intelligent conviction and in
tones which will make themselves heard.
Mr. Smyth's lecture is solid, manly, and
eloquent, and we hope to hear from him
again and often.

RECORDS OF A QUIET LIFE. By Augus-
tus J. C. Hare, author of Walks in
Rome, etc. Revised for American
readers by William L. Gage. Boston :
Roberts Brothers. 1876.

The author of this volume, in present-
ing the picture of the Hare family, la-
bored under the impression that he was
revealing a model life to the public.
Confined to non-Catholics, perhaps he
and the writer of the American preface
were not mistaken, and this class of
readers will derive profit from its peru-
sal. The Hares were Anglican clergy-
men, in charge of parishes, and with
families. The volume furnishes pictures
of the performance of their parochial
duties, the life of their family circles,

86o

Neiv Publications.

and the characteristics of their members.
The Hares were^above the common run
of men of their class in intellectual
gifts and scholarly attainments. They
appear to have done their best to fulfil
the duties of their position with the
incoherent fragments of Christian truth
which their sect teaches. A Catholic
feels after reading this volume as if
he had been passing through a picture-
gallery of second-class artists. Our
counsel to^non-Catholic readers is: read
these Records, and then take up the
Life of the Cure of Ars, or The In-
ner Life of Pere Lacordaire, or A
Sister's Story, or The Life of Madame
Swetchine, and you will understand, if
not fully appreciate, our meaning.

Is THE HUMAN EYE CHANGING ITS FORM

UNDER THE INFLUENCES OF MODERN

EDUCATION ? Edward G. Loring, M.D.
New York. 1878.

This is a very clever brochure upon a
very vexed question — namely, does com-
pulsory education of the young under
certain bad hygienic and dietetic condi-
tions produce ocular deformity, and is
such deformity hereditary? Dr. Loring
produces certain eminent German ocu-
lists who state that myopia (near-sight-
edness) is certainly hereditary. The doc-
tor only partially agrees with the Ger-
man savants whom he cites, and believes
that no organ having reached its highest
state of perfection, as has the human eye,
can be changed by hereditary transmis-
sion, unless under conditions that affect
the human organism as a whole, and that
it would take ages to accomplish this
under the most favorable conditions.
The doctor explains why educated
Germans as a rule are myopic by stating
that the German forcing system for chil-
dren under fifteen is radically wrong,
and, moreover, that Germans as a nation
are not fond of out-door sports. He fur-
ther argues that their manner of cooking
and sanitary arrangements are bad ; all
which, under certain conditions, will tend
to produce hereditary myopia. Ameri-
cans, it is stated, exhibit in some respects
an inclination to follow the German plan
rather than adhere to the traditional edu-
cational system of our ancestors of the
English race.

Children, the doctor argues, must not
be pushed in their studies until after fif-
teen, at which period the danger from
over-use of the eye is diminished ; and it
is thus that watchmakers, type-setters,
and other artisans who continuously use
their eyes upon minute objects have
better sight than the studious profession-
al man or laborious scientific worker.
We may sum up the article in a few lines
when we say that nothing good, either
physical or mental, can accrue from forc-
ing young minds beyond a certain ex-
tent, and that we have reached, possibly
passed, the ultimum in our present sys-
tem of education. Encourage, as far as
possible, out door sports, and let the
heavy mental work be done after four-
teen. Give our children air and light,
lest harm be done to the race.

AN AMERICAN ALMANAC AND TREASURY
OF FACTS, STATISTICAL, FINANCIAL,
AND POLITICAL, FOR THE YEAR 1878.
Edited by Ainsworth R. Spofford,
Librarian of Congress. New York
and Washington : The American News
Company.

Few persons in this country are more
competent to compile a volume such as
this than the Librarian of Congress.
H imself a practical bookseller, he brought
years of the necessary experience to his
aid. The results of this experience are
manifest in the intelligently-arranged
and trustworthy volume before us. It
contains a vast amount of really useful
information, on agriculture, politics,
banks, finances, libraries, the census,
chronology, commerce, the post-office,
gold and silver coinage, education — in
fact, on every practical subject about
which persons need ready and accu-
rate information. Its statistics can be re-
lied on as trustworthy. It is preceded by
a short " History of Almanacs," in which
Mr. Spofford enumerates several that
have appeared of late years, though he
has forgotten to mention the Illustrated
Catholic Family Almanac, now in its
tenth year. This, we presume, was an
oversight ; for, if we are not mistaken, it
has been a guide to some of the statis-
ticians in Washington with regard to
the statistics of Catholic colleges and in-
stitutions of learning conducted by Ca-
tholics.

AP The Catholic world

03
v.26

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